I'm more busy right now than I'd assumed, and more so than I think I've been in some time. (yet, really, am I?) I have had 5 or 6 hours, and am about to kick it into maximum drive, and finish my family history project, which I have put off until the day before, and after a day of work and waking up at 6:30. I am a stupid person. Can I really be a functioning adult if this is so hard for me?
Well, life's one big experiment, isn't it? We'll see if I succeed. Tonight is yet another step. Onward!
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Monday, April 25, 2011
Designer Babies, meet Eugenics
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| Charles Darwin |
Darwin's principles stirred the world's imagination and understanding, stimulating evolutionary science and advances in everything from economics to politics; it was a driving force behind imperialist thought in the western world, led to Social Darwinism (of course), and was influential to many of the world's leaders. His work had another effect; along with encouragement by Sir Francis Galton, Darwin's cousin, who believed humanity was moving "toward mediocrity;" his ideals led some very creative people around the start of the twentieth century to decide they needed to better the gene pool of the human race, and eliminate some of our less desirable qualities.
Enter eugenics.
Eugenics had two main forms of application. "Negative eugenics," which utilized sterilization and restrictions on sexual partners and marriage (and later genocide); and "positive eugenics," which encouraged reproduction in certain, exclusive peoples; all of this was thought up in hopes of creating a better, brighter human species. This was supposed to be natural selection in action. Oddly enough, it's not very natural at all. Never the less, eugenics took root in many countries. It started in the United States, but quickly became a favorite of the German leaders. I think you see where this is going.
As the children of those touched by World War II, we aren't even done swallowing the Nazi pill. The modern world views Adolf Hitler, his political party, and anything they supported with repulsion, with reactions ranging from suspicion or cautious curiosity, to outright aggressive rejection. And why not? The Nazis were evil incarnate, right? And even though it wasn't his original idea (it was the United States'), eugenics obviously influenced Hitler, and his party, as it did so many others. After the war, we were done with anything closely resembling eugenics.
Fast forward into the future, to the early 21st century. Evolution in one form or another has been all but universally accepted. Mass communication and relative political stability have increased travel and exchange; the political, social, national, cultural, and ethnic lines are blurring. We are mixing, often literally, and more often than not peacefully. Despite tough times, we are surviving. But as we learn to naturally increase our gene pool, and naturally share culture and ideas, science is taking the future in a radical new direction.
Enter the designer baby.Fertility has always been a problem, but we've begun to overcome it; advances in assisted reproductive technology (ART) have come a long way. Artificial insemination (AI) and in vitro fertilization (IVF) were practiced in livestock in the 19th century; in 1909 you have the first human pregnancy by a donor sperm, and by 1978 you have the first human IVF. By the late 1990's we began to fully map the human genome and we successfully cloned a sheep, Dolly. Over the past decade, there have been even more advances.
Now we are at the point where fertility clinics are offering many wonderful things to prospective parents. Athleticism, intelligence, beauty, and even less obscure qualities like height, hair color, eye color, and complexion; all these are being boasted about as perfectly plausible by the doctors and scientists heading these clinics. So far the most vocal about these claims has been Dr Jeffrey Steinburg, Director of the Los Angeles Fertility Institute--which boasts a 100% gender selection rate. Dr. Steinburg was a pioneer in IVF advances, and helped establish a thriving clinic in LA, which specializes in ART and IVF. Despite this professional and impressive background, Steinburg outright started advertising his claims of "cosmetic medicine," all for a reasonable price of around $18,000. Public backlash was intense and immediate, and he has since put the project on hold; it's hard to ignore protesters and claims of eugenics when you're trying to run a discreet business.
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| This man can make your baby look anyway you want. |
There are still plenty of other reasonable reasons why ART and fertility clinics are a sound investment for the future of our society. Infertility isn't going away, in either men or women, and this technology was created specifically for that. And there are many people in our society who are seeking to have children but are not capable for various reasons, including gay and lesbian couples. Despite many of the issues surrounding it, ART is a perfectly suited choice for many people wishing to have children.
