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.

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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.

Talking to Strangers

To me, there is nothing more awkward than sitting next to someone for a number of hours on, say, a bus, and not, say, saying anything. Knowing that the conversational potential with another speaking machine is right there, inches from you, rubbing against your arm, afraid to make eye contact, bothers me.

If I have the isle seat, I won't dare look towards the window, unless I know the other person is already looking out the window or I know we are passing an eye-catching landmark - something that gives me motivation for the crime. I mean, I don't want the people to think I'm looking at them. They're checking on me with their peripheral vision and wondering, why is this guy staring at me? You know it, you can't look out the window if you don't have a window seat. That's why everyone wants the window seat. That and it makes a decent pillow.

Headphones are the sliced bread of self-conscious people. Put on the music, close your eyes, and forget about your neighbor.

Recently, I've decided to get rid of my fear of talking to strangers, of invading their space or opening mine to them, at least a bit. I can't sit in awkward silence anymore. I can't sit right next to someone and completely ignore them for hours.

Now, I throw a few words toward them, mainly greetings: "How ya doin'?" "Where ya headed?" "You have a cute baby." "Sup."

After the small talk, I feel less awkward when stepping over my neighbor on the way to take a leak in the back of the bus. My neck has increased degrees of freedom. I have a smaller chance of getting left at a rest stop when stuck in line. Sometimes, I get some food out of it. Sometimes, I realize just how nice people are.

I feel the same at the movie theater. Once, out with my roommates, I struck up a conversation with the lady next to me before the movie started.

"Did you see this because of Will Smith."

"Yea-ea, I love Will Smith," she said, sweetly.

"Me too."

Ironing out our informal, short-term relationship as movie-going neighbors increased my comfort zone by a foot or two allowing me to comfortably enjoy the whole movie - if it hadn't sucked, of course.

When she left to get popcorn, still pre-movie, my roommates turned to me. "You're one of those guys? The guy who always talks to person sitting next to them?"

"No, no, no. I just started doing this," I explained. "I feel totally awkward ignoring someone right next to me for a few hours, so I try to say a few things. I'm not like my grandma who will talk for hours."

I didn't mean that. My grandma isn't one of those 'talkers' who will ramble on forever about her life. She's very sweet, usually asking more than telling, all in favor of spreading the love.

The lady returned with a boat of popcorn and lots of napkins. She handed me a napkin and offered popcorn.

"Oh, no thanks."

"You sure?"

Well, I couldn't hurt her feelings, could I?

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On the other hand, certain people are harder to strike up conversations with. Like good-looking girls. I know what you're thinking and it's not because I'm nerdy, you're nerdy, he's nerdy, we're both socially awkward because we spend too much time inside and on the computer, or whatever other stereotype you can summon- er, think of; it's hard because I think that, you know, everyone's looking at this girl. No one has the balls to say anything. And even if I just strike a friendly conversation, I assume that most people assume that I am just talking to the girl because she's good looking. And I think, maybe she thinks the same thing. He just thinks I look good, that's why he's talking to me. I guess I mean that it's only hard to do if you think way too much. Like me. And you.

So, this also happened on the bus. In fact, I don't know how good this girl actually looked, but she was wearing a sweet outfit- one of the outfits that make a person (guy and girl) go Damn! that girl looks good, even before you see them. It just radiates some kind of style. Like anything bought at American Apparel. Anyway, she got on the bus in Greenville, where I got on.

We didn't sit next to each other, the bus was packed and the few people that fit found their way next to a road-weary, bus veteran. Seriously, I only go from Atlanta to Greenville and back on Greyhound; an easy-going two-and-a-half hours. Going anywhere else takes an exponential amount of time. Some people take weekend bus rides across country. Those people have buns of steel.

So, the story could have ended there. Instead, about fifteen minutes from unloading my baggage, hopping on Marta, and finally seeing my girlfriend after a week, the bus suddenly starts making a terrible fwup-fwup-fwup-fwup noise and leans to the left. At first I thought the driver had drifted a little too far to the left and entered the riveted, 'wake-the-hell-up' lane. And then I realized it was a flat. I clutched the seat in front of me and mimiced the driver's looks as he made his way across six lanes to the right shoulder. He then pulled over and almost everyone, all a bit annoyed, exited the bus to get some fresh air.

