How come no one knows anything about anything?

In this new age of logic, proof, and a wealth of information, why am I so confused about everything? In our world, proof is a paradox and all logic is fuzzy. I can never know if something is absolutely true because there are too many compromising questions. We live within a system of opinions and arguments- the last good argument provides the current theory.

To fully believe in something, I have to disprove every piece of compromising data. Even personally experiencing something doesn't offer enough proof. People may never believe you and you may not believe yourself looking back on your dreamlike infestation of memories. Ever said to yourself, "Maybe I'm just crazy."

I look back on a few examples in my life. I remember I had a bunch of planter's warts on my feet wen I was a kid. I started taking some Vitamin B- with the intention of just getting more vitamins- and a few months later they all disappeared. Was it the Vitamin B? Or did they just suddenly decide to go away.

When I was 12 I went to a Tourettes fundraiser concert because I had Tourettes. It was in a building with a small stage and a movie theater sized audience; all sitting. Behind the audience were the camera men and behind them was the sound booth. I got bored and decided to sneak into the sound booth. On both sides of the camera men were long stairs. I sat down on the lowest part of the right side (facing the stage) and inched backwards as the bands played. After a few minutes, I had made it to the door so I quickly stood up and walked in.

The sound booth had three rooms. There were walls with doorless doors separating each. The two side parts were entrances and were very dark. The middle part was the sound booth where the sound technician was carefully watching... er, listening to the show to make sure the sound was perfect. As softly as I could, I'm pretty sure I had taken my shoes off before creeping up the stairs, I walked into the main room behind the man in the sound booth. Inches away. I crossed behind him and entered the opposite room. He must have had headphones on, but honestly, I don't remember.

On this side of the room was a ladder leading to a catwalk above the stage. So I climbed it. Slowly. And then there I was, above the audience, above the stage and the playing band. I wasn't in clear view or anything, there was a ceiling. The lights were up here, so a person walked used the catwalk to set up the lights before a show. After a few minutes I went back. I climbed down the ladder and exited on the side I was one. I inched my way down the shallow stairs. On the second to last stair, a cameraman looked over and saw me. That was it.

Is it true? I swear it. But even when I look back on it I can't seem to picture it. It was ten years ago. It seems crazy, it doesn't make any sense.

Did I tell you about the guy who thought he knew me, followed me until I bolted around a corner to my car, and then when I pulled around to get a second look he grabbed a stop sign and bent it over to his knees?

Do you believe me? Or do you think I'm nuts. I know when people tell me crazy stories i have a hard time believing them. Especially if they're over ninety and won't stop jabbering about the past even though I have no idea who they are and I just happened to sit next to them at Denny's.

On the other side of the crazy train are the people who believe some of the craziest bullshit you've ever heard. And they really do believe it. They can disprove every bit of information you show them.

For example:
The Flat Earthers
Time Cube
A Whole Bunch Of Conspiracy Theories

Conspiracy theories prove that we can never taste the sweet lovin' of undeniable truth.

So. Did Michael Jackson ever touch that kid in that place? Is Michael Vick actually sorry? We only know what we are told. What we are told was told to someone else. Plus the fact that people can say whatever they want, whenever they want.

Does this frustrate anyone else? I WANT to KNOW the TRUTH about everything but I just CANT. I just can't.

The worst part is that, I don't even know truths about myself. I can't decipher my own feelings. I dated my previous girlfriend for three years and asked my self every day "Do I love her?" No. Yes. No. I don't know. Am I tricking myself? Am I convincing myself? On this day I felt this way. On that day I felt that way. This thing never clicked, but this thing did. I DONT EVEN KNOW MY OWN FEELINGS. And I never will. I just had to weigh the pros and cons, the bits of evidence I could piece together, and trust that I made the right decision.

Trust.

Politics.

Plenty of people believe Obama is a terrorist. They have their proof. I believe that Obama is a good guy and honestly wants to change government for the better. I have my proof. So is he trustworthy?

Plenty of people believe the Republican Party is full of scumbags, liars, and thieves only looking out for number one. How true is it? Is there really a shadow government? Are presidents just puppets? Do they know they're puppets? Do they actually believe most of what they say? Is there a group of people that really wants to keep screwing the American people? Is Osama Bin Laden truly a terrorist? Is the bailout a big scam?

Who. Really. Knows.

The world is full of evidence but no judge. We are the jury and we can deliberate as long and as hard as we want, but we can only provide theories.

And what about bias? My beliefs are so peppered in bias, I could marinate a steak every time I pissed.

I don't want to go into bias right now. It's a larger subject that I thought. Save it for later.

I'll end with a note on Atheism. Though Atheism has seen vast growth recently, I don't think it will last. Atheism has become popular with our society's appropriate acceptance of logic and science. Since you can't 'prove' that God exists, less and less people believe in him. The values of science have started to overcome the values of faith. But, as it starts to become clear how hard it is to prove anything, Atheism will die down.

Positive Feedback, please

In my video game design class I am working in a group to create, well, a video game. It's a semester long project. Over the past weekend, we prototyped it and in class today, we let our two professors (a dual-teaching threat) and other classmates test it.

Our prototype was a 3D model of the first three levels of our game. We used thick posterboard for the base and thin posterboard for the walls. First we drew the levels out on paper a few times, tweaking the 'flow' of the level and then we assigned appropriate lengths, widths, and heights, to the appropriate walls, pits, switches, and platforms.

We outlined the blueprints of each level with light pencil on the face of each thick piece posterboard. The walls were all four inches high and were between four and sixteen inches long. The posterboard used for the walls was flimsy so we created a support structure for it. We taped toothpicks along the wall three inches apart. We had the pointy part of the toothpick stick out past the bottom of the wall; We were going to treat the wall like a long fence-post, sticking the toothpick bottom into the floor. We didn't want to ruin our thick posterboard by stabbing into it, though, so we placed little globs of sticky tack along the wall and instead stuck the toothpick ends into them.

Props to the female member of my group for figuring out how to do all of this and getting a head start while I was vacationing.

Since the walls were separate pieces, we cut thin pieces of posterboard to acts as joints for each corner. For the switches, we cut 1 inch squares from thin posterboard, drew black borders on both sides of each, and then colored a red circle on one side and a blue on the other. In our game, a switch starts red but turns blue after being hit.

Each level had a title card. One level had platforms and a large pit we colored in with thick, high-inducing, permanent marker. We created a sample HUD and the female member's boyfriend even made our little game character out of toothpicks and scrap poster. The next morning- this morning- we carried it to class.

We got to the classroom early and watched everyone else trickle in. The four other groups assigned to present today set up their prototypes around the room. When class began, everyone not showing a prototype is told to visit each playtesting station around the room.. The two professors walk to our prototype first, saying it caught their eye (how couldn't it?). That was the only nice thing they said.

***

A few minutes later, they've moved on to the next group's prototype, and we're left sitting on the tops of the adjacent desks, heads on our knee, eyes drooping down, gazing at our masterwork that was torn apart as half the class crowded around to watch. I'm doing my best to find something constructive in the notes I made as they played. I realize that they didn't offer anything positive about our game.

It's not like they said it sucked. That it was terrible or boring (which I heard them say to another group). They just didn't point out anything good about it. They didn't even say the prototype looked cool.

Here's a sample of the test. The female professor was the subject and the male professor stood behind her and offered his ideas. On the second level, we told her she was standing in the wrong place and that the she couldn't shoot the switch correctly from that spot. She tried another time from a different angle and we told her it fell short. Then, in sort of a controlled hissy fit- some would call it a condescending joke- she says "All right, I run up here and shoot around for half an hour trying to get the perfect angle to hit the switch"


Not only is that not constructive, it assumes that we are just bad game designers. Like we'll create a game that is intensely frustrating. Hey, maybe we were going to. Maybe we are complete gaming newbs with no sense of the difference between frustrating and challenging a player. Maybe we thought having really hard to get switches would be a just so much fun.

