Struggling against the almighty tides of eventuality

Saturday, among other things, I went to the Windup Comics (“Comix”?) Fest[ival]. If that wrestling match with punctuation didn’t completely turn you off, you’ll now be entreated to a review of that experience:

I actually really liked it. Like DC Comic-con, it was pretty much a single room, i.e. The Windup Space on North Avenue in Baltimore. It had a completely different feel from that convention, though. More on that “feeling” thing later; first, location: fortunately for me, it was within walking distance (only about 6 or so blocks), so I didn’t have to worry about parking. Had that been a concern, it may have been less awesome because North Avenue isn’t always the nicest of streets. It was my first time at The Windup Space, and it seemed like a nice enough little bar. I can’t speak to the quality of drinks or service, though, cause I was mostly focusing on the comics (and I was poor that day).

As I said, this gathering had a completely different feel than my sole previous experience at a comics gathering. I think that’s because this event focused primarily on the artists, and not the retailers. There were a couple of retailers, but most of the people were actually local, independent, artists and writers. That can be attributed to the difference in who was the chief organizer: from what I understand, DC was organized by a retailer, and Windup was organized by an artist (in fact, one with whom I went to high school) and an art studio. Suffice it to say, without dragging out the comparisons much longer, I walked into DC Comic-con with a decent amount of money and nothing I wanted to spend it on, while I walked into this place and found plenty of stuff I wanted to buy but had almost no money with me.

The artists were all really friendly, and that was pretty great. I came in towards the end of the day, since it started about 1pm and closed at 7pm, and I wasn’t able to make it until after 5:30. In spite of what I heard was lower turnout than expected (maybe due to the rainy day and this being the first such event), everyone was pretty happy and readily willing to interact with me, explain what they were doing and selling, and just be generally quite congenial. I found a couple of things I really wanted to get, a couple of things I thought would be cool to check out, and a couple of things that were neat but not really my speed. Fortunately everyone had plenty of business cards and flyers, and I managed to get something from almost everyone so I could remember to check them out later.

Local Artists' Media

Ultimately I had to whittle down my must-purchase list to one item, which was the Floppy Boy comic on the left. While many things caught my attention, as I said, I stuck with this one because I thought it’d be particularly cool to have something written by someone I know personally. I wound up with Volume 2 rather than Volume 1, though, so I’ll have to pick up the rest of the collection later. It’s a collection of former-webcomics (the server blew up, I think, and if I remember correctly I was told it was “a long story”), which Gavin admitted were pretty hit-or-miss with the comedy, but I thought were pretty entertaining.

I’ll try to remember to update this later with links to the artists, as was my original intent, as the picture of a stack of flyers is clearly not legible enough to make them out, but I don’t have the physical copies with me. Hopefully in the meantime this link to Interrobang’s page on the festival (with list of artists) will suffice.

In closing: it was really an awesome show, and I’m glad I went. From what I heard from the organizers, they’re going to try to do it at least annually, if not twice a year, and I’ll definitely head back for more. If they can keep the same positive energy going towards it, I think it has the potential to turn into a Pretty Big Deal.

Last night, I decided to try a little literary experiment. And, actually, it turned out pretty well! Just see for yourself. I asked several people to write me one sentence of a fictional nature. It could be any valid sentence, like you’d read out of a novel. The rules evolved as I went along, and eventually people asked for an example. As I didn’t want anyone to see anyone else’s, I came up with my own: “The single most important thing I was ever told was not to cry in front of witnesses.” As I didn’t necessarily care to embark upon the story until after I’d collected everyone else’s statements, I didn’t use that line. However, it’s at least here for posterity.

My original intent was to get five people’s sentences. I had picked the people out carefully based on what I figured was either a guaranteed willingness to help with literary excursions or importance to my life or some combination of both. However, I started late at night and most people had gone to sleep, and I wanted to strike while the iron was hot, so I shotgunned a request to a number of people. As it turns out, I got almost everyone I was going for initially, plus a couple extra, and wound up with seven sentences to use.