The girl and I ended up sitting side by side on the guard rail. I knew it would be a while before any help arrived and I had two easy-to-learn card games in my bookbag. All I had to do was ask. Time would pass quicker, it would be fun, and, important to my interests and my future, I would get to study how a person acts and reacts to a new game, what was easy or hard, what she laughed at and what caused her frustration. It would be great. But I didn't ask.

After a while, I started thinking about it more and I had to ask. But I couldn't ask someone to play a game after sitting right next to her for over twenty minutes. She would think I had been planning it the whole time. I was, sort of.

Also, our bus driver let everyone know that a back-up bus would arrive soon.

You know, just to clarify, I probably wouldn't have asked anyone else on the bus to play. Many were much older than me and call me cynical, but I felt like I would have to do more explaining than playing.

Knowing that I had chickened out, I strongly planned to ask her to play if we sat next to each other. I had to do it. Fear would not win. She found a seat a few minutes before I did because she had no bags to place under the bus. When I entered the bus, I looked around at the ten or so seats available. One was next to her. So, I took it.

Before I was even completely adjusted in my seat, she was already pulling out her headphones. Because this had become such an affair in my head, I was actually a bit nervous. What's so hard about asking someone to play a simple card game? Anyway, I acted quickly to catch her before her music started playing.

I reached into my bookbag's front pocket and pulled out Fluxx. "You wanna play a game?" I asked. These are the first words I had spoken to her during the whole trip. It made sense at the time.

"No thanks, I'm fine." I don't even know if she really heard what I asked. It was an automatic response like when a homeless person approaches me on the street. 'No thanks.' I don't always know what they are asking for or offering, but I usually don't want much to do with it.

I shoved the deck back into the front pocket of my bookbag and pulled out my Gameboy DS from the middle area. It had the Simpsons in it, but I didn't have any headphones that worked. I switched it out for Puzzle Quest, a game I could play without sound, and hit buttons until a puzzle opened.

I couldn't concentrate well. I just poked away at gems. The weird rejection from someone I knew nothing about to play a stupid game that would have been a pain to play in the dark- it was evening now- something that means nothing but had been built up in my head just because of the fact that talking to someone you don't know is so-freaking-hard; I'm wondering what she's thinking, lucky her, she has music, am I a weirdo or does she really just not want to play a game? Not with a stranger who could have started a conversation an hour ago, who could have at least started with a greeting, an introduction, not a question to play a game she's never heard of, fifteen minutes from drop-off, on the way to see her boyfriend.

After beating one puzzle, I couldn't play anymore. My head was buzzing too much. I put it away, closed my eyes, and let my head rest against the back of the seat. I couldn't do it for long, though, so I sat up and opened my eyes. My arms felt longer than usual draped into my lap. My hands were holding each other. I looked exactly like the sexual-stalker stereotype used so often in as-weird-as-Hollywood-will-go movie flicks. You know, he sits on the bus, eyes open wider than normal because he's so self-conscious, his arms are folded in his lap. His face is unassuming, giving a false sign of harmlessness. I felt like that guy.

She gets a call from her boyfriend and she exchanges terms of endearments, arrival plans, and I-miss-yous. I had already texted my girlfriend, but I made sure to call her again and exchange my own terms of endearment loudly enough for her to hear; to at least erase the 'scary man' label from the terrible stereotype she probably imagined me as. Now I was just a socially awkward, video game playing, skinny guy that shouldn't have sat next to her. Feels better.

I felt even better a few minutes later when this blog post began forming on my mind.

We arrived in Atlanta, I went one way to Marta and she the other to the Greyhound Kiss-ride.

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So, that's what this post is: a comparing of good and bad reasons to talk to strangers. Should I? Should I not? Should I have been nervous when asking the girl to play the card game? Are other people like me?

I know I'm not supposed to end with a bunch of questions. A weak protagonist makes a bored audience, right? Well, I dunno. This is a sentence.

What every video player needs: A button that rewinds the movie 10 seconds

What'd he just say? I totally missed it because

1) You were talking
2) I was talking
3) An ambulance was passing
4) The actor slurred his words
5) The actor has a thick accent
6) Something really funny happened
7) A mosquito flew by
8) Someone dropped a pen.

Instead of painstakingly dragging the playhead to the correct spot, which becomes harder the longer the video, just click the 'Rewind 10 seconds' button. Honestly, I'm so lazy that sometimes I'll just go on watching the movie or show without going back to see what I missed.

DVD players and their large, usually unorganized remote control, have the ability to skip back pretty easily - if you can find it. This idea is something I really want for all my online video players.

