Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas is out and I have clocked up 4 hours on it already. The Grand Theft Auto games for PS2 are by far the greatest games ever. I would go so far as to say they are the greatest entertainment ever. They have led the way in the gaming world in showing how games can be a much richer narrative entertainment form than movies and, in many cases, books. The sense these games give the player of being involved in a story are overwhelming and San Andreas has so much to do, from exciting story missions, to going to the gym and eating that reality, gaming and stories merge into an almost complete whole. Another couple of iterations of the GTA franchise, coupled with next generation consoles will see these games reaching that whole.
The only concern I have is that the GTA franchise is firmly entrenched in the Gangster genre. The games are incredibly violent and morally corrupt. I don't really have a problem with that, I love the Gangster genre in all forms of art and it really isn't a problem, so long as mature adults are the only ones exposed to it. Beating random strangers to death for a bit of cash to buy a tatoo is abhorrent to me in reality, but in the virtual world it's fun, partly as it is still abhorrent. But no-one really gets hurt and the random strangers in the GTA games are mostly designed to be obnoxious cariactures. The GTA universe is designed to be a hell of sorts, thus the rules of morallity are very specifically diabollical. I don't know why, but somehow that makes it all OK, in my mind. Somehow, the structure of the universe doesn't cross the line.
But it has got me thinking. These are games which condone criminal behaviour in the contraints of the "rules of the narrative". You are role playing a criminal. It doesn't cross the line, then, to act like a criminal. You wouldn't condemn Robert De Niro for playing criminals in his films. However, imagine the next GTA game put you in the role of a terrorist. GTA: Palestrael. Where the main character uses terrorism, rather than organised crime, to further his/her political narrative agenda. In my mind, especially in the current climate, that would cross the line. In abstract, organised crime and terrorism are morally and ethically the same. In practice, not so much as certain morals and ethics exist within both. In the current GTA games, you can play the story of the game without necessarily harming "innocents". All the story missions are against "the bad guys" who are always, in the narrative sense, "badder" than the main character. You could design a terrorism-based narrative where innocent casualities could be avoided in exactly the same way. Yet, in my view, this still crosses the line. I am not sure why. Perhaps it shouldn't. Yet, I think this issue exists in other narrative forms. Hollywood seems to agree that it would cross the line. I don't know of a movie that has terrorists front and centre in the same way as the Gangster genre has criminals front and centre.
Except for Star Wars, of course.
Friday, October 29, 2004
Wednesday, October 27, 2004
Monday, October 25, 2004
Friday, October 22, 2004
Damn Straight.
Quizzes are still cool, so is Butt Ugly:
I am Dr. Herbert West, from "Reanimator."
I'm right. You're wrong.
Which Random Cult Movie Character are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
Never seen Reanimator, but it is number 1 on the must sees. Why? Geoffrey Coombes
Agent Myers: "My body is a road map, of pain!" (Frightners)
Brunt: "Brunt, FCA" (DS9)
He was also that snively alien that worked for the Founders. It's been a while.
I am Dr. Herbert West, from "Reanimator."
I'm right. You're wrong.
Which Random Cult Movie Character are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
Never seen Reanimator, but it is number 1 on the must sees. Why? Geoffrey Coombes
Agent Myers: "My body is a road map, of pain!" (Frightners)
Brunt: "Brunt, FCA" (DS9)
He was also that snively alien that worked for the Founders. It's been a while.
It ain't fun, anyway.
A violently executed blog has a great post enunciating the problems of clinical depression, especially with the absence of a cause. During some of my deep depressions of the past, I have enountered the "you have nothing to be depressed about, my life is shit, I was abused as a child etc etc" syndrome from other people. I try to explain to them that the lack of cause simply contributes to the depression. I should be happy, my life isn't that bad, but I don't feel I can take it anyway, shit I am depressed is how it goes. I have managed to avoid the "chemical solution", but not for the same reason as the post above (not wanting to impact on the upswing, I hate my upswings), but because I know that in the long run pills do more harm than good.