The real issue boils down to necessity versus possibility. Helping those incapable of having children is well and good; screening for disease is generally accepted by now, though even that process has its opponents. But what are the ramifications of being able to choose all the traits of your child before she is even conceived? The child will have no voice in his or her future, and will live with the fact that he or she was created exactly to the specifications of his parents. How will this affect these children socially? Will they be accepted as normal? Will they view themselves as artificial? Is this at all what nature seems to support, a natural selection? Some claim that these procedures are acts of control outside of our means and knowledge; that we are playing god. But if we can actually do it, and the technology is there, ready to be used, what will happen to our species? What will happen to our society and the children we've engineered?
It's no longer science fiction, to think our scientific advances could have wide and substantial repercussions on the society as a whole. And the task is set before us. We can't close pandora's box, and we have to consider what we've learned with intelligence and forward-thinking. What will happen to our society and our species, now that we've come this far? What can we do to prepare ourselves for the impact these advances will have on our society?
Friday, April 22, 2011
Fatimah, Usagi, and Samson walk into a bar...
I've got a lot of writing on hold right now. My current priorities are to finish some work for my classes, and that--combined with 8-hour shifts at work--leaves me with only so much time to wax poetically or write creatively. Its a shame, as there are a lot of other things I need to be doing right now as well... this is the slowest, most nerve-wracking month I've had in a long time.
I need a drink. Or a nap.
What I really need, though, is to relax. Really, really relax. It's my fondest wish. Last night after work, and after a much needed mid-week walk, the crew and I laid around playing with the Akinator, which by all accounts, is the future of useless, entertaining technology.
The Akinator is an app. You think of someone, anyone, and it asks you a series of questions--Is your character real? Is your character a female? Is your character from the Bible? etc. Then when it has asked enough, it guesses as to who your character is. And its actually pretty accurate. It successfully guessed Samson, Miyamoto Usagi, and Fatimah, one of the daughters of Muhammed. I only stumped it once; it couldn't guess Daniel Lambert. Fun times. What will they think of next??
I need a drink. Or a nap.What I really need, though, is to relax. Really, really relax. It's my fondest wish. Last night after work, and after a much needed mid-week walk, the crew and I laid around playing with the Akinator, which by all accounts, is the future of useless, entertaining technology.
The Akinator is an app. You think of someone, anyone, and it asks you a series of questions--Is your character real? Is your character a female? Is your character from the Bible? etc. Then when it has asked enough, it guesses as to who your character is. And its actually pretty accurate. It successfully guessed Samson, Miyamoto Usagi, and Fatimah, one of the daughters of Muhammed. I only stumped it once; it couldn't guess Daniel Lambert. Fun times. What will they think of next??
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Two Days of Family
We were all there, or almost all of us; my brother and my parents, my grandmother Meema, my cousins from St. Louis, my uncles, even old friends and church members from Sharon Baptist. We're expecting a different crowd at the graveside tomorrow. Old friends of grandma's and more distant family, all together to mark the passing of a loved one, and to be there together. As my dad observed earlier tonight, "its funny how it takes someone dying to get all of us together."
My grandmother passed away on Sunday, April 17th, 2011, around 6:00PM. Today, on Tuesday the 19th, we had a visitation for her, followed by a dinner for the family. Tomorrow, Wednesday the 20th, there will be another family meal, lunch; following that, we will have the graveside service.
At the visitation, and again after at the dinner, I connected well with my uncle Dale. I have never known him well; he calls himself the black sheep. Still, outwardly he seemed to be taking the weight of all this as well as his brothers. He invited Jim and I to go fishing with him, over in Portland, Texas, near Corpus Christi. Dale is a legendary figure, both for his misadventures, and for his skill as an outdoorsman.
I met Rob again, whom I knew from Sharon Baptist, years ago. He got divorced after I had left Tyler, and not long after that his ex-wife died, somewhat suddenly I take it. He has since remarried, and seemed a happy man, though wiser for his experiences. He teaches a class at 1st Baptist Whitehouse called POT, which is a fairly catching and witty title for a class that teaches parents how to work with and love their teenage children.
My uncle Larry's family was there. Many of them drove down from St. Louis that morning, which is quite a ways farther than coming up form Austin. My uncle Larry is a quiet man, a bit serious, but I've always respected him. He and my father spoke at their father's funeral, three years ago (almost to the day), and I can always see the family resemblance in them, in their appearance, mannerisms, and even their "pulpit manner." They do seem to view life and death very differently however. Larry is currently a hospice chaplain in San Antonio.