A keyboard shortcut would make it even easier. Moving the mouse ruins the cinematic feel by bringing up the player's interface and sometimes exiting fullscreen viewing. '[' , 'K', '<', could all work as keyboard shortcuts.

So. A few ending questions.

Is it already implemented somewhere? (i.e. did I just make a pointless post?)

How do I make this happen?

A few ideas to improve posting on blogspot.

I don't mean to undermine the ease of use, or the minimalist beauty I like so much about having this blog. This is just a list of problems I've had that would be great if fixed.

1) Importing pictures.

I have a lot of posts with both paragraphs and pictures. When I am writing a new post and I choose to add a picture, it always imports to the top of the blog. I have to copy and paste to where I'd like to place it. It would be easiest if the picture went directly to my cursor's position.

2) The editing box is too small.

When typing up a post, I can only see about two paragraphs at a time, and have to scroll to everything else. The option to resize would be best, but just having a larger box would be great.

3) Previewing the post.

This one bothers me the most. In fact, I rarely use it, because it doesn't help much at all. Usually, a preview button displays your post exactly how it would look if posted. Instead it uses a larger font, a wider column, different line spacing and the words are gray.

4) Odd editing bugs

Sometimes bold and italic go goofy. Like, sometimes I can't turn it off, even though I am. It will reverse 'on' and 'off' and, well, it fixes if you click the 'Save Now' button. Also, sometimes, the flashing cursor will disappear, but that's also fixed when you save your post.

That's all I have, or can think of, right now. Nothing major, I'm just being picky.

Nitpicky Gamer: Dancing With the Stars

In every 'Nitpicky' review, I point out details in a piece of media that the majority of the world doesn't care about - but pisses me off. In this review, I didn't have to be nitpicky at all; this game sucks. I'm sure this never-should-have-been-a video game took the most of a month to make. It's perfect for a Mystery Science Gamer episode, though it would probably last a peak twenty minutes before those robots short circuit.

This game is bluntly underdeveloped. The producer probably asked for a working prototype then immediately put it up for sale in bargain bins everywhere. The game debuted with a $14.99 'Clearance' label. I'm trying to say I feel like I'm beating a dead horse. Is there any point to pointing out problems in a so obviously hacked-together game? Well, it doesn't matter, I'm going to beat the hell out of this horse.

--

I load Dancing With the Stars. Like most games, it begins by displaying each company daring enough to associate their name with it. I press the escape key to skip the credits, wary to see a company I have respect for or a company I've never heard of ruined forever. Instead of immediately taking me to the main menu, I get a pop-up box that asks 'Exit to Main Menu?' Um. Yes, please. Great start.

The main menu is a mix n' match collage of resolutions. The background image, a time lapse of two dancers, looks hi-res, or should I say: normal. But each menu item has an adjacent disco ball that looks like a miss-imported jpeg - completely fuzzy.

Seeing a disco ball in a brand new dancing game makes me wonder. Does anyone dance anymore? Is Disco the most recent form of popular dancing? It makes sense, I guess, since the most current form of dance is vertical dry humping.

Before I begin a new game, I check out the bonus videos. Various dances line the left side of the screen. This is pretty cool - I'm fairly excited to watch and learn about twelve different dances. The background is the same as the main menu. Red, remnants of flowing movement, probably a stock photo, but it works as a good dance background.

I select the first dance and a rigid white box is slapped on to the screen. No... 'box' infers depth. These are just plain white pixels with no visual connection to any other element on the screen. A medium-sized, feathered circle within this square spotlights two dancers. I don't know what to say, the quality speaks for itself.



An awkward narrator explains a tiny bit about each dancing style. I can't really concentrate; I still can't believe they just threw this junk on the screen. Why even use the white box, the video would have even better on the original background. Even taking a few minutes to design a stage for the dancers would have looked ten times better. Also, the video is too small. After thirty seconds, the asynchronous mix of dance, music, and narration abruptly cut off.

--

All right, back to the main menu. I start a new game. I am prompted to create a profile. Under the words 'New Profile' are a few sentences explaining my role in the game.

"You are a professional dancer and you make sure your partner performs well. We wish you best of luck and hope to see you in the final."

So, I'm the professional dancer and I will be training my partner. I'm the one playing the game, don't I need training? In any case, I sincerely appreciate the game developers wishing me 'the best of luck'. It will surely boost me towards the 'final'. (Final episode? Level? or maybe they are going for finale?)

