The Connotator was my initial choice for the title of my sentence-analyzing blog, not one that was too thought out. In my head, the blog 'destroys' sentences; it breaks them into little pieces so that I cananalyze each element. Well, I guess that is a lot of what I do in the blog. But, it's too campy, too easy.
How to make something sound bad ass and dangerous: Combine the word with The Terminator. The Babynater destroys babies. The Rebublicanater destroys Republicans. Facenater destroys faces.
Wow, Facenater is actually a word. How do I know? No red-dotted lines from Firefox me that I misspelled it. Firefox knows what a facenater is. They define it.
Anyway, -nater is like -meister. Add the -meister suffix to anyone's name to make them sound really, really cool. Ted-meister. It's the Chris-meister! Look out for the Connor-meister...
As much as I love destroying sentences and I will continue to do so, The Connotator is out. Great Connotations is in, for now at least.
The title great Connotations reminds me of the importance of connotation - of how a little means a lot - which is the main focus of these posts. It refers to, or 'is a pun of,' Great Expectations, Charles Dickens Christmas classic also known as the bane of highschoolers that thought taking AP Literature was smart. Obviously that book and this blog are on opposite ends of the spectrum. I'm going for the irony.
In other, similar news, I rethought my labels. Now, they make sense. I had been using them like tags: filling them up with as much as many keywords as I could.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Monday, July 28, 2008
Nitpicky Reviewer: Prince of Persia: The Two Thrones
In every Nitpicky Reviewer post, I will discuss the things in movies and games that no one else cares about. The little choices filmmakers and game developers make, or forget to make, makes me crazy.
Before I start, I liked the game. It was fun and I was excited to pick it up every morning at work. How do I make a Nitpicky Reviewer post about a game I liked? I'll just have to focus on everything that sucked and channel the energy into sarcastic rage until I hate the game. Here we go.
Immediately upon starting the game, in the tutorial, I am hit with the garlicy punch of confusion.
I ran towards a boarded doorway with only crawling space available to pass under it. In bold white text I am told to press the space bar to roll under. Sweet, it works. Next, I am told to press the space bar to jump up on top of a crate (yes, even Persia is home to a few). That also works. Then I am told to move the right analog stick to look around. What the fuck? Right analog stick? This isn't a Playstation. It was a port, though.
I spent the next twenty minutes setting up a computer 'gamepad.' It's really not a 'pad' but a 'regular controller' modeled exactly like a Playstation controller - except it uses the numbers 1-9 instead of, Square, Triangle, L, R, etc. Even though the game was ported from consoles with inherently similar button schemes, no default button setup existed for my perfectly replicated gamepad. So I looked up the control sceme used on a real controller and mapped it to mine.
Do you know how hard it was to move downwards through the menus? As you can imagine, there were plenty of buttons I had to assign: buttons 1-9 and three analog sticks. At the top and bottom of the list of buttons sat a small arrow. Neither clicking and holding one of these arrows nor holding the down arrow on my keyboard moved me any farther down the list. I could click the arrow once to move it down a single row, but it only detected about one click per second. As many people know, rapid clicking ensues when a list is ready to be moved. I was clicking away and it was hardly moving. It's very frustrating to not recieve feedback when clicking.
I finished mapping the buttons and I am good to go. I love the way this game keeps you constantly occupied. You rarely walk more than 5 seconds without approaching a new puzzle. These aren't the puzzles that frustrate the player. They rub your back and make you feel good like a prostitute does - the way all games should be according to Shigesato Itoi. I've been wanting to quote that for a while.
As I was saying, the player is constantly rewarded. Though this is my first Prince of Persia game, I am pretty certain this is signature to the series. Quick puzzles, quick fights, and if you save your 'sands of time,' you can quickly correct a misstep.
This is genius game design. People hate repeating levels again and again. So, introduce these sands of time that allow a player to rewind time up to about 6 or 7 seconds, and they can retry that part of the puzzle. Only the people that play Contra, the ones that enjoy punching glass shards with their face, like repeatedly starting stages from the very beginning. I'll say it a hundred times proud as the casual gamer I am: Fuck That Shit. Thank you, Prince of Persia. You have saved me hundreds of dollars in healthcare.
The sands of time were especially important to the story of the game. Those powerful, essential grains of time saved me from tearing my ears off every time I heard the story. Each piece of dialogue was stuffed fuller of cliches than clothes in a college student's laundry basket. Be it the angry protagonist bitching about the world, his verbal inhabiting demon bitching about him being such a bitch, or his bitching bitch side-kick that he loves except she doesn't know who he is because he turned time backwards. Sucks to be you.
During boss fights, the parts I did have to repeat a number of times, I had to watch 30 second, unskippable cut scenes. Wait. Some of those cutscenes were skippable. Please, developers, be consistant. Make them all skippable.
Luckily, the game solves its own problem of bad storytelling. If you screw up a jump, usually resulting in a fall to your death, while the story is being told and you then rewind time... the words are cut off! You don't have to hear any of it.
"Notice how the well has no water, Prince? Do you know why it has no water? I'll tell you. It's because (oops, a little early. rewind)"
Wait. Because what? Why? Why is there no water? Ahhh Nooooooo! I want to know! I'm sorry I made fun of you. I promise. I'll get over the kitschy dialogue, I love the game. It's a ton of fun. Please, forgive me, just tell me why there's no water. I want to know, I really do. AHHH!
You would think that the dialogue would rewind as well. No, no you wouldn't, who are we kidding. That's a level of polish reserved for only the classiest games.
And before you ask, no, I'm not going to let myself die so I can listen to it again. That would take too much time.
Another huge problem occurs because, like most games, the storytelling happens between scenes. You finish a few puzzles, get to the other side of the burning village, and Voila! story time. But, you know what also happens between sections of gameplay? Saving. The player can only save at water fountains - err... fountains of water - so every time I see one I immediately run over to it and save the game. Every single time the stroy telling is cut off. Saving cuts off the storytelling. Sigh.
When I access the in-game menu - which allows me to adjust the graphics, audio, controls and, of course, to save - the female narrator says one of a few things including:
"Would you like to continue the story here?" or "This is an excellent place to resume your story."
Alright, we got it. It's a story. Are you postmodern or are you reassuring me that everything will be OK because... I forgot to mention, this narrator dies about an hour into the game. She both appears in and narrates the first bit of the story, she speaks every time the menu is accessed, and then she is murdered. And then she starts narrating again. That was a nice twist and a perfect opportunity to completely shock the player by permanently removing this female and her voice from the story. Instead, we are at first confused that she narrates the menu to us right after dying and secondly given the expectation that she will show up again later.
Since she's still narrating, she must be important, right? Yet by the time I'm battling the final boss, which is one of the coolest fights ever, she still hasn't shown up. Not until the very end of the game, after the what-I-just-thought-was-the-final boss, after the last level that was so awesome and out of this world that I will say it rivals the final levels of Half-Life 1, she shows up for a few seconds in the final cutscene as a laughing, smiling, I-knew-you-could-do-it, sexy sand phantasm. Except sand isn't that sexy. Even if it's curvy.
According to one of the final cutscenes, the villagers rose up against their demonic slavers. They were outnumbered, out-equipped - pitchforks and broken doors as shields versus daggers, swords, rapiers and supernatural muscle, and, also, out of this fucking world. These skinny, sun-beaten, farm hands that had been enslaved for days somehow had enough strength to defeat an army of unholy sand minions. Whatever. They don't call it 'suspending your disbelief' for giggles.
By the way, I love green-ery. The last few levels of Prince of Persia made it worth the 10 bucks an hours I was paid to play it. The overused glow filter on castle shrubbery, crumbled castles, streams of water, and the prince's glistening golden leftarm brought peace to my mind. It reminds me that I need to pick Farcry back up, because I love the jungle scenery.