I have found that being more mindful of my mood shifts enables me to respind to them better. Recognising the ups and downs and knowing the tide will turn eventually makes it easier. It's still hard sometimes, but it's easier.
I have found that being more mindful of my mood shifts enables me to respind to them better. Recognising the ups and downs and knowing the tide will turn eventually makes it easier. It's still hard sometimes, but it's easier.
Wednesday, October 20, 2004
Rules of Work
No, not the Laws of Work, but some rules to get you by:
1) When speaking on the phone, always use PhonePose. This is the pose you see in all the commercials about people being busy at work. Slightly laid back in the chair, staring at at indeterminate spot in between the roof and the wall, slightly twisted to one side of the body, phone to the ear. It exudes professionalism.
2) Never respond to friend's emails in less than 500 words. Short emails not only waste too little time, but look like personal emails. Write essays, and fast. It looks like you are hard at work explaining to a client or a supplier or a board member exactly how much better the company would be if it changed from the Swingline to the Boston stapler.
3) NEVER change from the Swingline to the Boston stapler. The building WILL be burnt down.
4) Always answer your phone (especially your direct line) with the company phrase, "Welcome to Blah Corp, this is Chas, how may I direct your call?". This is not to fit some kind of coporate WankSpeak, but makes the person on the other end (who will 9 times out of 10 be a cold caller) think you are the receptionist. Your options open 10 fold when you are in a position to "pass the buck".
5) NEVER "pass the buck". Shift the blame, spread the ball to the wings or even delegate if you have no other option, but NEVER "pass the buck".
6) Always accompany any "turn of phrase" with "quotation marks" or "air quotation marks". If the phrase is a sport derivative, ALWAYS do the corresponding motion to really "complete the pass" [Chas completes the pass]
7) When writing in your blog, use a word processor. Same reason as 2) above.
More "as they come in". Stay tuned.
1) When speaking on the phone, always use PhonePose. This is the pose you see in all the commercials about people being busy at work. Slightly laid back in the chair, staring at at indeterminate spot in between the roof and the wall, slightly twisted to one side of the body, phone to the ear. It exudes professionalism.
2) Never respond to friend's emails in less than 500 words. Short emails not only waste too little time, but look like personal emails. Write essays, and fast. It looks like you are hard at work explaining to a client or a supplier or a board member exactly how much better the company would be if it changed from the Swingline to the Boston stapler.
3) NEVER change from the Swingline to the Boston stapler. The building WILL be burnt down.
4) Always answer your phone (especially your direct line) with the company phrase, "Welcome to Blah Corp, this is Chas, how may I direct your call?". This is not to fit some kind of coporate WankSpeak, but makes the person on the other end (who will 9 times out of 10 be a cold caller) think you are the receptionist. Your options open 10 fold when you are in a position to "pass the buck".
5) NEVER "pass the buck". Shift the blame, spread the ball to the wings or even delegate if you have no other option, but NEVER "pass the buck".
6) Always accompany any "turn of phrase" with "quotation marks" or "air quotation marks". If the phrase is a sport derivative, ALWAYS do the corresponding motion to really "complete the pass" [Chas completes the pass]
7) When writing in your blog, use a word processor. Same reason as 2) above.
More "as they come in". Stay tuned.
Once I make a decision it is definitely quite possibly maybe final!
Right, that's it! I have decided. The new year will see me move back out into the Real World. Two years back home with the folks to recuperate from the last 3 year venture into the RW is quite enough, thank you very much.
And this time, it will be ALONE! No flat mates, no de-factos, no pets, no dwarves and certainly no Klingons.
Sure, finding a flat to rent (I have maimed, tortured, burnt and buried the idea of making The Bank and The Man rich by attempting home ownership) near where I work will take all my disposable income, my savings, my sanity and my left testicle. But what do I need that for? It is just going to waste down there anyway, given my current relationship status. Good ridance to it, I say. It has only held me back.
