It had dawned on me the other day that my life has been a lie. Well, not so much a lie as it is an egregiously detailed and complicated paper-thin construct of sheer pretentiousness and imagined depth and dimensions. It's as if I found out that I was actually a robot all along, and all my emotions, memories, and experiences were simply programmed into me. This, my friends, is what they call, the moment of truth.
People like to think that they're sophisticated, deep, and unique but the truth of the matter is, we're closer to being cardboard cutouts than we are to such great literary characters like Blondie or Jules Winnfield. We have to shed our masks and see ourselves as we really are. Nobodies. You have to ask yourself, why does your existence matter? Why should we care about you? This is the fundamental question that most people fail to ask themselves. The number of cagey, antsy, and clueless people out there is staggering, there's no shortage of dummies in this world. Even if we're paper thin constructions, at the very least, we can be useful paper thin constructions. Is a robot still not valued by his contribution to society, regardless of whatever prattling memories were inserted into his memory banks?
The basic goal of every college student after graduating is either to a: get a job or b: get into school. I tend to think of it as a: start your life or b: stay in school. There's something oddly comfortable about being sheltered by the educational system. Classes are orderly, and it gives clear objectives to be completed, but getting a job? Being expected to be an active contributing member of society? That's scary! This is where most people flounder. What separates your wafer thin ass from the hundreds of thousands of other similarly vanilla colored thin wafers? At first glance, you all look thin, fragile, and simply put, the same.
College graduates have been deluded into thinking that more is better. As if increasing the thickness of your wafer can actually make you stand out among the throngs. It's not about doing more than the other guy, it's about being different. Nobody cares if you got substance if they don't give you a glance to begin with. The key to solving this problem? Coloring. You have to make yourself a different color. Everybody packs their resume in beige. Don't be a follower and commit that cardinal sin of conforming to standards. Screw the standard resume format, put the things you find valuable about yourself on that piece of paper, not what you think employers might find valuable. The difference between graduate a and graduate b is all a difference in perception and branding. A resume is not the be-all end-all summary of your available skills and capabilities, take the initiative to brand yourself as something more than your accomplishments. I want to know your ambition, I want to know how you're going to change the people around you, how you can fucking change the world boy-o.
This world has got enough automatons. We need real robots. The rogue kind, the kind that gets shit done. I'm talking terminator, not weaksauce i-robots. You have to ask yourself: what do I offer? If you can find that answer, and emphasize it in every meeting, and in every interview that you do, then you're well on your way to killing John Connor.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Monday, May 24, 2010
Soul Mate
"Do you believe in the idea of a soul mate?"
No. No I do not. The idea is completely and utterly ridiculous. What was it again? That there is a single individual out there who completes you in every way possible? The perfect complement, the yin to your yang? The other half of your soul? Please don't make me laugh. The idea of a soul mate isn't just stupid, it's obvious. The statistical probability that there is someone out there from the 6 billion people on this earth that makes a perfect match for you is extremely high. Of course that person exists, so the central question is, can you find them? No. It's impossible. Unless there's some key formula, some ground-breaking algorithm that can find you your perfect soul mate, the dream of finding that special someone should remain in the pipe from whence it came from. Is this a cynical view of the world of love? I don't think so.
If you reject the premise of the soul mate, what are we left with instead? Options. That's the key, having the option. Instead of looking for that one ever elusive individual, the ephemeral fairy queen (or king if that's your scene) forever hidden amongst the forest sprites, you will never learn to see past the trees for the forest. I'm not saying that you should settle, but you should look for people for who they really are. Relationships aren't sanguine ships, they're gritty duels and fights to the death. Each victory and loss is as rewarding as the game itself.
One of my favorite songs of all time comes from The Rolling Stones, and it's called "You Can't Always Get What You Want." I love it because it's a simple but universal truth. The chorus doesn't stop there though, it adds a little extra, "but if you try sometimes, well you just might find, you get what neeed." Few creatures are as dumb as humans when it comes to identifying what it is we really need. Animals fucking maul each other for mates, food, and territory -- such a simple life does not extend to us complicated humans. Beneath the veneer of culture, expectations, ideals, and all the garbage that we've collected throughout life, the truth is, we are fucking clueless.
The soul mate is a convenient concept that our brain grasp onto in our attempts to justify our woefully inadequate state of existence. Don't give into the temptation. Don't sit your ass down, waiting for that special someone to come into your life and sweep you off your feet because it will never happen. Then what to do? What is it that we can do if we can't hold on to soul mates? It's easy, you try.
No. No I do not. The idea is completely and utterly ridiculous. What was it again? That there is a single individual out there who completes you in every way possible? The perfect complement, the yin to your yang? The other half of your soul? Please don't make me laugh. The idea of a soul mate isn't just stupid, it's obvious. The statistical probability that there is someone out there from the 6 billion people on this earth that makes a perfect match for you is extremely high. Of course that person exists, so the central question is, can you find them? No. It's impossible. Unless there's some key formula, some ground-breaking algorithm that can find you your perfect soul mate, the dream of finding that special someone should remain in the pipe from whence it came from. Is this a cynical view of the world of love? I don't think so.