Another element that I liked, that I think all games with cities or other large conquerable spaces should possess, are high points where you can view it all. Usually these special places are found before and after a large map so that you can see your destiny and then see how you've left your mark.
In the beginning, I think to myself, 'This place looks awesome, though I think it'll be hell beating to death every devil spawn that I see. But, you know, I'll enjoy every damn minute of it.' At the end of the stage, after scaling a half-destroyed tower, I gaze at the burning city through a hole made by a cannon and think, 'I just aced this part of the game. I just completed every bit of this city. Damn, it looks so big from up here!'
It's pure gaming joy.
Things I won't get into detail about: The voice acting. Why won't I go in to detail? Because every game I've played after Bioshock seems to have shitty voice acting - even if it isn't that bad. That game made a new bar.
I love the doors in the game. Every single time I saw a door I tried to walk though it and slammed right into it. The prince doesn't use doors! They're all locked anyway. Call me a slow learner, sure, but I kept thinking I could one would open for me, like every other game. That's not how Le Prince de parkour gets around town, though. In every other world, gaming or irl, doors afford transition from one place to the next, yet here, they just hit you in the face.
What can I say? I liked the game. I wanted to play it - unlike the upcoming Dancing with the Stars - which I didn't know was a video game already - that I will be playing this week. Well, who knows, that game may rock.
Also, this game rarely left me confused. At some points I may have felt the game was too easy, but, for me at least, there's a fine line between too easy and really annoying. I'll take the former.
This is a game I would recommend to my dad who recently retired from more hardcore games like Unreal Tournament. He's now living off of puzzle games like Inca Ball and Blockbuster. Even though Prince of Persia involves combat, the majority of gameplay consists of ultra-satisfying puzzles.
Most of the combat is even set up like a puzzle. The player tries to figure out how to position him or herself behind an enemy in order to initiate a 'quick kill'. Instead of entering regular combat, the angle changes and the prince starts his attack. The player must press the attack button when the prince's dagger flashes bright white. Some enemies require only one correct hit and some up to five. If the player does so successfully, the prince slays the enemy without a fight. Also, the player is rewarded with the killing stroke performed in slow motion that probably looked amazing when the game first came out.
Play it, ignore the storyline, don't worry, be happy.
Before I start, I liked the game. It was fun and I was excited to pick it up every morning at work. How do I make a Nitpicky Reviewer post about a game I liked? I'll just have to focus on everything that sucked and channel the energy into sarcastic rage until I hate the game. Here we go.
Immediately upon starting the game, in the tutorial, I am hit with the garlicy punch of confusion.
I ran towards a boarded doorway with only crawling space available to pass under it. In bold white text I am told to press the space bar to roll under. Sweet, it works. Next, I am told to press the space bar to jump up on top of a crate (yes, even Persia is home to a few). That also works. Then I am told to move the right analog stick to look around. What the fuck? Right analog stick? This isn't a Playstation. It was a port, though.
I spent the next twenty minutes setting up a computer 'gamepad.' It's really not a 'pad' but a 'regular controller' modeled exactly like a Playstation controller - except it uses the numbers 1-9 instead of, Square, Triangle, L, R, etc. Even though the game was ported from consoles with inherently similar button schemes, no default button setup existed for my perfectly replicated gamepad. So I looked up the control sceme used on a real controller and mapped it to mine.
Do you know how hard it was to move downwards through the menus? As you can imagine, there were plenty of buttons I had to assign: buttons 1-9 and three analog sticks. At the top and bottom of the list of buttons sat a small arrow. Neither clicking and holding one of these arrows nor holding the down arrow on my keyboard moved me any farther down the list. I could click the arrow once to move it down a single row, but it only detected about one click per second. As many people know, rapid clicking ensues when a list is ready to be moved. I was clicking away and it was hardly moving. It's very frustrating to not recieve feedback when clicking.
I finished mapping the buttons and I am good to go. I love the way this game keeps you constantly occupied. You rarely walk more than 5 seconds without approaching a new puzzle. These aren't the puzzles that frustrate the player. They rub your back and make you feel good like a prostitute does - the way all games should be according to Shigesato Itoi. I've been wanting to quote that for a while.
As I was saying, the player is constantly rewarded. Though this is my first Prince of Persia game, I am pretty certain this is signature to the series. Quick puzzles, quick fights, and if you save your 'sands of time,' you can quickly correct a misstep.
This is genius game design. People hate repeating levels again and again. So, introduce these sands of time that allow a player to rewind time up to about 6 or 7 seconds, and they can retry that part of the puzzle. Only the people that play Contra, the ones that enjoy punching glass shards with their face, like repeatedly starting stages from the very beginning. I'll say it a hundred times proud as the casual gamer I am: Fuck That Shit. Thank you, Prince of Persia. You have saved me hundreds of dollars in healthcare.
The sands of time were especially important to the story of the game. Those powerful, essential grains of time saved me from tearing my ears off every time I heard the story. Each piece of dialogue was stuffed fuller of cliches than clothes in a college student's laundry basket. Be it the angry protagonist bitching about the world, his verbal inhabiting demon bitching about him being such a bitch, or his bitching bitch side-kick that he loves except she doesn't know who he is because he turned time backwards. Sucks to be you.
During boss fights, the parts I did have to repeat a number of times, I had to watch 30 second, unskippable cut scenes. Wait. Some of those cutscenes were skippable. Please, developers, be consistant. Make them all skippable.
Luckily, the game solves its own problem of bad storytelling. If you screw up a jump, usually resulting in a fall to your death, while the story is being told and you then rewind time... the words are cut off! You don't have to hear any of it.
"Notice how the well has no water, Prince? Do you know why it has no water? I'll tell you. It's because (oops, a little early. rewind)"
Wait. Because what? Why? Why is there no water? Ahhh Nooooooo! I want to know! I'm sorry I made fun of you. I promise. I'll get over the kitschy dialogue, I love the game. It's a ton of fun. Please, forgive me, just tell me why there's no water. I want to know, I really do. AHHH!
You would think that the dialogue would rewind as well. No, no you wouldn't, who are we kidding. That's a level of polish reserved for only the classiest games.
And before you ask, no, I'm not going to let myself die so I can listen to it again. That would take too much time.
Another huge problem occurs because, like most games, the storytelling happens between scenes. You finish a few puzzles, get to the other side of the burning village, and Voila! story time. But, you know what also happens between sections of gameplay? Saving. The player can only save at water fountains - err... fountains of water - so every time I see one I immediately run over to it and save the game. Every single time the stroy telling is cut off. Saving cuts off the storytelling. Sigh.
When I access the in-game menu - which allows me to adjust the graphics, audio, controls and, of course, to save - the female narrator says one of a few things including:
"Would you like to continue the story here?" or "This is an excellent place to resume your story."
Alright, we got it. It's a story. Are you postmodern or are you reassuring me that everything will be OK because... I forgot to mention, this narrator dies about an hour into the game. She both appears in and narrates the first bit of the story, she speaks every time the menu is accessed, and then she is murdered. And then she starts narrating again. That was a nice twist and a perfect opportunity to completely shock the player by permanently removing this female and her voice from the story. Instead, we are at first confused that she narrates the menu to us right after dying and secondly given the expectation that she will show up again later.
Since she's still narrating, she must be important, right? Yet by the time I'm battling the final boss, which is one of the coolest fights ever, she still hasn't shown up. Not until the very end of the game, after the what-I-just-thought-was-the-final boss, after the last level that was so awesome and out of this world that I will say it rivals the final levels of Half-Life 1, she shows up for a few seconds in the final cutscene as a laughing, smiling, I-knew-you-could-do-it, sexy sand phantasm. Except sand isn't that sexy. Even if it's curvy.