One of the things I liked was how each sentence completely rearranged what I thought was going to happen based on everything I thought might happen beforehand. As I said, I didn’t really start writing until after I collected everything, but ideas were coalescing with each puzzle piece everyone gave me. Here’s what people gave me, in the order I got it:

• Larry Saunders – My partner gave me the simple and straightforward line “I went to work today.” I eventually added on the clause that it couldn’t simply be something that was an inverted true statement, i.e. “the sky is not blue.” Given how short and straightforward it was I thought his sentence would be easy to work in and wouldn’t have an impact, but given the nature of the last paragraph, and the way it showcases Mildred’s escapist desires, I think it added some nice depth.
• Eric Will – Eric, who has contributed to this blog and works with me, gave me the statement “When I was young, I met this beautiful girl by a lake.” His was particularly interesting in that he started a trend that would be shared later where he gave me something from an abandoned story he had started himself. This beautiful girl turns out to be a pretty pivotal point in one of the narrators’ lives.
• Jason House – Another coworker, after giving me a bit of grief, as he is prone to do, gave me the most difficult sentence to work in: “Unicorns are primarily found in warm tropical climates but have been known to travel as far north as new hampshire in november to enjoy the changing colors of the evergreens.” I’ll admit that I cheated and used it as a quotation from a non-existent book. However, like the girl, this book turned out to be a key component in altering the first narrator’s life.
• Jessica Hughes – From an old character biography, I got “She stood tall and boldly faced the east with the burning remnants of her house and former treasure behind her.” Jessica has been a long-time friend of Larry’s and now we converse regularly on Twitter about music and many other things. Her statement contrasts with Eric’s pretty well, with the fire and water dichotomy, and features prominently at the point where the two narratives intersect, which I didn’t even realize until I was almost finished.
• William West – A friend made entirely through the power of social media (read: we are Twitter buds) gave me “I never did find out if she was a stripper or a bank teller.” He apologized for it, which he said himself he should stop doing, so shame on him. The character he gave me turned out to be more of an indication of the kind of life the first narrator led, free-wheeling and womanizing. That made me re-think the love interest with the girl at the lake, because I still wasn’t sure what was going to happen there.
• Molly – Another Twitter user, interesting in that I think she lives at most 500 yards away, I’ve probably seen her without realizing it, and I don’t know her full name, told me yet another line from a story she had started herself: “Mildred made weekly trips to the farmer’s market for social interaction and intrigue.” Strangely, this seemed to fit into the kind of lifestyle that the narrator would find interesting, per William’s entry earlier. It was also curious in that she finally used a proper name. I had considered restricting to pronouns in my request at first, but finally decided I wanted people to have as much freedom as possible. She was the only one who picked up on that open-ended promise. And it turned out to be the key to the hook that I came upon with the next and final sentence.
• Mykl Levi – A recently-made good friend gave me the final sentence I would collect: “He was institutionalized when I met him, but that didn’t make me want him any less.” At first I thought I’d turn my narrator into a bisexual or something, but then I realized I could simply make him crazy all along. Of course, after flipping that switch, I had to decide if all the women he was after were fantasies, or reflections of the same woman, or any number of other things. I eventually settled on his mother, who it turned out would be Mildred. Naturally, she couldn’t say she wanted her son unless I wanted to make this a really twisted story (which I did not want to do), and she definitely wouldn’t have just met him anyway.

From this point out, I created the whole story. A lot of what I said in the comments happened anachronistically from how it’s presented here. Clearly, the second narrator didn’t even come into play until after Levi gave me his sentence, but I mentioned both of them as early as the first as though they were a given. At this point, it’s sort of difficult to remember at what points which portions came into being. What really matters is that I really love the end result. It turned out amazingly well, better even than I had hoped it would be.

I know there is probably some medical fallacy in the son’s insanity, Eric or Molly (who I think is a doctor or a researcher, I’m not sure which) could probably set me straight on that. This story was not really about doing tons of research, though. Usually I pop open Wikipedia and Google and go to town researching everything, but for this I just had the quotes at the top of a text file and just streamed it through the fingers. I edited two sections after the fact, adding one or two sentences a the top and taking out a couple at the bottom, but ultimately it just flowed.