If you reject the premise of the soul mate, what are we left with instead? Options. That's the key, having the option. Instead of looking for that one ever elusive individual, the ephemeral fairy queen (or king if that's your scene) forever hidden amongst the forest sprites, you will never learn to see past the trees for the forest. I'm not saying that you should settle, but you should look for people for who they really are. Relationships aren't sanguine ships, they're gritty duels and fights to the death. Each victory and loss is as rewarding as the game itself.
One of my favorite songs of all time comes from The Rolling Stones, and it's called "You Can't Always Get What You Want." I love it because it's a simple but universal truth. The chorus doesn't stop there though, it adds a little extra, "but if you try sometimes, well you just might find, you get what neeed." Few creatures are as dumb as humans when it comes to identifying what it is we really need. Animals fucking maul each other for mates, food, and territory -- such a simple life does not extend to us complicated humans. Beneath the veneer of culture, expectations, ideals, and all the garbage that we've collected throughout life, the truth is, we are fucking clueless.
The soul mate is a convenient concept that our brain grasp onto in our attempts to justify our woefully inadequate state of existence. Don't give into the temptation. Don't sit your ass down, waiting for that special someone to come into your life and sweep you off your feet because it will never happen. Then what to do? What is it that we can do if we can't hold on to soul mates? It's easy, you try.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Transience
There's no point in having an attachment to your homeland. "My father lived and died here, and his father lived and died here, and his father etc..." Such a sentiment is increasingly becoming irrelevant in the face of globalization. Not only that, but such fervent nationalization can only lead to one thing: war. 80% of all conflict can be attributed to plain and simple greed, and the remaining 20% is due to pride. Funny how two of the seven deadly sins has lead to so many deaths throughout the history of history.
Ethnocentrism is an outdated notion, the sheer audacity to hold your own culture superior to all others is the first step to having your entire existence summed and reduced to a curious Wikipedia entry. People try too hard nowadays. The lines between "nation" and "country" are getting blurred each and every day. Sooner or later, it won't matter where you live or where you die because everywhere is everywhere.
I don't profess great faith in the US nor do I profess great disdain because to be honest, everything looks the same. The idea of tying myself down to something as grounded as "property" just isn't all that appealing. In the words of Solid Snake, "I'm nomad too." Perhaps I'll change my tune as soon as I get a family of my own, but the American dream of owning a home is as foreign to me as the countries I want to visit one day. I think a life as a globe-trotting writer sounds like an awesome and incredible experience, certainly much more attractive then getting some paltry two-story home out in suburbia. There's no need to limit yourself, there's a reason why "right to property" was replaced with "pursuit of happiness."
They say that true nationalism is holding no punches when it comes to criticizing your government, and America isn't afraid to express their discontent in the most vocal and irritating manner possible. People trumpet the same horn, "this country is going to shit," yet they comfortably whine without making an effort to do anything to, you know, actually change it. "It's impossible to change," "it's too entrenched," excuses excuses. Maybe you're right, or maybe you're wrong, but your lack of any ambition doesn't impress me, and the free reign you have in venting out your frustration at a country you perceive to be going down in flames is an outright luxury compared to most other places where your head gets chopped off, no questions asked.
America is a nation of whiners, hell, the nation was founded on the principle of whining. We want to whine, we love to whine, we whine our way to freedom, but at some point, there's comes a time where whining has to turn into action. If you think the country is going down the shitter, then fucking do something about it yourself. Change doesn't come from whining, it comes from ambition, from aspiration, it comes from the single-minded dogmatic fervent dream that tomorrow can and will be better than today. So stop whining and do something.
Perhaps you're thinking, "well what the fuck are you doing then?" That's easy: I'm not whining.
Ethnocentrism is an outdated notion, the sheer audacity to hold your own culture superior to all others is the first step to having your entire existence summed and reduced to a curious Wikipedia entry. People try too hard nowadays. The lines between "nation" and "country" are getting blurred each and every day. Sooner or later, it won't matter where you live or where you die because everywhere is everywhere.
I don't profess great faith in the US nor do I profess great disdain because to be honest, everything looks the same. The idea of tying myself down to something as grounded as "property" just isn't all that appealing. In the words of Solid Snake, "I'm nomad too." Perhaps I'll change my tune as soon as I get a family of my own, but the American dream of owning a home is as foreign to me as the countries I want to visit one day. I think a life as a globe-trotting writer sounds like an awesome and incredible experience, certainly much more attractive then getting some paltry two-story home out in suburbia. There's no need to limit yourself, there's a reason why "right to property" was replaced with "pursuit of happiness."
