Word of the Day: Pedantic

Today's word belongs to that class of vocabulary that I can wield easily, reading its meaning correctly, and using it in all the right contexts, without actually knowing what it means exactly.

I think pedantic is a playful and deliberate obtuseness, or as we say nowadays, "trolling."

Damn, I was wrong.

It actually means being a flashy nitpicking know-it-all, like the guy who tries to poke holes in an argument by pointing out the most irrelevant details. Technically, he's right, but in the grand scene of things, it's not really the point.

But...

Aren't they being pedantic just to troll? So I'm partially right, and all previous instances of my use of the word pedantic still remains correct.

You don't think so?

Quit being pedantic.

Word of the Day: Moribund

I cheated.

I was supposed to look up this word after defining it with what I know, so feel free to take my pre-definition with a grain of salt.

My initial thought, upon reading the word, was "headed towards death." Mori, I assume, means death, because the words morbid, mortuary, and mourn all have to do with dying. The "bund" part of the word sounds like "bound," so I was thinking, "death bound."

I wasn't too off the mark, but there was another definition I didn't think of: stagnant. I really like that definition.

Because my job is definitely moribund.

Word of the Day: Niggling

My friend told me that he wanted to expand his vocabulary. In order to do this, he has a "word of the day." Such exercises do nothing for me since I already possess an expansive vocabulary, but what the hell?

I suppose when you text me in the morning with random words of the day, I'm inclined to blog about them. Or maybe I'm just using this as an excuse to blog about something.

In either case, today's word is niggling.

According to the dictionary, niggling is something trivial, petty, and inconsequential. It could also mean you spend too much time and effort on issues that don't warrant such attention.

My best definition would probably be, a minor irritant. It's an adjective to describe the severity of a problem. On the scale of "not a problem" to "very much a problem," it's probably in the former. When you describe something as "niggling," it kind of annoys you in the "lurking in the back of your mind" kind of way. You could ignore it, since it's not a deal breaker, but you'd rather not deal with it.

Case in point, my car. It has one niggling little issue, it drifts right. You can barely notice it, but when you drive on the far right lane, that's when you definitely feel it. I have to keep the wheel quite a ways left just to maintain course. I think the wheel alignment is off, or perhaps the problem could be more fundamental.

Yeah, it irritates the crap out of me, but I could ignore it easily enough. I just wish that I didn't have to deal with such a...

Niggling thing.

Cloudy Days

I wish for rain, because if it does, I won't have to water the plants. Mother nature, please unleash your torrents of water, open the floodgates, and let it pour!

I used to like rainy days, simply because they gave me an excuse to stay inside, but now it's just annoying. Since I'm forced to go out, I have to contend with boring, gray, overcast skies. It's dull enough that no shadow exists for miles. It's like a video game with bad graphics; no lighting and no shadows.

It wouldn't be so bad if it was outright pouring, but it's only light sprinkles. That won't sate any plant's thirsty--except maybe the cacti, but nobody likes them anyway.

Second Life

The academic fervor around Second Life is misplaced and pathetic. It is an intensely studied game that has more researchers than actual players. The greatest trick Linden Labs ever pulled was convincing the world of academia that Second Life is a virtual online community representative of virtual online communities.

At least, that's how it used to be. No longer are researchers using the glorified chatroom as a source of legitimate study. It's nice to see that people are wising up, but it always throws me for a loop when scientists decide to select certain games for their studies. Why use the most horrible example of a MMO to write papers about MMO's? It's like using Jersey Shore as an example of great television--not that I'm saying Jersey Shore isn't a legitimate source of study. I'm actually kind of curious as to why people watch reality garbage on television, but that's a story for another day.

To sum:

Second Life sucks.

Cross-Reference

The rise of the internet age has spawned a new generation of know-it-all's.

Every piece of suspect information can now be validated or discredited on the spot with instant access to the web on our mobile devices. But the old adage, "Don't believe everything you read/see on TV" still holds true for the internet. The increase of available factual information is directly proportional to an increase of bullshit.

The only way we can truly verify info is to cross-reference. You have to check multiple sources and make sure that they're not all using the same one. It's easy for an amazing story to spread, but if it all came from a single source, try not to put too much stock in it.

The days where a guy can swoop in and capture a room with tall tales and crazy stories are coming to an end. We now live in a culture of collective storytelling. Let's embrace it.

Douchebag

I don't know if I simply misinterpreted their words, but somebody implied to me that the word douchebag is not an insult. Not only that, but it can actually be a compliment.