I can choose between four difficulty modes: Easy, Intermediate, Hard, or Ultimate. Some games are too easy. Some are, you know, intermediate. Some games are just hard. Some games, though, are FUCKING ULTIMATE!

I am now choosing my contestant. Myself and everyone standing around is erupting in laughter. These are the worst character designs ever. Keep in mind, this game came out this year. Half of the characters look in-bred with Alvin and the Chipmunks. They all stand the exact same height and have the exact same Body Mass Index.






--

First off: choreography. The instructions contain must-know information like: "As the competition progresses, you will receive new dances to perform and eventually multiple dances."

Got it. In my first routine, I am supposed to create a routine worth 210 points. What the heck does that mean? Where did 210 come from? It's so... arbitrary.

I need to start with an 'opening move.' In the top right of the screen is a list of buttons. Wrong. Do not be confused. These are not buttons. They may highlight when your mouse passes over them and may indent when you click on them, but they are not buttons. They do absolutely nothing. Instead, I need to select a piece of the dance floor's grid.

When I select a piece of the grid, it turns bright red. No, not some bubbly, decent looking gradient, pure, ugly, basic-as-html red. Not only that, it isn't positioned correctly. How hard is it to color within the lines on a computer?

When I click on a square in the dance floor's grid, a menu pops up offering different levels of dance moves: opening, beginner, intermediate, and advanced. But, I can only use an opening move for my opening move. Why even have the other choices? If I hover my mouse over these other options, beginner, intermediate, and advanced, of course there are no moves. In fact it goes through the trouble to list 'NoMoves'. No space between the two words; it's a variable name for a null value. They could have just left the options off the list.

Not only that, but under 'Opening Moves', my two choices are 'Openingmove1' and 'Openingmove2'. How descriptive.

After choosing 'Openingmove1', a circle of blue squares slowly renders onto the dance floor. Slowly. Seriously, how long does it take to set a few pixels to blue? Most games nowadays render high quality, multi-polygonal graphics faster that this game draws a fucking blue square.

I am told that I can choose any moves listed under beginner, intermediate, and advanced, but harder moves may earn less points if my dancer is not skilled enough to perform them. So I choose all beginner moves. This brings me to exactly 210 points. Well, I guess that's where the number came from.

After completely laying out my routine, I take a look at my masterful choreography.


What the fuck did I do?

--

Next, I start training. Wait, what? I choreograph, then I train, then I dance? Shouldn't I train, then choreograph, and then see the results of my choreography? Why split it up?

I was then plastered with this boring, probably default, user interface.



Training consists of three mini-games. Each began with a set of instructional gems.

"From left to right across the top, the shoes are pointing left, up, down, and right."

"You can click on the shoe outlines with your mouse instead of your keyboard, but the speed of the shoes will increase as the game goes on, as well as the number of waves and the shoes in each wave."

The first mini-game models the typical rythm game, like Dance Dance Revolution. Numerous waves of shoes fly up the screen with no regard to the generic genre music playing in the background. I am instructed to hit the arrow key when one of the flying shoes crosses the appropriate 'left, up, down, and right' pointing shoe.

The second quote above explains that I can use my mouse instead of the arrow keys. It also explains that this is a bad idea because the shoes will eventually become too fast for a mouse to keep up. If it's such a bad idea, why is it implemented? (I know, I know, because they wanted to make a game playable with just a mouse. Who has a mouse, but no keyboard? I dunno.)

The game explains that I will be awarded a score of perfect, good, or miss for each shoe. What a selection.

I begin the first mini-game. I'm doing my best to hit the correct arrow keys for the appropriate shoes. But I have no idea how I'm being rated. When I press an arrow key - or click a shoe with my mouse - my only feedback is DING! That's right, one of the first sound files that shipped with the first computers. The ding. It sounds almost identical to the brain-chipping ding heard when I press a key I'm not allowed to press on my computer. You know, I'm at home on the internet, peace and quiet, filling out a suggestion box for some online retailer; I'm hoping to win a $500 gift card. I'm typing as much as you can, but the box only allows 500 characters. How do they tell me I've filled up the space? DING! Or, in most cases, since I was typing pretty quickly, DINGDINGDINGDINGDING.

Anyway, I don't see 'perfect', 'good', or 'miss' anywhere. In most games, the words jump out at me, blasting like fireworks and pixel explosions. Oh, wait, something just caught my eye. In the very center of the screen, away from all the foot action at the top, for a split second after each shoe passes over its silhouette, 'Perfect' in green, 'Good' in pink, or 'Miss' in black, appear; all in the default font TIMES-NEW-FUCKING-ROMAN size 12.