They say that true nationalism is holding no punches when it comes to criticizing your government, and America isn't afraid to express their discontent in the most vocal and irritating manner possible. People trumpet the same horn, "this country is going to shit," yet they comfortably whine without making an effort to do anything to, you know, actually change it. "It's impossible to change," "it's too entrenched," excuses excuses. Maybe you're right, or maybe you're wrong, but your lack of any ambition doesn't impress me, and the free reign you have in venting out your frustration at a country you perceive to be going down in flames is an outright luxury compared to most other places where your head gets chopped off, no questions asked.
America is a nation of whiners, hell, the nation was founded on the principle of whining. We want to whine, we love to whine, we whine our way to freedom, but at some point, there's comes a time where whining has to turn into action. If you think the country is going down the shitter, then fucking do something about it yourself. Change doesn't come from whining, it comes from ambition, from aspiration, it comes from the single-minded dogmatic fervent dream that tomorrow can and will be better than today. So stop whining and do something.
Perhaps you're thinking, "well what the fuck are you doing then?" That's easy: I'm not whining.
Monday, May 17, 2010
DinYomo Inc.
Apple. Microsoft. Nike. Coke. Nintendo. All sterling brand names, names that instantly inspire images, the kinds of images that marketing execs cackle in the limelight for. The very presence of the brand name suggest a conveyor belt, a constant feed of merchandising and market-speak straight into your cranium. It's impossible to escape from and it's impossible to separate reality from the reality these brands create.
Is it so strange, then, that I should want to put my own creation on that list of instantly recognizable brands? I have a dream, and that is to be creator of one of the most recognizable brand names in the world, and I'll call it "DinYomo." I think DinYomo has the potential to be the next "Google," a new and upcoming company that achieves massive success. It has a nice ring to it doesn't it? What kind of products would DinYomo deliver? A little bit of everything, it doesn't matter what the product is because what DinYomo promises is so much more than a simple product. Brands are successful not because of the products, but because of the meaning behind the brand.
Coke offers a sense of classic timelessness, Nintendo promises fun and innovation, and Apple inspires the free spirit in all of us. I want DinYomo to be more than just a series of syllables, I want it to send you a message, a message that only DinYomo can deliver. DinYomo is a promise of a better tomorrow, a better future, a better world. DinYomo isn't about what you can do, it's about what you're supposed to do. Failure to adhere to the principles of DinYomo would be a failure to adhere to the principles of life, that's how important my message is. I want DinYomo to leave people absolutely speechless and breathless all at the same time. When they see DinYomo, I want their words to be stuck in their throat, their mind numb at having DinYomo thrust into their faces. It will be a revelation, an explosion of epiphanies, where the truth of the world spells itself out on the shocked expressions of every spectator. The plain white truth shall never taste as sweet as DinYomo.
I want to beat you over the head with it, I want to stress how much of a slap in the face DinYomo will be. It may be uncomfortable at first, letting a brand penetrate your life, to become a guiding principle, but many people have already done this. Just ask the Apple diehards, Macs are for free spirits aren't they? Think about how conditioned we are to drink a refreshing sip of coke along with our burger. How often do we get that tingling sensation when we hear the log-in jingle for our electronics? I want DinYomo to give you that same tingle whenever the words "DinYomo" rolls off your tongue.
Mark my words, DinYomo will be huge, massive even. What it promises is so big, you might not be able to comprehend it at the time, but with enough force, you will see the light. It will fit. It will all make sense. What is DinYomo? It's a shortened form of an expression that I say routinely in intense sessions of Battlefield Bad Company 2: Dick. In yo mouth.
Is it so strange, then, that I should want to put my own creation on that list of instantly recognizable brands? I have a dream, and that is to be creator of one of the most recognizable brand names in the world, and I'll call it "DinYomo." I think DinYomo has the potential to be the next "Google," a new and upcoming company that achieves massive success. It has a nice ring to it doesn't it? What kind of products would DinYomo deliver? A little bit of everything, it doesn't matter what the product is because what DinYomo promises is so much more than a simple product. Brands are successful not because of the products, but because of the meaning behind the brand.
Coke offers a sense of classic timelessness, Nintendo promises fun and innovation, and Apple inspires the free spirit in all of us. I want DinYomo to be more than just a series of syllables, I want it to send you a message, a message that only DinYomo can deliver. DinYomo is a promise of a better tomorrow, a better future, a better world. DinYomo isn't about what you can do, it's about what you're supposed to do. Failure to adhere to the principles of DinYomo would be a failure to adhere to the principles of life, that's how important my message is. I want DinYomo to leave people absolutely speechless and breathless all at the same time. When they see DinYomo, I want their words to be stuck in their throat, their mind numb at having DinYomo thrust into their faces. It will be a revelation, an explosion of epiphanies, where the truth of the world spells itself out on the shocked expressions of every spectator. The plain white truth shall never taste as sweet as DinYomo.