According to one of the final cutscenes, the villagers rose up against their demonic slavers. They were outnumbered, out-equipped - pitchforks and broken doors as shields versus daggers, swords, rapiers and supernatural muscle, and, also, out of this fucking world. These skinny, sun-beaten, farm hands that had been enslaved for days somehow had enough strength to defeat an army of unholy sand minions. Whatever. They don't call it 'suspending your disbelief' for giggles.
By the way, I love green-ery. The last few levels of Prince of Persia made it worth the 10 bucks an hours I was paid to play it. The overused glow filter on castle shrubbery, crumbled castles, streams of water, and the prince's glistening golden leftarm brought peace to my mind. It reminds me that I need to pick Farcry back up, because I love the jungle scenery.
Another element that I liked, that I think all games with cities or other large conquerable spaces should possess, are high points where you can view it all. Usually these special places are found before and after a large map so that you can see your destiny and then see how you've left your mark.
In the beginning, I think to myself, 'This place looks awesome, though I think it'll be hell beating to death every devil spawn that I see. But, you know, I'll enjoy every damn minute of it.' At the end of the stage, after scaling a half-destroyed tower, I gaze at the burning city through a hole made by a cannon and think, 'I just aced this part of the game. I just completed every bit of this city. Damn, it looks so big from up here!'
It's pure gaming joy.
Things I won't get into detail about: The voice acting. Why won't I go in to detail? Because every game I've played after Bioshock seems to have shitty voice acting - even if it isn't that bad. That game made a new bar.
I love the doors in the game. Every single time I saw a door I tried to walk though it and slammed right into it. The prince doesn't use doors! They're all locked anyway. Call me a slow learner, sure, but I kept thinking I could one would open for me, like every other game. That's not how Le Prince de parkour gets around town, though. In every other world, gaming or irl, doors afford transition from one place to the next, yet here, they just hit you in the face.
What can I say? I liked the game. I wanted to play it - unlike the upcoming Dancing with the Stars - which I didn't know was a video game already - that I will be playing this week. Well, who knows, that game may rock.
Also, this game rarely left me confused. At some points I may have felt the game was too easy, but, for me at least, there's a fine line between too easy and really annoying. I'll take the former.
This is a game I would recommend to my dad who recently retired from more hardcore games like Unreal Tournament. He's now living off of puzzle games like Inca Ball and Blockbuster. Even though Prince of Persia involves combat, the majority of gameplay consists of ultra-satisfying puzzles.
Most of the combat is even set up like a puzzle. The player tries to figure out how to position him or herself behind an enemy in order to initiate a 'quick kill'. Instead of entering regular combat, the angle changes and the prince starts his attack. The player must press the attack button when the prince's dagger flashes bright white. Some enemies require only one correct hit and some up to five. If the player does so successfully, the prince slays the enemy without a fight. Also, the player is rewarded with the killing stroke performed in slow motion that probably looked amazing when the game first came out.
Play it, ignore the storyline, don't worry, be happy.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Connotator ep. 4: Old Friends on the Phone
After talking on the phone for five minutes, ten if you were lucky, your humble, respectful, conversation enthusiast reluctantly tells you:
"You sound pretty busy over there, so I'll let you go."
"I don't want to hold you up any longer, I'll give you a call soon, maybe this week."
"Alright man, awesome talking to you, really great to hear from you, but I know your plate is full right now, you're such a hard worker, really, so I'll talk to you later."
Come on gents, say it like you mean it.
"I'm busy, I gotta go."
"I don't want you to hold me up."
"Alright, look, this is boring, we're not as good of friends as we used to be, I don't know shit about what your schedule is, so how about we talk again on some unplanned occasion, really let's not plan anything, especially in less than a week because I'll just fucking kill myself. I hate you get out of my life."
Ever run into a friend, so you think, that you haven't seen in a while? You want to plan a time to hang out and they tell you one of my personal favorite white lies, truly classic BS:
"I lost your number."
"I got a new phone and misplaced your number."
Unless a phone dies and thus loses all of its numbers, it is impossible to lose a number.
This really means, I got a new phone and went through the list of numbers to see who I actually had a chance of having a lasting friendship. I've only talked to you a few times so I didn't transfer your number over. I have no idea how I got in this position, with you asking me to hang out again, I really didn't think we were ever going to talk again, really, why are we talking? Fuck it, sorry man, I just lost your number.
Its even more apparent when a person did not get a new phone and you saw them put the number in. The person scrubbed your number doing some house cleaning.
You can't be too mad that your friendship never went anywhere. You didn't hang out for weeks because you probably kept turning down opportunities to hang out. In respect to your fragile feelings of emptiness and sensitivity, this thoughtful almost-friend used a harmless euphemism.
They don't want to bring you down, so they tell you it was an accident. If you can suspend your disbelief and get over it, you still have a chance of becoming good friends.
The following line has a few meanings, I'll cover the two that occur the most. They also happen to be the cynical, depressing translations.
"We should hang out some time."
"We should go out to dinner some time."
1) "I want to keep as many friends as I can, even if they're attached by fantastical strings. You and I used to hang out a few years ago, but I have a completely new set of friends, I'm getting married, I graduated and you still have a few more semesters, I have a well paying job and you're still a waiter.
We're completely different people now. I've moved up in life and you've been completely static. Why were we ever friends? Maybe we weren't friends. I can't remember now. We should discuss it over lunch, one day, some time, in the distant future. Of course I'll pay.
Honestly, though, we're probably never going to hang out. I'm way too busy with my new life, my wife, my kids. But, every time I see you I'm going to mention it.
'Hey, we should do dinner sometime,' because we're still friends even though we're not. Please don't de-friend me on Facebook. Or Myspace. Thanks. Talk to you later.
2) The person really does want to hang out. They look you in the eyes when they tell you to see how you react. They know you have been turning down a lot of recent opportunities to hang out and they want to see what you'll say this time. This is the least restrictive offer they could possibly give you. Let's go out to dinner. Some time.
Any time. I eat dinner every day. If you do as well, maybe we should eat it together. Really, any time you want, but hopefully soon. If you don't want to sit down for 30 to 45 minutes, I know you aren't my friend and I'll stop bothering you.
The last one was for you dear reader(s?). The best response is, of course, "Of course! We should definitely go to dinner this week." If you really want to see this person, maybe you really have been busy and you do miss your friend, then you plan a time. "Let's eat tonight," you say.
If you don't really want to, you'll probably start listing everything you're doing between 5 and 11pm or even from noon to midnight if the friend starts asking about lunch and late night snacks.
"Let's get some dinner tomorrow. Oh shit, I have a test early the next morning. But I should be free for lunch. Oh, duh, I have classes all Thursday. That night, I'm working, you can come by if you want to Haha. Uh. Friday should be good. What about you? Oh, that's too bad. Friday would have been perfect for me. Saturday and Sunday I'm usually free, but I'm going home to visit my family. Its been a while. Monday... I have a paper, no that's Tuesday, I'll be writing it all Monday. I'll probably have to stay up all night. That's gonna suck. Man, I forgot about that. How about this. You just give me a call sometime next week after Tuesday and we'll figure something out. Awesome, talk to you later. Good seeing you."
For me, will everyone that reads this call up a friend and hang out with them? It'd be nice.
See you sometime!
"You sound pretty busy over there, so I'll let you go."
"I don't want to hold you up any longer, I'll give you a call soon, maybe this week."
"Alright man, awesome talking to you, really great to hear from you, but I know your plate is full right now, you're such a hard worker, really, so I'll talk to you later."
