Faye–whippet prime, succumbed to a digestive problem and had to be euthanized. Being unable to absorb a critical protein, her muscle mass wasted away until she became immobile. It was heartbreaking to watch, as up until the end, she wanted to be a whippety whippet and go running. But as the pain eroded her humor and patience, the whippet we knew had already started to depart.
Faye was a symbol, that Liz and I were deliberately choosing a life together. We moved into an apartment, and shortly thereafter purchased Faye. At the time I had no idea what a whippet was, but it sure set a precedent. Faye was amusingly regal at times, yet still doggy at others. And when the kid was born, an innate and deeply-buried instinct kicked in and she became the family guardian, growling at people she didn’t know.
She moved with us through three apartments, and finally got the house and whippet patch she deserved. The timing was fortunate, as we can now lay her to rest in her own land.
I hate what the information age has done to information. By democratizing its access, we’ve devalued it entirely, which in turn has rendered its pursuit a non-viable economic model. Instead, its value is now determined by aggregation. The facts themselves are now worthless, but if one has enough sheer volume of facts, then they can drive traffic and by extension, capitalize upon secondary ad revenue.
So with the information itself demonetized, no incentive exists to analyze it–just to present it in a quickly digestible form. The result is the same sub-1000-word article on every website. Any academic value it originally had is diluted by this copy-paste method. No one’s vetting the research, and very few are doing any original research.
I encountered this phenomenon while indulging in a casual curiosity. The Super Bowl was playing, and there are few things I have less interest in watching, so I ate a can of sardines. (I forced the child to try one for the character-building experience).
Delicious fish having been consumed, I was left with a can of oil. I recalled hearing that the fish/olive oil made a good base for an improvised oil lamp (of course it would, seeing as that was the primary purpose of originally harvesting olive oil, which was a major step for humanity towards achieving ubiquitous and affordable artificial light–facts apparently lost to history). So I rolled up a piece of paper towel into a wick, stuck it in the can, and lit it. And, unsurprisingly, it burned with the steady flame of an oil lamp.
As I watched the flame, I wondered where I had read that article, who’s purpose was to list the unconventional sources of lighting one might find in their kitchen, for use in an emergency. So I took to the Internet.
And this is where I became irritated with the scenario outlined in the first two paragraphs of this post. I wouldn’t have much considered that the lists contained the same substances. After all, there’s only so many combustible liquids in a typical residential building. But what grabbed my attention was that every article added in the little quip about how burning the sardine oil would make the house smell like fish. That was because, it didn’t. The little flame is insufficient to bring the contents of the can to the volatiles’ vapor point, and the oil that was actively combusting was heated to the point where anything which would have smelled was denatured. It was a clean, odorless lamp.
This indicates to me that the original author of the article probably put in the humorous aside, meant to be nothing more than a small joke, and was subsequently copied as a priori fact by content harvesters looking to add information to their own catalogues.
So for fuck’s sake people, do a little bit of original research.
It also bears mentioning that the sardine lamp burned out sometime after I had fallen asleep, so you do get several hours’ worth of illumination from it. And the sardines were good.
February is approaching, which means I’m not doing much of interest right now, which means there isn’t much to write about, which means I’m going to do some rambling. Yep, it’s one of those posts.
And as I trudge through the bleakness in my MUCK boots (which are awesome, by the way), I ponder the meaningless of the human existence.
Okay, not quite, but a general lack of distractions when it’s cold and dark does tend to condition the mind towards a gnawing hopelessness. And to validate that such feelings are not unique to my own winter slump, I booted up a game I hadn’t played in 2 years: Tom Clancy’s The Division.
If you know anything about the Tom Clancy universe, it’s an unapologetic argument for extreme right-wing executive enforcement of national security. Clandestine operations? No problem. Spying? No problem. Anti-terrorist death squads? No problem. And so on. And whatever my political views on these activities might be, in a simulated world, it’s damn fun to live an artificial life of justified violence and power without accountability.