I want to beat you over the head with it, I want to stress how much of a slap in the face DinYomo will be. It may be uncomfortable at first, letting a brand penetrate your life, to become a guiding principle, but many people have already done this. Just ask the Apple diehards, Macs are for free spirits aren't they? Think about how conditioned we are to drink a refreshing sip of coke along with our burger. How often do we get that tingling sensation when we hear the log-in jingle for our electronics? I want DinYomo to give you that same tingle whenever the words "DinYomo" rolls off your tongue.
Mark my words, DinYomo will be huge, massive even. What it promises is so big, you might not be able to comprehend it at the time, but with enough force, you will see the light. It will fit. It will all make sense. What is DinYomo? It's a shortened form of an expression that I say routinely in intense sessions of Battlefield Bad Company 2: Dick. In yo mouth.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
The Last Compliment
I never realized how starved for compliments I really am. Truly, the only one compliment I remember was back in third grade, when a kid named James told me I was the "smartest guy [he] knew." After that, it's been dry pickings. I'm sure for most people (like my alter-ego), compliments are a dime a dozen. For me it, it's like the appearance of Jesus, a fucking once-in-a-millennium occurrence. There's the token compliment, and the genuine compliment.
I can count the number of genuine compliments I received on one hand. That was one of them. It's amazing to think that to this day, I can still remember his words with a kind of crystalline quality reserved for the most traumatic of experiences. It was third grade, Mrs. Williams (if I recall correctly, her father was a dentist, and her husband a mountain climber -- they actually climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro and knew some Swahili) was our teacher. Third grade was when we heard to memorize this thing called the "multiplication table." Rote memorization was always one of my greatest skills. To test our multiplication tables, the class had to answer, quick-fire style, 50 multiplication problems (vertically). After completing it, we would pass it to someone else to correct as Mrs. Williams drawled out all the correct answers.
We turned in the papers, and then the papers were passed out again so it wasn't like we just gave it to the dude next to us. It just so happened that my paper fell into the hands of James. That was his first name -- and no, I don't remember his last. James was black, and had this arresting manner of speech. He would exhaust his breath in tandem with his sentences, like he was breathing out the words he spoke. Even in the short time that I knew him, I could see that he was a thinker -- a philosophical child, unafraid to ponder the big questions in life. News had come that he was moving soon, so it was with a heavy heart that the class shared what little time was left before his departure.
When the grading was done, we were all filed outside the classroom, lined up for either some physical or library excursion. We were standing on the ramp and he was beside me. He said something to me that I could never ever forget.
"Thanh, you're the smartest guy I know." According to him, I missed one problem on the quiz, yet, it was still enough to elicit from him, a genuinely heart-warming compliment. He told me, with a straight face, with such strength of force and conviction that to this day, I don't think I have ever received a compliment on quite the same level as James' premature declaration of my all-encompassing intelligence.
Token compliments are a dime a dozen ("you look great!" "good job" "nice work") but a genuine compliment is once in a lifetime my friend. Who knows, maybe I've been genuinely complimented all this time, and it's just that my cynical sardonic nature fails to recognize them as such. Effusive praise always did ring a little hollow to me, but its not like I do anything to warrant normal praise to begin with.
Most people think that they're cool cats, but the truth is, their cool exterior cracks the moment someone says something nice. Then all of a sudden, they appear mortal, blushing at the mere suggestion that they did something better than average. As you stroll along in life, I urge you to channel your inner James and give somebody you really respect and admire, a once-in-a-life time compliment. I'm not talking about your standard-issue ass-kissing compliment, but a straight-from-the-heart outpouring of, well, your respect and admiration for this person. Let them know because it's nice to know things.
On that note, this is to you James:
"You're one of the nicest guys I know. Thanks for the compliment, I truly appreciate it."
I can count the number of genuine compliments I received on one hand. That was one of them. It's amazing to think that to this day, I can still remember his words with a kind of crystalline quality reserved for the most traumatic of experiences. It was third grade, Mrs. Williams (if I recall correctly, her father was a dentist, and her husband a mountain climber -- they actually climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro and knew some Swahili) was our teacher. Third grade was when we heard to memorize this thing called the "multiplication table." Rote memorization was always one of my greatest skills. To test our multiplication tables, the class had to answer, quick-fire style, 50 multiplication problems (vertically). After completing it, we would pass it to someone else to correct as Mrs. Williams drawled out all the correct answers.
We turned in the papers, and then the papers were passed out again so it wasn't like we just gave it to the dude next to us. It just so happened that my paper fell into the hands of James. That was his first name -- and no, I don't remember his last. James was black, and had this arresting manner of speech. He would exhaust his breath in tandem with his sentences, like he was breathing out the words he spoke. Even in the short time that I knew him, I could see that he was a thinker -- a philosophical child, unafraid to ponder the big questions in life. News had come that he was moving soon, so it was with a heavy heart that the class shared what little time was left before his departure.
When the grading was done, we were all filed outside the classroom, lined up for either some physical or library excursion. We were standing on the ramp and he was beside me. He said something to me that I could never ever forget.