In what world is this possible? This person helpfully explained to me the literal sanitary purpose of a douche bag. I think this person is unaware of it's insulting and figurative use.

But even with the literal definition, how could anyone consider it a compliment? It doesn't make sense. Maybe because it's a sexually invasive object? Would a man want to be a douche bag? I think that requires a rather high level of perverse fetishism.

There's really only one way to interpret being called a douchebag:

You're being insulted.

Corpse Party

When you cruise through life, you will inevitably hit a patch of obsession. Capricious whim takes over, and your whole life begins to revolve around a single thing. It could be a show, a video game, a book, an activity, anything. Our modern world doesn't lack for distractions, and it's just a roll of the dice that we find ourselves enraptured by something.

Over the summer, I plowed through Breaking Bad, one of the best--if not--the best show on television. Before that, I found myself unable to quench my thirst for anime. The pattern is the same. We get into "something" that possesses us for a brief moment of time and then we move on. Its impact on us may be minimal or profound, depending on the individual.

At the current moment, I find myself watching a walkthrough series of Corpse Party, an adventure game on the PSP. The word "corpse" conjures up images of dead bodies and a certain enemy from Gears of War to me (the corpser). I've heard of the game from NeoGAF, or more accurately, saw a screenshot of it in a series of images from one of the weirdest moments in the game, a dialogue between two heroines.

Rather strange indeed. I didn't think much of it. Just an example of translators taking liberties with the localization.

Then the lunar new year came around (or Chinese New Years), and my little cousin, Nick, starts messing around with my computer. He sees the icon for Amnesia (a very scary game), asks me what it is, and I tell him, "the scariest game ever."

He decides on Modern Warfare 3 and starts engaging in acts of military violence without batting an eyelash, and this guy's like 13 years old. As if that wasn't enough to sate his bloodlust, he plays an even more violent game in Bulletstorm (heavily underrated).

All of that to set up the conversation in the following day, where we sit next to each other at a New Years dinner for my parent's old village from Vietnam. He's eager to talk about games (what kid doesn't?) and reveals that his gaming console of choice is a PSP (because his mom doesn't want him playing anything else). As far as scary games go, his metric is Corpse Party.

A week later, I'm trying to catch up on my manga when I see that they made a Corpse Party manga, which I presume is based on the game. Considering that I'm in a particularly anxious mood from reading so much creepypasta lately (the internet-equivalent of urban legends), and from writing a couple of short stories just like it, I decide to read Corpse Party for some inspiration.

I read through all the existing chapters but the story isn't complete. So how can I finish the story?

Just watch the game.

I actually have the game sitting on my PC. It isn't a particularly complex game in its mechanics, and its driven mainly by story. If that's the case, I'd rather just watch it to completion. When it comes to YouTube videos, I simply watch them on my phone while I'm laying in bed. It's my new late night routine.

At least until something else catches my fancy.

Internal Investigation

Okay, so here I am, sitting in the Chapman University library with my good friend David. We're here for the sole purpose of applying for jobs. I bust out my laptop and start looking for listings.

I think technology has wreaked havoc on our minds. I can't even concentrate and starting working on tasks that I've put off for awhile--namely accounting. It doesn't help that when we first start, David starts asking me all sorts of weird dietary questions.

So after I figure out my budget for the next three months, how to best pay down my student loan debt, and pay off my car insurance until July, I finally face my first task.

The listing is for being an investigator for a firm that works with insurance companies and specializes in worker's comp (I presume the latter because the listing prefers experience in that field). I tenuously meet the basic requirements but my resume doesn't show a lot of experience. It's clear I'm going to have to rely on my cover letter to do the heavy lifting.

Whenever I reach this critical point, of writing a cover letter, my entire arsenal of writing skills goes kaput. I am reduced to shell of an inferior self (which is like a double reduction in true ability). This mental block always hits me and pretty much destroys any chance of me actually taking a chance.

So what can I do?

I decided to write this post. Certain topics just unleash a fury of words from my brain like a river stream of consciousness. Maybe if I can approach writing a cover letter like this, I might be able to throw up a passable attempt of self-marketing.

For a job like investigating, I think it requires a specific mindset. Maybe I'm working off crime procedural tropes, but I think an investigator needs a big imagination. I got that covered.

And next...

You know what? I think I just unlocked it, my mental stream! Time to see if I can tap into this vein and draw out some good blood!

After my last sentence, I just went to my laptop and pumped out a cover letter. I wonder if it's any good?

