Existentialism – Page 18

May 23, 2017

Changing Priorities

Have you ever played a video game series, and the dates of release uncannily correspond to life events? I take this as evidence that I am of the gamer generation, not simply here during a time in which video games exist.

Back when I was in Jr. High School, I had a friend who was obsessed with Fallout. He talked about it endlessly, and I admit that it sounded bad-ass. But, my family was not only opposed to video games (of the generation that considered them mind-rotting indulgences (you know, the Victorians complained about their children reading too many books–some things never change)), but we were an Apple-using family–back in the day in which it was considered counter-culture and what I considered cool, but therefore excluded from the PC-gaming community. So I never got to play it.

A couple years out of college, and into the beginnings of my disillusionment upon experiencing the workforce for the first time, I used my newfound full-time salary to escape reality. It was during this period, 2008, that Bethesda, having now acquired the rights to the Fallout franchise, published their first game under that title: Fallout 3. And, it was fantastic.

At the time, something I didn’t realize, was how appropriate the narrative was to my circumstances. In a very abridged plot synopsis: a young man gets involved in some local politics, enters the bigger world in an attempt to find his father and the work he was entangled with to better said greater world, and in the process achieves his noble victory at great personal loss. How strongly that resonated. How much I wished that my own suffering was for some greater cause.

In 2015, Fallout 4 came out. By that time, I was married and had a daughter. This time, the plot involved tracking down my spouse’s murderer and child’s kidnapper. Ouch. It was a bit of a different emotional pull. Plus, this time the game’s theme involved trying to rebuild the world and take care of the populous, rather than generally ignoring or using them to further personal objectives. The protagonist, in these regards, was far more mature.

Some consider me a part of Generation-Y, while others define me as at the older end of the Millennials. What seems to be apparent, however, is that I am at the exact age during which video games evolved from simplistic novelties into powerful forms of emotional media.

–Simon

May 16, 2017

When Planets Align (Part 2)

Continuing the series of good photographs (Part 1), captured through chance, and in the spirit of spring, I have some pretty flowers to share:

ring of fire — Dunno what these are, but I was impressed that they were growing in salty sand

Violet — A weed? Nay! A creature’s bid at immortality

crabapple 2 — Sakura sakura…actually I think it’s another crabapple

iPhone 6S+ at its finest.

–Simon

May 6, 2017

Like a Record, Baby

Standing desks are hippie-dippie crap. Just because you want to lessen your chances of fatal cardiac arrest one day, I have to hear you and your stupid call as you talk way too loudly over the cubicle walls.

That is not the topic of this post, but a mere introduction. I, too, feel my fragile physical form atrophying as I sit in a chair for hours. And so, partially out of concern for my musculature, partially because I can’t bear to hear standing desk guy talking loudly on his eternal call anymore, I venture forth into the harsh and unforgiving wilderness that is the paved perimeter of the building.

I started taking walks whenever I had the time very early in my employ at this company. And now, years later, I again went walking, but this time with someone else. I’ve done that before of course–I’m not an antisocial weirdo. But apparently I always take the lead, for on this occasion, upon our mutual egress from the edifice, she turned right–a direction I had never considered. She wished to circumnavigate the building in a clockwise direction. I implored her to rethink her rash and unwise decision, but nay said she, for the wild called to her in that direction.

Actually I think she just said she wanted to go that way, followed by a rhetorical question along the lines of what the hell was wrong with me. And I, being the eternal gentlemen, acquiesced. Then, 10 steps into the walk, I collapsed from an anxiety attack.

Which brings me to my question: why are sporting events which involve circular autotransference always done so in a counterclockwise direction? Once again I sought the Holy Oracle for its wisdom of the collective consciousness.

Google quickly directed me to several sites, wherein the answers were many. Explanations included but were not limited to: Coriolis effect, faster movement in relation to the planet’s rotation, more natural for the majority right-foot dominated athletes, and the interpretation of chronology as athletes moved from left to right from the perspective of the spectators.