Come on gents, say it like you mean it.
"I'm busy, I gotta go."
"I don't want you to hold me up."
"Alright, look, this is boring, we're not as good of friends as we used to be, I don't know shit about what your schedule is, so how about we talk again on some unplanned occasion, really let's not plan anything, especially in less than a week because I'll just fucking kill myself. I hate you get out of my life."
Ever run into a friend, so you think, that you haven't seen in a while? You want to plan a time to hang out and they tell you one of my personal favorite white lies, truly classic BS:
"I lost your number."
"I got a new phone and misplaced your number."
Unless a phone dies and thus loses all of its numbers, it is impossible to lose a number.
This really means, I got a new phone and went through the list of numbers to see who I actually had a chance of having a lasting friendship. I've only talked to you a few times so I didn't transfer your number over. I have no idea how I got in this position, with you asking me to hang out again, I really didn't think we were ever going to talk again, really, why are we talking? Fuck it, sorry man, I just lost your number.
Its even more apparent when a person did not get a new phone and you saw them put the number in. The person scrubbed your number doing some house cleaning.
You can't be too mad that your friendship never went anywhere. You didn't hang out for weeks because you probably kept turning down opportunities to hang out. In respect to your fragile feelings of emptiness and sensitivity, this thoughtful almost-friend used a harmless euphemism.
They don't want to bring you down, so they tell you it was an accident. If you can suspend your disbelief and get over it, you still have a chance of becoming good friends.
The following line has a few meanings, I'll cover the two that occur the most. They also happen to be the cynical, depressing translations.
"We should hang out some time."
"We should go out to dinner some time."
1) "I want to keep as many friends as I can, even if they're attached by fantastical strings. You and I used to hang out a few years ago, but I have a completely new set of friends, I'm getting married, I graduated and you still have a few more semesters, I have a well paying job and you're still a waiter.
We're completely different people now. I've moved up in life and you've been completely static. Why were we ever friends? Maybe we weren't friends. I can't remember now. We should discuss it over lunch, one day, some time, in the distant future. Of course I'll pay.
Honestly, though, we're probably never going to hang out. I'm way too busy with my new life, my wife, my kids. But, every time I see you I'm going to mention it.
'Hey, we should do dinner sometime,' because we're still friends even though we're not. Please don't de-friend me on Facebook. Or Myspace. Thanks. Talk to you later.
2) The person really does want to hang out. They look you in the eyes when they tell you to see how you react. They know you have been turning down a lot of recent opportunities to hang out and they want to see what you'll say this time. This is the least restrictive offer they could possibly give you. Let's go out to dinner. Some time.
Any time. I eat dinner every day. If you do as well, maybe we should eat it together. Really, any time you want, but hopefully soon. If you don't want to sit down for 30 to 45 minutes, I know you aren't my friend and I'll stop bothering you.
The last one was for you dear reader(s?). The best response is, of course, "Of course! We should definitely go to dinner this week." If you really want to see this person, maybe you really have been busy and you do miss your friend, then you plan a time. "Let's eat tonight," you say.
If you don't really want to, you'll probably start listing everything you're doing between 5 and 11pm or even from noon to midnight if the friend starts asking about lunch and late night snacks.
"Let's get some dinner tomorrow. Oh shit, I have a test early the next morning. But I should be free for lunch. Oh, duh, I have classes all Thursday. That night, I'm working, you can come by if you want to Haha. Uh. Friday should be good. What about you? Oh, that's too bad. Friday would have been perfect for me. Saturday and Sunday I'm usually free, but I'm going home to visit my family. Its been a while. Monday... I have a paper, no that's Tuesday, I'll be writing it all Monday. I'll probably have to stay up all night. That's gonna suck. Man, I forgot about that. How about this. You just give me a call sometime next week after Tuesday and we'll figure something out. Awesome, talk to you later. Good seeing you."
For me, will everyone that reads this call up a friend and hang out with them? It'd be nice.
See you sometime!
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Connotator ep. 3: Dialogue Between a Waiter and a Tipsy Girl
There are an infinite number of ways to say the same thing. The little choices people make in everyday language can tell you a lot about who they are, what they are trying to say and which ways they are trying to persuade you. Jokes and sarcasm can reveal favorable and unfavorable personality traits.
In these 'episodic' posts, I will humorously discuss pieces of dialogue I have recently heard, read or remembered and the nuances in each that give meaning behind the words.
I had an English Professor that could tell if a student enjoyed writing after reading an essay they turned in. I asked her if she thought I enjoyed writing, and she didn't give me a solid answer. I always thought I enjoyed writing, but it was always a hassle and I either rushed through papers or tried to make them sound too smart. If only I could have written those papers as freely as I write these posts.
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Episode 3: Conversation between a waiter and a tipsy, flirty customer.
(Waiter to female customer) "How is everything?"
Lazy, naive waiter. Laziness emanates from the word 'everything.' Instead of asking specific questions like how she liked her ambitious mixed drink, the Blue Mother Fucker, or how her slice of pineapple and pepperoni tasted (nasty, I assume), the waiter just walks by and throws an easy 'How's everything?' onto the table.
This leads to the second problem, one that the very first waiter serving the very first customers had, a problem I've known throughout my six years of taking tables for tips, asking a customer if they like the food.
Everyone assumes that everyone likes the food. But when the special guest speaks otherwise it become disastrously awkward. Suddenly, the waiter has to appease the guest. He's wondering, "Why did I ask? This guy has three fourths of a plate of food covered with napkins. His silverware is sticking solidly upright in his tenderloin."
The waiter chooses to offer either a discount or replacement dish, or can choose a guiltier, more ignorant option and say "I'm sorry you don't like it. Usually everyone loves it. I love it. You know what? Better luck next time." As a note a waiter should never, ever say sorry. Instead of "I'm sorry the food is taking so long," say "We're really busy, thanks for being patient." Greatfulness sounds, and makes the customer feel, much better than asking for pity. My first boss taught me that.
(Female customer to waiter) "Everything's wonderful. What's your name again?"
Wonderful. As much as the waiter believes the customer likes the food, the word 'wonderful' is most likely a product of something else. She may be in an excellent mood, she may have been starving before this meal, she may be just drinking with a large group of friends. I'll pick the latter, because that was what she was doing.
Many customers like to know their waiter's name. It creates a more personal dining experience (you know, some people are in to that) and also makes it easier to call the waiter. At any time, the person at the table with the loudest voice can shout 'Chris! We need you. We can't get the ketchup out of this damned bottle. Oh, you just squeeze these ones. Sorry about that.' The can ask any passing floor staff to 'send Chris over,' as well.
But by using the word 'again' at the end of the sentence implies something else. This one word sums up the common pick-up line 'Don't I know you?' Of course she doesn't know the waiter, but she can possibly lure him into conversation with this added confusion.
An unlearned person may think "Do know her? Maybe I do know her. She does look kind of familiar. Did I forget her? What's her name? I'm so bad with names."
Professional daters may instead say, "WTF is she talking about? Again? I've never seen this girl before. Wait. Maybe she's crazy. FACEBOOK."
"My name's Chris."
No need to repeat the question back to her, Chris. Just say 'Chris.' But that would make the response too concise and it would sound unfriendly.
She responds, "Hi Chris, my name is Emma. Are you new here?"
Hi, Chris. I'd like to get to know you. That's why I'm telling you my name and raising my hand for a hand-shake. I'm being forward because I've had a nice little bit to drink. Usually I'd just keep quiet and continue to talk nonsense with the rest of these girly girls.
She repeats his name to both help herself remember and assure the waiter that she knows him a little more personally now.