My father's friend Ron--whom he met while they were getting their doctorates at seminary--had come in for the funeral from Arp, Texas. He will be doing the graveside service tomorrow along with Larry; my father did not want to do it this time. Ron is a wonderful, interesting man; a bit sarcastic and funny, and more than a bit friendly and curious. We had a good talk at the visitation, about the weather, school, children, and family. Those were popular topics of conversation today.
My mother seemed tired, quiet, and supportive. She is always supportive, yet rarely quiet; this has been a long week for them. Adding to her quietness and the complexity of all this, my mother is recovering from surgery; they had to take skin from her palette to fix her receding gum line. Not major surgery, but when you occasionally bleed from your mouth throughout the course of the day, it tends to disrupt things and keeps you out of long conversation.
My father seemed very tired. I do not see much sadness in him, only exhaustion and resolve tied together. I worry for my father, as he deals with his loss. Speaking with myself, Sara, and my mother, he said that it was almost good to see this, what has happened to his mother; he spoke of facing mortality, and of coming to term with the end of one's life. There is a weight on his shoulders that I cannot put my finger on, and that I won't speculate about. He is my father; I love him, and though he does not suffer with outward emotion, I feel his pain. I will support him in his time of need, just as he supported both of his parents in theirs, and I will love him all the same.
We have only one span of time on this earth, only one family, and so much to learn and so much growing to do. Its good to see my family, some distant, others close, and know they are living their lives just as I live mine. It's a shame we do not see each other more often, yet here we are, brought together by loss and love. Isn't it funny...
My grandmother passed away on Sunday, April 17th, 2011, around 6:00PM. Today, on Tuesday the 19th, we had a visitation for her, followed by a dinner for the family. Tomorrow, Wednesday the 20th, there will be another family meal, lunch; following that, we will have the graveside service.
At the visitation, and again after at the dinner, I connected well with my uncle Dale. I have never known him well; he calls himself the black sheep. Still, outwardly he seemed to be taking the weight of all this as well as his brothers. He invited Jim and I to go fishing with him, over in Portland, Texas, near Corpus Christi. Dale is a legendary figure, both for his misadventures, and for his skill as an outdoorsman.
I met Rob again, whom I knew from Sharon Baptist, years ago. He got divorced after I had left Tyler, and not long after that his ex-wife died, somewhat suddenly I take it. He has since remarried, and seemed a happy man, though wiser for his experiences. He teaches a class at 1st Baptist Whitehouse called POT, which is a fairly catching and witty title for a class that teaches parents how to work with and love their teenage children.
My uncle Larry's family was there. Many of them drove down from St. Louis that morning, which is quite a ways farther than coming up form Austin. My uncle Larry is a quiet man, a bit serious, but I've always respected him. He and my father spoke at their father's funeral, three years ago (almost to the day), and I can always see the family resemblance in them, in their appearance, mannerisms, and even their "pulpit manner." They do seem to view life and death very differently however. Larry is currently a hospice chaplain in San Antonio.
My father's friend Ron--whom he met while they were getting their doctorates at seminary--had come in for the funeral from Arp, Texas. He will be doing the graveside service tomorrow along with Larry; my father did not want to do it this time. Ron is a wonderful, interesting man; a bit sarcastic and funny, and more than a bit friendly and curious. We had a good talk at the visitation, about the weather, school, children, and family. Those were popular topics of conversation today.
My mother seemed tired, quiet, and supportive. She is always supportive, yet rarely quiet; this has been a long week for them. Adding to her quietness and the complexity of all this, my mother is recovering from surgery; they had to take skin from her palette to fix her receding gum line. Not major surgery, but when you occasionally bleed from your mouth throughout the course of the day, it tends to disrupt things and keeps you out of long conversation.
My father seemed very tired. I do not see much sadness in him, only exhaustion and resolve tied together. I worry for my father, as he deals with his loss. Speaking with myself, Sara, and my mother, he said that it was almost good to see this, what has happened to his mother; he spoke of facing mortality, and of coming to term with the end of one's life. There is a weight on his shoulders that I cannot put my finger on, and that I won't speculate about. He is my father; I love him, and though he does not suffer with outward emotion, I feel his pain. I will support him in his time of need, just as he supported both of his parents in theirs, and I will love him all the same.