"Thanh, you're the smartest guy I know." According to him, I missed one problem on the quiz, yet, it was still enough to elicit from him, a genuinely heart-warming compliment. He told me, with a straight face, with such strength of force and conviction that to this day, I don't think I have ever received a compliment on quite the same level as James' premature declaration of my all-encompassing intelligence.
Token compliments are a dime a dozen ("you look great!" "good job" "nice work") but a genuine compliment is once in a lifetime my friend. Who knows, maybe I've been genuinely complimented all this time, and it's just that my cynical sardonic nature fails to recognize them as such. Effusive praise always did ring a little hollow to me, but its not like I do anything to warrant normal praise to begin with.
Most people think that they're cool cats, but the truth is, their cool exterior cracks the moment someone says something nice. Then all of a sudden, they appear mortal, blushing at the mere suggestion that they did something better than average. As you stroll along in life, I urge you to channel your inner James and give somebody you really respect and admire, a once-in-a-life time compliment. I'm not talking about your standard-issue ass-kissing compliment, but a straight-from-the-heart outpouring of, well, your respect and admiration for this person. Let them know because it's nice to know things.
On that note, this is to you James:
"You're one of the nicest guys I know. Thanks for the compliment, I truly appreciate it."
Monday, May 10, 2010
Mydoppelganger.net
I just had this revolutionary idea the other day, and it is so mind-bogglingly awesome, I find it hard to believe that nobody has used the idea already. Welcome to Mydoppelganger.net, a search engine designed to find your very own doppelganger. Most people like to think that they're unique but the sorry truth is, we aren't. The possibility that one out of six billion people can be truly outstanding is a statistical impossibility. Given the unequal distribution of resources and social stratification, it's not hard to see why we don't exactly see two of everybody because the difference in opportunities makes sure that one succeeds while the other fails.
Now when I say "doppelganger," I don't mean someone who looks and thinks like you -- hell, or even someone with the same name as you. I've had the rare fortune to meet someone who had the same first and last name as me, and I can tell you, it's quite interesting (especially considering she's a girl). She is what I would call, a nominal doppelganger -- that is, doppelganger in name only. You can pretty much find this easily, and one way to do that is to just type your name in and see what comes up. The history of "Thanh Le" in a search engine, unfortunately, does not yield any exceptional results (yet anyways).
My search engine does not concern itself with such trivial nominal variables such as name, sex, or age, but rather, it will match people on the basis of their personality type and preferences. It will deliver to the end-user, a person who is identical to you in every way except for appearance and name. Now why on earth would anybody ever want to find their double? Why haven't you heard? Two heads are plainly better than one, and if you have someone who thinks like you, it's like multiplying your thinking power by 2x!
That's certainly one possibility, but there's also one other reason to find your doppelganger. In some cultures, meeting your double is bad news, akin to seeing a black cat or walking under a ladder. There's a whole manhwa (Korean manga) based around the concept (I can't recall the name, but don't worry, it sucks). Misfortune and doppelgangers are inextricably linked, so why on earth would we want to risk the wrath of god for an opportunity to meet our double? Easy: to kill him or her.
Conventional wisdom dictates that if power is divided, then reducing the number of divisions will only increase the power of each remaining unit. This concept has been showcased in the aptly named movie, "The One," starring Jet Li and Jason Statham. Even though that movie dealt with parallel universes, the concepts still apply. Having the strength, speed, and intelligence of two people should be more than enough for even the most retarded man on earth (at the very least he becomes competent). Consolidation of physical and mental attributes would be the primary reason why you would want to find your doppelganger. All of a sudden, my service is no longer some trivial "hey-this-looks-kind-of-cool!" non-sense site, but rather, it is a gateway -- a portal to a new you. A stronger, faster, and smarter you. What are you waiting for? Why not power yourself up right now? Oh, that's right, because you can't find your doppelganger.
Well then, welcome to mydoppelganger.net.
Now when I say "doppelganger," I don't mean someone who looks and thinks like you -- hell, or even someone with the same name as you. I've had the rare fortune to meet someone who had the same first and last name as me, and I can tell you, it's quite interesting (especially considering she's a girl). She is what I would call, a nominal doppelganger -- that is, doppelganger in name only. You can pretty much find this easily, and one way to do that is to just type your name in and see what comes up. The history of "Thanh Le" in a search engine, unfortunately, does not yield any exceptional results (yet anyways).
My search engine does not concern itself with such trivial nominal variables such as name, sex, or age, but rather, it will match people on the basis of their personality type and preferences. It will deliver to the end-user, a person who is identical to you in every way except for appearance and name. Now why on earth would anybody ever want to find their double? Why haven't you heard? Two heads are plainly better than one, and if you have someone who thinks like you, it's like multiplying your thinking power by 2x!
That's certainly one possibility, but there's also one other reason to find your doppelganger. In some cultures, meeting your double is bad news, akin to seeing a black cat or walking under a ladder. There's a whole manhwa (Korean manga) based around the concept (I can't recall the name, but don't worry, it sucks). Misfortune and doppelgangers are inextricably linked, so why on earth would we want to risk the wrath of god for an opportunity to meet our double? Easy: to kill him or her.
