Yeah, Whatever

In what has become something of an annual tradition of its own, I reprint here the relevant portion of an extended story I told in 2003, about why today is endlessly annoying to me:

I hate Halloween.

I’m not much for most holidays, of course, but there’s just something especially about Halloween that sticks in my craw, something that I don’t have one coherent explanation for.  I didn’t like candy when I was a kid.  My Mom never made us costumes; she bought them for us, and back in the Seventies the costumes were all made out of vinyl, the smell of which made me nauseous then, and makes me nauseous now.  We lived on a dead-end street off a very busy road, surrounded by commercial developments, so there were only so many houses we could go to, and only a couple of those where anyone would answer the door.  I couldn’t see the point.  It was a lot more fun for me to stay home, light my carved pumpkin (carving pumpkins was the one thing I loved) and watch the Disney version of “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow” on TV.  That was the only time of year they played it, and you couldn’t just go out and buy it on DVD and play it ad nauseum like you can today.

One year they decided to have a Halloween “parade” at my elementary school.  They took all the kids who came to school in costume and marched them around the kickball square on the blacktop outside, while everyone else looked on.  I had worn a V-neck polo shirt and shorts, and borrowed an old tennis hat and racket from my older brother, who lettered in it, so I could go as a tennis player:  a costume with no vinyl.  I remember the older kids pointing at me as I walked past and yelling over and over “Billie Jean King!  Billie Jean King!”  I knew who that was.  I didn’t understand why they thought it was so funny.

As I got older, it didn’t get any better.  If you’re an adult and you’re still into Halloween, then either you’re embracing all the stuff about Death and giving the underworld its one night and facing what you fear that the holiday is supposed to embody, the stuff that the whole Trick or Treat thing swept under the carpet, or you like the idea that for one night you and everyone else in the world can have this sort of nation-wide Mardis Gras, flip out, break the rules and be whatever you want to be.  That’s swell.  My family owns a freaking funeral home.  I don’t need to give Death one night, because I get to live with Death and the trappings of Death and the reality of Death every single damn day of my life.  And I don’t need a special night to be what I want to be (or to flip out).  I’m already what I want to be:  …It’s enough for me, and it takes all of the strength that I have to be it day after day in a world that alternates between laughing at me and not giving a damn.

The full story is actually pretty good, but I prefer not to drag it up anymore because some of the people mentioned in it later expressed their distaste at being portrayed by me in this medium.

—

The local youths also chose to celebrate my return to Sealand last night by singling my car out from all the others parked on the block for a shaving cream adornment, a fact I only discovered on my way out of the house to catch the bus.

—

On the other hand, this is one of the few days of the year I can wear the sorts of accoutrements I normally wear without anyone cracking wise, since they assume they’re part of a costume.

Lexicon

House phrases that have evolved as a result of shared video-game playing and media viewing with Jack:

Cowboy Ending: any cut-scene at the end of a game or movie involving a large sunset as the back drop.  (Jack is more of a purist in this respect;  he refuses to apply the term unless the backdrop also includes cactus or mesas specifically evocative of a Western.)

Meanwhile, in Tokyo: humourous descriptor applied to any cut-scene involving gratuitous destruction of the environment (a la Godzilla).  Can also be interjected as a non-sequitor in any conversation, if followed by appropriate screaming and pantomime.

Explodamo: enemy whose primary mode of attack is to approach the main character and then blow up, especially one that can later be used by a player with the correct upgrades as ammo in his own attack, or to manipulate the environment.

In the Can: phrase denoting a power-up or other asset held in reserve for later use.

Alertness

“The druggies are out there,” says Opal, squinting through the front blinds into the night.

I look up from the screen of her laptop, where I am busy leading a nation of fictional British colonists through an eight-decade long struggle for independence.  It’s not quite an atypical statement for her, but it is somewhat incongruous, coming as it does without warning, and given that she lives on a quiet street in a reasonably safe, well-policed neighborhood.  I am reminded uncomfortably of our next-door neighbor, who spiraled off into drunken dementia, and had all the pine trees around her house cut down because she thought there were black men hiding in them, waiting to attack her.