So, after all that has been said, I’d like to issue a big thank you to everyone who helped me out with this. It sounds like I’m making a big huge deal out of such a short story, but I think it’s pretty good and I have some good people to thank for that. I hope none of you are offended at how I used (abused?) your creative contributions.

Do you ever meet someone who’s so startlingly beautiful that you’re not quite sure you can handle it? Sure, we’ve all got those little adolescent crushes where your heart beats a mile a minute and your throat closes up and your mouth goes dry just before you can ask them how they’re doing, but I’m not that young anymore. Of course, when you’re any age love still feels the same, and the story stays the same.

When I was young, I met this beautiful girl by a lake. We spent the summer with our legs drifting off the sides of the pier, where there never seemed to be any boats to anchor or sail, and just talked. It must have been utter nonsense, because I can barely remember any of it. We were reading books at the same time, like we were going on adventures together. I still remember one of the curious little facts: “Unicorns are primarily found in warm tropical climates but have been known to travel as far north as New Hampshire in November to enjoy the changing colors of the evergreens.” Maybe it was the utter strangeness of the idea, or maybe it was that, while we were giggling about the book and watching the little waves glisten with stolen sunlight, that she leaned over and kissed me. Though it should be a happy memory, it’s not; because the picture of a Unicorn watching evergreens change color made me laugh, and she thought I was laughing at her. I apologized, and life went on. We played together, laughed together, and read together the rest of the summer. But she never kissed me again. And the next summer I was at the dock alone.

Maybe that informed the rest of my relationships. Sure, that seems like an easy thing to say, because it was just one girl and one summer, but it’s the truth. I never wanted to have attachments. Well, maybe I did, but I couldn’t let myself get close. They say there are many fish in the sea; well, I swam the depths for years. I met firefighters, secretaries, and even a writer or two. They were great at giving me what I needed, but I was terrible at giving back. I felt badly about it, but I never wanted to change. There just wasn’t any reason.

The longest I stayed with a woman was Mildred. Mildred made weekly trips to the farmer’s market for social interaction and intrigue. She saw adventure in every corner and under every bed. There was no story she couldn’t spin out of a few bare threads she’d overhear in the morning, and nothing she wouldn’t do for me. One day I told her I’d had enough and thought I’d like to move to Vermont. I said something about New England drawing me. I left, and when I came back to get my things, I saw the house on fire. She looked at me and her face was covered with soot. Then she looked away. She stood tall and boldly faced the east with the burning remnants of her house and former treasure behind her. I knew she wasn’t coming with me, although that was my first thought. No, I’d broken her heart, and I could see it melting, like glass, in the flames behind her that were blowing her ragged hair and filling it with ash.

Vermont was a fine place to live, but it didn’t have what I wanted. For years I went through each and every town I could find, trying to locate a little piece of something I’d never know was missing. Maybe it was a sense of adventure, I’m not sure. Somehow I got involved with a shady woman who dealt drugs for the mob. She had some strange cover stories for why she’d be late to everything. There was her job, of course, but it changed day by day, though I had a tie for the best two. Eventually, she made some mistakes and disappeared without a trace. I never did find out of she was a stripper or a bank teller.

My latest stop is at a nice hostel. I’ve been here for a while, now, and it seems nice enough. I can’t really tell you how long it’s been, exactly. Sometimes you lose track of time. A couple of the guys here are into that real hardcore stuff, and it messes with my mind a little bit. It gets foggy every now and then and I forget what time it is or how long I’ve been awake and little details like that. But the sense of adventure is still calling me. One of these days I’m gonna get up and get out. But for now, I’m pretty happy and I think I’ll just stay for a bit longer.

Sometimes, on hard days like this, the weaker parts of me think that maybe I should just abandon him here. He’s the only part of his father that I have left, though, and my only child. I couldn’t really let him go any more than I could rip out my heart and offer it to a stranger. Sometimes I wish he weren’t so much his father’s son. His father, he was such a charming man. He was institutionalized when I met him, but that didn’t make me want him any less. As a day helper I met with the patients and told them stories, and he was always the most lucid, and always offered me something nice, or something he thought was nice. They didn’t exactly have lots of disposable income or any trips to the local stores. Still, it was an incredibly thoughtful gift with a compliment each time. I often credited myself with his recovery, but I’m sure I was more of a bystander than an incentive.

