Tear down the house
That I grew up in
I'll never be the same again
Take everything that I’ve collected
And throw it in a pile
Bulldoze the woods
That I ran through
Carry the pictures of me and you
I have no memory of who I once was
And I don't remember your name
Park the old car
That I love the best
(The) inspections due and it won’t pass the test
It’s funny how I have to put it to rest
And how one day…I will join it
I remember crying over you
And I don't mean like a couple of tears
And then I'm blue
I’m talkin’ about collapsing
And screaming at the moon
But I'm a better man
For having gone through it
Yes, I'm a better man
For having gone through…
Ever since I learned how to curse
I’ve been using those sorry old words
But, I’m talkin’ to these children
And I’m keeping it clean
I don’t need those words
To say what I mean
No, I don’t need those words
To say what I mean
Tear down the house
That I grew up in
I'll never be the same again
Take everything that I used to own
And burn it in a pile
And, bulldoze the woods
That I ran through
Carry the pictures of me and you
I have no memory of who I once was
And I don't remember your name
Monday, October 19, 2009
Green Tunes: Episode 9 - The Avett Brothers
This is the most amazing song I've heard in a long while and I had to share it. This is one of them. It stabs me right in the heart. I hope you can appreciate it like I do. No video, just listen.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
I Just Can't Find the Words
This was the title of a continuing education session that I attended this afternoon as part of my professional development required by the college for which I work. It was the creepiest, most insulting fifty minutes of time I've endured in recent memory. Let me describe the scene.
The speaker's style was breathy and flowery, full of tangential anecdotes that made no sense. He would frequently pause for a few seconds before inhaling deeply and proclaiming "Oh boy," for no apparent reason. He would also take up to thirty seconds to study a piece of paper while the room, thirty colleagues full, sat in silence politely waiting for him to collect his thoughts and continue his presentation.
Style aside, if the presentation was worthwhile, we should overlook these quirks in the delivery method, right? It wasn't. He spent fifteen minutes introducing himself, talking about his youth in Queens, every place he went to college in his entire life, and why he ended up in Omaha. Now, as an Omaha transplant, I understand the need to explain yourself if you've somehow found yourself residing here after coming from, say, New York or Chicago, but the classroom probably isn't the place for that.
He then began a thirty minute stream-of-consciousness ramble about politicians who spoke without considering the ramifications of their words and why that upset him. However, he gave no solutions about how to go about prevent such atrocities of communication in our own interactions. Also part of the thirty minute poetry slam were descriptions of emails with colleagues in which someone said something he didn't like or used a word that he didn't feel was appropriate. Of course, no examples of that behavior were left without a complicated, tangent-filled rant about how he responded to the attack. No one in the room, including me, had the heart to ask him to consider why people reacted to him they way that they did.
Following the descriptions of emails that probably should have remained private, he then began to rail on contemporary mediums of communication like email, blogs, Twitter, Facebook, and MySpace. It was easy to understand how much he detests these things because every time he mentioned one of them he would intentionally mispronounce it, as if he were some kind of incredibly stupid Luddite who couldn't figure out that it's not pronounced "MyBook" or "TwitSpace." His reasoning for the contemptuous behavior? Everything in an electronic medium can be copied and printed, potentially ruining a reputation in the process. I found myself thinking that I could understand why this would be threatening to him.
At one point, he even told an incredibly insulting story about a conversation with a garbage man, which I paraphrase here in his voice:
Then he paused and continued, "But it's the recession so I guess we all have to do what we can," implying that the only reason the man knew such big words in the first place was because he had to take a job below his normal stature because of the poor economy.
At the end of his lecture, he asked the standard question, "Does anyone have any questions?" Of course nobody did because not only were some of his comments, in an unexpected twist of irony, completely inappropriate, but his thought process was so broken, so twisted in its logic, that I don't think any of us in the room could have even begun to decipher exactly what the hell his point really was in the first place.
As people filed out of the room, I felt like I was the only one who found his presentation completely insulting and worthless but as I discovered, everyone else was similarly disgusted by what they'd just witnessed. Thinking back to the event, I wish I'd had a recording to device to capture the insanity I'm attempting to describe. When it comes to describing it in this medium, I just can't find the words.
The speaker's style was breathy and flowery, full of tangential anecdotes that made no sense. He would frequently pause for a few seconds before inhaling deeply and proclaiming "Oh boy," for no apparent reason. He would also take up to thirty seconds to study a piece of paper while the room, thirty colleagues full, sat in silence politely waiting for him to collect his thoughts and continue his presentation.