“What?” I say.

“The druggies,” she repeats, evenly.  “Every night about this time, two cars drive up the street and park, and then sit there with the lights off.  Then a little while later, another car drives up the street, and it parks with the lights off, too.”  She leans to the right slightly to adjust her point of view, moving her fingers to a different part of the blind.  “The three people in the cars get out for a little while and talk to each other-  trade the drugs for the money, I guess.  Then they all get back in their cars and drive away.”

I open my mouth to say something dismissive, to the effect that there are probably lots of reasons why three people might engage in such behavior that have nothing to do with drugs-  then shut it again as I realize that I can’t think of any.  It’s a dead end street off a major highway, with no streetlights, and little if any foot traffic:  factors that would all recommend it for exactly what she’s suggesting.

I stand up from the dining room table and wander into the living room, as she turns away from the blinds.  “So…  why don’t you call the cops?” I ask her.

“Me?” she says, surprised.  “I’m not callin’ the cops on them.  They’ll come and burn down the house.”

She shuffles away into the kitchen, leaving me standing there watching her, blinking.

—

At the bus stop, as I huddle behind a thin glass partition against the wind and rain, I notice a color poster taped to the side of the shelter, hanging half-on, half-off.  It shows a Crimestoppers tip number, and above it, a picture of the County Sheriff:  a clean-cut, handsome-looking gentleman wearing a grey dress uniform, smiling at the viewer.  He seems vaguely familiar.  He might have been one of the people who attended the visiting for my father’s funeral.

“ALERTNESS IS THE KEY TO PREVENTION,” reads the sign.  “YOUR INVOLVEMENT IS CRUCIAL.”

A small truck roars by, close to the curb, sending up a splash of water that leaps through the shelter door and soaks me.

Latest in Line

It seems that one of the contestants on the current iteration of “Survivor” also goes by the name of Ace.

Well that’s going to futz all my Google traffic.

So Help Me…

… the next person who asks me if I am “still” doing something-  “still writing”, “still typing”, “still reading”, “still drawing”, “still playing that computer game”, “still at work”-  is going to be subject to spectacularly violent retribution.

Zen Commuting (State Transit Can Smell Your Fear)

I have been commuting to work for over 15 years now, primarily by bus, and while I have accrued the usual panoply of bizzare stories associated with that activity, the one observation above all others that I have made is this:  no matter what desire you hold in your heart when you approach State Transit, the circumstances thereon will conspire to provide the exact opposite.  If it is important that you be on time, the bus will be late arriving, or the lines out the door.  If you are tired, and are looking forward to sitting down, the woman who cut the line in front of you will get the last seat, and you will have to stand.  If you are sick, and want only for the trip to be as short as it can possibly be, it will rain, and cars will spin out or break down in the Tunnel, and the resultant traffic will make the trip twice as long as usual.  If you are hot and looking forward to the air conditioning, it will be broken, and the bus crowded;  if you are cold and desire only heat, the air will be on, and blasting full tilt.   If you are looking forward to reading the next chapter in your book, the reading lights will be out.  If you have a laptop and want to type, there will be someone sitting next to you, preventing you from getting your arms into the correct position, or the person in front of you (who is invariably 4’2″, and not particularly constrained in any way) will put his seat all the way back, preventing you from opening the screen fully.  Etcetera.

This maxim holds true with such perverse consistency, that in the end, the only way to survive the experience with any kind of sanity intact is simply to let go of all of your expectations whatsoever:  present yourself at the terminal and abide, accepting that whatever happens between there and home is what happens.

That or get an IPod, I guess.

Details

City of Ember— Utterly magnificent.  Not only faithfully reproduced the milieu of the book, but added material to it that made sense and allowed it to work better as a movie without violating any of the original concepts.  Are you listening, Peter Jackson?

Spore— Still unabashedly fun, although the continual high keening of the animals now has a proven ability to give me a headache.  Understand the reviews better now:  Space stage is as complex as the rest of the game combined.  Not an impediment to my enjoyment, nor my son’s, since neither one of us have any previous RTS experience.