I’m glad I had that experience at the institution, though. Fifteen years ago, they told me: “Mildred, you have to talk to him, you have to keep him grounded with your voice. It’s the only way he’ll stay cognizant of the real world.” It was easy at the time, because I always thought he’d get better. When they found him by the docks he was babbling about a girl and a book and a unicorn, saying he only wanted to read her something funny he had found. It turned out, the girl was a neighbor’s daughter who I’d seen playing by herself at the dock while my son was in his room, and that day I learned that no amount of apologies can make up for a lost child. But I still had mine, or so I thought.

He had a breakthrough a few years back. Each story I told him seemed to bring him back to the room a little bit more. He stopped fidgeting and stared directly at me. The new medications seemed to be working, finally. One day, he even asked for me by name to tell him a story. But then, a few days later, he looked at me and said “Mildred, I think I’m going to Vermont. Something about New England is calling me.” I don’t remember what happened next but I know that later I was sobbing outside with a doctor rubbing my shoulder and telling me that it was probably just temporary. But he didn’t know, he didn’t even have any children. I stayed away for weeks after that, and when I came back, he was the same as he had always been.

I went to work today. It was my first day on a new job, trying to make ends meet. The hours are horrible, and they keep me away from my son. But it pays the bills, and each time I walk through the door, I feel freedom for a brief moment, as I take in the world around me and think how I’ve given up and moved on with my life. But then the doors swish closed behind me, and the moment is gone. I know I have my obligations.

I went to a concert tonight. Yes, that’s pretty much my evening in a nutshell.

It was a pretty good concert, though, all things considered. I work with the drummer, and its via him that I know of the group. He’s a nice guy and pretty laid back about everything, and is none too shabby of a drummer, so I was looking forward to the performance. This wasn’t my first encounter with this group (HotBox) nor the 8×10 in Federal Hill, so I figured it would be a pretty decent show based on my past encounter, but became concerned when I had to make my way down via the MTA.

The venue’s all right, they get some really good music, but the drinks are pricey (though, honestly, try to name me a bar/club where they aren’t). I’ve attended three shows there, one for a guy I played a run of The Fantasicks with back in the day (his group is Ayurveda and is awesome) and two shows for HotBox. Weirdly, the first show included a band with another drummer I know and went to high school with, called Pasadena, but due to circumstances out of my control, I have yet to see them perform. Aaron (the co-worker drummer) said they were pretty good, and I can believe it as Cory (the co-student drummer) was pretty good and I can’t see him easily associating with not-good-at-music types.

Now that I’ve gotten the name-dropping out of the way, I’ll say this: the 8×10 gets some quality guys in there to play (I may have mentioned this before). The first band tonight, whose name escapes me now as they did not receive billing on the website so I only saw them on the flyer in the basement once, was musically not bad. Of course, the lyrics were ridiculous, as they seemed to be covering a lot of Kanye West, and playing it like they were Dave Matthews. Comically, it worked, but I’m not entirely sure they meant for it to be funny. Also, I know Autotune is “a thing” these days, but is it really in any way considered appropriate to use it during live performances? Considering that’s where at least 90% of the melodic voice parts got their lines from, I’d say it was a bit much.

The Grilled Lincolns were up next, and though I distinctly remember thinking that they were quality music, I’m having a hard time recalling any specific songs. It may have to do more with the fact that by this point I’d hammered down a beer pretty quickly and was working on a 7&7, when normally I have a sip of Kool-aid and get a little bit tipsy, than it has to do with anything the band did wrong. Realizing I’d probably have to walk a few blocks to a bus stop, though, I stopped pretty quickly after that and stuck to water. Oh, wait, I lied: they played Super Mario Bros. music. I would have gotten up and whooped and hollered but I think it was the wrong crowd for that sort of thing. Still, I guess while they were playing the star music I should have done it anyway, it wasn’t like anyone could hurt me while I was invincible.