We have only one span of time on this earth, only one family, and so much to learn and so much growing to do. Its good to see my family, some distant, others close, and know they are living their lives just as I live mine. It's a shame we do not see each other more often, yet here we are, brought together by loss and love. Isn't it funny...
Monday, April 18, 2011
Unrest
Today's been a tough day, and its going to be a tough week. Tough two weeks, really. And of course I'm not just referring to school, which is coming to an end for this semester. I'm talking about life. We leave tomorrow for East Texas, and for my grandmother's funeral. There is nothing but ruin and stress at my job, as the tasks mount and the staff dwindles. I'm trying to keep open at home; trying to keep writing, talking, loving, doing things and relaxing. Needless to say... its a little tough.
So, there is unrest amongst the ranks. It is not that life is coming to an end, or that all is lost, or blah blah blah... its just rough. Blah
Anyway, I'm posting a humorous short comic, to cheer myself up, one of Ryan Pequin's Three Word Phrase. I will be writing more later myself. Not comics, blogs.
So, there is unrest amongst the ranks. It is not that life is coming to an end, or that all is lost, or blah blah blah... its just rough. Blah
Anyway, I'm posting a humorous short comic, to cheer myself up, one of Ryan Pequin's Three Word Phrase. I will be writing more later myself. Not comics, blogs.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
In memory of my grandmother
Today, on April 17, 2011, my grandmother passed away. My heart groans from a dull ache; I worry for my father, and feel pain for him--not for myself, nor for her.
Katherine Pullin, later Katherine Davis, was not someone I knew well. This was not her fault at all. I would go visit grandma often; once when I was much younger--and I am unsure when--I had a very interesting visit. I hadn't been abused or neglected, but when I called from there and told my parents about her not feeding me regularly, and about some other strange things I saw and heard; well, they became concerned. At first the doctors said it was Alzheimer's, but that didn't add up. It turns out it was just generic dementia.
I remember thinking: "It wasn't that bad... grandma forgot to make dinner, so we went and got pizza. That's not so bad!" But even then, I knew better. Mainly because of how serious everyone was acting. Grandma ended up in East Texas with us, in a nursing home, where she could get the care she required.
She was always very happy to see me when I would go to see her, but we never really got a chance to bond. Her dementia seemed to be something that kept her long-term memory from really connecting with people. That is the impression I got; she kept many photos and had many stories and memories of others. It is not that I was not important; it's that I was so young when she began to suffer from her illness.
But I have many memories of my grandma, almost all of them vicariously acquired. She always stirred many discussions and stories, and I saw a lot of my father in her, or the other way around. There were many jokes about my father's similarities with her, and i'm sure there always will be. This will be an excellent legacy; in humor, we come to terms with life's hardships. If you can laugh about something, you can take it seriously.
The funeral will be soon. I will have to make time for it. This, especially, brings me sadness; shouldn't our family always come first? Shouldn't our relationships be our top priority? Well, I will make time for this, and make time for my family. If I can do anything, its remember those I love, and laugh whenever I get the chance.
Goodbye, grandma. Rest well.
Katherine Pullin, later Katherine Davis, was not someone I knew well. This was not her fault at all. I would go visit grandma often; once when I was much younger--and I am unsure when--I had a very interesting visit. I hadn't been abused or neglected, but when I called from there and told my parents about her not feeding me regularly, and about some other strange things I saw and heard; well, they became concerned. At first the doctors said it was Alzheimer's, but that didn't add up. It turns out it was just generic dementia.
I remember thinking: "It wasn't that bad... grandma forgot to make dinner, so we went and got pizza. That's not so bad!" But even then, I knew better. Mainly because of how serious everyone was acting. Grandma ended up in East Texas with us, in a nursing home, where she could get the care she required.
She was always very happy to see me when I would go to see her, but we never really got a chance to bond. Her dementia seemed to be something that kept her long-term memory from really connecting with people. That is the impression I got; she kept many photos and had many stories and memories of others. It is not that I was not important; it's that I was so young when she began to suffer from her illness.