To summarize the plot, a manufactured virus is unleashed in New York City. Its 90-something % mortality rate destroys modern society, survivors struggle to stay alive, the predictable scum of humanity form coalitions and prey on the weak, and a branch of Homeland Security sleeper agents are activated and sent in to restore order (AKA shoot every criminal possible). It is an oddly believable premise for a story–not to mention unsettling, to roam the largely vacant streets of a large metropolis, no longer feeling remotely safe to be outside.
It caused me to consider a pattern among video games from the last few years: societal collapse and annihilation. The trend seems to have started with Fallout 3, which came out right as the recession hit. Of course we had Fallout 4, and Destiny (which is a little further removed from the collapse but still a major theme), and the Metro series announced a sequel, and we got a teaser for Anthem–which looks Destiny-ish in its post-collapse (as opposed to post-apocalyptic, a subtle difference) theme.
It’s easy to understand the prevailing nuclear apocalypse theme from 60s and 70s cinema, given the Cold War, but why is this such a commonality now? Naturally, I jumped online to examine this phenomena–or rather, I Googled a few phrases to reduce what might be a lengthy academic discussion to a few hundred words. Don’t judge.
The conclusion–we romanticize a simpler existence and hope for the fall of government corruption, even at the expense of losing our luxuries. In reality, I doubt anyone would consciously choose that existence, but as I mentioned earlier, it’s fun to pretend.
I’m going to go shoot more New Yorkers now (now that’s a cause I can get behind).
With the looming winter there just aren’t as many projects to undertake (and to write about), but rather than make yet another video game post I thought I’d ramble a bit about economic and workplace observations. I’m sure that sounds riveting, but I’m not one to mislead with a false premise. If you prefer, simply rename this post’s title to: Ten Things You Need to Know About the Millennial Worforce (in the typical clickbait list fashion).
Although, I still don’t consider myself a Millennial. I fit somewhere into that forgotten Generation-Y group, before Millennials but too young to be a Gen-Xer. And like everyone else, I feel that my generation had it worse, and I will explain why.
I will do so by mentioning two movies that I consider to be flagships of this Lost Generation, Gen-X: Fight Club and Office Space. Media serves as an excellent historical record of a society.
Taken at face value, they’re comedies. Looking deeper, however, I became irritated at the protagonists’ complaints. In Fight Club, for example, a young professional becomes disillusioned with the consumerist society in which he lives, abandons it all, recruits followers, and then uses domestic terrorism to try and topple the financial sector.
I’m so angry and brooding. Look how cool I am though. In a later scene I take off my shirt.
Here’s another look: a young professional has more money than he knows what to do with, struggles to find meaning in his life, becomes an asshole at work, foregoes finding a meaningful relationship because he’s a misogynist and opts for a friend with benefits (to whom he’s also an asshole), then creates a gang to commit large-scale vandalism.
I’m so sad because I’m a cubicle jockey. Fucker–I had to work 9 YEARS to get my OWN cubicle.
In Office Space, a young professional becomes disillusioned with the lack of meaningful employment, struggles with having a relationship, then snarkily finds ways to strike back against his evil corporate overlords. Or, a young professional doesn’t like his job and girlfriend, so he grabs the hottest girl he can find (obvious because it’s Jennifer Aniston–who’s always playing the part of hot chick), shamelessly ceases to do any work (but doesn’t quit his job–just pulls a paycheck while sitting around), then convinces a couple of his colleagues to commit computer crime and steal a lot of money, culminating in some vague message that these actions were maybe not justified, but permissible, since his boss/employer was terrible.
If I extrapolate a line of reasoning akin to the hierarchy of needs, then I would conclude that the Gen-Xers, not having to work as hard for economic sustenance, invented problems, or possibly focused too much on more minor problems, and as a result have a much greater expectation of their effort/reward ratio.
I mention all this because I work with this older generation. As a whole, I’ve been reasonably content in my current role and department, feeling as though I’ve finally achieved a satisfying level of accomplishment and respect (see above: my own cubicle). At least I don’t feel like killing myself anymore, so I was a little surprised that when we took our usual round of company surveys, the overall scores for the department were rather low.