To Whom It May Concern,

I am applying for the position of Field Investigator because I know that the job will satisfy my craving to utilize my unique skill set. I possess a combination of skills that complement each other, work in tandem, and in conjunction for a single purpose: producing results. I've thought about the Field Investigator position, looked over the requirements, and determined that this job gives me the best opportunity to use my talents.

There is one thing that I'm proud of, if nothing else, and that is my capacity for imagination. With an imagination, I can envision the past and reconstruct events to figure out exactly what happened. Not only can I imagine it, but I can relay it. I have a great range of writing ability, but there is always one constant to my style: it is clear and communicative. I'm proud of my ability to render scenes with accurate and relevant details.

I hold a curious drive to explore the world. I like meeting new people, I can deal with different personalities from all walks of life and I've intentionally put myself in intense situations all in an attempt to learn more. I have no issues with going to new places and investigating. When it comes to investigating, I think it requires a great deal of patience, an ability to look at things from multiple perspectives, and a certain attitude about the world. It demands some psychoanalysis, the ability to read people, and to catch on to the subtleties of human expression. I draw from my experience as a journalist, as a teacher, and as a writer to engage people, to examine the environment, and to pick up on the small details.

I hope you consider my application for the position, and give me a chance to fulfill the desire and potential to succeed at this job.

Sincerely,

Jomatto

Friendly Coaching

I firmly believe in the power of mentors and leaders to inspire action. This principle is none more demonstrable than with our own personal circle of friends. I would even use this as a measure of how great our friends really are. So how can our friends inspire us?

Easy, as cheerleaders.

How often do you honestly cheer for your friends, beyond mere acknowledgment of congratulations? As a friend, you are in the unique position of providing support. All you really have to do is hold them accountable.

We can try to set goals for ourselves but most of the time, we fail to complete them. Since we personally set them, it's easy for us to make excuses when we fail, but how can we make excuses to someone else? That's why we have parents and teachers to make sure we're in the straight and narrow.

As adults, we try our hardest to detach ourselves from such figures and embrace a measure of independence, but without the structure of school to provide us with a clear cut path to success, we enter a cycle of self-letdowns.

That's why we should use our friends as motivators, as people that we don't want to let down. Just knowing that you have someone vested in your success makes you more motivated.

Think about all your friends. Do you have someone who is absolutely lazy and seems headed for a dead-end life?

Maybe, just maybe, you can be the spark to light them up.

The Sound of Clubbing

I was never really a fan of club music, the kind of sound typified by steady beats, thumping bass, and the sort of scratching one would associate more with a chalkboard than a turntable. Yet, through the power of dance, it not only becomes palatable--it's preferable.

Music has changed dramatically over the years, and what was once danceable is no longer danceable. It's hard to imagine moving your body to the tune of pop classics that our ancestors rocked out to eons ago. Can you imagine clubbing to The Beatles? Or The Rolling Stones?

Those classic tunes are the kind of music I would listen to in recreation. It's nice to kick back, close your eyes, and be transported to another world, but if I'm trying to relax, club/dance/electronica is absolutely horrible to listen to. Might as well bring a cheese grater to my ears.

But if I'm in the mood to dance, then bring it on! Those scratchy beats and random noises suddenly make sense in my head and my body has to obey. It's funny how the music I hate is the key to unlocking the dancer inside of me.

To dance, or not to dance? Such an answer depends entirely on one question:

What's playing?

The Bar

Our standards are too low.

Parents nowadays are too easily satisfied with "good grades." Good grades doesn't mean jack in the real world. What I'd like to see a little hands-on application. It's one thing to recite knowledge, but its another to put it into action.

So rather than reward our sons and daughters for getting good grades in school, we should actually assign them projects. Given our access to technology, I don't think such assignments are out of the range of your average school student.

What kind of assignments you ask?

Tell them to make a movie. It's really easy nowadays to record footage and splice them together.

Tell them to get all their classmates information. Give them a bit of a salesmanship savvy.

Tell them to write a story, fictional or real.

Tell them to make goals, and make them connect the dots necessary to complete the goals.

Tell them to record things, to keep tracks of small details like what kind of clothes people are wearing at school, what kind of accessories are popular, and how often they're worn.

Just tell them to make things.

The thing about all these tasks?

They're quantifiable. The results are observable, tangible, and real. These are the kinds of things that count for more in life than letter grades.

I beseech you, let's raise the bar for our youth.

Spazzin' Out

As easy as my job is, there are perils that go along with the perks.