Asking if the waiter is a new employee obviously means that she has not noticed him before, but that isn't important. It is important that she chose to ask a question and continue the dialogue. She could have easily ended the conversation by saying "Hi Chris, my name is Emma. Nice to meet you." Without any further unanswered inquiries, the waiter will again reuse her words and say "Nice to meet you, too." That's the end of the conversation, unless the waiter asks his own question.
To summarize: she's hitting on the waiter.
The waiter replies, "You probably haven't seen me because I've been working another job this summer. But I worked here for three years."
Words like 'probably' are unnecessary. Of course she hasn't seen you. We already talked about this. Maybe, like before, the waiter feels that extra words make for nice, less formal conversation.
You can also see that the waiter's pride has been hurt. Her words challenge his status as a veteran employee of this fantastic establishment he doesn't work for any more. He worked this job for three years, though! Everyone should know about his tenure.
The situation is similar to when a new employee starts work. Sometimes, older employees with self-importance issues find ways to let new employees know how long they've been around.
"Wow, it hasn't been this busy since last year's opening football game. We were so slammed. And two guys called in sick. I don't know how we did it."
Or, "I remember when we didn't have steak sandwiches and fettuccine alfredo on the menu. That was like 2 years ago. I don't think you were working here yet."
"Ah," the female customer replies. The waiter's words were too ambiguous. He needs to explain why he's working tonight when he just said he doesn't work here anymore.
He catches on, "I pick up shifts every now-and-then if people need me; plus, extra cash is helpful."
The waiter just revealed that he's broke.
He continues, "I picked up this shift for my girlfriend because she has a test tomorrow."
Ah, the loyalty is beautiful. The only, I repeat, the only time a person mentions his or her spouse (except, maybe, a rare slip, an accident, a slap from a frat boy's hand to a frat boy's forehead, or that stupid, stupid cock-blocking friend) is to ward off potential suitors. The homeowner says no to buyers and investors because he is content or scared because his girlfriend is a waiter and she keeps a heavy eye on him. Just kidding.
This is the weird part of the blog where my life starts intertwining with my businiess-only post. This dialogue is one that I took part in with a customer the other day and, especially in the last paragraph, it's easy to say I'm writing something safe, something that will make my girlfriend happy and my life better. IM WRITING THIS FOR YOU, BABE. Can you hear me? Its funny that I felt the need to write that in caps as if the words literally needed to scream for her to hear them. As if the letters needed all of their voice to be heard.
But, seriously, believe me when I say I'm writing about myself as if I'm another person - consciously unbiased.
End Program.
In these 'episodic' posts, I will humorously discuss pieces of dialogue I have recently heard, read or remembered and the nuances in each that give meaning behind the words.
I had an English Professor that could tell if a student enjoyed writing after reading an essay they turned in. I asked her if she thought I enjoyed writing, and she didn't give me a solid answer. I always thought I enjoyed writing, but it was always a hassle and I either rushed through papers or tried to make them sound too smart. If only I could have written those papers as freely as I write these posts.
-------------
Episode 3: Conversation between a waiter and a tipsy, flirty customer.
(Waiter to female customer) "How is everything?"
Lazy, naive waiter. Laziness emanates from the word 'everything.' Instead of asking specific questions like how she liked her ambitious mixed drink, the Blue Mother Fucker, or how her slice of pineapple and pepperoni tasted (nasty, I assume), the waiter just walks by and throws an easy 'How's everything?' onto the table.
This leads to the second problem, one that the very first waiter serving the very first customers had, a problem I've known throughout my six years of taking tables for tips, asking a customer if they like the food.
Everyone assumes that everyone likes the food. But when the special guest speaks otherwise it become disastrously awkward. Suddenly, the waiter has to appease the guest. He's wondering, "Why did I ask? This guy has three fourths of a plate of food covered with napkins. His silverware is sticking solidly upright in his tenderloin."
The waiter chooses to offer either a discount or replacement dish, or can choose a guiltier, more ignorant option and say "I'm sorry you don't like it. Usually everyone loves it. I love it. You know what? Better luck next time." As a note a waiter should never, ever say sorry. Instead of "I'm sorry the food is taking so long," say "We're really busy, thanks for being patient." Greatfulness sounds, and makes the customer feel, much better than asking for pity. My first boss taught me that.
(Female customer to waiter) "Everything's wonderful. What's your name again?"
Wonderful. As much as the waiter believes the customer likes the food, the word 'wonderful' is most likely a product of something else. She may be in an excellent mood, she may have been starving before this meal, she may be just drinking with a large group of friends. I'll pick the latter, because that was what she was doing.
Many customers like to know their waiter's name. It creates a more personal dining experience (you know, some people are in to that) and also makes it easier to call the waiter. At any time, the person at the table with the loudest voice can shout 'Chris! We need you. We can't get the ketchup out of this damned bottle. Oh, you just squeeze these ones. Sorry about that.' The can ask any passing floor staff to 'send Chris over,' as well.
But by using the word 'again' at the end of the sentence implies something else. This one word sums up the common pick-up line 'Don't I know you?' Of course she doesn't know the waiter, but she can possibly lure him into conversation with this added confusion.
An unlearned person may think "Do know her? Maybe I do know her. She does look kind of familiar. Did I forget her? What's her name? I'm so bad with names."
Professional daters may instead say, "WTF is she talking about? Again? I've never seen this girl before. Wait. Maybe she's crazy. FACEBOOK."
"My name's Chris."
No need to repeat the question back to her, Chris. Just say 'Chris.' But that would make the response too concise and it would sound unfriendly.
She responds, "Hi Chris, my name is Emma. Are you new here?"
Hi, Chris. I'd like to get to know you. That's why I'm telling you my name and raising my hand for a hand-shake. I'm being forward because I've had a nice little bit to drink. Usually I'd just keep quiet and continue to talk nonsense with the rest of these girly girls.
She repeats his name to both help herself remember and assure the waiter that she knows him a little more personally now.
Asking if the waiter is a new employee obviously means that she has not noticed him before, but that isn't important. It is important that she chose to ask a question and continue the dialogue. She could have easily ended the conversation by saying "Hi Chris, my name is Emma. Nice to meet you." Without any further unanswered inquiries, the waiter will again reuse her words and say "Nice to meet you, too." That's the end of the conversation, unless the waiter asks his own question.
To summarize: she's hitting on the waiter.
The waiter replies, "You probably haven't seen me because I've been working another job this summer. But I worked here for three years."
Words like 'probably' are unnecessary. Of course she hasn't seen you. We already talked about this. Maybe, like before, the waiter feels that extra words make for nice, less formal conversation.
You can also see that the waiter's pride has been hurt. Her words challenge his status as a veteran employee of this fantastic establishment he doesn't work for any more. He worked this job for three years, though! Everyone should know about his tenure.
The situation is similar to when a new employee starts work. Sometimes, older employees with self-importance issues find ways to let new employees know how long they've been around.
"Wow, it hasn't been this busy since last year's opening football game. We were so slammed. And two guys called in sick. I don't know how we did it."
Or, "I remember when we didn't have steak sandwiches and fettuccine alfredo on the menu. That was like 2 years ago. I don't think you were working here yet."
"Ah," the female customer replies. The waiter's words were too ambiguous. He needs to explain why he's working tonight when he just said he doesn't work here anymore.
He catches on, "I pick up shifts every now-and-then if people need me; plus, extra cash is helpful."
The waiter just revealed that he's broke.
He continues, "I picked up this shift for my girlfriend because she has a test tomorrow."
Ah, the loyalty is beautiful. The only, I repeat, the only time a person mentions his or her spouse (except, maybe, a rare slip, an accident, a slap from a frat boy's hand to a frat boy's forehead, or that stupid, stupid cock-blocking friend) is to ward off potential suitors. The homeowner says no to buyers and investors because he is content or scared because his girlfriend is a waiter and she keeps a heavy eye on him. Just kidding.