Conventional wisdom dictates that if power is divided, then reducing the number of divisions will only increase the power of each remaining unit. This concept has been showcased in the aptly named movie, "The One," starring Jet Li and Jason Statham. Even though that movie dealt with parallel universes, the concepts still apply. Having the strength, speed, and intelligence of two people should be more than enough for even the most retarded man on earth (at the very least he becomes competent). Consolidation of physical and mental attributes would be the primary reason why you would want to find your doppelganger. All of a sudden, my service is no longer some trivial "hey-this-looks-kind-of-cool!" non-sense site, but rather, it is a gateway -- a portal to a new you. A stronger, faster, and smarter you. What are you waiting for? Why not power yourself up right now? Oh, that's right, because you can't find your doppelganger.
Well then, welcome to mydoppelganger.net.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
A Bloody Mary Please
There was a brief moment in my life when I was devastatingly terrified of mirrors because of the concept of "Bloody Mary." The whole idea of Bloody Mary had filled me with such a profound fear of mirrors that to this day, I still stare behind my reflection, almost expecting some apparition to suddenly show its grotesque face. It never happens, not for as long as I remember staring at the reflective glass, yet the irrational fear still remains.
I attribute this to the story of Bloody Mary, which promises visions of a grisly brutish face right before your death, only because you decided to court the mistress in a one-sided affair. The story is, of course, a cautionary tale, designed to warn kids of flirting with the kind of risque, the dangerous, and the taboos that are, rightfully, banned. The ritual comes from the same breed as playing with Ouija boards, knockin' down grave stones, reciting incantations from the Necronomicon, or as Paranormal Activity has shown, messin' around with demons. The lesson is clear, don't fuck with the unknown. Yet, there's a certain appeal, an exhilaration that comes from skirting with unnatural dangers. Maybe its the idea of touching beyond the physical borders, revealing some supernatural plane where ghosts, demons, and angels exist, that gives us a kind of solace in life after death. We go through these irrational extremes as if to confirm our own immortality.
When I first heard of the story of Bloody Mary, I was afraid to go into the bathroom for weeks, especially at night. It didn't matter that I didn't satisfy the conditions for her appearance (lit candles at darkness, and chanting her name several times in succession), because in my mind, she had already appeared. Jaundiced and hollowed out cheeks, fleshy green and yellow mottled skin, crooked, jagged teeth, and dark impenetrable eye sockets, with rivulets of blood streaming out, a sickly grin stretched across her face, arms reaching out from behind the reflective surface, until finally, I am engulfed in her sweet deadly embrace.
It is particularly apt that a mirror is what scares me most since what scares me isn't what I see, but what I imagine seeing. My mind often thoughtlessly invents the most terrifying of visages in some sick contest of creating the most horrifying face imaginable. The train of thought is dangerously linear, relentless in its pursuit of horrific perfection.
I attribute this to the story of Bloody Mary, which promises visions of a grisly brutish face right before your death, only because you decided to court the mistress in a one-sided affair. The story is, of course, a cautionary tale, designed to warn kids of flirting with the kind of risque, the dangerous, and the taboos that are, rightfully, banned. The ritual comes from the same breed as playing with Ouija boards, knockin' down grave stones, reciting incantations from the Necronomicon, or as Paranormal Activity has shown, messin' around with demons. The lesson is clear, don't fuck with the unknown. Yet, there's a certain appeal, an exhilaration that comes from skirting with unnatural dangers. Maybe its the idea of touching beyond the physical borders, revealing some supernatural plane where ghosts, demons, and angels exist, that gives us a kind of solace in life after death. We go through these irrational extremes as if to confirm our own immortality.
When I first heard of the story of Bloody Mary, I was afraid to go into the bathroom for weeks, especially at night. It didn't matter that I didn't satisfy the conditions for her appearance (lit candles at darkness, and chanting her name several times in succession), because in my mind, she had already appeared. Jaundiced and hollowed out cheeks, fleshy green and yellow mottled skin, crooked, jagged teeth, and dark impenetrable eye sockets, with rivulets of blood streaming out, a sickly grin stretched across her face, arms reaching out from behind the reflective surface, until finally, I am engulfed in her sweet deadly embrace.
It is particularly apt that a mirror is what scares me most since what scares me isn't what I see, but what I imagine seeing. My mind often thoughtlessly invents the most terrifying of visages in some sick contest of creating the most horrifying face imaginable. The train of thought is dangerously linear, relentless in its pursuit of horrific perfection.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Build It and They Will Come
The old saying presents something of a conundrum for today's modern audience. "Build it and they will come" might've worked in the old west when pioneering explorers traversing the sand-blasted plains saw an odd saloon built in the middle of nowhere as a proverbial oasis. Taking it to the 40's, even when the press caught wind of the the world's "tallest building" ever built, crowds would flock to that one single spot, swarming like bees to engulf a topical hotspot made hot by the media's singular voice, delivered by newspaper, radio and TV. Nobody knew everything, everybody had to know somebody who knew something. Whether it came from the air waves or from the dead tree, people made choices based on what they could see. Build it and they will come simply because your building's the only one around.