Style aside, if the presentation was worthwhile, we should overlook these quirks in the delivery method, right? It wasn't. He spent fifteen minutes introducing himself, talking about his youth in Queens, every place he went to college in his entire life, and why he ended up in Omaha. Now, as an Omaha transplant, I understand the need to explain yourself if you've somehow found yourself residing here after coming from, say, New York or Chicago, but the classroom probably isn't the place for that.
He then began a thirty minute stream-of-consciousness ramble about politicians who spoke without considering the ramifications of their words and why that upset him. However, he gave no solutions about how to go about prevent such atrocities of communication in our own interactions. Also part of the thirty minute poetry slam were descriptions of emails with colleagues in which someone said something he didn't like or used a word that he didn't feel was appropriate. Of course, no examples of that behavior were left without a complicated, tangent-filled rant about how he responded to the attack. No one in the room, including me, had the heart to ask him to consider why people reacted to him they way that they did.
Following the descriptions of emails that probably should have remained private, he then began to rail on contemporary mediums of communication like email, blogs, Twitter, Facebook, and MySpace. It was easy to understand how much he detests these things because every time he mentioned one of them he would intentionally mispronounce it, as if he were some kind of incredibly stupid Luddite who couldn't figure out that it's not pronounced "MyBook" or "TwitSpace." His reasoning for the contemptuous behavior? Everything in an electronic medium can be copied and printed, potentially ruining a reputation in the process. I found myself thinking that I could understand why this would be threatening to him.
At one point, he even told an incredibly insulting story about a conversation with a garbage man, which I paraphrase here in his voice:
I don't mean to insult anyone in the garbage collection profession, here, but listen to this story. A garbage man was emptying my recycle bin and mentioned something about the can 'not being able to withstand such an excessive impact'. I was impressed that he used such big words for someone without a lot of higher education.
Then he paused and continued, "But it's the recession so I guess we all have to do what we can," implying that the only reason the man knew such big words in the first place was because he had to take a job below his normal stature because of the poor economy.
At the end of his lecture, he asked the standard question, "Does anyone have any questions?" Of course nobody did because not only were some of his comments, in an unexpected twist of irony, completely inappropriate, but his thought process was so broken, so twisted in its logic, that I don't think any of us in the room could have even begun to decipher exactly what the hell his point really was in the first place.
As people filed out of the room, I felt like I was the only one who found his presentation completely insulting and worthless but as I discovered, everyone else was similarly disgusted by what they'd just witnessed. Thinking back to the event, I wish I'd had a recording to device to capture the insanity I'm attempting to describe. When it comes to describing it in this medium, I just can't find the words.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Unraveling
I haven't finished Braid yet. But I've definitely formed some new opinions and reshaped some old ones in the process. First, I previously stated that I thought Braid got as close to the "games as art" grail that so many have been chasing. That was after the first and second level. Now well into the fifth level, I can truly say that I wish to stomp on Jonathan Blow's scrotum and force him to come clean with exactly what in bloody blazes he's trying to say. See, at the beginning, I thought that the "story" would make itself clear as I progressed, that there would be some natural exposure of the author's intent over my unraveling of the game's challenges.
Nope.
Strictly speaking, the narrative never reveals its purpose (at least of what I know of it so far). It's like reading high school poetry. The author is trying very hard to be symbolic and witty and creative by using imagery that is entirely personal in nature. According to Blow, some people have emailed him with their interpretation of his work and those few have it right apparently. Those of us unwashed who are too stupid or lazy (me) to spend time trying to decipher Blow's hieroglyphics are simply out of luck.
My only other complaint is something that a friend brought up. Sometimes, the puzzles are just too much sitting and staring at the level until you come up with the exact solution that the designer was thinking. I don't mind doing that to a point, but when I only have a half an hour to play, I don't feel like spending the whole time staring at and pondering the meaning of some little fuzzy glowing cannonball. Sometimes a man just wants to have some fun and not be all cerebral about it. Is that wrong?
Nope.
Strictly speaking, the narrative never reveals its purpose (at least of what I know of it so far). It's like reading high school poetry. The author is trying very hard to be symbolic and witty and creative by using imagery that is entirely personal in nature. According to Blow, some people have emailed him with their interpretation of his work and those few have it right apparently. Those of us unwashed who are too stupid or lazy (me) to spend time trying to decipher Blow's hieroglyphics are simply out of luck.
My only other complaint is something that a friend brought up. Sometimes, the puzzles are just too much sitting and staring at the level until you come up with the exact solution that the designer was thinking. I don't mind doing that to a point, but when I only have a half an hour to play, I don't feel like spending the whole time staring at and pondering the meaning of some little fuzzy glowing cannonball. Sometimes a man just wants to have some fun and not be all cerebral about it. Is that wrong?
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