Even if that is the situation, it is bad to treat student game developers, ones in the process of learning; ones that are intensely optimistic about their future with game design (you have to be optimistic to imagine a future in game design, right?); ones that obviously spent a lot of time on a stupid prototype that counts for only a small portion of their grade; ones that enjoy doing this kind of work, creating, thinking, and spending their free time imagining puzzles, levels, challenges, surprises, rewards, and experiences for their beloved players...

Looking back, it was kind of confusing. There was no ceiling and we didn't go so far to create a miniature gun representing the in game gun. We just assumed that they took the best shot available at the certain spot they were standing and told them where it would land and if it hit the switch or not. I understand, now, that was a little confusing and we should fix it for further testing.

This is criticism 101. Say something positive before pointing out something negative. Tell people what they did right and what they did wrong. Offer possible solutions, don't force your own personal answers. Don't make them feel like they've wasted their time or that their ideas have no merit. Don't condescendingly roast their hard work.

Another professor of mine is just the opposite. When I presented a project in her class I always felt like I did a really good job. She always pointed out the weaknesses and potential tripping points of my game ideas in a way that helped me solve them. Sometimes I felt it was just me, that she favored my ideas, until the next person presented and I knew that that person felt the same way I did. She offered us encouragement, not frustration. We didn't want to give up, we didn't feel that our game was hopeless or a waste of time. We realized the good of our ideas and were ready to take the next step.

For example, she would critique game ideas that were too large for the time frame of the class by calling them great, but ambitious ideas. A game that was good enough to be pursued as a capstone with her if they wanted. Then she offered ideas to slim down their game to something that could be done within the class's time frame.

Constructive feedback is important in all fields, but not offering it in games seems plain counter-intuitive. (Most) games are supposed to be fun. If you suck the spirit of fun from the game's designer, how does the spirit of fun enter the game?


In the words of Flight of The Conchords... "Why? W-why? Which-Why? Why exact-ly? Be more constructive with your feedback. Please. Why? Whhyyy?"

Burned After Watching

I feel like the Coen Brothers invited me over for dinner and some board games, strapped me in a La-Z-boy, and then repeatedly punched me in the face. Thanks, you two. It's been a wonderful evening.

Usually I feel quite the opposite after a Coen Brothers film. I'm laughing, relieved- excited that I saw something fresh. Not this time.

Burn After Reading is so aggravatingly over the top; so flooded with Coen conventions; so utterly stupid and irreasonably violent; that it forces a revelation on me. I can take a look back on all of Coen movies and say "They really do write the same stuff over and over." This movie functions like the twist at the end of every M. Night Shamalan film. Now, it is clear what to expect from them. Now, they are predictable. This movie bombed the illusion.

So, what is it? What is the core of the Coen Brothers' filmic lifeblood? Stupid, greedy people screw up eachother's lives. That's it. To be honest, it makes for a great movie. It has worked very well until now.

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Immediate Spoilers. Don't even think about it. Seriously, I will spoil the shit out of this movie.
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The movie began slow and that is mostly the trailer's fault. The plot as revealed by the trailer starts forty-five long minutes into the movie and, while we wait, we are introduced to a wide cast of characters and four unrelated factions of the main plot.

Unfotunately, this is the catch 22 of commercials. They exist to guage interest, but they spoil scenes and may prime audiences for a totally different movie (see The Fountain).

Eventually the stupid characters arrive to make stupid decisions. Let's talk about stupid characters.

Generally, I HATE stupid characters. I have recently realized that, really, it just depends. When a stupid character is done correctly, it can work. Can you tell that I'm reluctant to say that? Sometimes stupid characters make great jokes. Sometimes smart characters fall into follies that we can relate to. That's also reasonable.

But. In most movies, ignorant characters exist solely to move the plot to places that the director would have a hard time moving it to without thinking creatively. I'm saying stupid characters and their stupid decisions are a cop-out. Instead finding a solid plot point, directors just throw in a fucking moron.

Babel has a perfect example. In one scene, a Mexican man, his aunt, and two American children she is watching over are trying to cross the border into the U.S. The racist border patrols are giving them trouble, but seem like they will let them through. Yes, even they would have made it over BUT THE FUCKING MORON DIDNT LIKE THE OFFICERS LIP AND TALKED BACK. DUDE SHUT THE FUCK UP AND GO PEOPLE ARE COUNTING ON YOU TO GET ACROSS THE BORDER.

Of course, he gets arrested, the plot gets worse, I get angrier, I throw a bowl of plums out the window. Whatever. I hate dumb characters.

Unless we're talking about, say, the cast of Tropic Thunder. It's a picky subject.

So, typical of most Coen movies, the cast in Burn After Reading is a bunch of morons. Fortunately, Brad Pitt makes half of his lines funny. Unfortunately, the female lead, Lilly, was WAT TOO DUMB. SO DUMB.

"You never go full retard." - Kirk Lazerus, Tropic Thunder.

I'm serious. There's dumb and there's 'I want to choke you with a queen-sized pillow soaked in ammonia'. There's 'I want to send the Coen Brothers a hot water bottle filled with bacon and bird shit.'

This woman bitches the entire movie. "I want surgery!" "I want surgery so I can begin a new life." "This will at least put a dent in the cost of my surgery." "This money will be a great start to pay for my surgery." *sob* "I've taken this body as far as it can go." Bitch. Shut. Up.

sigh

You know. I really only had two problems with this movie. Camerawork was excellent and dialogue was appropriate- as it always is in a Coen film. So, other than annoying characters, what was it?

I feel that the Coen Brothers, for the first time, forgot about their audience. They forgot about what we care about. They were so absorbed in their black comedy that they ignored the effect of the movie. The movie is undoubtedly disturbing and to me, it is depressing. To put it shortly, they murder everything we could care about in the movie.

Brad Pitt's character, as I said, was pretty funny. He's lively, young, and George Clooney shoots him in the face half way through the movie. Why? Shock value, I assume.

It's not the kind of shock that makes you say 'Oh Damn! I didn't see that coming. Wow, what a twist.' That's how I felt watching The Departed. This is the kind of shock that makes you say 'What the fuck? What the shit just happened? Grr...'

The movie has one redeeming character. The boss at HardBodies who loves Lilly. He tries to get her to recognize her true beauty, forget about the surgery, et cetera, et cetera. He's a nice guy; an innocent, patient, grandpa figure with light-blue eyes. How does this sad teddy bear die? First, John Malkovich shoots him above the heart. Still alive, he tries to get away, but Malkovich chases him outside with a small hatchet and hacks into his chest, his head, and the back of his neck. The blood spreads as the scene fades out.

Did I mention that this is the same way Steve Buscemi dies in Fargo? Even the angle was similar.

Not only did the Brothers Coen kill off both likable characters, the annoying one gets rewarded in the end. In the last scene, we are told that Lilly will get her surgery.

You know, what can I say? I agree that movies niether have to include redeeming characters nor that all likeable characters should survive. I just think it was a very poor choice. No, it was tasteless. It's Fuck You embroidered on a wedding dress; gift from daddio. Well, fuck you, Misters Coen.

I mean, do you think we're going to stop caring about your characters? Just because this is black comedy? Just because the movie is so obviously not supposed to make sense, I'm not supposed to take it seriously? Not supposed to be affected by it?

It's like they're telling me, "Look, buddy, this is just a movie, these characters are stupid, this plot is wild and unbelievable, it's ok if disturbing things happen, it's ok if we murder whomever we please. It shouldn't matter to you. Take it for what it is. A joke."