This is the weird part of the blog where my life starts intertwining with my businiess-only post. This dialogue is one that I took part in with a customer the other day and, especially in the last paragraph, it's easy to say I'm writing something safe, something that will make my girlfriend happy and my life better. IM WRITING THIS FOR YOU, BABE. Can you hear me? Its funny that I felt the need to write that in caps as if the words literally needed to scream for her to hear them. As if the letters needed all of their voice to be heard.
But, seriously, believe me when I say I'm writing about myself as if I'm another person - consciously unbiased.
End Program.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Sarcastic School Teachers
I took Greyhound Bus Lines from Atlanta to Greenville on Saturday. The driver gave his obligatory speech after offering a bag of chips an 3/4ths of a soda he found for 75 cents each - if the unknown owner didn't want it. He didn't. Half-way through his 'don't smoke and don't take your shoes off' verbal escapade he caught someone jabbering.
"You want me to stop the bus? I'll stop the bus. I'll kick you off the bus if I have to. It's no problem. Don't talk while I'm talking. Don't talk while I'm talking." The person whom I never saw stopped talking.
After a few minutes of quiet as we were settling into our not-so-long ride to G-Vegas, the bus driver brings it back up.
"Now, why would anyone talk while I'm talking? Does anyone know why you would talk while I'm talking? Anyone? Answer me that. I don't know why. Does anyone have an answer." His parade was laced with sarcasm as he called out the chatter fiend.
The man sitting next to me, who must have been aged between thirty and forty, whispered to me, "Actin' like a school teacher."
"Heh," I agreed.
All throughout the day that line kept my mind bothered. "Just like a school teacher." How true. I started remembering some of my sarcastic, impatient, cranky, less mature teachers littered between Kindergarten and 12th grade. I think about my little brother who is now home-schooled because he doesn't know how to handle the teachers. Well, I'm sure they have a hard time with him as well.
He's just 11 now, a bully with a soft heart, and he can't help snapping back sarcastic remarks at sarcastic teachers. He told one frizzy-haired teacher to 'Brush her hair!' when he got in trouble after another kid tripped him. After being told that class was not "The Connor Show" he thought back, though holding his tongue, "Well, this isn't the Mr. Rice Show, either." You go boy. I think I had Mr. Rice in middle school, too.
I also had a teacher I'll call Mr. Capiche (Not because he was Italian, but because the name sounds close and far enough to make telling this story feel just right.) He was a big n' tall, well built black man and former paratrooper for the military. He taught 7th grade social studies. He won Teacher of the Year a year or two before and he loved telling stories.
He usually only told stories once, but he told us about the Alpha Wolf a few times. Just like the alpha wolf proudly walks through his pack, Mr. Capiche would pace from his desk to the chalkboard down the middle of the classroom.
If another wolf makes eye contact with the alpha wolf for more than three seconds, then the alpha wolf would attack and possibly kill it to show the pack his superiority.
Yes sir.
In his class, you were safest in your seat. If you got up to sharpen your pencil, you risked being asked what you had for supper the night before. It was impossible to remember.
He would make a buzzer sound,"ENNNH. Times up. Better luck next time."
One time I was ready.
"Chris! What did you have for dinner last night?"
"I ate at Ryan's, what'd you have?"
"Uh. Chi.. cken and um." he paused, "You got me. I had chicken and potatoes, though, I didn't forget. But you got me."
Short victory. The next day he asked me to come up to his desk. He placed a 12 inch ruler halfway between him and I.
"On the count of three, try to grab the ruler before I do." This was one of his favorite games.
"Corey," he called to one of his favorite students, "count to three."
Needless to say, he grabbed the ruler quicker than I. He regained his superiority, his mental stability, over me. I remember he called me bug-eyed, or that I had bug-like eyes, they were larger than most eyes in proportion to my face, I guess, and I told my stepmother about it. She had a conference, or maybe just a phone call - I can't remember - with him.
The next day in class he called me out for it. In front of everyone he told me not to go complain or cry to my stepmother about stuff. Capiche?
Maybe you can tell, maybe you can't, but I was definitely a little wimp in middle school. I was that way until about 11th grade. I liked his class even though he picked on me, though, and I respected him. I used to give respect to a lot of people that didn't deserve it. That's what you do when you're a wimp. You want the people who bully you to respect you. You set the wrong goals in life.
Anyways, I got the best of him, eventually.
One day in class he offered a gamble to anyone that wanted to take it. He would ask a question, something to do with geography, and if we answered correctly within thirty seconds he would give us a free 100 quiz grade that would average in with our other quizzes. If we got it wrong, he would average in a 0 quiz grade. Being the little gambler that I've always been, I went for it.
"What's the capital of Missouri?" What was I thinking? I don't know this stuff. I didn't answer, or I didn't answer correctly, I don't remember.
I sat down with a new zero quiz grade. He asked if I wanted to try again and that this time I could use the encyclopedia. Honestly, I can't remember if he offered the encyclopedia or I asked for it. Either way, he asked a much harder question and I had no idea where to look and I sat down again with two fatty zeros.
Because of that, I received a B instead of an A in that quarter.
Getting to where I got him back. One of the most memorable parts of Mr. Capiche's class were the daily trivia questions he had written on the chalkboard. Each was worth a pretty decent amount of bonus points and the points increased throughout the year. Questions ranged from "Who was the first person to discover North America?" (Leif Erikson, I believe, not Christopher Columbus) to "What is the southernmost point of the fifty states of America?" (Key West? Actually that was the wrong answer according to his trivia book, which did not understand English. The answer was death valley, which would be the lowest point. Whatever.
I never got any of the question correct until I cheated. During a class before his, I excused my self to the restroom and went by his empty class. He must have been at lunch or had a teacher planning period. I pressed my face against the door's clear plastic pane and read the chalkboard on the far side of the room through the dark. It asked about some kind of dance. I went to the library and looked it up.
Whenever a student correctly answered one of these questions he would ask how they knew it. He probed them until he believed they had not cheated. Fortunately, I was enough of a queer (quoting my fellow students) to have taken dance the previous year. And I had spent a some time in ISS (In School Suspension). So, I planned to tell him I learned it while doing busy work in ISS for dance class.
Before class, I told another student, Caleb, that I had to study dance in ISS. Mr. Capiche trusted Caleb. In class I submitted my ill-gotten answer, gave my perfect excuse and even had good ol' Caleb back me up. He was surprised, or, I dunno, he respected me for getting the answer right. He wrote a note for me to take to one of the secretaries in the principal's office. It instructed them to change my B from the previous quarter back to an A.
For a few years I wanted to tell him what I did. I wanted to send him a letter explaining that I beat him. He always said he had great memory and I'm sure he would remember what happened ten years later. But, I don't really care. It's not worth it. I'm not sure if he still teaches, either. Maybe he'll read it here one day. Most likely, he won't.
To summarize, I feel that a lot of new teachers, the ones that have grown up in our age of cynicism and sarcasm, take that attitude to work. It may feel appropriate with older kids, to fit in as my mom does her students in high school, but in elementary school? Like I said, my little brother is eleven. He just got to middle school. And just got out, too.
Teachers need to hold their tongue, need to be trained to handle stress better. They all need to age fifty years. Not really, I know.
Call me a hypocrite, I get it. I'm a sarcastic person. Can't you tell? I love using sarcasm to put down bad products or crappy work.
But, really, I hate it. It's like smoking. It kills me and poisons the people around me. I think everyone has similar harmful habits and most self-conscious, or should I say self-aware, people would like to do away with them. It's so deep, though, I was raised with it. It's so stupid.