But I have many memories of my grandma, almost all of them vicariously acquired. She always stirred many discussions and stories, and I saw a lot of my father in her, or the other way around. There were many jokes about my father's similarities with her, and i'm sure there always will be. This will be an excellent legacy; in humor, we come to terms with life's hardships. If you can laugh about something, you can take it seriously.
The funeral will be soon. I will have to make time for it. This, especially, brings me sadness; shouldn't our family always come first? Shouldn't our relationships be our top priority? Well, I will make time for this, and make time for my family. If I can do anything, its remember those I love, and laugh whenever I get the chance.
Goodbye, grandma. Rest well.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
I've never tried to drink and write before
I spent all night tonight working on an a blog of essay proportions. It won't be ready for at least a day. But I kept getting distracted. First I got a little drunk, and I was roleplaying like I do most nights. And I enjoyed my songs too much, enjoyed my wife, got tired (was already tired), started rambling... so its in development. I'll be posting more later.
Until then... Lego Stephen Hawking:
Until then... Lego Stephen Hawking:
Friday, April 15, 2011
I return with grave news
For two days I have had nothing important to say. My time has been spent working and eating and lounging and roleplaying and so on, and so on... And since being told I need to get creative with my writing, i've held off. Shame on ME.
So my grandma Davis is ill. She has been, off and on, as she is older and in a nursing home, on medication, etc. I do not have the full details, but her colon failed, and she had to have emergency surgery. They removed her colon; according to the surgeon, its the biggest, worst colon he's ever seen. According to my father, she visibly looks much better, even bound to the hospital bed, because of what was taken from her stomach. Its odd to think of it as such, and my perspective is not yet complete and informed, but she may be better off after all this. The downside is, there is a risk that she will not survive. She will have to learn to breathe again, and certainly her eating habits will have to change.
My brother and I will make our way down to see her, and see our family, Easter weekend. I hope and pray that she makes it that long. It's assumed that there is a chance she might not; again, I do not truly know what happened, I just know its serious.
I don't like being left feeling helpless, or out of control. Sometimes life feels that way; death feels that way. I have experienced so little of it, but it reminds me that I am, more or less, a passenger, not a driver. I cannot decide where life turns, and I cannot stop or turn around. If I am to make something of my journey, it must be through effort, and its almost an act of perception. If I don't try and make something of my journey... i could ride the whole thing out, and nothing could come of it. This is quickly becoming one of my greatest fears. I wonder: when will it become a great motivator?
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
An ethereal kind of afternoon
It sees only motivation and intention; action is an outcome, success or failure, yet is meaningless to It.
Naturally invisible, nearly intangible, and ever-present behind the veil of his host's thoughts; It watches its host behave and form ideas, watches the strands of purpose form with action, then fall away into clear vapor. It has no personal agenda, no purpose that it feels compelled to push or plea for. It watches, hardly sentient yet certainly sapient.
It takes the time to help tether intentions to actions. Strand A to Action B; B to D; D to A. Sever C, its lost its way, watch it wither. Watch synapses fire, watch muscles clench and move, watch the mind search for meaning in the meaningless; find meaning in the mindless.
Its host encounters Others.
It sits in readiness, as its own host interacts with other, foreign hosts. It looks for the signs in these Others, signs of drivers, other connectors; a purpose is plucked from the ether and fused with a deliberate, direct response by a foreign body, and It sees intelligence behind the eyes of these beings. It is pleased, and continues its work, its pleasure, its purpose.
Strand DE to Responsive Action EA; sever G, connect H to G...
Naturally invisible, nearly intangible, and ever-present behind the veil of his host's thoughts; It watches its host behave and form ideas, watches the strands of purpose form with action, then fall away into clear vapor. It has no personal agenda, no purpose that it feels compelled to push or plea for. It watches, hardly sentient yet certainly sapient.
It takes the time to help tether intentions to actions. Strand A to Action B; B to D; D to A. Sever C, its lost its way, watch it wither. Watch synapses fire, watch muscles clench and move, watch the mind search for meaning in the meaningless; find meaning in the mindless.
Its host encounters Others.