That's where I think they got it all wrong. I can't take it for what it is. I invested emotions into these characters. I knew crazy things would happen but I never thought they would bloody their hands so much for a gory joke. Nor that they would tear apart my investments by sending a parasite through the umbillical cord with which I fed from the movie.

That's why I feel burned after watching.

Burn After Reading

There are no good ideas. There are no bad ideas.

Check out this great idea. So this young actress comes to Hollywood. It's tougher than she thought. It's scary. She falls in love with another actress. The other actress wins a part over her. The young actress gets jealous and hires someone to kill her. K. And it's all going to be represented in a dream.

Sounds like a piece of shit, right? Wrong. It's Mulholland Drive. And it's incredible.

How about this one: A poor guy and a rich girl fall in love on the Titanic. Then it sinks. That's a 600 million dollar idea.

So, the next time you have an awesome idea and someone sighs at you when you explain it; just get over it. They can't see what you see.

Most video games that suck don't inherently suck. Teams get focused on the wrong attributes; they underestimate how hard it is to accomplish all of the initial ideas; they overestimate their budget. If companies had as long as they wanted to make every game, and they stayed focused, all games would be fun.

Games, unlike movies and television shows, can always be fun. Raking your yard can be fun. Make it competitive- that's easy. Make it a puzzle game, you have to change direction every time you hit a boundary. (Alright, that's easy - just rake in a spiral). Or with two players, play Isolation while you rake. Yes, I just linked my homework assignment. Scroll down for the game's description.

As Mary Poppins says:

In ev'ry job that must be done
There is an element of fun
We find the fun, and snap!
The job's a game!

This is my game professor's email sig.

This is why we are taught to pitch games. Good ideas can sound bad. All ideas can sound good. Witty lines do wonders for shitty ideas. (See: The 'Three Strikes and You're Out' Law)

I said there are no good ideas and no bad ideas. Well, there are a few really good ideas. For example, Crank's pitch sounded so good, they got funding immediately. It was something like: 'A guy is injected with a poison that will kill him unless the he keeps his adrenaline up.' Is there any better way to frame an action movie? 'Guy must do awesome shit from the beginning of the movie 'til the end.' It's like Speed, which was very successful, except it's a person instead of a bus. And the bus only had to stay over 55 mph. That's the speed limit.

I Like The New Facebook

I like how my wall, my feed, whatever it is now, is all in one place.My info is in one place. My pictures are in one place. I'm not scrolling down 6 kilometers to find out who doodled on my super wall. Not that I ever had one. Which is another reason the new facebook rocks. All those FUCKING BOXES are out of the way. THANK GOD.

Not only that, the important, simple information - my basic information, my friends, my notes, my badge - if I'm not worried about privacy issues - are neatly lined up on the left, always there to see.

Like most, I was taken aback at first. I thought it was messy and I couldn't find anything. It's like the first time you use a Mac. It's annoying for a bit, but as you learn the system you realize that everything is organized better, everything is easier to use, everything is pleasant. Deny it if you want, it's an aesthetic machine.

I like that the adverts are still unobtrusive. I like how the 'Twitter' box is still at the top. I've started using that a lot lately.

I understand that the 'wall' is harder to read now. I mean, everything is posted there now. The feed became the wall. I miss scrolling through all the messages I've gotten. Having them all stored in one place. The new facebook is focused less on the sentimental accumulation of wall posts and instead on the hear and now. Wall posts are now voicemails; no longer birthday cards stored in a shoebox. It's not as sweet or nostalgiac (or whatever if you never gave a flip about it), but it is what it is.

My only beef is that at the top. Clicking 'facebook' and clicking 'Home' bring me to the exact same page. I wish there was just one button. I mean, the links are right next to each other. It wasn't a problem in the old facebook where my only two options were 'home' and my 'profile.' Much more efficient. Less annoying. The such.

That's it.

Well, lastly, now that I'm single I'm getting ads targeting single guys. They are super annoying, especially because some of them lead to malicious websites. I know you make money facebook, so, if you could, would you please screen your ads? I don't want to chat with millions of singles at photoshoppedbreasts.net.

Haruki Murakami

Writes books I've been reading. Books I love reading.

I don't agree with everything Haruki Murakami writes. Some of his ideas annoy me. His characters think a lot, sometimes too much, sometimes to the point where they are so self-referential it is bothersome. Sometimes I say to myself, "I've thought of that." And I don't enjoy reading too many things I've already thought about. But, his characters don't cross into the aggravating zone of over-self-consciousness as often as they could, which is surprising because a lot of characters in a lot of books do.

Each of Murakami's characters openly offers their impressions of the other characters either from the outside-in or the inside-out. Sometimes descriptions will start with a physical symbol - maybe a pair of mismatched earrings - and the observing character describes what the symbol means. He or she will explain how the mismatched earrings define the other person. He or she may comment on how the observed keeps her shoulders mostly upright, yet slouches slightly when sitting. She wants to be seen as strong, he will say, but when she is away from the crowd, sitting and eating, she lets her shoulders rest. He says "She is not an inherently strong person, but she tries."

Murakami takes his time and I admire that. I have so much appreciation for those auteurs that take their time. They aren't pressured by standards and they don't conform to what is expected of them, as defined by their job: novelist, director. They aren't trying to rebel, they are just comfortable - and insistent - on doing it their way. They spend time on the details and the mood. They move through stories at the pace they want. They are bold. Their films have the utmost effect on me. David Lynch is an example of an artist that takes his time.

We all know that modern fiction, be it movie-making, novel-writing, screen-writing, etc., is pushed to be fast paced. Pushed by the businessman, the producer, the dollar and all its associated charts and calculations. Rule 1 in writing to get published is writing to keep the story going. Every action has an effect; an effect that moves the story. It's Hollywood, it's books, it's how you get paid.

Murakami spends time describing almost everything: characters, settings, feelings, words, thoughts, glances, hand shakes. Unlike wordy filler or incomprehensible symbolism that fill the pages of every book on the high-school AP Literature reading lists - Dickens, Dickinson, the lot - Murakami's words are not hard. No Old English, large words, unforgivable run-ons, layered analogies - though surely their are metaphors - are road blocks not included. All that I listed are undoubtedly important - Shakespeare is a genius, right? - but they take training to read. I'm new to the art. And even after training, it takes so much energy to read through.

I'm not saying Murakami's books are easy, like they are stupid, for young adults, or not thoughtful. They are definitely thoughtful. Most of all, though, they are relaxing.

I've never held a book that felt so much like gentle meditation. I find myself picking up the book just to relax. It's a new concept to me, a child in the Age of Technology - you know. Most books I read for the knowledge they have, i.e. the non-fiction I have around. How to Use Your Camera and Not look Like a Fool. That sort. Otherwise, I enjoy books that are intelligent, witty, and exciting, like Down and Out in the Magic Kingdom. But I sink into Murakami's books. I rest my head in them. I don't have to think if I don't want to. I could, the book offers much to learn from, but I'm not forced to. Most of it comes naturally.

Murakami writes a lot in passive voice - something I've always been told not to do. That's his style. He shows when he wants, then goes when he wants.

Maybe I don't always want to be in the middle of an action verb. Maybe I don't have the energy to follow a jumping, fighting, rocking, socking, pick-pocketing, master of movement.

When Murakami describes a room, I don't have a hard time imagining it. To me, this is unusual. When most writers start describing something, I usually start skimming the page until something important happens. His storytelling creates a whole new frame of mind. I am not rushing to the action, I am wading in the water of a pleasant stream on a sunny day explaining to five year old brother how much I enjoy the yellow glint on the clouds and the pink haze over the daisies. His book sets a mood that you fall into. Like a dream. Like a good night's sleep, I've never had a problem falling in.