And you read it all here first! Aren't you glad you read this blog? The passion, the excitement and the drama that is typically only found on day time soap operas. The humanity. The human condition writ large in justified verdana size 11. Or 10. Or whatever it is, it isn't the type that counts, it's the typing. And the computer. That counts.
So ladies, be prepared for Chas 2005. There is a psychological theory that states that the further a man is from maternal care, the more attractive he is. I affirmed that theory the last time I left home, and intend to do some in depth further study. I'll have a job, my own place, independence, I find myself funny when drunk and boring when sober and I'll only have one testicle. What more could you want? Apart from two testicles, that is?
And this time, it will be ALONE! No flat mates, no de-factos, no pets, no dwarves and certainly no Klingons.
Sure, finding a flat to rent (I have maimed, tortured, burnt and buried the idea of making The Bank and The Man rich by attempting home ownership) near where I work will take all my disposable income, my savings, my sanity and my left testicle. But what do I need that for? It is just going to waste down there anyway, given my current relationship status. Good ridance to it, I say. It has only held me back.
And you read it all here first! Aren't you glad you read this blog? The passion, the excitement and the drama that is typically only found on day time soap operas. The humanity. The human condition writ large in justified verdana size 11. Or 10. Or whatever it is, it isn't the type that counts, it's the typing. And the computer. That counts.
So ladies, be prepared for Chas 2005. There is a psychological theory that states that the further a man is from maternal care, the more attractive he is. I affirmed that theory the last time I left home, and intend to do some in depth further study. I'll have a job, my own place, independence, I find myself funny when drunk and boring when sober and I'll only have one testicle. What more could you want? Apart from two testicles, that is?
Bold prediction from the Seer
The Seer (me) has spoken:
"There are less than two weeks to go to the US President election. I predict the capture, alive or dead, of Osama (alias Usama) Bin Laden, within 1 WEEK!"
Believe it or not, The Seer has been right in the past. The Seer predicted the date (to the week) of capture of the Hitchhiker Serial Killer, Ivan Milat (have I remembered that right?), SIX WEEKS before his capture. The Seer even predicted the sequence of events leading to his capture.
The Seer also predicted the collapse of the North Twin Tower TWELVE SECONDS before its tragic fall, a full FOURTY SECONDS before the much vaunted news reader on CBS or CNN or NBC or whatever channel they were showing the events to The Seer, not letting The West Wing being interrupted for the pleasure.
The Seer also predicts CONTROVERSY. Whether The Seer's prediction is right or wrong CONTROVERSY will break out within TWELVE STANDARD MOONS!
The Seer know the CURE, however. MORE SLEEP and RELAXATION. Take the time to rest and charge your batteries for the onslaught of CONTROVERSY and SCANDAL that will engulf you, your family, your country and the fleas on your dog/cat/insert pet here.
YOU HAVE BEEN SEEN!
"There are less than two weeks to go to the US President election. I predict the capture, alive or dead, of Osama (alias Usama) Bin Laden, within 1 WEEK!"
Believe it or not, The Seer has been right in the past. The Seer predicted the date (to the week) of capture of the Hitchhiker Serial Killer, Ivan Milat (have I remembered that right?), SIX WEEKS before his capture. The Seer even predicted the sequence of events leading to his capture.
The Seer also predicted the collapse of the North Twin Tower TWELVE SECONDS before its tragic fall, a full FOURTY SECONDS before the much vaunted news reader on CBS or CNN or NBC or whatever channel they were showing the events to The Seer, not letting The West Wing being interrupted for the pleasure.
The Seer also predicts CONTROVERSY. Whether The Seer's prediction is right or wrong CONTROVERSY will break out within TWELVE STANDARD MOONS!
The Seer know the CURE, however. MORE SLEEP and RELAXATION. Take the time to rest and charge your batteries for the onslaught of CONTROVERSY and SCANDAL that will engulf you, your family, your country and the fleas on your dog/cat/insert pet here.