Finally, HotBox got on stage and did their thing, and I wound up running into one of the percussionists’ brother (they have two percussionists, the guy I work with and a guy wailing on the Djembe). He had looked familiar, and we struck up a camaraderie over two ditzy chicks who dragged bar stools across the venue and plopped them dead in front of the speakers. Sure, go deaf, it isn’t like you’re using the other organs in your head, apparently. Anyway, the band: in spite of HotBox’s hyper-sexualized lyrics, they’re a pretty good band. Like I said, the 8×10 pulls in some good bands and tonight was this band’s second round in under a few months. A staple of the show seems to be a djembe solo, which actually feels a bit out of place, like the guy’s just showing off, but he’s good at it so it’s hard to complain too much about it. One of my favorite songs I sadly don’t know the name, as it’s not on their page and they don’t announce, but it’s a radical departure from their normal live fare, and drops the djembe in favor of a keyboard riff, which is pretty awesome.

The main thing that stuck with me was the balancing issues. I’m not sure what about balancing a voice against a band is so difficult, having not spent any time behind a mixing board myself; but it’s apparently very difficult for HotBox for whatever reason. I singled them out because it seemed like the other bands balanced out fairly well tonight. On previous nights other bands have met with the same balancing issues, but tonight only one band did, and that stuck out. It’s my only major complaint on a night that went, interestingly enough, pretty well.

It was a pretty good night, and I am pretty glad I went, in spite of various issues (paying the tab after I ran out of cash with only one drink on it and a $15 minimum on credit resulted in a shot of Jaeger which pushed me into I-will-have-a-hangover territory being one of them). Funny enough, I meant this to be a retelling of all the hilarious things that happened tonight, but I guess I realized partway through the first paragraph that none of it would be very funny to read on a blog.

I don’t pray. I haven’t in years. For me, the issue of whether or not to pray today was a complete nonsense kind of question. If you went to my house and tried to find some Christian memorabilia, you’d be hard-pressed, and the closest thing you’d find is old wedding and funeral programs, along with some religious music I’m paid to play at such occasions.

With all that being said, I don’t care about the national day of prayer. I don’t consider it an affront to my non-believing ways that people want a proclamation of a day of prayer. Here’s the code, in case you’re curious (emphasis mine):

The President shall issue each year a proclamation designating the first Thursday in May as a National Day of Prayer on which the people of the United States may turn to God in prayer and meditation at churches, in groups, and as individuals.

You’ll note the “may.” It’s splitting hairs, but then if we’re going to parse the law (i.e. the first amendment) that everyone’s getting their panties in a twist over, then we’re going to parse the damn law. Note that “may” means we don’t have to pray, we just can if we want to. Here’s what the first amendment text is:

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.

You can point directly at this thing and say that Congress is respecting Christianity by giving it a special day all to itself. Of course, you can also point at Christmas break and talk about how the federal holidays recognize it as well, but people are suspiciously less outspoken against a day off work.

And that’s the thing, really. This law has hardly any force and effect, other than mandating a proclamation from the President, who, to date, has been a Christian of some variety exactly 44 times. If the law were suddenly repealed, I’d be doubtful that it’d stop the President from issuing some sort of proclamation, and therefore I also doubt it’d shut up the critics of the day. And that’s assuming the law could get repealed in the first place. For it to be challenged up to the Supreme Court, at which point I’d assume you’d have to have a case, at which point I’d assume you’d need to prove that this law adversely affected you directly, that hearing the words cascading from the President’s mouth asking people to honor something you simply don’t believe in has caused you literal harm. The only way I can see this is if people get beaten for not praying on this, our day of prayer, and somehow convert that to “it’s the law’s fault” (as though people who are nonsensical enough to beat someone for not praying are rational every other day without such a proclamation).

Aside from that avenue, which feels unlikely, it seems equally unlikely that Congress will overturn it by virtue of the fact that the Christian base is pretty damn strong in elections. Basically, what I’m saying is: “They’re here, they fear [God], get used to it.”