Sometimes I say to myself: 'He puts too much Murakami in his characters.' His writing is too easy, he just writes about himself. I say, "His characters are all the same. They think a lot and are very intuitive, just like an author." But then I read more of his characters. Though they all possess the gift of keen people-watching, they are much different. They all have different back stories. They come from different places, eat different foods, and wear different clothes. And then again, they all contemplate loneliness and the importance of social interactions. Many have similar goals in life. To get away for a night. Or forever. They are different. They aren't. I don't know. They are so compelling, though.

Sometimes I think: "Does he rewrite anything?" His books feel like rough drafts. He just seems to go with flow. He just says what feels right at the moment. He moves on when he's ready to move on. I think, "Does he even plan?" I'm sure he does, he is a professional writer, he must plan. I can't imagine it, though. His writing style conflicts with planning.

If I wrote a book and I knew that my character was on his way to a train, he would be there pronto. I don't have the patience to detail the scenery. But, if I never specify where my character is heading, I feel that I would have no problem describing the scenery. I could explore my character's setting and also his path. The details arrive from the lack of a goal.

But this can't be how Murakami works. It wouldn't work. He must plan or the book would never have a satisfying ending. It would just end and nothing would have happened. That isn't necessarily bad, see Godard, see Neo-Realism, but I just don't think that's how Murakami works. Plus, he usually tells two or more stories at once and then ties them together as the book progresses.

I don't think he writes a few hundred pages and then quits when nothing is left to write. This made me realize that this man is really smart. I'm in awe of him; his self-control, his care. He cares about everything.

But all writers care about heir writing, right? Maybe to a certain extent, but I mostly disagree. Most have money, publication, and other people's ideas lingering in the back of their mind. Ideas that work. Ideas that sell. At the end of the day they can say "I wrote that" and "I know my writing inside and out" but it isn't pure. It isn't them. Or it is them but they are just someone else.

Murakami writes softly.

Incidentally, he is associated with the man who created my favorite video game, Earthbound. Shigesato Itoi isn't a video game guy and he only worked on four games: the Mother series and a bass-fishing game. He's a journalist and essayist. The pair co-authored a book of short stories called Yume de aimashou ("Let's meet in a dream"). I think I'll pick that up next.

The short list of Murakami's books that I've read or am currently reading. And he's already inspired a blog post.

After the Quake.
After Dark.
Kafka At the Shore.

Links:
Haruki Murakami

Shigesato Itoi
Earthbound

Logical reason why writing ideas down is important

It's arithmatic, actually.

So, you're thinking of ideas for a project, a game, a story, etc. You're thinking all day, but at a certain point, it becomes hard to build off your ideas. 

You're wasting mental storage space- and energy - on remembering the ideas you've already thought. It's overloading your short-term memory. It doesn't always go to your long-term memory, that's why we can recall plenty of times where we can't recall a great idea we've had.

So, as soon as you can, write those first ideas down, clear out the freezer, fridge, safety-deposit box, washer, dryer, whatever. 

I would say, 75% of the time, at the very least, you'll come up with more ideas while you're writing down the ones you have. Your brain automatically starts making connections to more ideas. It won't do this, most often, if it risks losing previous knowledge.

So, yeah. It's math, baby!

Today I'm Just Writing

Otherwise known as, "No one wants to read an emo post," because no one does, or "Reminding myself that the only obstacle between me and having something written, is myself writing it." And all that. Write away. Right? Got it.

Man, I haven't written but once in the last two weeks, and only to finish up a month-old game review. It's stoppage, a block, it's creating a block between me and creativity. The more I write, the more creative I feel, the looser I feel, the more verbal I am, the better words I choose - in writing and everyday communication. I talk better when I write. The stop between myself and what I want to be is 'not writing.' I do it, I did it, I'm better. Just do it. Kabam. Done. 

This is a weird post, because it's purely for me. I have some form of audience out there because this is a blog, but this is not for anyone but myself. This is not for you. That's not true, I'm just reminiscing an opening page from the book, House of Leaves. "This book is not for you" it says. Let me check. Nope, I had it right the first time. "This is not for you." This paragraph is for you though. For a minute, I'll acknowledge you're there, possibly, reading this post, which has nothing to do with you, and connecting with you, so neither of us is confused. This is not for you, even though it's a blog post, not a personal post, not in a private diary, nor sticky note, nor Moleskine pad, if you like those, that name brand of art books imo, yes, imo, in my opinion, like a text message, im or forum post. 

Honestly, I wouldn't read one god damn bit of this post. Self-referential shit makes me throw up. It really does. See my comic-strip Post Modern Throw Up. Not even a comic, but now it's out there, an unofficial release, I have another blog where I post what I will call really bad drawings, and you'll say I'm being self-deprecating, and then I'll say, look at them. It's on purpose. Or I'll at least draw them worse than I could because I don't think I can draw, which is self-deprecating.

Who can read this kind of stuff? Self-referential is a new kind of emo. You just want to say "Hey, shut the fuck up." Get over it, get over yourself, stop thinking so much, stop questioning your existence and your medium. The paper, pen, keyboard, screen, film, that you exist on and just be. Just be. Just be yourself. Tell a story or teach something important. You're on a screen, I'm on a screen, we're all on a screen, now do something. Stop talking about it.

It's old to be postmodern now. It's cliche. For the first time, thanks to those terribly unoriginal ____ Movie directors, even parodies are cliche. Since when is making fun of something cliche? Now. Now it is. And that's really all I do in this blog. It's time to step it up. When? How? Do I have the vision to become a writer for the future, or just the maturity to stop using so much obscene language.

See what writing does for me? Wonders, apparently. All these jumblings, excuse such a messy word, you- audience, come out clean, for the most part, in writing. Granted they'd read much clearer if I would reread them, but that's not for today. Today is free writing. To reference the title, I'm just writing today. No backspace, unless I misspell. I've used it once or twice, but never went back farther than a sentence.

I'm too honest, I think. When I'm writing, like now, as you may even be able to tell, I want to sayeverything that I'm thinking. I can't have a thought that may or may not add interest or important information and leave it out. I thought it, it's fair for me to say it. For you. Looking back at my writing I can say, that's everything I was thinking. That's all of it, everything on my mind. I'm not too ashamed. This is the case in real life, too. I always say what's on my mind. Correct that, I always want to say what's on my mind. I have been taught courtesy and, mostly, when to hold our tongue. So, yes, I won't say everything. But then I don't know which direction to go. I can't usually get it out of my head. If you're hanging around me, we're in a conversation and you find my conversation has died out, I haven't been moving forward as rapidly as usual, it's because something is on my mind and I don't want to say it.

Talking too much can be bothersome at times. I mean, let's say that everyone likes talking so talking a lot in itself isn't annoying. It's bothersome when I want to explain a new concept to a person, or a concept they already know about. I give some information, and they get it. I think of something else to add, and I genuinely think it will add, but they get it, I don't need to go on. Sometimes I have a hard time discerning if what I'm saying will really add something or if I'm just elonging (?) - what is that word... - making the conversation inappropriately longer. There's people in class that don't know when to shut the fuck up.

I feel a little better already. Say What. Talk it out, now talk it out. Talk it out now talk it out. Haha, I've been wanting to write that line all week I was thinking of writing this post. It's referencing: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KU3N5c2Kxnw. 

Just talk it out, just talk it out. Write, talk, Freud. One of the ways he helped or 'cured' people with emotional problems was by getting the to just talk. Talk and talk and talk. Say whatever, the first thing to come to your mind, all the things that come to your mind. Let it out.