Did I mention that this took thirty seconds to load?



You know what I just realized? Bubble are floating around the screen.

--

Second mini-game. Another fuckin' doozy. In order to improve my contestant's posture, I have to balance books on my head. I need to keep my head in the green part of the rainbow that sprouted from my cranium.



Speaking of dancer, that isn't the celebrity I chose. That's me? the professional dancer. I thought the celebrity contestant was supposed to be practicing balance, not the professional.

In any case, I have to do this for a minute straight. A WHOLE 6O SECONDS. It only takes 5 seconds to figure out the incredible logic programmed into this mini-game. If my mouse is on the left side of the dancer, he or she will lean to the right. If my mouse is on the right side, he or she will lean to the left. So, I just move your mouse back and forth across the screen until the game grants my leave.

--

The third game manages to make something I usually enjoy not fun: a short-term memory test. Four to five shoes are randomly scattered around the center of the screen. One lights up, then another, then one more. I am told to click the shoes in the same order as I they lit up. Let me tell you, memorizing three shoes in a row is fucking tough. On the next level, I had to memorize four. Four. I almost started taking screenshots. In my later Ultimate campaign, on the very last level, I had to memorize six shoes in a row. Ho-Lee Shit.

The average person's short-term memory can hold seven to nine items. This isn't ultimate, it's cheese-balls. It's the Discovery Zone. It's tard school dropout. Forgive me.

--

After completing all three mini-games, I finally get to watch my couple dance. I don't have to do anything, they just follow the dance I choreographed an hour earlier.

Well, great. Judging by the performance, we're going to fail out. Their hands weren't touching, the guy was all in the girl's dress, and I think he put his hand through her stomach. After each move finished, my couple teleported to another part of the stage to begin their next move. Isn't that against the rules? We're going to get voted off first week.

After the Jumpers finished, the judges awarded my hard work: Three 8s baby!

--

Week 2
I now have to choreograph a dance worth 215 points. 5 points more than the previous week. Sigh.

And now I have to complete all three mini-games again, with minor changes to make them tougher. What exactly does tought mean?
Tougher adj. longer and more boring. When Samantha told Tommy he was tougher than Matt, Tommy felt confused.

More bubbles. More waves of shoes. More books on top of my head. I don't understand how adding more books makes my posture better. Sure, it's harder to balance a taller stack of books, but these ten-pound, hardcover textbooks would break a man's neck.

After that, I memorize a longer pattern of footsteps.

My couple then dances through my masterful choreography, I receive more crappy feedback from the judges, and once again, I'm awarded all 8s.

This time, on couple will be voted off. The dialogue is as follows:

"One couple will be voted off this week"
(10 second pause)
"The couple is..."
(Another pause)
Emmit...
(pause)
and Janine.

They have a sound clip with every guy's name and a sound clip with every girl's name preceded by 'and'.

I reluctantly trudge through the weeks until I win.

And now I get to lose. In order to complete my testing (did I mention I was a game tester?), I need to make sure 'getting voted off' works correctly. So, I started up the 'Intermediate' campaign and tried to lose. In retrospect, I should have just gone 'Ultimate'.

--

I got a perfect zero in the 'rythm' mini-game - I started it up, went and took a shit, came back, then waited for the last few waves of shoe imprints to finish their quest to the top of the screen.

I got a 50% on the balancing game. It's the worst I could do. Basically, every second my head is in the 'green' portion of the rainbow, I get plus points. Every second my head is in the red I get no points. I would just let it drop every time, but since it took a second for my head to tilt, I racked up a nice fifty percent.

By the way, it totally sucked because time would stop whenever the books hit the ground, I would have to click my mouse to reset my character to the original position and the click again to start. And time would stop every time. The sixty-second game took two and a half minutes because I was perfectly fucking it up. Seriously, it took willpower to keep myself from playing that game correctly.

I got another perfect zero on the third mini-game, intentionally disremembering all of my fancy dance steps.

I watch my couple take the dance floor. They dance the same every time. I can't tell if they are dancing good or bad.

Finally moment of truth. Get me off this show!

5 - 7 - 5.

What the fuck? I just failed everything the best I could. And I get better than average scores? I have to try again to fail out? I don't know if I can do this.

It took me 4 more weeks to fail out. I was rewarded with a Game Over (Thank God) screen and the credits.