Colonization on the home system– Finally got to see the opening animation;  not bad, but the human figures were strange-looking and clunky.  In-game graphics sure are purty, though–  can see the reflections of the ships in the ocean as they sail, broken up by the waves in the water.

chicken and black bean tacos– Edible, but just not an adequate substitute for ground beef when using yellow corn shells.

We Love Katamari— Fun all over again, as Jack has gotten older and his skills and appreciation of it have improved.  Broke the house record for all-time biggest Katamari together, rolling up the King (but not the Queen), then obsessively sang the end credit music for the next two days.  Want to find the music on .mp3.

blueberry nectarine pancakes– Look weird.

marble mazes– Unusually frustrating.  The abundance of video game simulations available to Jack have shortened the level of time he’s willing to spend tinkering with non-“pre-boxed” engineering scenarios before getting frustrated.  Gotta work on that.  Discussed in the meantime the concept of “support” and how to achieve it in constructs.

apple picking– Never went, because of a communications error causing us to miss the scheduled meeting time.  Turned out to be an unexpected bonus:  those who did go reported that the line to get in was miles long, the apples were $25 a bag, and the farm provided no guarantee there would even be any apples left.  They left without partaking, got lunch somewhere else, and had a poor day.

“Walking With Dinosaurs”– Freakin’ awesome.  Unavoidable sense of slowness compared to CGI dinosaurs more than made up for by true-to-life scale and right-in-your-face reality.  Jack not only able to see and enjoy the show as entertainment, but be curious about and anxious to discuss the stagecraft behind it.  Me too!

Birthday Weekend with Jack

yesterday: City of Ember; Spore, Colonization on the home system (finally!); chicken and black bean tacos

this morning: We Love Katamari; blueberry nectarine pancakes; marble mazes

today: apple picking; “Walking With Dinosaurs”

18th Century Fox

Been expending what little mental energy I have to spare banging my head against the recent remake of Colonization, in part because the original was one of my all-time favorites, and in part because it works on my mother’s Hewlitt-Packard/ Vista laptop without any necessity for a connection to the Internet.  Playing the original was a pasttime I shared with my now deceased mother-in-law Noel, who was also a big fan of the historical period;  we spent a lot of afternoons and evenings side-by-side on an old sewing bench, drinking unsweetened iced-tea and staring into a 15″ monitor, laughing ourselves silly over the outrages perpetrated on us by the King and the natives and the Europeans, and vice versa.  She was the one (in our house, anyway) who came up with the idea of using Privateers to haul small batches of expensive cargo like silver over long distances and run blockades, a brilliant piece of strategy that never occurred to me, and that I have never lost admiration for her for thinking of.

The old iteration of the game was based off the original Civilization engine.  The new iteration is based off the Civilization 4 engine, and seems insanely hard, having kept all the basic concepts of the old game that worked against you, but thrown out all the parts that allowed you to win.  (Those interested in the sordid details can look here, where I continue to hold forth about it.)  I have yet to beat it, even on the easiest difficulty.

I have also just finished this morning reading the novel Johnny Tremaine, an exceedingly well-written story set in that same time period.  It reminded me anew how often older books seem to kick the hell out of newer ones, and also left me paradoxically ashamed even as I enjoyed it, because it reminded me simultaneously that a great many people of all ages and both sexes, on all sides-  people no different or better than you or I-  gave everything they had to give during those great conflicts, often against their will.  And that they deserve more consideration than being reduced to sound effects and pixels.

Not the Best Choice

Saxophonist on a crowded City of Mists subway platform playing “Tomorrow”.

Like Father, Like Son

at the beginning of the Space stage in the game Spore

Jack:  (pulls giant missile launcher pods onto either side of spacecraft template)

Ace:  Welp, no confusion about the message you’re sendin’ there, son.

Jack: (nods)  Death.

(stretches missle pods to make them larger)

Pyrrhic Victory

As of today, I no longer have to pay any more alimony.