Nitpicky Gamer: Mission: Runway

In every Nitpicky Reviewer post, I put on my critical top hat, wave my elitist cane, and chauffeur sarcastic verbiage with full intent to tear apart a piece of media as if it were supposed to be art. True, I'll never realize that criticizing games made purely for dollars doesn't mean anything.

The last few times I reviewed a game, I took notes while I was playing. This time, I'll be making notes directly into the blog. Hopefully I'll end up with a post that does not feel like a rewrite and hasan't forgotten any jokes.

First thing I thought when assigned Mission: Runway: 'Ah shit, at least I'll get a decent blog post out of it.' I'm pretty sure this game is about modeling based on the reality TV show Project Runway. I just finished another review for a game based on a TV show, Dancing with the Stars, the worst game ever released to the public. And the public was charged for it.

First thing I thought when the splash screen came up: Hotties! Hell yea, I get to look at models all week. Wait. Why is there a stoned, tired, sick-like-an-overdose, hippie princess lurching in the back? She looks lost, high, sad and beaten, and like n evolved form of the little girl from The Ring. She's even wearing the same white dress. I can't mix sexy and nightmarish. I'll get sick or feel really guilty.

The girl in front, the main focus, isn't even real. She has more Photoshopped brush strokes than a Van Gogh rip-off. Her eyes look swollen and her hair copy-and-pasted. Her boobs look flat even though some digital artist tried to make semi-circles above her dress line. She has a certain Gestalt: the sum of her pieces is a paper-doll project from a fourth grader with a pole-dancing mother.

I've never seen a girl so real and so airbrushed.

Upon entering the main menu, I was instructed to create a profile. A flashing asterisk at the bottom of the interface tells me I should start typing. Instead of the default mouse cursor, the simple arrow, I wave around a severed hand. Not the Adobe white glove, a fucking dismembered, I-love-The-Addams-Family, calloused and thick man hand. Ready to slap a bitch that missteps on the runway. That hand could tear up the whole game with the full-hand or backhand slap command. Shit, how awesome would it be to play game where the goal is to slap through terrible user interfaces, beating their structure, smashing their poorly chosen fonts, and eventually wringing the neck of the apathetic jackass that programmed them.

Clicking on the highlighted row does nothing. Less than nothing.

So. The beastly five-finger I'm waving around keeps highlighting all the rows in this interface, even the one with my instructions. Usually something highlighted is something to click, but what about the flashing asterisk. The game has temporarily stunned (not awed) me. Not being one to click around, or go with the easy solution to just start typing, I sit, stare, and just think about what I want to do. Do I click? Do I just start typing? Which will serve me better? Which am I supposed to do? I don't know, so I just sit there. I actually start to feel a little fear, a nervous ping on the backside of my melon; I want to find out what happens when I click on a highlighted row, but I have this wary feeling that I'll fuck something up.

I do it anyway. I'm both saved and extremely disappointed; clicking on any of the highlighted rows does absolutely nothing. I proceded to type my name: Leggy Blond. (Flight of the Conchords, baby).

Now I'm choosing my avatar. Honestly, I'm still blown away by how much better this is - looks, feels - than Dancing. My point of view is nested in the center of a circle of wannabe models. Or wannabe 3D models. Maybe the designers were self-deprecating, the models aren't supposed to look good because they aren't actually models. An arrow pointing left and an arrow pointing right are fixed by each side of the focal model. I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THEY DO. Fortunately, the game designers thought ahead, realizing that the large portion of their audience would be confused by such a little-known convention; a hint box appears when my mouse rolls over an arrow.



In case I didn't know what to press after deciding which model to represent, the 'Check' button also has a hint box.

Really, though, does 'OK' tell you any more than the check mark? I imagine: "Alright, I'll play with this girl. What do I do now? Oh my God, I'm so confused. How do I continue in this game?? This game sucks! I don't know what to do! Wait, there's a huge check mark. I wonder what it does. I don't want to press it because something terrible might happen. What if it exits the game? I'll just let my mouse hang over it while I think. Oh, a hint! OK, it says. OK what? I'm going to kill myself."

After selecting my avatar, I am brought to the list of episodes I will compete in throughout the season. The name of each episode is some kind of pun. For example, the first episode is called 'Freestyle Style.'

Others include:
Miss Mission Runway
Alternative Reality, an episode with alternative-style fashion
Everyday [sic?] a New Design, an episode focused on everyday clothing styles
Business Sense, an episode showcasing business formal.

Will somebody tell whoever made these titles that a pun isn't a pun IF YOU USE THE SAME WORD. A pun is a play on words. Not a play on word.

Thankfully, I'm not completely disappointed. There's an episode called Fashion of the Opera. Ok, I am disappointed.

To the Stars is another episode dedicated to designing an outfit for the Oscars. I kind of get it, but I think it should be For the Stars.

One episode name makes up for them all: Life's a Beach. That's right, punned the phrase 'Life's a bitch.' It's for the kids, mother, it's for the kids.

I select the first and only available episode: Freestyle Style. The host introduces my competitors, and, oddly, I can't tell if they are standing or sitting. They have slightly bent legs, but look like they are standing and leaning forward. Kind of like they're about to shit.

The instructions are given in paragraph form at the bottom of the screen. Halfway through the first paragraph, it flashes to the next. And when I say flashes, I mean the whole screen skips and refreshes, not just the text box. I may have finished the first paragraph, but I was steudying the setting. There's a check box at the end of each paragraph, so I assumed I would click it when I finished reading and that it wouldn't continue without me. So much for conventions. Maybe that's why there's a hint box on everything. The outsourced programmers just don't know our conventions. It confuses them, they over-reinforce us, and then they still get it wrong. I blame on the company that chose to outsource.

In the introduction to the first episode, 'everyday a new design' I am told, in a block of supposedly-spoken text to dress normal... but not be limited by my imagination. I'll let that sink in...

After the show's introduction ends. it's time to dress the model.

Wait. I just realized that I don't play as a model in this game, I play a fashion designer. I just voided half the jokes I've used so far.

So, I want to spend time trying out different outfits, seeing what the game has to offer, but the model is just standing in her underwear and I feel like a fucking pervert in a room full of game testers guys. Any second, I'm going to get a hand on my shoulder followed by the words 'Move on Chris, it's just a character model'. Fuck you, buddy- she's hot!

The interface is surprisingly, fairly intuitive. Yes, it is surprising that it appeals to any bit of my intuition. Fortunately, the interface uses pictures instead of words - clothing lists would really become tedious. Unfortunately, the pictures don't match clothes. For example:

Here's what I chose:
And here's what I got:


Also, take a look at the buttons that designate clothing styles:
1) Obligatory raonbow gradiant.
2) Skull for 'Alternative' clothing
3) Flower for 'Girly' Clothing
4) A hand-fan for glamrous clothing? No one's used a fan like that since Shakespeare died.
5) A golden star for... being good in class? I don't actually remember.
6) A douchey smiley face with a baseball cap giving you a huge thumbs-up for being such a bad ass. That woud be 'street wear.' Only those with the baddest asses rock out in street clothing. Congratulations for having the balls to be the poorest-looking model in town.

I wanted to see what the model looked like from different angle, so I clicked and dragged around her - a norm in most character creators. Nothing. Above the model are two arrows, one pointing to the right and one to the left. They look like perfectly good rotation buttons. I click to the right and my model turns black! Wait, no, this is a new model now. See, there's a new name above her head, in obscure, white font between the arrows. The girl looks identical, except her skin and the sound of her name are more black.

I cycle through the models. They all are the exact same height, have the exact same hairdo - it must be fake on some of those girls - and nearly identical jawlines.