And that little play on words is where I really get to the meat of why the criticism I’ve heard thus far bothers me: I know plenty of atheists. Some of them are even, dare I make this joke, gaytheists (they’re gay and atheists). And that last pun represents the only people I’ve seen up in arms about this. Just a few months ago, I could have dropped some article about Proposition 8 in front of them and they’d get royally heated, how the Government stripped people’s rights. They might even say “Hey, if the people who hate gay marriage don’t like it, they just shouldn’t get married to another person of the same sex.”  That argument is perfectly valid. Then they’d go on about challenging such an unjust thing in the courts.

And they wouldn’t see any parallels.

The problem with Proposition 8, is that it was an amendment to California’s constitution. Now, I don’t know the process in California by rote, but it stands to reason it’s like US Government Jr., as are most state constitutions. That means that it’d be pretty difficult, if not impossible, to mount any sort of legal challenge. But that won’t stop people from arguing that it violates some basic legally-guaranteed rights. Well, in California, it technically doesn’t.

And that’s the thing, fighting against this religious thing while fighting against that anti-gay thing is cherry-picking your battles. You either respect a Constitution, or you don’t. And you either recognize people’s right to do things their way, or you don’t. I don’t pray. I haven’t in years. This law has no force and effect to make me pray, so I just plain don’t see why we have to fight this battle.

I went to DC Comicon this weekend, and the experience was not quite was I was expecting or hoping for. I’ve seen other people’s reactions to it, and they are wildly differing, to say the least. For the record, I agree more with the former than the latter. As a non-collector, it didn’t make me swoon to see leagues and leagues of not-very-recent books on display and for sale. The artists present were scattered around and I couldn’t tell if they were big names or small guys based on their positioning or presentation, and I’m not deep enough in the rabbit hole to intrinsically know the difference on name alone.

But more than that, was the major headache the second blog post mentioned: it was more like a VA Comicon #2. It was in Fairfax, which, while close to DC, is not actually DC. It’d be purely a matter of semantics, but the fact of the matter is that I live in Baltimore, and every extra mile is an extra pain in my ass. Plus, as I’ve discovered from working on a campus that’s huge and it isn’t easy to leave for some food and come back unless you want to eat away two hours, urban location can be pretty important. People should be able to socialize more than saying “Oh, you want at this box? Sure.” That was seriously the most social event I had while there. Of course, the George Mason University was probably the most receptive to the event, or charged much cheaper than any place in the heart of DC would, but if you’re going to announce a DC comics convention, you should be prepared to deal with what being in DC entails.

Aside from that, the logistical problems William mentioned were quite true. I wasn’t driving, so I had my phone out, alternating between the campus map and Google maps, and I still almost wound up leaving the campus accidentally before I turned around and got to the parking lot. We were followed from there by someone who had even less of an idea how to get there than I did, so I was feeling the pressure when it turned out we went up and around a building needlessly. Damn social anxiety. Then I was asked for directions on our way out by a deaf guy across the street, and hopefully my wild gesturing was helpful cause I don’t think he was close enough to read my lips and I still don’t know ASL.

One of the bigger busts was not the con’s fault, but my own, in that I was kind of looking forward to meeting the aforementioned William, cause he seems pretty cool and I prefer knowing people in real life when possible. Unfortunately, not realizing that he was likewise looking forward to meeting up and having made several circuits of the floor, I decided to go ahead and head out. Adding to the decision was the fact that I’d almost bumped into a couple of people several times, during which I stopped suddenly, right on my partner’s feet, while he was wearing flip-flops. Since he looked about ready to toss me out the nearest window by the second or third time I did it, it seemed a good idea not to risk further incidents. Again, none of this was anything to do with the con itself, just stuff that happened to…er, happen.

It wasn’t really a horrible experience, but it’s probably not one I’ll repeat unless a couple of things change for next year. It should be in DC. It should be more than a vendor room. It should have clear directions for parking and for getting to the convention. The $5 admission price is well under what I’d expect for a convention, but was about par or above for paying to pay for stuff. I have hopes for next year, but I’m not holding my breath too long.