--

I wrote down the names of developers and companies that worked on this game while the credits rolled. I need to know who to avoid. After a bit, I noticed that I had seen credits listed for three different studios that provided music. Why so many places? There weren't that many songs. Wait a second.

The credits were repeating. They just kept on going and I had missed the brief blank space between the end and beginning. Dumbass here had been watching the same credits repeat for five minutes. I knew there was no way over a thousand people collaborated on this crap.

--

I exited the game with five pages of notes on everything that sucked about it. Why even write it up? Because companies shouldn't release this kind of bullshit. How do you get someone to change their ways? You make fun of them, of course.

Nitpicky Gamer: Empire Earth. A Quick Example of How Not to Design a Game

Today I had to test a number of games already part of the GameTap service to make sure they work with [some new drivers]. I only spend about 15 minutes with each game. That's all I needed with Empire Earth to teach a quick lesson on what-the-fuck-not to do in a video game.

First, a trend I've been seeing in many shitty games I've played lately: a sort of super-reinforcement; explaining simple buttons. A very obsessive or very paranoid game designer added little hints to every single button in the game.


I now understand that 'Play Campaign' means 'Play a Campaign.'

Also, not pictured, the 'Single Player' button was cleared up to mean 'Go to Single Player,' 'Play Saved Game' means 'Play a previously saved game or scenario' and 'Exit Game' means 'You probably won't play this game any more, will you?'

I started a Single Player game for testing purposes. I just wanted to get in and get out. It loads and I press the 'escape' key hoping to access a menu. Nothing happens.

That's rule number 2. In any game, the escape key should always- always- bring up some kind of menu; hopefully, the one with save/load and game-settings options.

In this game, like Warcraft, I direct my 'minions' around a large map. The map is pitch black except for where my people have been. I can still look around though, and to do that, I roll my mouse to the edge of the screen. The map will scroll to where the mouse points.

With that explained, you can see why placing really small buttons on the edge of the screen is a stupid idea. In this case, the options button, decorated with a picture of a parchment and quill (you know, recording data, like, you know, saving and loading), is in the top left corner of the screen. It is also the same size as my mouse pointer.



So, here I am, ready to leave. I roll my mouse over to the tiny, options icon. Faster than Superman's middle finger I'm carried to the other side of the map. My screen is pitch black. I roll my mouse back to the opposite side of the screen and, again, I fly past my small group of poorly-rendered herders.

It seems the only way to get to the options button is to turn down both mouse sensitivity and map-scrolling speed. But I have to click on the options button first. I start hitting every button on my keyboard. Surely, there's a shortcut. Yes. F10, you tricky bitch.

Adjust graphics... no. Ah, interface. I click on the interface tab and- what the? I don't understand. How is- the mouse sensitivity and map scrolling speed are at 10%.


It's time to quit playing.

I back track to the main options menu and select 'Exit', you know 'The Button that exits the game, this game you're playing, called Empire Earth, are you sure you want to leave?, please don't, ah fuck it, I know, it's me, not you, call me?'

Before I can leave, this unrelenting muse of poor design grants me another blog-inspiring screenshot. Please, programmers, use your own buttons, and if you don't, just don't use the default Microsoft Windows buttons.




I slowly exit the game.

I Read a Book: Down and Out in the Magic Kingdom by Cory Doctorow

This is the first fiction book I've read since reading the first half of House of Leaves, graphic novels notwithstanding. Keeping up this blog has made me appreciate writing more, and given me more patience to sit down and read. I read the first two chapters of this book at the beginning of the summer, but quit, unable to focus. My roommate, who lent and suggested the book to me, urged me to pick it back up. So, a few mornings ago I started again on chapter two and finished it that night in my pajamas before I went to sleep.

Here's my summary of the summary on the back of the book, the general synopsis I give people who ask what I am reading and the same synopsis my roommate gave me.

The book takes place in the Earth's future. Death has been cured and there is no scarcity of resources or food. The economy is made of Whuffie, a measure of how much people like and respect you. The main characters live and work in Disneyland.

Man has only recently gained immortality, the ability to back up memories and reload them into a clone if death occurs. The last few generations still don't know exactly what life should be like. Society is only one generation into a world with no fear of death.

But that isn't exactly true. Julius, the protagonist, will not to reload into his previous backup after his brain takes permanent damage. He is unable to go online and his doctor says the only solution is to switch to a new clone from his last backup. He has not backed up for a few months and a lot of things have happened. His best friend wants to permanently kill himself, an unheard of act in an immortal world, and Julius wants to keep the memories of their final year together.