YOU HAVE BEEN SEEN!
Tuesday, October 19, 2004
Monday, October 18, 2004
Propaganda
It's amazing. People tell you things your whole life and you believe them and 90% of the time it is complete and total crap. Sometimes you do it to yourself, by making assumptions from the context of what people are saying. By believing implications that aren't there. I recently found out that it is a myth that people thought the world was flat. Total crap. The result of religious politics in the 18th or 19th century as one group tried to prove how retarded another group was by slandering them. Sure, people may not have thought the world was a sphere, but they knew it was curved and most either knew it didn't go on forever or didn't care. I remember laughing at school at the idea that people thought the world was flat. Now I am laughing at myself for being so arrogant that I once thought that people could be so clueless. He who laughs last, thinks slowest.
Now this one, from Raed in The Middle via soul pacific: The phrase "anti-semitic" is used by many to mean anti-Jewish or anti-Israel. I have taken that as fact for years and it seems that most commentators use the phrase in that context. Here is the definition of Semitic, via dictionary.com:
Se·mit·ic
adj.
n.
In the end, it is just a little thing. Just a grammatical misunderstanding, perhaps a deprecation of a particular conotation of the word Semitic. The deeper problem is the racism, bigotry and prejudice that produces the need for the phrase. Anit-Semitic is clearly a term like Un-Australian. It sounds like it means something, but no-one is actually clear on the definition, thus it can be used to forward whatever agenda you choose.
And I didn't even know.
Now this one, from Raed in The Middle via soul pacific: The phrase "anti-semitic" is used by many to mean anti-Jewish or anti-Israel. I have taken that as fact for years and it seems that most commentators use the phrase in that context. Here is the definition of Semitic, via dictionary.com:
Se·mit·ic
adj.
- Of or relating to the Semites or their languages or cultures.
- Of, relating to, or constituting a subgroup of the Afro-Asiatic language group that includes Arabic, Hebrew, Amharic, and Aramaic.
n.
- The Semitic languages.
- Any one of the Semitic languages.
In the end, it is just a little thing. Just a grammatical misunderstanding, perhaps a deprecation of a particular conotation of the word Semitic. The deeper problem is the racism, bigotry and prejudice that produces the need for the phrase. Anit-Semitic is clearly a term like Un-Australian. It sounds like it means something, but no-one is actually clear on the definition, thus it can be used to forward whatever agenda you choose.
And I didn't even know.
Friday, October 15, 2004
Arse-hell
No, its not a case of the dreaded roids, but rather a tale being phone blogged live from the mecca of inner west humanity: Burwood RSL. Thats right, Chas is waiting for his creators, beer in hand, raffle tickets at the ready. As low as one can go? Perhaps, but Chas does not feel the keen lack of a life as others do. Denial. It cures all ills.
Anyway, the parentals are here now and the three year old son of the local Ukranian crime lord or war boss is trying to steal my raffle tickets. I'll have to cut this live report short. Maybe another later if I feel like plumbing the greater depths of getting trashed on my own!
Anyway, the parentals are here now and the three year old son of the local Ukranian crime lord or war boss is trying to steal my raffle tickets. I'll have to cut this live report short. Maybe another later if I feel like plumbing the greater depths of getting trashed on my own!
Not to toot my own horn
Thought of this, a music vending machine, 5 or 6 years ago. I even looked into how much it would cost to make a prototype, but like so many of the ideas I have had I couldn't afford (and couldn't be bothered) to take it to the next step. I even suggested at the time that coffee shops were the place for such a thing. I was 16 when I first wanted to open an internet cafe (that was 11 years ago, there would have been 1 in all of Sydney at the time, if that: I had never seen or heard of one). I put to some powers that be at Sydney Uni that student cards should have trackable chips in them to help security safeguard the university (a bit fascist, I know, but I had good strategies to stop the abuse of such a system). RFID is taking off, and is able to do very similar stuff, but without the abuse stopping strategies.