It sits in readiness, as its own host interacts with other, foreign hosts. It looks for the signs in these Others, signs of drivers, other connectors; a purpose is plucked from the ether and fused with a deliberate, direct response by a foreign body, and It sees intelligence behind the eyes of these beings. It is pleased, and continues its work, its pleasure, its purpose.
Strand DE to Responsive Action EA; sever G, connect H to G...
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
180˚/360˚
I'm not good at responding when my ideas are challenged. I can neither write it off as a quality that everyone has, because I know that's false; nor can I write it off as my imagination, as even I notice it. Consequently, to avoid conflict, I am not often told how stupid or silly my ideas are. When I do, not good.
Those I hold closest say I need to do more than stream-of-consciousness! They seem to think that you, my noble blog--named "No Structure" for a reason--exist to rule me! That I cannot grow unless I am challenged, and challenge myself! To think, someone has constructive advice for me. ME!
Hey, maybe I can give it a shot.
Those I hold closest say I need to do more than stream-of-consciousness! They seem to think that you, my noble blog--named "No Structure" for a reason--exist to rule me! That I cannot grow unless I am challenged, and challenge myself! To think, someone has constructive advice for me. ME!
Hey, maybe I can give it a shot.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Dog vomit 5: xenophobia
Also, starting the new Renaissance campaign tonight. Excited, much? The thing about the Renaissance, is that its like the flip-side of the Victorian coin. A lot of money and culture is floating, but its before over-industrialization and anti-romanticism have poisoned the well, so to speak. Anyway, i'm excited. We'll see if the dogs throw up tonight, too. I'll keep you posted.
Dog Vomit 4: TTJD
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| TTLN! |
Though, admittedly, I wish I could time-see. I wish I could take a lens, hold it up to somewhere, speak a word, and see what was happening there at a different time.
Point this time-lens at your living room, and say "July 9th, 1970, 1:00 PM!" Then, shimmer, shimmer, you can see the past. You'd probably see something boring, but if you were lucky, and looked often enough, you'd see plenty more. Still, maybe some people would time travel...
...Liam Neeson took the cold grip of the sword that lay in its sheath beside his cot. He stood, drawing the blade free. He gazed down the length of the blade; Liam was unfamiliar with its weight, but had trained in swordsmanship during several of his films. He was confident he could defend himself if need be. That need might arise. He was beckoned again harshly from outside of his tent; he answered the call, stepping out from between the flaps, sword-tip first, his breath visible on the air...
Anyway... back to work!
Dog vomit 3: a slave to habit
I've constructed a new way of wasting time. It's called blogging.
The campaign. Our word for the roleplaying games we play; "the current campaign," which seems to imply that it should be long-running and episodic in nature. Sara and I don't have the attention span for that sort of nonsense! What's the new and shiny? I'll take that. But we've had our moments of structure, scope, and grandeur.
Having successfully completed our first Vampire game, and seeing as that game was the ONLY game we've completely, totally made it through--well, I think we're having a little bit of tension before the next attempt. Gotta do as good or better. Or maybe its just me.
Now we all know that Choice is terrible for me; I used to think I was afraid of change, but know better now that I have a fear of choice. I don't want to make the wrong decision! Change is often abrupt or intrusive, and adapting to it can be simple and easy, as there is little choice but to do so. Choice.
So choice is a bitch for me. I want to choose right. Its made me stall out with school, and with finding jobs, and with, well, everything.
How does choice interfere with my personal life? RIGHT NOW. I want success, I want a fun experience, and I want it all to work well. My campaign, of course. I'm talking about roleplaying. I'm a dork AND it's my passion, my hobby. Deal with it, you.
Me, I need to deal with it. I'm running a fun, highly social Renaissance campaign. That can't be too hard, can it? Going back to choice, I think I'm seeing my problem. I've got a lot of little seeds for ideas, but no structure. I know what i'd like to see and do, but I don't know how I want it to go down. I'm having a conflict between theme and fun, and gameplay and plot. This is bull, as I'm good at this. I've pulled pretty good plots out of my ass at the last minute, and I've enjoyed the process. I'm caught on an invisible nail, and I won't even tug to see where it is. Well I'm tugging now.
What's the golden rule of any game? Have fun. If you're not having fun, do something else. I need to do that, so to speak.