Doctorow does not waste time describing the skies and heavens of his future. Instead he gives special attention to the things that make up the world. His description of a modern gun with body signature seeking bullets; the ability to subvocalize - to talk to others without opening your mouth; and the everyday uses of having your brain hardwired as a personal computer - the ability to command, search and communicate with only thoughts and flicks of the eye; each item reinforcing the materialist obsession in Doctorow's world.

Without death and scarcity; with endless amounts of time for creativity, production, and problems solving, the people continue to concentrate on their status in the world. They ping the Whuffie of each person that walks by to decide if the person is worth talking to. Sometimes they will just take something from a person with very little Whuffie, because they know no one will care enough to come after them.

Dan, Julius's best friend, starts with amazing amounts of Whuffie. He decides to kill himself, starts acting recklessly, and loses it all. He doesn't want to commit suicide anymore, because he wants to go out with lots of Whuffie. He wants to make it worth it. Whuffie even drives a person who cares nothing about living forever.

After writing this much of the review, I realized something. Doctorow created a world devoid of God. God and religion are so irrelevant, they aren't mentioned. He is completely left out. Who needs God without fear of death?

There are new gods now. The Creative High. Endless Knowledge. Also, gods of Stuff, gods of Greed. People will continue on with their issues; their inability to live peacefully; their me-first attitude.

A new artistic medium is created and it also challenges the power of God. It is called flash-baking. A person plugs in and sensory information is pumped directly into their brain. In Disneyland, the Hall of Presidents is remade using flash-baking. Each user becomes Abraham Lincoln during his famous speech. Each feels his limbs, sees from his viewpoint, and smells pine tar and smoke from the pipe hanging from his lips. Though self-aware, they are completely taken over by a new experience.

Overall, the book was great. I finished it in a day and was left with new, fresh ideas to consider. Also, I don't know how to end this review.

Good Republican, Bad Republican

Unfortunately, the Republican party is the only option for conservative Americans. When voting time comes around, we bubble in the candidate that fronts the best summary of our beliefs.

Many people will cast votes for corrupt politicians. I can't be afraid to say that. I say corrupt, you say conspiracy. I say overwhelming proof and you ignore me. There's a difference between circulating emails about Obama: the Muslim; the Manchurian candidate, and the documented payments many politicians have received from lobbyists.

Here's the non-question: Would a person with conservative beliefs ever vote for liberal president?

Well, no.

So, they don't really have a choice. They can either withhold their vote, or cast another slick oilman into office. Some, like my mother, will vote for Ron Paul if he decides to run Independent. Good luck with that.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I've never been a Republican or a Democrat. I'm pretty darn liberal and I'm for Obama '08, so I'm labeled the latter. I don't want to be labeled a Democrat, though. Both parties have revolting secrest. Both have changed policies for lobbyists. What more do you need to say? Most people fall between red and blue, anyway. For example, I would never have an abortion and I don't think homosexuality makes much biological sense. Does that make me sort-of purple?

When I was eighteen Bush and Kerry were battling for office, and I said I would never vote until I found a candidate I could trust. No 'lesser of two evils,' no bullshit. Now, I've realized that if everyone were apathetic like I was, we would be in even more trouble. From now on I'll vote in every election, even if I just fill in the bubble for 'None, thanks.'

In any case, I am an optimist. Obama may turn out to be another corrupt politician. If that happens, I'll change my view of him and start waiting for another good-looking candidate. Or I'll leave the country.

When a candidate comes along with so much positive energy, so much of his own optimism and hope, knows his stances so well, how can you ignore him? Anyone can say 'He's bullshitting.' Well, he's not getting paid by big oil. He's not keeping all the money he's raising. He doesn't have any obvious or known alternative motives. Maybe he just wants to be president. He just wants to experience the thrill of the oval office.

It's hard to ignore a wave of proof against a candidate. If shocking, documented, terrible proofs about Obama surface, like they have for every other presidential candidate I've ever seen, I'll like him just as little. I'll probably start crying, too.

Until then, truth and hope for the win.

Cannibals

Courtesy of Connor Henderson, 12 (My little bro)

Craving a Completely New Experience

Sometimes. Usually when I'm lonely or down or have too much on my mind. Too many of the wrong ideas, thinking about the wrong things over and over. Unable to choose what I want to think about and only able to repeat to myself things that bring me lower; I'm driving home at night, or lying in my bed or my parents couch when I'm on vacation. I'm thinking. That I just want to see what another life would be like. Not permanently.