But the world has shrunk. No longer are people wandering out in the wilderness in desperate need of a good saloon, and information has become so free and unhindered, the popular press' influence on tourist-habits has taken a backseat to impersonal blogs and twitter posts. "Build it and they will come" no longer applies to this glitzy fast-paced world where every building looks the same and everything is the same. The most pressing question is: how can you stand out from the endless hordes of duplicate and similarly qualified individuals?
The American education system is designed to put kids through the grinder, pumping and relentlessly promoting children to higher and higher levels of education. You get the diploma, then you get the degree, then the masters, and finally the Phd. Surely if you follow this path to success, the accolades are all but ensured...right? The truth is, building it alone no longer works. There are tons of buildings that have the same height, color, and look as yours. No longer does the old adage apply. I propose then, a simple revision to make it more accurate to reflect today's modern sensibilities.
Build it, advertise the shit out of it, and then maybe, just maybe, they will come.
But the world has shrunk. No longer are people wandering out in the wilderness in desperate need of a good saloon, and information has become so free and unhindered, the popular press' influence on tourist-habits has taken a backseat to impersonal blogs and twitter posts. "Build it and they will come" no longer applies to this glitzy fast-paced world where every building looks the same and everything is the same. The most pressing question is: how can you stand out from the endless hordes of duplicate and similarly qualified individuals?
The American education system is designed to put kids through the grinder, pumping and relentlessly promoting children to higher and higher levels of education. You get the diploma, then you get the degree, then the masters, and finally the Phd. Surely if you follow this path to success, the accolades are all but ensured...right? The truth is, building it alone no longer works. There are tons of buildings that have the same height, color, and look as yours. No longer does the old adage apply. I propose then, a simple revision to make it more accurate to reflect today's modern sensibilities.
Build it, advertise the shit out of it, and then maybe, just maybe, they will come.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Destination: Nowhere
When it comes to my first memory of video games, it wasn't as if I opened Pandora's Box, unleashing a torrent of hell-frenzy, 8-bit blips and bloops, pixel storms and scrolling flicker lines. It is a rather humble memory, jumbled, and mixed in with all the subdued undulation of an ocean wave. My first experience with gaming didn't sweep me away in a tsunami, rather, it softly encircled me until I began to float to the shiny reflective surface of sprites and MIDI synth sounds. Retro all the way baby.
I remember Castlevania, Metroid, Mega Man, and of course, Mario. The NES wasn't something I touched, but a divine object, a relic worthy of worship. Gaming to me was something to watch, not to engage in when growing up. The messy and fun task of tackling gaming objectives fell on to my brothers, while I watch enraptured by their ministrations on the d-pad and A and B buttons. It was truly a vicarious experience, but it certainly planted the seeds for my full-blown passion of today, where video games are truly a meaty and substantive part of my every day life. A world without video games is a world without oxygen.
When I think of the toddling doe-eyed youth that absorbed his brother's digital feats on the NES, Genesis, and Playstation, I can only shake my head. How was this little boy supposed to know that one day, he would soon be able to play his own video games? That he would own not one, not two, but three next-generation platforms that include the PS3, Xbox 360, and PC? How was this boy, who, delighted with the Gameboy Pocket, would soon come to possess not one, but two portable platforms that include the Nintendo DS and Sony PSP?
I still remember when I was a boy, tucked away in bed at night, I dreamed of owning my own Playstation and playing "Blasto" (the commercials made it look great, sue me) all by myself. The thought was always "when I'm older," or "when I have enough money." That time has long passed. I've gone a long way since then. I didn't really become a full blown gamer until well into the PS2 generation. Until then, me and my little brother had to be content with playing our own portable gaming devices. Pokemon was a godsend. We couldn't touch the old Playstation, but the Gameboy Pocket was all ours. Pokemon was the perfect game for us to play. Then we steadily advanced to Color (Metal Gear Solid and Legend of Zelda DX, Oracle of Seasons and Oracle of Time, truly the best GBC games out there), and of course, the Gameboy Advance (Castlevania, Advance Wars, Golden Sun).
It was around this time that restrictions on consoles became lax. My brothers' enthusiasm for gaming had dwindled while mine only increased in fervor. Gaining access to the Dreamcast was a lucid dream come true (Sonic Adventure, Code Veronica, Shenmue 1/2), access to the Playstation was a nice bonus (Metal Gear Solid, Final Fantasy VII), but the biggest moment was when we acquired a Playstation 2 (FFX, MGS2, GTA, DMC, GoW, SotC, RE4 -- bonus points for understanding all the acronyms). Suddenly, I am now left with a predicament that I never thought possible: I have too many games to play.