Four small buttons hide in the bottom right of the screen: zoom-in, zoom out, rotate left, and rotate right. Rotating the girl reveals that the game's 3D modelers are either ignorant foreigners or feminist revolutionaries. I'm staring at a model with a big booty. I'll go with... outsourced unprofessional. And I guess outsourced implies a certain ignorance to the target audience's culture.

Fuck it, let's walk the runway.

First let's reinforce how stupid the developers think we are:


After tooling around for so long in the dressing room, I am supremely curious on how the game plans on judging my choices. In the ideal fashion game, the artificial intelligence would probably have long lists of clothes that don't match; an algorithm that judges poor color combinations; and, of course, some simple check to see if I wore the correct style the episode called for. I don't have those expectations for this game.

After confirming that I do, in fact, want to strut my junk down the runway, our mute announcer spells out: "We've seen some great designs [sic] now lets see how each model fared on the runway!" But momm-y, they haven't been on the runway yet. What's this lady talking aboouutt? I think they were going for 'fares on the runway.'

My model walks the runway first and then each model from each other designer follows, one at a time. The techno was pumping and both the judges and photographers were excited.

What can I say that they aren't saying right now?

Most photographers handle the boredom by taking pictures of their rivals on the opposite side.

The walks lasted about a minute and a half each and looked like they had been edited by the programmer's toddler. Random frames of disarray appeared between each cut. Some shots would linger and some were cut short - but don't get me wrong, there was no sense of flow. At one point it even cut to the same angle. You could tell because it skipped, as if were cutting away, and then the same angle loaded back up, a few pixels off center.

It wasn't until the third walk I realized my dismembered hand was covering the click-to-skip button. I must have saved half an hour when I finally used it.

This girl is a professional waitress that just fucked up her chance to be a real model.

This doesn't mind showing up in her jammies.
This girl's booty is so fly, it makes straight lines go jagged.

Now the judges will tell me how I did...

Holy shit, they just ripped me apart. What the hell did I wear that got me booted off the first show?

For a second, I thought they were going to murder me on stage.

Back at the main menu- hey wait a minute. Where did all of these options come from? Now I can practice dressing models outside of competition, look at my currently-empty photo album, and examine my wardrobe, complete with the design that just got me booted. All this for losing! And... when do I get to take photos? It says it is empty because I have not taken any photos in the photo booth. So, where is it? Maybe I have to win first. Or at least pass the first week.

This game is going down. I begin my second tour de campaign mode in the same episode: Freestyle Style; normal clothes. This time I'll follow a simple rule: pick clothing from the same category. This time, my model will only wear clothes from the 'Girly' category.

Delving deeper into the clothing styles, I see that there are actually quite a bit of designs, though they all look like variants of wrapping paper.

Moving on to jewelry... I take everything back. There's only one necklace to pick from. Wait. Ok, help me out here.

In the make-up section, my eyes feel like a 256-color processor trying to differentiate between a million shades of peach. My eyes can't tell the difference between these colors. I'm clicking the right arrow button, cycling through, and I can't even tell what I've looked at and what I haven't looked at. Sometimes the shades will cycle whole rows at a time and sometimes it will rotate over only a few shades at a time. I honestly can't tell.

Well, now I'm curious. I screenshot the first row and then click the right arrow. Comparing it to the screenshot... it moved one square to the right. I click the right arrow again, and it moves back. I can't believe it. The whole time it was rotating over one color.

Next time, just cut out the last color.

The ability to change models' hair style instantaneously is unsettling. I find myself wondering if all models are bald and they just change wigs every day.

By the way, this is what spiked hair looks like:
Yes, it cuts right through the hoody.

I submit my second design. Once again, the judges are stupified.

The model walking after mine wore an outfit designed by 'Tiffany,' a girl with no crotch.

I skip through the rest of the models to the judges.

What the fuck? What did I do wrong this time? My outfit looked way better than those other bitches.

I was so apparently bad that two of the three judges said the exact same thing. "Who will be the first loser? Sadly I think it will be you."

How do you win this fucking game?

Wait. Woah! I'm moving on to the next week! They didn't boot me after all! They booted some dude with a pink cowboy hat. What a scare. Two of those three judges really had me going.

This game accurately portrays the lack of emotion in the fashion world. The judges are stoic. The photographers and respectful and the crowd quietly golf claps. When my avatar is criticized, she puts her hands near the front of her face, does a shake left and a shake right, but is otherwise OK. When a designer is voted off, he or she just sits silently, staring off into a depressing void.

I think I've gone on long enough, I'm going to try and beat the game now. I don't seem to be getting very far - I've been told I know how to pick out a good outfit when shopping with girls - maybe it's all the movies I've watched - but it doesn't seem to have translated over to the game. On the other hand, maybe I just don't understand the subtle complexities of fashion. In any case, I'm Googling a walkthrough.

(A few days later.)

I'm on the second to last 'episode' and I am totally stuck. The two other models have been wearing completely different outfits each time I try to beat it, so I'm not picking up on the style I'm supposed to use.

I'm on the 'pick out an outfit for your host to wear out at night' show. How 'bout a black trash bag and duct tape. Shit, this isn't anything like the 'Life's a Beach' episode in which I just have to put on some kind of swimming suit to pass. I don't know what they're judging! I wore a bunch of 'alternate' clothes and 2 of the 3 judges gave me a thumbs up. I tried it again the next round, only changing a few things, and all the judges dumped me.

So, now, tying desperately to win, I start copying the other two contestants. I recreate one's all-silver outfit. Amazingly, randomly, the model wears the same outfit again, right after I've re-created it. There we are, walking the runway with the exact same outfit. Guess who gets voted off. Me. This fucking game.

I mean, you can't expect much from a game that isn't even proof-read: (You may need to click on the picture to read it; I'll have my own site one day, but for now, bear with me.)

Itit? Re-tarded.

A bit Dj Vu?

"You really took it to the mountain?"

I think he meant Hasta Manana. And since when are Spanish words capitalized?

Finally, after 20 hours of wages that will never be earned back by the game, I beat it. Celebrate with me.

Nitpicky Moviegoer: The Dark Knight

Now that a few weeks have passed, let's get serious about The Dark Knight. In every nitpicky review that I do, I point out movie flaws that the majority of the world gives no shits about. In this case, judging by the record-breaking sales, absolutely no one cared about the little things- including myself. Only in retrospect, now, a month after the viewing, can I bring back up the details I ignored.

Before I begin, I assume everyone has watched this movie. There will be spoilers.

This review will seem extra picky, because the movie was so good. But, like the director that created it, it isn't perfect. Am I the only one who thought half of Memento was a psychology lecture?

To start off, let's talk about one thing Batman did that was so utterly ridiculous, it strikes deep fear into my heart about the stability and mental resistance of my own mind. The fact that I did not question this impossibility makes me wonder how long I would last if aliens started brainwashing the planet. Could I resist their advanced mind-mushing techniques? I'm not so sure.

About halfway through the movie, Batman extracts a fingerprint originally pressed on a bullet from its bullet hole. (The bullet had been removed from the scene.) It's not even from the original bullet hole, though, he reproduces one - I think - because in some sort of montage-like explanation of the process, he fired five other bullets into similar material to see if the damage matched the damage of the first bullet. He then arbitrarily picked one of the reproductions and... what the fuck am I even talking about? What the fuck was this movie showing me? What the fuck-fuck?

Not only that, the fingerprint wasn't from the Joker, it was from a random guy who lived in some apartment. It was a set-up to get Batman to go to that apartment where decoy sniper fire was set up so that the Joker could assassinate the Mayor from the ground.