The campaign. Our word for the roleplaying games we play; "the current campaign," which seems to imply that it should be long-running and episodic in nature. Sara and I don't have the attention span for that sort of nonsense! What's the new and shiny? I'll take that. But we've had our moments of structure, scope, and grandeur.
Having successfully completed our first Vampire game, and seeing as that game was the ONLY game we've completely, totally made it through--well, I think we're having a little bit of tension before the next attempt. Gotta do as good or better. Or maybe its just me.
Now we all know that Choice is terrible for me; I used to think I was afraid of change, but know better now that I have a fear of choice. I don't want to make the wrong decision! Change is often abrupt or intrusive, and adapting to it can be simple and easy, as there is little choice but to do so. Choice.
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| "What's the new and shiny? I'll take that." |
How does choice interfere with my personal life? RIGHT NOW. I want success, I want a fun experience, and I want it all to work well. My campaign, of course. I'm talking about roleplaying. I'm a dork AND it's my passion, my hobby. Deal with it, you.
Me, I need to deal with it. I'm running a fun, highly social Renaissance campaign. That can't be too hard, can it? Going back to choice, I think I'm seeing my problem. I've got a lot of little seeds for ideas, but no structure. I know what i'd like to see and do, but I don't know how I want it to go down. I'm having a conflict between theme and fun, and gameplay and plot. This is bull, as I'm good at this. I've pulled pretty good plots out of my ass at the last minute, and I've enjoyed the process. I'm caught on an invisible nail, and I won't even tug to see where it is. Well I'm tugging now.
What's the golden rule of any game? Have fun. If you're not having fun, do something else. I need to do that, so to speak.
Dog Vomit 2: the Great Stalling
The day continues. The cleaning and the scrubbing left me with a smell in my nose, and I'm hovering around lunchtime, stalled like a vulture with alzheimer's. I'm hungry, but not. The smell. So I ponder my next step, of which there are many. I could do so many things, some more urgent than others... why haven't I done any of them? Ahh, I remember. I suck.
Update (11:50 AM): Having gone to the grocery store, and acquired the much needed stamps, I am prepared for a step. The two bills have been prepared. If my apartment had a mailbox, i'd drop them in it. I had to clean up another accident, this one smaller... more cat-like. Quincy thinks he can get away with acting like the disgusting dogs. No, sir. I'll clean your literbox now.
Update (12:01 PM): I'm still writing this blog, so I haven't finished the catbox. I will go clean the catbox.
Update (1:30 PM): The catbox is done, as is the hedgehog's cage. I let him sniff me. Afterwards, I vacuumed, which constitutes as cleaning the house, I think. I did the dishes as well. Ya know, when I do housework, I'm usually avoiding doing something else.
It couldn't be the laundry, because I started a load just now, and i'll do another load or two before the day is through, before Sara returns from work. Maybe i'm avoiding putting up the laundry. Regardless, I have my Pandora Radio, and I have a free moment now. Other than writing this stupid note, what should I be doing...?
Update (11:50 AM): Having gone to the grocery store, and acquired the much needed stamps, I am prepared for a step. The two bills have been prepared. If my apartment had a mailbox, i'd drop them in it. I had to clean up another accident, this one smaller... more cat-like. Quincy thinks he can get away with acting like the disgusting dogs. No, sir. I'll clean your literbox now.
Update (12:01 PM): I'm still writing this blog, so I haven't finished the catbox. I will go clean the catbox.
Update (1:30 PM): The catbox is done, as is the hedgehog's cage. I let him sniff me. Afterwards, I vacuumed, which constitutes as cleaning the house, I think. I did the dishes as well. Ya know, when I do housework, I'm usually avoiding doing something else.
It couldn't be the laundry, because I started a load just now, and i'll do another load or two before the day is through, before Sara returns from work. Maybe i'm avoiding putting up the laundry. Regardless, I have my Pandora Radio, and I have a free moment now. Other than writing this stupid note, what should I be doing...?
Dog vomit
The sickly sweet sanguine smell of regurgitated, unprocessed dog food lay in a warm pile next to the door. You could smell the feces with the bile; someone had an accident AND a midnight snack. It was just after nine in the morning, and it was just after rising. There was another vomit in the bathroom, that one more a pool than a pile. I got up, as Sara gathered supplies, and began to clean up dog vomit...