I've lived my life, the same life, a common life to me and most of America - middle class, white male - and I'm not saying that if I was a different sex or race I wouldn't feel the same - I don't know. I want to move to a poorer neighborhood and live for a month with completely different friends, family, and food. Completely new living conditions. Live in a house dirtier than I'm used to, forgetting my obsessive cleanliness, though admittedly, I'm not nearly as clean as some people.

Or I want to drive off to another city and stay with a friend for a month at a time. Get a new job, one that doesn't mean anything for my future, but teaches me about people. Experience a side of town, a side of the country, continent, and world that I haven't been in.

It's a feeling that most people feel when they leave the country. I went to Italy for six weeks a few summers ago, but I didn't feel anything new. I just felt like I was in another America with people that spoke a little different. Every person I met knew English anyway. The only time I felt uncomfortable and even a little scared on the whole trip was the layover in Toronto. I didn't want to talk to anyone, I didn't know anyone, and it was all weird.

I imagine that Italy and the rest of Europe I toured, not as much as I will eventually, would have been just as shocking if I hadn't been with other people from my school. If I wasn't waking up for scheduled classes taught by the same teachers from home. If I didn't run into students from nearby colleges on every train I got on. The world is way too small, in Europe, during the summer, at least.

I visited a number of locations I had seen a hundred times in photos. I'm sure I've written reports and essays on half of them through grade school. Sometimes new places are not new at all.

But, if I hadn't stayed in a five start hotel with all of my classmates, it would have been different. If I rented an apartment from an Italian landlord, met and drank with new people, spent time alone in small nooks of these global hot spots, maybe I would have felt that wonderful shock, that deep dread in my stomach I felt at the airport in Canada.

What would it be like to enter a new lifestyle, instead of touring it?

Even if I moved to a city not a few hours away, something that offers only a slightly different experience, but with completely new people, I could be moved. Do I really want to, though? All through my college career, I hear people talk about how they can not wait to leave Atlanta. They can't wait to get to a new city, one that doesn't remind them of late homework, poor examination grades and stress-stress-stress.

But I rarely feel that kind of stress. I do well in school and I like the majority of my teachers. I am in no way sick of Atlanta and I plan to enter graduate school Fall a year from now. I trust my teachers and the path my school offers.

That's why I only feel this way when I go deep within my head. Approached with conflicts I can't begin to know how to resolve, some small, some life changing, sometimes I can't figure it out. I just sit, deep in my chair, my hands, my bed sheets with the lights off, deep into loud music or deep into sad music - the music that only amplifies the way I feel, a welcome and helpless experience.

I feel pressure in my head and under my eyes. If I write any more I may cross over, I may let a tear drop or at least let my face contort. The answer for my problem is far from me, and my obsessiveness brings hopelessness. When I can't figure something out, it drives me insane. There must be a ready answer for everything. Usually, if I don't have the time, brains, or effort to come up with a solution to my problem, to make a permanent choice enabling me to forget the question, I just find a way to delay it. It may be procrastinatory like 'I'll make that decision when the time comes' or just stupidly despairing like 'Whatever happens, happens.'

The stupidly despairing solution is ironically similar to optimism, which I undoubtedly follow most hours of the day.

Sometimes I just want to lie down on a rug that I've never felt. Feel the fibers against my face and in my hands. I'm the kind of person that touches anything that I'm curious about. Not gross like stroking ant larvae, but feeling every wall and surface in every new hotel I walk into.

Honestly, I don't know how long I'd last in another culture. If I prearranged a way to keep myself there, I'm sure I'd make it, but I wonder if, as soon as I'm a step out of the darker gray parts of my mind, I would just opt-out and return to a more practical lifestyle. My life that is learning and going places, keeping myself and my mind busy. I probably wouldn't like my choice to completely change my life and my surroundings. But sometimes, I get so bored.

Boredom is healthy and unhealthy. It gets you to try new things, do things differently, and keep the world fresh. But it can drive you away from things you love and are meant to love. You know you wouldn't be happy for long with a new girlfriend, but sometimes you think about it. Sometimes, it bothers you.

A guy doesn't want to do any harm, he just doesn't know what to do. Every now and then, this guy gets the urge to change everything about his life. But, obviously, he's too scared, or smart, to change some things. I only hope the people around me can cope with, forgive, or understand me. Everyone is given different gifts from birth, or different genetic subtleties that boost a performance in different areas, and... I just think too much sometimes.