The Joker is so fucking smart! He was so intuitive, he knew that Batman was going reconstruct a fingerprint from a shattered plaster wall, leading him to the scene, where he could only helplessly watch the assassination attempt from above. Is there anything else he could have thought of? I mean, Batman could have also released deadly android birds from the rooftops; each honed in on the unholy scent of a man who hasn't washed his hair in three years. That's reasonable.

But wait, there's a loophole here. The reason Batman had to reconstruct the fingerprint from the bullet hole in the wall is because the Joker took the original bullet from the crime scene. He did that so neither Batman nor anyone else could trace it. Yet he still made the fingerprint a decoy?

Another scene confused me even the second time I saw the movie: when Batman and the Joker play chicken. Well, it's sort-of chicken, Batman's on a super-powered motercycle and the Joker is just standing there, and he wants Batman to hit him. It's not really chicken if some guy wants to be hit. Still, Batman chickens out, unable to kill the bad guy, which is appropriate to his comic-book history, so he swerves out of the way and then... crashes? He had so much open room to direct his bike to. I guess he thought too hard about crossing the line he never crosses, and became a nervous wreck.

Come on, how does Batman wreck his bike? And then he lay there in his super-stiff bat suit like a frozen hot dog. I understand his bat suit afforded little movement, but the restriction didn't show when he fought, only when he lay on the ground. Don't you think the director unnecessarily exaggerated his immovability? Those are three of the largest words I've ever used together in a sentence.

Later, Christopher Nolan decides to bring pop conflict into the movie. He brings up the as-of-now highly controversial subject of spying on everyone for everyone's safety. The Big Brother thing. Batman creates a system of SONAR images transmitted from every cell-phone in Gotham so that he can see and hear pretty much everything. It has a great interface, representing Gotham in its entirety on only about 50 TVs, and the program follows whatever you thought you just heard with only a few keyboard strokes. If you look closely, you'll see that one of the screens shows a person in a bathroom- how appropriate to the issue of privacy.

The director asks the question, should we jeopardize the privacy of every person in a city to find a 'terrorist'? Lucius Fox, Batman's trusty assistant, says that he will resign as long as this system is in place, after they get the Joker. Hard to say if he really disagrees. In the end, the voice-tracing, city-imaging, spy web helps them capture the Joker.

So what's Christopher Nolan's conclusion on protecting the privacy of citizens? That privacy can be ignored if the threat is too large. Well, thanks Christopher, you've gotten us nowhere. You've just repeated the same conclusion - and confusion- of everyone involved in this debate. How do we know if a threat is too large? I don't think the government will spend a billion dollars on a cell-phone-based tracking system and then BLOW IT UP after the currently most-wanted terrorist is found. There's always going to be a terrorist, so the system will always be up and running; i.e. voiding our privacy.

So, once again, thank you Christopher Nolan for bringing up a sensitive issue and offering... absolutely nothing.

Close to the end of the movie, Mr. Nolan breaks a scriptwriting rule: never avoid conflict. At the same time, he breaks one of my rules: don't bullshit the audience. In the tense, who-will-blow-up-who, boat scene, he cuts to that huge, rough-as-hell prisoner like four fucking times. Each time, he sneers and looks ugly. I get it, he's going to stand up and cause havoc, take the detonator and blow up the other boat; he doesn't want to die and no one else will follow through. He's the only one mean enough to actually press the button. The time comes and he uses his scary bulk and his understanding of fear and politics to convince the man holding the detonator to give him the detonator. And like the badass he is... he throws it out the window?

This twist is not some 'unforeseen surprise,' it's a lie. Like, I go to the doctor to visit my dying great-grandmother and the doctor tells me she passed away. Of course I believe him. He's a doctor telling me someone died. If he says 'just kidding' it's not like he tricked me, like I'm an idiot for not picking up on it, there's no way I could have known. It's a lie. Films that lie instead of offer clues suck.

Take this puzzle for example: Billy found a blue building block. What color is the building block?

Uhh, blue?

NOPE, ITS PURPLE!

There has to be hints or the game is ruined.

The reason Mr. Nolan concluded this scene like he did was to give audience a ray of hope in a dark movie. Or at least that's what I read in a review, I never thought the film was 'too dark.' I mean, Batman has always been dark and Mr. Nolan does a great job keeping him that way. This scene is a cop out. I know it was rated PG-13, but imagine how crazy it would have been if Batman was holding the Joker by his feet from the top of the unfinished skyscraper; and suddenly one of the boats exploded. That would have been intense. He may have even dropped the Joker, forgetting his anti-killing cree, and then, of course, the Joker would have laughed his way to the pavement. Whether you like my alternate ending or not, don't avoid conflict, scriptwriting 101.

Jim Gordon coming back from the dead? See the previous paragraphs about pointless puzzles.

This movie is the best comic book movie I've ever seen, besides Sin City, which was just like a moving comic book. I LOVE how Christopher Nolan makes so many comic-booky, i.e. corny and unbelievable, remnants of Batman's history make complete sense. Despite the small things I've pointed out, Nolan has achieved greatness by making Batman almost logically exist. He undoubtedly made Two-Face logically exist. The person he loves the most dies as he tells her she'll be all right. He flips his shit. And the face in oil! What a great way to explain Two-Face's charred left side. In the comic book, some mafia thug threw acid on his face in the courtroom, somehow 'coloring within the lines' and magically disfiguring only the left side of his face. Nolan makes it make sense.

And, my God, did Heath Ledger become the Joker.

I have to stop while I'm ahead, these posts are about tearing movies apart, breakin' them down, revealing their true colors! not complimenting them. I must. not. break. down. and describe how awesome this movie was.

Great Connotations ep. 6: I didn't do it! in more or less words.

In every Great Connotations post, I examine the meaning behind the everyday word choices that people make. People can say the same thing a hundred ways, but the specific way they say it reveals a lot about their personality and what they're really trying to say.

So, the other day I picked up a shift from my girlfriend as a waiter at my old job because she had important plans. A number of new workers seem to have been hired since I've left, but then again, restaurants generally have a low retention rate.

There was a new waitress working that night who seemed a little shy - it was only her third or fourth shift. She seemed very nice, and I'm sure she was, but she always had a worried look on her face. Maybe she had a test or a project hanging on her consciousness, or she had a rough day, or she's generally pessimistic - a feeling I got as I talked to her, but not what I'm discussing today.

Anyway, I was punching an order in with my fingernail on a very sturdy, hardly-registering, 'touch' screen computer when she runs by me into the kitchen with a small stack of dirty dishes.

A few seconds later a plate crashes to the ground.

She walks out, turns to the first person she sees, me: "Were you the last person to put up a plate? Because a plate just broke." She was about to place the plates she had been carrying in the dirty dishes bin, but the previous stack had toppled.

First of all, a broken plate can rattle a new employee. It's obviously much less embarrassing in the kitchen and not on the main floor, but, for some reason, no matter what you drop or where you drop it, or how many of it you drop, if you drop it in a restaurant it will be really, really loud.

Like any self-conscious employee, knowing half the staff heard the plate shatter; knowing she stood right in front of it when it dropped; she wanted to let someone know that she didn't do it.

She asks me 'Were you the last person to put a plate up?' At first, it seems like she's throwing blame at me to cover up for herself. But, I don't think she was trying to pin blame on me, or anyone else, she was just un-pinning it from herself. This is reinforced by the second sentence "Because a plate just broke." She says, I didn't break it, you didn't break it, no one broke it; the plate broke itself. All the blame is the plates and none of the blame is ours. So, are you or I sweeping it up? Don't worry about it, the kitchen staff will.

It's important to note that she left out how the plates broke. She goes from 'putting up a plate' to 'the plate broke.' She left out what I explained: that the dish bin was so full that the last mother-fucker to stack a plate on it should have been a little more fucking careful! Don't add to the four-foot tower of plates rocking back and forth next to the over-powered, thirty-seconds-flat, rumbling steam bath of a dishwasher. Just don't stack your mother-fuckin' plate up there!