Sunday, April 10, 2011
On going to bed
I've always written-off my contempt for going to bed as contempt for the loss of time. My day is over, woe is me, etc. I don't care if I need the rest, and I don't care when I'm getting up the next morning. I care for one thing: staying up.
This is not healthy. I think I should invest in an alternative to sleeping.
I can see it now. A machine, a machine that you hardwire to the brain, to the central nervous system, that fires off the right biological switches, sending your mind straight into restful sleep. REM, the whole lot, instantly. You'd sit, or lay, hit the switch, gain the sleep you need, then emerge not long after, ready for more. That's not pure fiction, is it?
Another alternative would be to get the %#@& in bed and stop posting blogs.
This is not healthy. I think I should invest in an alternative to sleeping.
I can see it now. A machine, a machine that you hardwire to the brain, to the central nervous system, that fires off the right biological switches, sending your mind straight into restful sleep. REM, the whole lot, instantly. You'd sit, or lay, hit the switch, gain the sleep you need, then emerge not long after, ready for more. That's not pure fiction, is it?
Another alternative would be to get the %#@& in bed and stop posting blogs.
No Structure, Just Writing
No Structure
I've decided I need to write everyday. For myself, for my future, for a career, and for myself dammit. Some famous writer once said "writers write." So here I am, writing.
Day 1
I think that I like meat. I don't think I could become a vegetarian. As much as I love dairy, there's nothing like real meat...
Day 9
I'm struggling with a great many things these days, least of which is my desire to make something of my future. Never before in my life have I worried so much for my marriage, my career, and my long-term. I think its a good thing.
Day 27
I managed to flex my imagination tonight, in theory. I created a character for an upcoming campaign named Saturnino; he's a nobleman and a senator who... ya know what, its not important. Not at the moment.
Day 61
I've learned to bend metal with my mind. I began with cheap spoons and paperclips, and have graduated to lending my superior brain out to the industrial world. Yes, that's right. Move over assembly line machinery, i'm here to take over. I'll be bending aircraft carriers in-two in no time.
Day 195
I've grown tired of my survey missions to Pluto. As a frigid ice-ball, it reminds me too much of earth, too much of working retail. Inside joke. Anyway, I'm thinking of shifting my consciousness more towards the sun. Mercury could use my expertise, if its microscopic, hyper-metabolic, sub-surface lifeforms are to thrive and outlive their planet's existence. So i'm off.
Day 873
I'm getting used to all the vastness. Ones imagination can fill even a seemingly endless void, with enough time. Oddly enough, I miss the limiting sensation of touch, even at its most uncomfortable. If only I would have enjoyed it more when I was corporeal...
I've decided I need to write everyday. For myself, for my future, for a career, and for myself dammit. Some famous writer once said "writers write." So here I am, writing.
I think that I like meat. I don't think I could become a vegetarian. As much as I love dairy, there's nothing like real meat...
Day 9
I'm struggling with a great many things these days, least of which is my desire to make something of my future. Never before in my life have I worried so much for my marriage, my career, and my long-term. I think its a good thing.
Day 27
I managed to flex my imagination tonight, in theory. I created a character for an upcoming campaign named Saturnino; he's a nobleman and a senator who... ya know what, its not important. Not at the moment.
Day 61
I've learned to bend metal with my mind. I began with cheap spoons and paperclips, and have graduated to lending my superior brain out to the industrial world. Yes, that's right. Move over assembly line machinery, i'm here to take over. I'll be bending aircraft carriers in-two in no time.
Day 195
I've grown tired of my survey missions to Pluto. As a frigid ice-ball, it reminds me too much of earth, too much of working retail. Inside joke. Anyway, I'm thinking of shifting my consciousness more towards the sun. Mercury could use my expertise, if its microscopic, hyper-metabolic, sub-surface lifeforms are to thrive and outlive their planet's existence. So i'm off.
Day 873
I'm getting used to all the vastness. Ones imagination can fill even a seemingly endless void, with enough time. Oddly enough, I miss the limiting sensation of touch, even at its most uncomfortable. If only I would have enjoyed it more when I was corporeal...
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