the ideas that almost got away
2002-04-14 - 6:57 p.m.
So I guess my memory has always been bad. But it seems to be getting worse. I kept a tally of all the little writeable thoughts that I�ve been having, and I�ve been missing a little over 50% of them...this percentage has grown from about 15% a couple years ago.
In third grade, I forgot how to do long division�earthshaking, at the time. Close to earth-shattering, but not quite. Actually, there was really only a couple earth-shattering events in my childhood...maybe I�ll talk about the second in a later entry. As for the first, it was the loss of my imagination/creativity, or at least a generalized feeling boredom about it. But it felt like I had lost it, at the time...looking back on it now, it was probably just a growth spurt of my processor, allowing it to be bottlenecked my old RAM. But to understand that, you might need a little history...At the age of ten or eleven, I started playing AD+D...but the other kids my age (exception: Emily) weren�t up to games with such...math (or reading, for that matter). Sure, they could jump around with me in the woods so what we could club each other with Random Rusted Objects (TM), but they didn�t even make the RAM requirement for RPGs. I was always asking Sarah to play, but she only played once, and once again about three years later. Since no one wanted to play fantasy RPGs, I made up other games...far too many games to ever be played by a ten-year old before he would become 11...I stacked them up in those cheap black and white composition notebooks�some days, to relieve stress, I�d rip a game out and throw it away. Other days, I might take one out and runn an �Alpha test on it�...of course, I was really just playing dice games by myself. One day when I was about 12, I just came to a point where I wasn�t having fun with it anymore...I wasn�t a creative enough DM for my players (see above metaphor)...and I cried. I was really convinced that I had lost a chunk of myself, because I didn�t get any pleasure out of rolling dice. [I wonder if Gary Gygax (who is, by the way, a god) ever had one of those days.] I cried into my hard-cotton pillows and I cried to my non-insulated walls (the ceiling not having been built yet), and the wasp�s nest in my closet/hole, and the robins outside...the next morning, I woke up, and just put the games away. The next time I played would be when I showed it to Mitch. Four years on the earthshatter scale, small in comparison...and fixed by a good friend.
This weekend�s goblin was pathetic, as far as goblins go...almost predictable. Becca was gonna come down and visit, but the car was full. I was still going to head into Boston to see her dad�s/brother�s band (Emptyhead) at the Hard Rock Cafe (TM), but as it had been, I played Imperium Galactica 2 (TM) until 7am the night before, and so didn�t wake up until 11, at which point my three-girl escort into Boston was already ready to leave.
Sidenote: Nikki and her two friends knocked on my door at 11, waking me up. I went to the door in boxers, and this seems to have made her somewhat nervous. Silly people, fidgeting about all the wrong things.
�I�ve got Everything down to a science. I�m just not sure which one.� �Nemo
I get less anal when I�m tired, just as I get less assholeish when I�m stoned (not that I think I�m very assholeish to begin with, but that�s the sober me talking). The value(s?) of the K is the same in each function: the degree of the change is the same. Except the one is measured in grams and the other is measured in negative hours. So it�s really all about the exchange rate.
Warning: The following argument contains the pre-theory that all humans are born equal. (Which is, of course, absurd on all days excepting Tuesdays, and is an aesthetic-based assumption even then.) There are several other theories referenced in-text, but that should be self-explanatory.
There�s a whole subculture of people that hates the subculture of �jocks�. But they says that hate is our natural reaction to jealousy and/or misunderstanding (fear). I just came to the realization, not too long ago, that football players are people too. One needn�t be jealous of someone for being born as your equal...because there�s nothing left to be jealous of except their accomplishments. On the other hand, I started to pity the basketball players, the hockey players, the baseball players...because some of them do not find their particular sport fun. To some people, a game is more than a game (something any AD+D player can relate to). Sometimes, a game is your psychological outlet...sometimes a game is your social outlet. And that�s what some of the players do: sit around and drink with the other players, and talk about the things that they think they should be talking about (hot chicks). Really, it�s all about insecurities. These fail-to-have-fun athletes are locked into a degenerative (from some standpoints) cycle of drinking, mental corruption (see �hive minds�), and a game-centered lifestyle (see �why do people pay to watch other people play games?�). So...really, there�s nothing to hate, unless you hate them for having friends (see �accomplishments of the self�).
Sarah�s soul has lost it�s clutch...that�s what she gets for letting her friends drive it in the mud. And her boyfriend peed on her in the shower. Roommate joined the Peace Corps and no one will let her keep a dog in the house. But worst of all...she�s not commin� back to Maine for the summer. When I see her next, it will have been two years. Long time, to go without your {twin}.
On the occasion, I wonder if that �use it of loose it� adage is supposed to be applied to friends. But I�m sure my lack of friends says something about the end-result of this particular application of that theorem.
Me, to Meghan: When a girl says she�s gonna �go freshen up�, what does she actually *do*?
Becky: She...like, puts on makeup and stuff?
Me: Anything else?
Becky: Not really...why?
Me: Well, what if she doesn�t come back?
Revelation: I would have made a better girl than a guy (not that I�m going to try to rectify the situation now, because guys have it easy). I�d be punk. I�d wear it as an attitude, and not a brand of clothing. I�d travel with chopsticks; stick them up behind my head. And I�d have this way of looking at people when they were doing something silly...On the down note, I�d probably spend way too much of my life starring at toilets, wondering if all the little bits and pieces of me will ever get together, someday, on the other side of the great wide open septic system. Sort of an ovary reunion.
Forgotten how to scream...just scream...it�s so much easier to scream when you have something stupid to say. I�ll have to go parkinglot screaming again sumtime soon, before I forget how to open my mouth.
Little bits and pieces of keyboards are my new obsession [this obsession lasted almost 12 hours]. For a couple months, I contemplated off-and-on what to do with those little rubber pieces. For those that have never opened a keyboard: if you were to open a keyboard, it would be the little rubber things that get Everywhere. Little rubber springs, or monkey circuit hats, or connectors. So today I figured it out...they suction-cup to your tongue. And that is their purpose. Fun to play with.