But I recall an X-Files episode in which a buried naval antenna, miles long, generated ultra-low frequency radio waves for communication with deep-sea submarines. Except, this being the X-Files, there were unanticipated consequences, and local residents suffered some sort of explosive decompression of their inner ear if they stopped moving–some sort of bone-resonance in relation to the antenna. The guest actor was the guy who played the Breaking Bad dude. Anyway, things didn’t turn out so well for Breaking Bad dude, the navy denied any wrongdoing but mysteriously shut down the antenna, and Mulder got the usual berating from FBI Assistant Director Skinner (or maybe it was his new boss after he was officially removed from the X-Files).

It is therefore my preferred theory that my panic attack was not due to some simple neurological disorder like OCD, but rather that, let’s say, the gel in my inner-ear is in resonance with the earth’s rotation and it causes me physical pain to travel clockwise. One day, I will travel to the southern hemisphere to confirm this theory.

For now, let’s take a walk, and turn left dammit!

–Simon

May 4, 2017

Thirteenth Floor…and Others

Last year, my employer flew me to their office in St. Paul, MN. Sometimes I wonder why we end up with offices where we do. I’m sure a geographer had a hand in it. But anyway, ever notice how some places add an odd degree of drama to what would otherwise be benign circumstances? Like someone had to come up with compelling narrative? The office was in a suite, on the 6th or 7th floor–I can’t remember which–in downtown, in the First National Bank Building.

The building was apparently involved in some 1930s gangster-type shenanigans, and at one point the bank’s vault was the victim of an attempted robbery. Supposedly the corridor leading to the vault is still riddled with Tommy-gun bullets. But, the vault isn’t open to the public so I couldn’t verify this firsthand. Nor did I take the time to verify the building’s backstory. Maybe I will, after this.

Upon arriving at said building, like most normal people, my boss and I took the elevator. This is what the panel looked like:

It gave me pause, more so than it would have had the numbers simply stopped at 7. I brought this oddity to my boss’ attention, who responded with complete disinterest. Then again, all he wanted to do in his off time was sit in his hotel room, so maybe some people are just generally uninterested with the world as a whole. But not I! This mystery needed investigation.

During our meetings, I made it a point to ask every group–the people who went to that office every day: What was on floor 16? The responses were all of a similar variety. No one knew, no one had thought about it, and no one had gone up there. They saw this panel every day and not once did a single person push the button to floor 16. It seemed that I would have to find out for myself.

Back in the elevator, on our way to the hotel, I pushed the button. Now my boss’ indifference edged towards open irritation, but I ignored him. My curiosity moved from just floor 16 to all the intermediate unlabeled floors as the elevator display also stopped listing numeric designations en route.

Upon reaching floor 16, the doors opened into a mysterious fog. Not really. They opened into a completely innocuous floor. The doors, also devoid of numbers, taunted me with suspense as they were all locked.

I thought I might try for the stairwell and explore the unlabeled mystery floors below, but upon this suggestion, my boss threatened to abandon me. I was, of course, capable of navigating my way back to my hotel room alone, but he was also ready to get food and I started thinking about what kind of dinner I could charge to the company card. I left the building, possibly forever, none closer to a satisfying answer. So if anyone finds themselves in St. Paul’s First National Bank Building, go to floor 16 and complete my unfinished saga.

–Simon

April 11, 2017

St. Augustine

Last week we visited St. Augustine. From the perspective of humanity, Florida really sucks. I hate the people. I hate the culture.

However, focusing on the the biome itself (which is my preference), I did find it interesting. The warmer climate reminded me of my own childhood, and also served as a respite from the lingering Ohio winter. So, phone in hand, I cataloged points of interest:

palm — Palm trees! Obligatory photo of a flora novel to a Midwesterner

My daughter’s first view of the ocean–I wonder if this moment will form a permanent memory

lizard — Not sure how a small reptile can appear cute, but they do

spanish moss — I just really like Spanish moss

glamor — A young model in the making? Maybe I can get a contract with Target

dinner — I watched this lizard repeatedly attempt to eat this inchworm, but it was behind the screen. The battle moved behind the board, so I never saw the outcome

These dunes triggered childhood memories of White Sands National Park

A sandpiper had left tracks, creating this pleasant beach scene

–Simon