Zoocity was originally going to be an online short film repository, 3 years before the likes of ifilm.com showed up.
I guess the good news is that I should trust my ability to pick what's a good idea and what isn't. The bad news is that I don't have the confidence or the motivation to act on anything. Besides, all these ideas I have had were not to make money, they were things that I wanted to use or see or go to. Now that they are finally appearing, I can use, look and go to them. The key to a good idea, I think, is to not look for the "angle", but look for what's missing in the world.
Update: Sometimes it pays to misspell the odd word. <cough>I meant to do that.</>
Zoocity was originally going to be an online short film repository, 3 years before the likes of ifilm.com showed up.
I guess the good news is that I should trust my ability to pick what's a good idea and what isn't. The bad news is that I don't have the confidence or the motivation to act on anything. Besides, all these ideas I have had were not to make money, they were things that I wanted to use or see or go to. Now that they are finally appearing, I can use, look and go to them. The key to a good idea, I think, is to not look for the "angle", but look for what's missing in the world.
Update: Sometimes it pays to misspell the odd word. <cough>I meant to do that.</>
Finger String
Many of the skyscrapers in Sydney have lights beaming into the sky at night. When it is windy, bugs are caught in a wind tunnel that propels them up the side of the buildings and up into the lights. Thousands of birds circle the area and have the wildest free feast of their lives. This would make a great episode for Prawns of The Nut World.
Just a note to self.
Just a note to self.
Thursday, October 14, 2004
Please burn my brain
I am sure it is the same in other states of Australia, and probably most of the first world, but here in NSW we are asked whether or not we want to be organ donors when we apply for a drivers' licence. In the case we are killed, we can nominate which parts of our former selves can be given out to the needy and the researchers.
I always tick everything. I believe that what ever part of my makeup is "me" has every right to have every chance of travelling once the gestalt is gone. This is why I intend to be cremated. I don't want to have to wait for the worms to split me up and disperse me.
But anyway, back to this organ donor concept. You can, if you prefer, select which parts can be donated and which can not. So, you may only want your liver or kidneys to be lent out. But what if you only want to keep your brain. Most of the rest of the body is useful to other people: bone marrow, kidneys, heart, liver and maybe even the skin for grafts (?). That's not to say the brain can't be used, but say you feel strongly about having your head kept intact. What happens to your corpse, in the case you are buried or have a viewing before cremation? Do they put the head on a mannequin? Do they make sure they keep enough of the structure around that they can fill it with sawdust?
What if I ticked nothing but "Bone", which is one of the options and presumably means bone marrow? Do they suck out all the bone marrow, bung it in a coffin and then invite the loved ones for a viewing?
"Here lies Chas Rover’s bone marrow. It rests in peace. The rest of him has given others a new hope in life, also, hopefully, in peace"
I always tick everything. I believe that what ever part of my makeup is "me" has every right to have every chance of travelling once the gestalt is gone. This is why I intend to be cremated. I don't want to have to wait for the worms to split me up and disperse me.
But anyway, back to this organ donor concept. You can, if you prefer, select which parts can be donated and which can not. So, you may only want your liver or kidneys to be lent out. But what if you only want to keep your brain. Most of the rest of the body is useful to other people: bone marrow, kidneys, heart, liver and maybe even the skin for grafts (?). That's not to say the brain can't be used, but say you feel strongly about having your head kept intact. What happens to your corpse, in the case you are buried or have a viewing before cremation? Do they put the head on a mannequin? Do they make sure they keep enough of the structure around that they can fill it with sawdust?
What if I ticked nothing but "Bone", which is one of the options and presumably means bone marrow? Do they suck out all the bone marrow, bung it in a coffin and then invite the loved ones for a viewing?
"Here lies Chas Rover’s bone marrow. It rests in peace. The rest of him has given others a new hope in life, also, hopefully, in peace"
Wednesday, October 13, 2004
Note from Blogger
Dear Chas,
We are returning this perfectly decent blank web space to you as someone has written gibberish all over it and signed your name to the top.