Every time someone speaks, my mind starts working for the next thing to say. If they said or did something dumb, the first thing I think of isn't patient, it isn't helpful. It's a fucking joke. Some sarcastic remark meant for laughter. Laughter at anothers expense. And it builds up.
Sigh. I just trailed away there. What can you do?I don't really feel like proof reading this, either. Just let me know if I screwed up. Speaking of which, I'm going to buy a grammar book this week I just bought a grammar book. That's right, it's time to step it up.
"You want me to stop the bus? I'll stop the bus. I'll kick you off the bus if I have to. It's no problem. Don't talk while I'm talking. Don't talk while I'm talking." The person whom I never saw stopped talking.
After a few minutes of quiet as we were settling into our not-so-long ride to G-Vegas, the bus driver brings it back up.
"Now, why would anyone talk while I'm talking? Does anyone know why you would talk while I'm talking? Anyone? Answer me that. I don't know why. Does anyone have an answer." His parade was laced with sarcasm as he called out the chatter fiend.
The man sitting next to me, who must have been aged between thirty and forty, whispered to me, "Actin' like a school teacher."
"Heh," I agreed.
All throughout the day that line kept my mind bothered. "Just like a school teacher." How true. I started remembering some of my sarcastic, impatient, cranky, less mature teachers littered between Kindergarten and 12th grade. I think about my little brother who is now home-schooled because he doesn't know how to handle the teachers. Well, I'm sure they have a hard time with him as well.
He's just 11 now, a bully with a soft heart, and he can't help snapping back sarcastic remarks at sarcastic teachers. He told one frizzy-haired teacher to 'Brush her hair!' when he got in trouble after another kid tripped him. After being told that class was not "The Connor Show" he thought back, though holding his tongue, "Well, this isn't the Mr. Rice Show, either." You go boy. I think I had Mr. Rice in middle school, too.
I also had a teacher I'll call Mr. Capiche (Not because he was Italian, but because the name sounds close and far enough to make telling this story feel just right.) He was a big n' tall, well built black man and former paratrooper for the military. He taught 7th grade social studies. He won Teacher of the Year a year or two before and he loved telling stories.
He usually only told stories once, but he told us about the Alpha Wolf a few times. Just like the alpha wolf proudly walks through his pack, Mr. Capiche would pace from his desk to the chalkboard down the middle of the classroom.
If another wolf makes eye contact with the alpha wolf for more than three seconds, then the alpha wolf would attack and possibly kill it to show the pack his superiority.
Yes sir.
In his class, you were safest in your seat. If you got up to sharpen your pencil, you risked being asked what you had for supper the night before. It was impossible to remember.
He would make a buzzer sound,"ENNNH. Times up. Better luck next time."
One time I was ready.
"Chris! What did you have for dinner last night?"
"I ate at Ryan's, what'd you have?"
"Uh. Chi.. cken and um." he paused, "You got me. I had chicken and potatoes, though, I didn't forget. But you got me."
Short victory. The next day he asked me to come up to his desk. He placed a 12 inch ruler halfway between him and I.
"On the count of three, try to grab the ruler before I do." This was one of his favorite games.
"Corey," he called to one of his favorite students, "count to three."
Needless to say, he grabbed the ruler quicker than I. He regained his superiority, his mental stability, over me. I remember he called me bug-eyed, or that I had bug-like eyes, they were larger than most eyes in proportion to my face, I guess, and I told my stepmother about it. She had a conference, or maybe just a phone call - I can't remember - with him.
The next day in class he called me out for it. In front of everyone he told me not to go complain or cry to my stepmother about stuff. Capiche?
Maybe you can tell, maybe you can't, but I was definitely a little wimp in middle school. I was that way until about 11th grade. I liked his class even though he picked on me, though, and I respected him. I used to give respect to a lot of people that didn't deserve it. That's what you do when you're a wimp. You want the people who bully you to respect you. You set the wrong goals in life.
Anyways, I got the best of him, eventually.
One day in class he offered a gamble to anyone that wanted to take it. He would ask a question, something to do with geography, and if we answered correctly within thirty seconds he would give us a free 100 quiz grade that would average in with our other quizzes. If we got it wrong, he would average in a 0 quiz grade. Being the little gambler that I've always been, I went for it.
"What's the capital of Missouri?" What was I thinking? I don't know this stuff. I didn't answer, or I didn't answer correctly, I don't remember.
I sat down with a new zero quiz grade. He asked if I wanted to try again and that this time I could use the encyclopedia. Honestly, I can't remember if he offered the encyclopedia or I asked for it. Either way, he asked a much harder question and I had no idea where to look and I sat down again with two fatty zeros.
Because of that, I received a B instead of an A in that quarter.
Getting to where I got him back. One of the most memorable parts of Mr. Capiche's class were the daily trivia questions he had written on the chalkboard. Each was worth a pretty decent amount of bonus points and the points increased throughout the year. Questions ranged from "Who was the first person to discover North America?" (Leif Erikson, I believe, not Christopher Columbus) to "What is the southernmost point of the fifty states of America?" (Key West? Actually that was the wrong answer according to his trivia book, which did not understand English. The answer was death valley, which would be the lowest point. Whatever.
I never got any of the question correct until I cheated. During a class before his, I excused my self to the restroom and went by his empty class. He must have been at lunch or had a teacher planning period. I pressed my face against the door's clear plastic pane and read the chalkboard on the far side of the room through the dark. It asked about some kind of dance. I went to the library and looked it up.
Whenever a student correctly answered one of these questions he would ask how they knew it. He probed them until he believed they had not cheated. Fortunately, I was enough of a queer (quoting my fellow students) to have taken dance the previous year. And I had spent a some time in ISS (In School Suspension). So, I planned to tell him I learned it while doing busy work in ISS for dance class.
Before class, I told another student, Caleb, that I had to study dance in ISS. Mr. Capiche trusted Caleb. In class I submitted my ill-gotten answer, gave my perfect excuse and even had good ol' Caleb back me up. He was surprised, or, I dunno, he respected me for getting the answer right. He wrote a note for me to take to one of the secretaries in the principal's office. It instructed them to change my B from the previous quarter back to an A.
For a few years I wanted to tell him what I did. I wanted to send him a letter explaining that I beat him. He always said he had great memory and I'm sure he would remember what happened ten years later. But, I don't really care. It's not worth it. I'm not sure if he still teaches, either. Maybe he'll read it here one day. Most likely, he won't.
To summarize, I feel that a lot of new teachers, the ones that have grown up in our age of cynicism and sarcasm, take that attitude to work. It may feel appropriate with older kids, to fit in as my mom does her students in high school, but in elementary school? Like I said, my little brother is eleven. He just got to middle school. And just got out, too.
Teachers need to hold their tongue, need to be trained to handle stress better. They all need to age fifty years. Not really, I know.
Call me a hypocrite, I get it. I'm a sarcastic person. Can't you tell? I love using sarcasm to put down bad products or crappy work.
But, really, I hate it. It's like smoking. It kills me and poisons the people around me. I think everyone has similar harmful habits and most self-conscious, or should I say self-aware, people would like to do away with them. It's so deep, though, I was raised with it. It's so stupid.
Every time someone speaks, my mind starts working for the next thing to say. If they said or did something dumb, the first thing I think of isn't patient, it isn't helpful. It's a fucking joke. Some sarcastic remark meant for laughter. Laughter at anothers expense. And it builds up.
Sigh. I just trailed away there. What can you do?
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Connotator episode 2: Great Connotations
What does it mean when a person always rates something at the extremes on a website? For example, when rating a movie on imdb.com do you always rate a one or a ten?