The backlog is an ever present list of games that I've started, but that I've yet to beat. It sits in the back of my mind like a gnawing sensation that can't be satisfied. Some of my biggest and most memorable moments in gaming have to do with beating a game that I've been working on for the longest time. Final Fantasy VIII, which I borrowed from my friend for almost three years and restarted three times was one of the most satisfying accomplishments simply because I've been on it for so long. Hell, I've been working on Persona 3 for that same amount of time and I own the damn thing. Persona 4, Tales of Vesperia, and Yakuza 3 have remained untouched in my gaming library. Psychonauts and Portal has been sitting in my Steam queue for months. And I never got the chance to beat the original Star Ocean: The Second Story (re-releases give me ample opportunity to revisit though). Despite all this, I have the gall to borrow Assassin's Creed 2 from a friend, and just purchased Super Street Fighter IV. There's something to be said for the expression, "He who knows that enough is enough will always have enough." When will the gaming madness stop?!
The problem is, there's still a ton of games that I'm still looking forward to. Having just beat the shit out of Batman Arkham Asylum, I can't wait for the sequel. There's Red Dead Redemption in the pipeline, Alan Wake, StarCraft 2, The Last Guardian, Metal Gear Solid: Peace Walker, Halo Reach, etc. etc. It's easy to see where I'm going for vacation: Nowhere.
I remember Castlevania, Metroid, Mega Man, and of course, Mario. The NES wasn't something I touched, but a divine object, a relic worthy of worship. Gaming to me was something to watch, not to engage in when growing up. The messy and fun task of tackling gaming objectives fell on to my brothers, while I watch enraptured by their ministrations on the d-pad and A and B buttons. It was truly a vicarious experience, but it certainly planted the seeds for my full-blown passion of today, where video games are truly a meaty and substantive part of my every day life. A world without video games is a world without oxygen.
When I think of the toddling doe-eyed youth that absorbed his brother's digital feats on the NES, Genesis, and Playstation, I can only shake my head. How was this little boy supposed to know that one day, he would soon be able to play his own video games? That he would own not one, not two, but three next-generation platforms that include the PS3, Xbox 360, and PC? How was this boy, who, delighted with the Gameboy Pocket, would soon come to possess not one, but two portable platforms that include the Nintendo DS and Sony PSP?
I still remember when I was a boy, tucked away in bed at night, I dreamed of owning my own Playstation and playing "Blasto" (the commercials made it look great, sue me) all by myself. The thought was always "when I'm older," or "when I have enough money." That time has long passed. I've gone a long way since then. I didn't really become a full blown gamer until well into the PS2 generation. Until then, me and my little brother had to be content with playing our own portable gaming devices. Pokemon was a godsend. We couldn't touch the old Playstation, but the Gameboy Pocket was all ours. Pokemon was the perfect game for us to play. Then we steadily advanced to Color (Metal Gear Solid and Legend of Zelda DX, Oracle of Seasons and Oracle of Time, truly the best GBC games out there), and of course, the Gameboy Advance (Castlevania, Advance Wars, Golden Sun).
It was around this time that restrictions on consoles became lax. My brothers' enthusiasm for gaming had dwindled while mine only increased in fervor. Gaining access to the Dreamcast was a lucid dream come true (Sonic Adventure, Code Veronica, Shenmue 1/2), access to the Playstation was a nice bonus (Metal Gear Solid, Final Fantasy VII), but the biggest moment was when we acquired a Playstation 2 (FFX, MGS2, GTA, DMC, GoW, SotC, RE4 -- bonus points for understanding all the acronyms). Suddenly, I am now left with a predicament that I never thought possible: I have too many games to play.
The backlog is an ever present list of games that I've started, but that I've yet to beat. It sits in the back of my mind like a gnawing sensation that can't be satisfied. Some of my biggest and most memorable moments in gaming have to do with beating a game that I've been working on for the longest time. Final Fantasy VIII, which I borrowed from my friend for almost three years and restarted three times was one of the most satisfying accomplishments simply because I've been on it for so long. Hell, I've been working on Persona 3 for that same amount of time and I own the damn thing. Persona 4, Tales of Vesperia, and Yakuza 3 have remained untouched in my gaming library. Psychonauts and Portal has been sitting in my Steam queue for months. And I never got the chance to beat the original Star Ocean: The Second Story (re-releases give me ample opportunity to revisit though). Despite all this, I have the gall to borrow Assassin's Creed 2 from a friend, and just purchased Super Street Fighter IV. There's something to be said for the expression, "He who knows that enough is enough will always have enough." When will the gaming madness stop?!
The problem is, there's still a ton of games that I'm still looking forward to. Having just beat the shit out of Batman Arkham Asylum, I can't wait for the sequel. There's Red Dead Redemption in the pipeline, Alan Wake, StarCraft 2, The Last Guardian, Metal Gear Solid: Peace Walker, Halo Reach, etc. etc. It's easy to see where I'm going for vacation: Nowhere.
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