Regards,
The Blogger Team
We are returning this perfectly decent blank web space to you as someone has written gibberish all over it and signed your name to the top.
Regards,
The Blogger Team
Tuesday, October 12, 2004
Monday, October 11, 2004
Schlafen Nicht Denkend
If you search for Foxtel on Google Germany (Das Web), Sleeping Not Thinking gets an honourable mention. Without the honour, or the mention.
Thank God this election is over. A nice victory for social conscience and compassion. Oh wait, I'm in denial. It's three more years of intolerance and hate. Bring it on. I may finally be allowed to have a "governement sponsored"* Filipino whore, I mean maid. And can I say, finally someone will have a mandate to split this society into the tiers it has always needed. I am sick of sharing this world with the plebs. They should be weeded out and given their own bus (one, singular bus). The trains would run on time. The roads would be a pleasure to drive. I even know how to weed these weeds out. They are the ones who voted right-wing. Of course, if Labor had won, this post would be completely different. The word God would have been replaced by Allah.
I am not bitter. Really.
*Sponsored to the tune of "Do what you are told or be deported back to the shithole you came from. If you are lucky, you may get a something to chew on once in a while"
Update: Superman Dies. A sad day.
Thank God this election is over. A nice victory for social conscience and compassion. Oh wait, I'm in denial. It's three more years of intolerance and hate. Bring it on. I may finally be allowed to have a "governement sponsored"* Filipino whore, I mean maid. And can I say, finally someone will have a mandate to split this society into the tiers it has always needed. I am sick of sharing this world with the plebs. They should be weeded out and given their own bus (one, singular bus). The trains would run on time. The roads would be a pleasure to drive. I even know how to weed these weeds out. They are the ones who voted right-wing. Of course, if Labor had won, this post would be completely different. The word God would have been replaced by Allah.
I am not bitter. Really.
*Sponsored to the tune of "Do what you are told or be deported back to the shithole you came from. If you are lucky, you may get a something to chew on once in a while"
Update: Superman Dies. A sad day.
Friday, October 08, 2004
The post that brewed
In less than a month, I will be attending my High School 10 year reunion. I wasn’t going to, but I have paid for it now (electronically, my how the world has changed), so I guess I am committed. Not because I wouldn’t want to waste money, but because subconsciously I made a decision to go when I decided to pay.
A 10 year reunion seems to be a rite of passage and I am somewhat apprehensive. Which, in of itself, is not an emotion I am familiar with. I charge into most situations with reckless abandon, content to sort things out on the fly and deal with the consequences later. I am having trouble aligning my perception in that direction for this reunion. It frightens me. But it is not because I fear being jealous of others or feeling sorry for them or anything like that. I could care less what social achievements have been won and lost by my peers and I fight the auto-pilot reflex reaction that is social anxiety on a minute by minute basis.
What I fear is happening already. I have not thought about High School for a long time. I have never taken stock of what High School meant to me, what emotions I went through, what trials at which I succeed or failed. None of it. My tour of duty was a typical one, filled with challenges both academic and social. I have never had regrets about decisions made nor circumstances not fitting dreams, yet I have never stopped to take stock of the experience.
I don’t really know if I want to run into old friends long forgotten or ignored. 10 years ago I had a nice emotional wall built around myself that kept me distant from the confusion of teenage emotions. I have since ditched that wall. Do I really want to live the emotions again, perhaps for the first time in some cases? Will that even be the case, or will the banality that is 10 years of growth simply dispel any mental excursions into the past? Which would I prefer?