To remind you what my job is, I take care of a thirty-four year-old retrograde amnesiac. The bulk of my job is simply conversation, and when you converse with somebody who has no short-term memory, it can get repetitive. While I can get away with making empty statements, exaggerated platitudes, and idle talk, sometimes, I might trip a landmine.

It's just one little innocuous comment, and it sets off an explosion.

As I drive my charge to lunch, he jumps from one object to the next, making comments about houses, cars, and other random things passing by like a dog surrounded by squirrels. I couldn't get a word in edgewise since he was moving too fast.

So I said:

"Spazzin' out."

"What?" he asks me.

"You're kind of spazzin' out."

"Well you're fucking retarded." I turn to him and his face is a portrait of fury. His forehead is scrunched, lips half open in a snarl. "You don't come at me like that, you say I'm spazzin' out? Well I say you're fucking retarded, what do you think of that?" he threatens loudly.

"Are you angry?"

"Yeah I am. I get angry real fast. What are you going to do about it? "

That's when I turn into a gas station to fill up. I don't say anything when I finish pumping and drive across the street to hit up a subway. I get out but he doesn't follow me, instead, he wanders off to a 7-Eleven.

I keep an eye on him and when he notices me, he shakes his head in his trademark display of irritation. Every time I see him do that, it's a precursor to a blowup.

It's clear I'm not gonna get lunch today. Since he knows I'm following him, he stops and waits for me to approach.

"You wanna go home? I'll drive you," I offer neutrally.

"Let's go."

We drive to his house in silence.

I walk in and get myself a banana. I eat it while he listens to a voice message on the phone. He tries to call back but is unable to, which frustrates him. He walks to his room, muttering under his breath like a petulant ten-year old.

I take the opportunity to stuff his fridge with water bottles and take one for myself. I also grab a Santa Fe turkey burger from the refrigerator. I bought it two days ago for him to eat, but he never did. I leave it on the counter since I plan on heating it up in the microwave.

I do a one-minute plank and I hear him coming. I stand up.

"Is this your water?" He points to my bottle.

"Yeah." He takes it and places it closer to me on the counter. "Is this your burger?"

"Yeah."

"Are you going to eat it?"

"I'm going to eat it later."

"WHY AREN'T YOU EATING IT NOW?"

"I'm going to heat it up later and eat it."

"DON'T LEAVE YOUR BURGER ON MY COUNTER ASSHOLE. THAT'S ALL YOU EVER DO. YOU DON'T DO NOTHING. GET THE FUCK OUT MY HOUSE."

At this point, I grab my things and leave.

It's not a particularly pleasant experience to have a 6 foot 2 tall man who weighs two hundred pounds screaming expletives at your face.

In my experience, there are two things that can calm him down: video games and TV.

I think those two act as a sort of gear shift for his memory. After he switches gear, he will forget that he ever screamed body murder at me.

This kind of nonsense doesn't happen that often, but when it does, I run for cover. When I duck my head and hear shells explode over me, I think to myself:

Spazzin' out.

Match Made in Heaven

There's a fundamental problem with eharmony, which supposedly pinpoints your perfect match depending on your profile. It's completely reliant on user-inputted information. People hardly know what they want, much less who they are. Even I don't trust my own self-assessments. We can hardly be a good judge of character if we're not in touch with our true selves. How can you tell if you're truly introspective, or if you're just plain fooling yourself?

Then again, I suppose that's the entire idea of finding a soul mate in the first place. Perhaps the only way we can truly know ourselves is through someone else. It's not like we know what we look like without a mirror, wouldn't the same apply to personality?

Matchmaking isn't an exact science, but there are enough trends, rules, and tendencies to help a person decide whether or not that special someone truly is "the one."

Anything that can pierce the veil of nonsense that covers our society is a plus in my book. So can we get rid of the stigma of online matchmaking already? Storybook meetings are just that, meetings in a storybook. I'd like my relationships to have a solid basis on data and probability rather than fairy tale presumptions.

But...I might just be fooling myself.

Sense of Urgency

Safety nets are quite dangerous.

It's true; they save your life when you fall down from great heights, but unless you've tasted high-altitude air, a safety net is all you will ever know. Nets are meant to catch you, but they have a nasty tendency of getting you all tangled up. The twine digs into your skin, wraps around you, traps your body, and never lets go.

Try not to get too complacent.

Only danger can get us to move. Perhaps the only way we can get higher is to invite a little of bit danger into our lives. So try not to get to comfortable.

Who knows how long that net will hold?