She could have said everything I just did, but she didn't. What does that tell me about her? One, she's non-confrontational. She chose to disperse blame into the unknown.

Also, since she didn't discuss it further, with me or anyone else, we didn't waste trivial effort in finding the plate-breaking dunce. I mean, who cares? It was an accident. After she relieved herself of the guilt by confiding her innocence in the nearest co-worker, she probably doesn't care who did it either.

The situation is over and what have we learned? I dunno, she didn't want to be labeled a plate breaker?

Let me ask you a question.

If you're at work, let's say you're doing opening duties for a restaurant: pulling chairs off of tables, cutting lemons, organizing cups, making sweet tea, etc.; and your manager walks up to you and says "Don't forget to make the sweet tea," and, obviously, you knew you had to make sweet tea, it's been ingrained in your mind since the first week you started the job and you've never forgotten, I mean, who could forget the sweet tea?, that would cause a meltdown in the South, a Revolutionary War between customers and floor-staff, where we would lose and they would waste a lot more tea, well... What do you say back to your manager?

1) No shit, Sherlock.
2) What the fuck do you think this gallon of sugar I'm carrying is for?
3) Have I ever forgotten to make sweet tea before? Douche-bag.
4) Of course I'm going to make sweet tea! I always do.
5) You've gotta be fucking kidding me. Just go away, I've worked here longer than you.
6) Yes sir.
7) Sure will.

If you've thought about, or actually said, any of the top five, you're just like me, just like this girl, and just like a lot of people. It makes you feel like an idiot. Like you're forgetful and untrustworthy.

But, in reality, the manager doesn't know everything. Maybe yesterday another server forgot to make sweet tea and sweet-tea fiends jonesing for their fix boycotted and picketed the entrance causing the restaurant to lose hundreds of dollars. He just wants to make sure that doesn't happen ever again. But we get so offended.

On the other hand, some people are a bit too controlling, in the sense that they love to double-check every-one every-second of the day because they haven't learned to trust people. They're too much upstairs and not enough in the living room sharing the love or the television remote.

So, the new waitress is kinda like me, and you, and now that I've picked apart two sentences she said to me, I think I can sympathize and empathize with her more. Even though I'll probably never work with her again.

The English Language Needs a New Word.

I don't know what it will sound like or how to spell it. I just know that again and again I run into the terrible grammatical predicament of he/she. If a writer does not know the sex of a referenced person, they , he/she, he or she, hi, ho hum, ek, ugh, too many options. All look bad.

We need a word that replaces he/she.

Any suggestions? It has to be short and easy on the tongue, because it will be used all the time. I never studied linguistics, though I'd like to, but from what I understand, the point of grammatical rules is to make language sound more elegant. Even though English doesn't sound nearly as elegant as some languages, like Spanish, yet more elegant than Chinese, IMHO.

Hit me. Hit me!

Nitpicky Moviegoer: Vicky and Christina visit Barcelona

Woody Allen tells everyone that the life of an artist is better than your life. Artists are erotic and beautiful. They paint during the day and fuck in the evening. They live in large houses in the most beautiful parts of Europe, even without any apparent source of money.

He wants us to know that we all have doubts about settling down into a stable relationship. The better choice is to live free, take chances with love, even if love grew from a one-night stand with someone you absolutely hated the day before.

People with knowledge of the internet, people that plan ahead, and are successful at business make for a boring relationship. Who needs these new advances in technology. Maria Elena, played by Penelope Cruz, deters Christina, played by Scarlett Johansson, from using a digital camera for her photographs. She gives her a film camera, instead. It's all about the dark room.

You know what? Fuck you Woody Allen. Take your pretentious, doubt-causing, home-wrecking, PG-13, anarchic love home to your wife - who happens to be your sixth spouse, former stepdaughter, and 35 years younger than you.

This movie is your steamy, dreamy life-story. With included fantasies of a third partner, who, may or may not really exist your life. It's not that I'm jealous you can do this. Art. Sex. All Day. It's that you make a movie about it, almost bragging, and if not, at least trying to convince the rest of the world that this lifestyle works; it's what we're missing from our life. Well, it's not. And it doesn't work unless you're super rich.

What pisses me off is the way it ends. Doug, Vicky's husband, walks off the screen toward the audience with Vicky and Christina following a few steps behind. The narrator, who sounds completely out of place through out the whole film, sadly explains that Vicky will be pursuing her life with her husband. The one she cheated on and wanted to leave for the sexy painter, Juan Antonio.

It compels the audience to say "Aw. She shouldn't do that. It's not what she really wants. She wants a fiery love affair with an artist who always seems to need a girlfriend, as charming as he is." The audience thinks, "I have doubts about my relationship. I'm a lot like Vicky. Maybe I should do something daring. There's this really hot guy at work who always looks at me. Hmm."

As for the narrator, he should not exist. He's in the film for two reasons: to make it quirky like Wes Anderson and to explain all the stuff old-man Allen left out. For example, the audience would never guess that Vicky and Christina are best friends unless we are told that. They don't act like best friends. They don't look like best friends. They are completely different from each other and disagree over and over through out the film. They only hang out in the beginning. Sometimes you wonder if they even practiced their lines together. It's stupid.

Woody Allen's characterization of Doug, Vicky's husband, baffles me. Vicky 'loves' him and wants to marry him because he offers a stable future. Most of his traits degrade his stereotype. He has a hard time understanding free-love and the three-way relationship between Christina, Maria Elena, and Juan Antonio. He mainly talks business at the dinner table. He works for 'Global Enterprises.' COME ON. WHAT THE FUCK IS GLOBAL ENTERPRISES. COULD YOU HAVE THOUGHT OF ANYTHING LESS ORIGINAL.

He is also shorter than Vicky, unlike the dashing Juan Antonio. It's very flattering. He is less romantic in bed. He awkwardly initiates sex, while Juan Antonio is so natural.

But Woody Allen fucked up, I assume. I mean, he gave Doug all these negative characteristics and ended the movie on a depressing note about Vicky's future. So, Doug's virtues almost seem like a mistake. He is deemed uncreative and unadventurous, yet he finds a way to leave work and fly to Barcelona early. His idea is to elope in the beautiful city of Barcelona and still have an extravagant wedding in New York City when they return to the States.

Towards the end of the movie, he thinks of creative ideas for their house and for gifts while they browse the street market.

He is in tune with Vicky's feelings about half of the time. He notices Vicky's emotional distress over the phone and in most conversation, but seems oblivious to her sadness after they marry. He hardly questions Vicky's bullet wound.

Vicky is such a bitch, anyway. She bitches about Juan Antonio for the first half of the movie and complains about lost love throughout the second. She's one of those people you want to pull aside by the arm and say "Shut the fuck Up" to.

I feel that Woody Allen just sped through the script. Well, he is one of the most 'productive' filmmakers alive.

--

Positive Notes:

Penelope Cruz does a great job. Just like Volver, she plays a Spanish drama queen perfectly. And it isn't annoying, it's really exciting.

I liked how the love triangle between Christina, Juan Antonio, and Maria Elena progressed and started to believe in it. Maybe a relationship like that is possible. Just not with two men and one girl. That would be weird. And not look as good on film.

To be honest, I'm glad I saw it. It was my first Woody Allen film. It had a more distinct flavor than the majority of Hollywood movies, but I won't call him an auteur.

I just wish that some filmmakers wouldn't make films about their opinions. Mr. Allen, create a story, don't gloat about your lifestyle and try and persuade preteen girls to emulate it. And please, learn to focus your camera.