In the 10 years that have past, while most of me is the same, there have been changes. Changes in how I deal with and assimilate the world around me. Changes in how I deal with my internal state and emotions. Changes that mean I am better equipped to deal with difficult situations and awkward environments. These changes, however, are recent additions and may not be ready to deal with emotional states that will be triggered by the stimuli that are 10 years old. The inevitable regression that will occur, a temporary echo of a me past, will alter my psyche such that the new code may be uncallable. I don’t really want to be the teenager I was again, even for a short while, but that will be inevitable once the first “Chas, you haven’t changed a bit” is uttered by those bereft of anything original to say. My personality was wrought from the stone formed during my high school years, chipped away to reveal its nature in the ensuing years. It is still in rough form and in need of a lifetime of polish, but it has a shape now, which it didn’t 10 years ago.
Needless to say, this reunion has got me thinking. I don’t think I have ever been in such an acute mood of nostalgia as I have been in the last few weeks. There are sparks of emotion running through my subconscious that are eager to be felt. At the risk of sounding like a Freudian, pretentious wanker, I feel I never stopped to mourn the passing of my teen years. I have celebrated them and made friends with the teenage me, but they are gone and so is he. Perhaps this reunion is exactly what I need, perhaps that is why such a thing as a 10 year reunion exists. It is a rite of passage that allows us to celebrate and mourn a past lost to time. A necessary psychological threshold barrier that the crossing of which allows us to grow and start on the path to the next barrier. The Joseph Campbell growing up as myth theory told tall in our everyday lives. I wonder who my threshold guardian will be. I have an idea who it could be as the fear of this reunion only appeared when I realised this person would be going. It is not a bully or a rival or even a friend. It is a girl who will now be a woman. She chipped away the first of the excess stone when I first let a maelstrom of emotions through my defences.
I have not thought of her for 10 years. It was good that way.
A 10 year reunion seems to be a rite of passage and I am somewhat apprehensive. Which, in of itself, is not an emotion I am familiar with. I charge into most situations with reckless abandon, content to sort things out on the fly and deal with the consequences later. I am having trouble aligning my perception in that direction for this reunion. It frightens me. But it is not because I fear being jealous of others or feeling sorry for them or anything like that. I could care less what social achievements have been won and lost by my peers and I fight the auto-pilot reflex reaction that is social anxiety on a minute by minute basis.
What I fear is happening already. I have not thought about High School for a long time. I have never taken stock of what High School meant to me, what emotions I went through, what trials at which I succeed or failed. None of it. My tour of duty was a typical one, filled with challenges both academic and social. I have never had regrets about decisions made nor circumstances not fitting dreams, yet I have never stopped to take stock of the experience.
I don’t really know if I want to run into old friends long forgotten or ignored. 10 years ago I had a nice emotional wall built around myself that kept me distant from the confusion of teenage emotions. I have since ditched that wall. Do I really want to live the emotions again, perhaps for the first time in some cases? Will that even be the case, or will the banality that is 10 years of growth simply dispel any mental excursions into the past? Which would I prefer?
In the 10 years that have past, while most of me is the same, there have been changes. Changes in how I deal with and assimilate the world around me. Changes in how I deal with my internal state and emotions. Changes that mean I am better equipped to deal with difficult situations and awkward environments. These changes, however, are recent additions and may not be ready to deal with emotional states that will be triggered by the stimuli that are 10 years old. The inevitable regression that will occur, a temporary echo of a me past, will alter my psyche such that the new code may be uncallable. I don’t really want to be the teenager I was again, even for a short while, but that will be inevitable once the first “Chas, you haven’t changed a bit” is uttered by those bereft of anything original to say. My personality was wrought from the stone formed during my high school years, chipped away to reveal its nature in the ensuing years. It is still in rough form and in need of a lifetime of polish, but it has a shape now, which it didn’t 10 years ago.