I was not the only one who wanted to know why, as committees were soon formed with the intent of identifying the factors that were lowering the scores. As I was conscripted, I had little say in my involvement. So I just listened. Common complaints were: inconsistencies regarding using benefit time, lack of established policies, perceived lack of trust, and a general feeling of being treated like a child. I found little merit in these claims, seeing them as superficial interpretations of inevitable inconsistencies.
But I suppose the surveys did what they intended: measured the level of employee contentment; and the committees identified specifics. Still, I can’t help but feel that the prior generation had it a little too easy. I suppose, in time, the Millennials will consider me a big whiner with unreasonable demands too.
There’s a human cost, in NPCs, when trying to simulate groups of interacting individuals. Too often are AIs reduced to two interactions: be hostile or don’t be hostile. Yes, that’s a ubiquitous human paradigm, but there’s one that’s even more common–humans forming relationships–which is rarely explored to any convincing degree. And so, the NPCs with which we share our virtual worlds never deviate from their proscribed emotional state…unless we need to kill them.
But all that’s beginning to change, and looking back on earlier games, I find my in-game actions to differ drastically based on the lack of meaningful NPC relationships. Is that an over-analysis of a recreational pastime? Yes, yes it is. But here we go.
Of the Bethesda games I’ve played, Skyrim was the first to introduce marriage, which then carried over (sort of) into Fallout 4. In the latter, you can technically form romantic relationships with a variety of characters, who will then dutifully follow you everywhere. While doing so, they’ll kill enemies, make snarky comments, judge you on morally ambiguous decisions, and…have sex with you every time you take a nap. This includes improvised bedrolls found in dingy subway maintenance rooms–wedged between the shelves of industrial solvent and derelict generators. There isn’t even an option to say no–it just happens automatically every time.
Skyrim was a little different, limiting sex to your home and rented hotel rooms. It also limited these entanglements to a single person–who must be your spouse. And no, you can only have one spouse at a time (in fact, I’m not even certain if there’s a divorce option). I guess these were more civilized times. And once married, a spouse will faithfully fight alongside the player character, giving greater meaning to in-game marriage beyond someone who simply shares your house.
Apparently Frank Frazetta designed her armor
Prior to Skyrim, Fallout 3 limited romance to a prostitute and some teenager who kind of had a thing for all the boys in town (your character included, upon visiting). Then again, Fallout 3 was about the bleakest game I’ve every played, and even when stumbling across remnants of what might have been a happy relationship between two NPCs, it generally only served as a plot device, as the outcome was always bad, to introduce more despair (e.g. the embracing skeletal remains of a couple on the couch–incinerated where they sat).
Fallout 4 introduced the ability to pick out a spouse’s outfit–in this case, a kevlar-underweave summer dress–nothing but the best for my postapocalyptic wife
Of course, “sex” in these games is limited to triggering a sleep cycle, having the screen fade to black, then waking up with a temporary experience buff and an on-screen vague inference to having slept in proximity to your lover.
But before this, Oblivion hardly touched on the concept of romance at all. Some NPCs had spouses, but except for two instances I can think of offhand, the married characters only complained about said spouses. And you as the main character cannot find a girlfriend/spouse. Maybe Bethesda didn’t feel that would fit well into the game, and I know they were really trying to keep a teen rating on the game (ultimately unsuccessfully), so perhaps it was best to exclude sex and all innuendos completely.
The result is that I always feel like a bit of a Clint Eastwood character in Oblivion. I show up, do some generally good deeds–some questionable–then I ride out of a town to unknown parts. And for the most part, I’m always alone. There are some characters that will follow you, but there’s no personal connection to them, and I tend to just enjoy watching them take beatings again and again at the hands of wolves and bandits.
Such is the fate of heroes–after crises, they cease to serve a purpose. Fallout 3 recognized this by killing the main character. Skyrim and Fallout 4 gave meaning to the post-crisis character by giving them a family. But Oblivion offered no such purpose.
So my Oblivion character wanders eternally.
Were I to have no wife, would I wander eternally in search of purpose like my Oblivion character? In games with no endgame, the fate of heroes might uncannily parallel the player’s deeper sense of purpose. I even built a retirement home on the beach in Fallout 4, after completing the main campaign.
An identity crisis from video games. Who would have thought?