I am looking forward to Baltimore Comic-Con though, I’ve heard it’s quality.

I’ve had a mishmash of thoughts today, so, what better place to toss them than a blog no one reads? Sure, why not!

First off: Free Comic Book Day was today, and it was fine. I went to Amazing Spiral in the Rotunda shopping center and picked up a couple of trade paperbacks (The Sandman vol. 6: “Fables and Reflections“, and Cable and Deadpool vol. 6: “Separation Anxiety“). While The Sandman series strikes me more like a heady novel-type read, the Cable and Deadpool has already been consumed as “lighter” fare, and was delicious. I know the sacrifice at the end has been undone via comic book magic but it was still pretty poignant, and the balance of the book was pretty hilarious. Still have yet to start the other one.

I picked up a couple of freebies too: War of the Supermen and Thor #1 (I think the second one the guy just threw in cause he was nice, not cause it was meant to be free). I’ve never been big on Norse mythology, and Marvel’s watered-down version certainly doesn’t make me leap for joy, but Thor #1 definitely makes me want to read more of this. Fortunately, it’s a year or two old, so I already can!

Second off: I got in a debate with someone over Steve Jobs’s recent “open letter” on Flash. She lauded him for standing firm on “this controversial issue.” Of course, it ain’t exactly health care and human rights we’re talking about here. It’s about an asshole sitting on top of a mountain of money and guarding it like a rabid Doberman. At any rate, he’s being douchey and claiming to be only acting in the best interests of consumers everywhere.

Hey Steve: shove your concerned protection, please. Thanks.

I don’t think, with a five-minute review process, that any app gets the entirety of its code checked for all possible security threat vectors, nor do I think it’s fully put through its paces to make sure it doesn’t crash (I use a couple relatively “popular” apps that crash all the fucking time). 3D games, lauded on the system, are complete energy whores. At no point does he acknowledge that his “it’s buggy and crash-happy” (paraphrased) argument holds water only when you admit that the entire ecosystem is built around such buggy, crash-happy, energy-sucking apps, mixed in with an overwhelming pile of shitty flashlight and fart apps. You’ve got a few gems, like Foursquare, but a lot of that 100,000+ library is pretty terrible. Anyway, I like my internet with Homestar Runner, and why the fuck do you think I need to be protected from what I want in the first place?

Oh yeah, that’s right, cause you’re a self-centered whiny little bitch. Adobe has been getting smacked around by your financial muscle, strong-armed by a skinny black-turtle-necked jackass who used them up and now that he’s done with them, is posting all the nude photos for everyone to laugh at. Yes, even the one with the bunny ears. Especially the one with the bunny ears. Like I said with the bullshit about Gizmodo, they’re allowed to be just as douchey as the market allows them to be with regards to their closed ecosystem and completely arbitrary approval process, but the key word, underlined and bolded for your convenience, is douchey. This is why I hate those guys, and that’s not even getting into how they’re playing at being Magnum P.I. and trying to go around the police (who are already banging down doors in a highly-suspect potentially-illegal action for them). They’re assholes through and through. The only argument that jumps out at me as logical in the whole tirade was “flash was designed for mice,” and even then it doesn’t have to use that idiom, it just does right now. It’s all preference, and Steve Jobs, in classic “I have the best brain ever, BOOM” douchebag fashion, is cramming his down everyone else’s throats.

Third, and finally, off: I think I’ve figured out what I want to call this blog. It references the blog post I wrote several months ago when I was just starting out. It’s part of a quote I feel really proud of, and that’s what I’d really like this blog to be about: writing I can later look back on and hopefully, for the most part, be proud of. Not all of it will be, of course, as I’ll probably look back on this post later and the inevitable back-and-forth about how justified Apple is in doing whatever it damn well pleases, or that maybe Deadpool is a lot more “deep” than I gave him credit for (anybody?!), and regret that I ever said anything.

Whatever.

The new title of the blog, in case you’re curious (and also stupid, cause it’s now in the header) is “An Oak In The Fall.”

Welcome.