Needless to say, this reunion has got me thinking. I don’t think I have ever been in such an acute mood of nostalgia as I have been in the last few weeks. There are sparks of emotion running through my subconscious that are eager to be felt. At the risk of sounding like a Freudian, pretentious wanker, I feel I never stopped to mourn the passing of my teen years. I have celebrated them and made friends with the teenage me, but they are gone and so is he. Perhaps this reunion is exactly what I need, perhaps that is why such a thing as a 10 year reunion exists. It is a rite of passage that allows us to celebrate and mourn a past lost to time. A necessary psychological threshold barrier that the crossing of which allows us to grow and start on the path to the next barrier. The Joseph Campbell growing up as myth theory told tall in our everyday lives. I wonder who my threshold guardian will be. I have an idea who it could be as the fear of this reunion only appeared when I realised this person would be going. It is not a bully or a rival or even a friend. It is a girl who will now be a woman. She chipped away the first of the excess stone when I first let a maelstrom of emotions through my defences.
I have not thought of her for 10 years. It was good that way.
Thursday, October 07, 2004
Positive Mental Attitude
Beezelbublog is another of my psychological muses. This is mainly as the posts seems to be ripped out of my own mind, for the most part. The current post is about Centrelink and six months on the dole and the ignomy of having to go to a Job Search Assistance Centre. It ends with the mantra of all the unemployed and most of the employed:
I think I'm having a mid-life crisis. I am going to learn how to make things out of wood, I am going to learn how to sew. I am going to find someone to sing with. I am going to get fit. I will find someone to love (I am going to start looking).
<teardrops and violins>It is truth.</> But she's got me thinking about my time with a Job Skills organisation.
Arrival: “Sit down, show me your resume”
10 minutes in: “There is nothing we can do to help you, you seem to have it under control. When the I.T. market picks up you’ll be fine”
12 minutes in: “You need to fill out these forms and attach details of jobs you are applying for, just make it up from what you do on the internet at home and fax it through. You will, however, need to come in once a week and sign a form saying you were here 3 hours a day”
3 weeks later: “Good work getting a job (Ed: without Job Search’s help), that will be great for our next report to government. It makes it look like we are doing something.”
6 weeks later (after receiving a Job Search Questionnaire): (Phone Call) “Hi, how’s the job? Great. Did you get the Centrelink Questionaire? Yes? Would you like help filling it out? No, well in case you get stuck, just put Above Average or Excellent for each item, that would really help us out with more funding. Don’t put excellent for everything, though, Centrelink gets suspicious about us coaching people to fill the questionnaire out. Sweet. And thanks. Bye”
You may think I am exaggerating a bit, but I am outraged to say that the above is pretty much verbatim. The guy who ran the place knew what a scam he was running and knew I was smart enough to see it. To his credit, he didn’t patronise me and laid the truth out bare. I’ll let you make up your own opinion on the validity of Job Search Assistance programs for the dole in the country, but next time a government minister or Centrelink bureaucrat points to “healthy feedback about the program from Job Seekers”, try not to snicker.
Wednesday, October 06, 2004
Too much not to say
Been quiet.
As quiet as a small bumblebee with social anxiety.
As quiet as a minute rhesus monkey with no vocal chords.
This election drives me up the wall. When it is over, I will feel better. I should let the rage out in paroxisms of gyrating blog posts, spewed forth all over your freshly spring-cleaned web browser. A geyser of hot character based diatribble on the subject of "Stuff". But I won't.
Fear not, fearless readers. Chas will return. Expect a raft of floating blog goodness when the iMac arrives. And a chat room, because I can. And a web cam, cause they used to be my speciality. And video, for the same reason. Text is really not my area of creative expertise.
Text is txt is txet, which fits me not best.
As quiet as a small bumblebee with social anxiety.
As quiet as a minute rhesus monkey with no vocal chords.
This election drives me up the wall. When it is over, I will feel better. I should let the rage out in paroxisms of gyrating blog posts, spewed forth all over your freshly spring-cleaned web browser. A geyser of hot character based diatribble on the subject of "Stuff". But I won't.
Fear not, fearless readers. Chas will return. Expect a raft of floating blog goodness when the iMac arrives. And a chat room, because I can. And a web cam, cause they used to be my speciality. And video, for the same reason. Text is really not my area of creative expertise.
Text is txt is txet, which fits me not best.
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