Most likely you're doing it to counter other people's votes. You absolutely love (underrated masterpiece) but it only carries a 7.3 average. Looks like it needs a boost. Why is it rated so low? Obviously some people who know jack about movies and probably didn't understand the cinematic nuances - and subtle, beautiful anti-political agenda - rated it low.That person is stupid. Those people are stupid and I need to be a counter weight.
Or it's the opposite. Some terribly trite Hollywood junkfest is rated much too high. Looks like it needs as many bad ratings as it can get to deplete this unexplainable average. Maybe I'll sign up another account so I can vote it down twice.
In summary, if you're a person who does this, you're probably full of yourself. Your opinion is founded in 'intelligence'. You take out your frustration of being 'surrounded by idiots' on movie rating sites, youtube videos (that video was not funny), amazon, forums, and blog posts. Oh.
Most likely you're doing it to counter other people's votes. You absolutely love (underrated masterpiece) but it only carries a 7.3 average. Looks like it needs a boost. Why is it rated so low? Obviously some people who know jack about movies and probably didn't understand the cinematic nuances - and subtle, beautiful anti-political agenda - rated it low.
Or it's the opposite. Some terribly trite Hollywood junkfest is rated much too high. Looks like it needs as many bad ratings as it can get to deplete this unexplainable average. Maybe I'll sign up another account so I can vote it down twice.
In summary, if you're a person who does this, you're probably full of yourself. Your opinion is founded in 'intelligence'. You take out your frustration of being 'surrounded by idiots' on movie rating sites, youtube videos (that video was not funny), amazon, forums, and blog posts. Oh.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Is the iPod iNtuitive?
I'll start by giving the obligatory priming for people ready to bash the article: I have an iPod, I think it's the best mp3 player on the market, I have a Mac Pro and I love it.
But to me, the iPod is not intuitive if you've never seen it used before. In fact, I still press the wrong buttons a lot.
Lets pretend I already have my music on my iPod. We'll come back how annoying it is to transfer music.
All of my music is playing at the moment. Song 1 of 1342. A for... Amy Winehouse. Yep, that's right, I was lucky enough to hear her music before I heard about her. I like the 50s, big band sound. But, as usual, I'm in the mood for some Mars Volta.
I press the menu button to access the... menu. Good. I rotate my thumb around the circle down to Artists. Artists is highlighted and an arrow at the end of the line tells me that the list of Artists are located, symbolically, to the right - like the start menu in Windows. Simple. I press the right arrow. It goes to the next Amy Winehouse song. Wtf?
Oh, I need to press the center, circle button. Good good, now I'm scrolling down to The Mars Volta. Hmm, they aren't under T. Ah, they don't count 'The.' I agree. Oops, I scrolled up too fast and selected Marshal Mathers free style. That's embarrassing. I press the back arrow to go back. Amy Winehouse restarts. Fuck. How do I go back?
Oh, I need to press the menu button.That makes sense. . I don't really want to listen to any more Amy Winehouse. I press the center button to access the Mars Volta albums. Ok. I want to listen to all of their albums, how do I do that? Well, Play All is highlighted, so I press play. Well, at least Amy Winhouse stopped. Oh, it paused it.
I think I understand, now. The menu is simply on top of the songs that are playing. You know, I'm just not the kinda guy that enjoys perusing my iPod menu. I don't want or care to pause, skip forward and skip backward. I just want to stop listening to Mrs. Winehouse. Please, go back to rehab.
I like the whole Back to Black album except the first song, Rehab. I don't know, it's just annoying; too repetitive. Turns out it's a grammy award winning single. Sigh, I'll never be part of the masses.
Turns out, I'm not in the mood for Mars Volta. I press menu to access the menu. Just kidding, I am in the mood for them. Now, how do I exit the menu?Um Only time will tell...
You know what brightens my day? When you pull your iPod out of your bookbag and see that it's halfway through song 130 of every song in your iPod because you forgot to lock it. It has been playing for half a day and only has a red sliver of life left. Maybe I won't work out today
Trying to get music on your iPod is such a pain! I know not everyone is a computer savvy, technology nerd. I mean, not everyone knows how to plug their iPod. Wait. Not everyone knows how to open a folder. Wait. Not everyone knows how to drag a song into a music folder. Wait. Not everyone WANTS TO MAKE A PLAYLIST AND COPY ALL OF THEIR SONGS INTO IT, OR JUST CERTAIN SONGS, MAYBE THESE SONGS, NOT THOSE SONGS, NO I'LL MAKE ANOTHER PLAYLIST, ITS COOL I'LL JUST SYNC IT ALL, NO, MAYBE I'LL JUST LOSE ALL MY SONGS WHEN USING SOMEONE ELSES COMPUTER. Wait?
That's my list of negative iPod design elements. To be fair, I'll mention something I LOVE about the iPod. Whenever your headphones accidently pop out, the music pauses for you. That makes me happy.
But to me, the iPod is not intuitive if you've never seen it used before. In fact, I still press the wrong buttons a lot.
Lets pretend I already have my music on my iPod. We'll come back how annoying it is to transfer music.
All of my music is playing at the moment. Song 1 of 1342. A for... Amy Winehouse. Yep, that's right, I was lucky enough to hear her music before I heard about her. I like the 50s, big band sound. But, as usual, I'm in the mood for some Mars Volta.
I press the menu button to access the... menu. Good. I rotate my thumb around the circle down to Artists. Artists is highlighted and an arrow at the end of the line tells me that the list of Artists are located, symbolically, to the right - like the start menu in Windows. Simple. I press the right arrow. It goes to the next Amy Winehouse song. Wtf?
Oh, I need to press the center, circle button. Good good, now I'm scrolling down to The Mars Volta. Hmm, they aren't under T. Ah, they don't count 'The.' I agree. Oops, I scrolled up too fast and selected Marshal Mathers free style. That's embarrassing. I press the back arrow to go back. Amy Winehouse restarts. Fuck. How do I go back?
Oh, I need to press the menu button.
I think I understand, now. The menu is simply on top of the songs that are playing. You know, I'm just not the kinda guy that enjoys perusing my iPod menu. I don't want or care to pause, skip forward and skip backward. I just want to stop listening to Mrs. Winehouse. Please, go back to rehab.
I like the whole Back to Black album except the first song, Rehab. I don't know, it's just annoying; too repetitive. Turns out it's a grammy award winning single. Sigh, I'll never be part of the masses.
Turns out, I'm not in the mood for Mars Volta. I press menu to access the menu. Just kidding, I am in the mood for them. Now, how do I exit the menu?
You know what brightens my day? When you pull your iPod out of your bookbag and see that it's halfway through song 130 of every song in your iPod because you forgot to lock it. It has been playing for half a day and only has a red sliver of life left. Maybe I won't work out today
Trying to get music on your iPod is such a pain! I know not everyone is a computer savvy, technology nerd. I mean, not everyone knows how to plug their iPod. Wait. Not everyone knows how to open a folder. Wait. Not everyone knows how to drag a song into a music folder. Wait. Not everyone WANTS TO MAKE A PLAYLIST AND COPY ALL OF THEIR SONGS INTO IT, OR JUST CERTAIN SONGS, MAYBE THESE SONGS, NOT THOSE SONGS, NO I'LL MAKE ANOTHER PLAYLIST, ITS COOL I'LL JUST SYNC IT ALL, NO, MAYBE I'LL JUST LOSE ALL MY SONGS WHEN USING SOMEONE ELSES COMPUTER. Wait?
That's my list of negative iPod design elements. To be fair, I'll mention something I LOVE about the iPod. Whenever your headphones accidently pop out, the music pauses for you. That makes me happy.
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