bitch bitch bitch.

fuck.
fuck.
fuck.
fuck!

And a Rock feels no Pain. And an Island never Cries.

Continuing with my investigation into the nature of emotions as a purely intellectual response to adverse conditions, I've decided to discuss my bullshit reactions to mistakes, failures, and the unforeseeable fun of life. I bought a game this week. Not just any game, but the kind of game that I believe the youths are calling the "new hotness." It is, of course, a prequel to a sequel allowing a gigantic video game publisher to further capitalize on a successful franchise before they kick the game's developers into the cold with nary but a pat on the ass and a minority share in whatever new company they end up making. Meanwhile, I, as the consumer, get to play through a story I already know the ending to. (Everybody dies horribly, tragically, and alone.) All things being equal, I'd be pissed that someone would have the audacity to end the relationship with their intellectual property by publishing a third consecutive prequel rather than generate new story content, but I'm experiencing something unusual.
I've frequently lamented the lack of save points in life. Oh, how much easier human interaction would be if I could just save before an important conversation and attempt infinite interactions before finally stumbling upon the perfect one. And yet, here I have frequent save points and I'm experiencing the same thing I experience in save-point-free life. I go about my business, making the best decisions I can with what I know at the time, and then the world comes back to pull the rug out from under me with some completely unforeseeable tactic. In the video game, this is done through crescendos of action followed by cut scenes where all your hard work is trumped by new, overwhelming numbers. You discover an army of invaders when you first visit Futureville and destroy the invaders' ship with a big gun, then your big-gun-carrying ship is blasted from the sky by an even bigger ship. You destroy the even bigger ship from within just in time to see an entire fleet of invaders' visit the helpless planet of Futureville. You rescue stranded civilians and restore communications in Futureville but then the invaders start nuking Futureville into a glass marble. So on and so forth. You have no choice but to complete your objectives and to advance the plot.
Similarly in life, quitting is the least satisfying option. (But the option I most often make in anything but cigarettes.) No matter how hopeless a failure may be, the idea of success is always tantalizing. It never seems that far away to me. (Not abstract "success" but the immediate goals. I don't even have a definition of abstract "success." I think I'll worry about that later...) It's easy being a hermit, but it's not satisfying.
So I find myself in an interesting relationship with my ambitions. I know that I will be happy should I achieve them. I have never been the type to believe that the wanting is better than the having. Instead of feeling a fear of failure, I instead worry that my happiness is merely transient. Or, better yet, that all my anxiety over failing is instead anxiety over retaining that which I hope to achieve before I even achieve it. I am a master at identifying emotions, but I am never able to put my finger on the source of these emotions. Subsequently I don't know if I'm regretting decisions I haven't even made yet, but I do know that time doesn't feel as linear as it's alleged to be. I guess all there is is to reload and try again.

CAPITALISM IS THE NEW JINGOISM.

"THERE'S NOTHING SADDER THAN AN EMPTY STORE SHELF" IS THE MOST PATRIOTIC STATEMENT MY FATHER'S EVER MADE.

FIVE

FIVE VISCERAL PLEASURES

1. EATING CORN BEEF HASH.
2. PLAYING BLACKJACK.
3. DEALING W/ ERECTIONS.
4. WALKING AROUND NAKED.
5. EVERYTHING ABOUT CIGARETTES.

digitile via mobile.

Six Years, eh? That's a long time...

What have you learned?

-The ergonomically ideal rise-run ratio for a staircase is 1:1.5.

And no one cares.

-Alliteration almost always annoys everyone.

And I don't care.

-There are goals and there are distractions.

And the distractions are so damn delicious.

-There are some people who are completely comfortable with being naked in public.

And some smaller set of people who are comfortable with being simultaneously naked and sober in public.

-There are at least fifteen ways to obscure the meaning of a sentence.

But only one ever looks right.

-"Byzantine" means complex and intricate.

Oddly enough, some of the words you learn in college describe college better than they describe whatever context you learn them in. (Art in this case)

-"Synecdoche" means a part can be used to refer to the whole it comprises and vice versa.

And is also part of the pretense for a movie by Charlie Kaufman

-There are goals and there are distractions.

And the distractions are so damn delicious.

-Whether a president is a jack-ass or a bad ass is roughly dependent on geography.

As are many other things.

-I like the word "manifold." I like it so much that I had to edit the above tabulation several times because I kept typing [something else that used the word "manifold" but to type it here would be cheating.]

I think I like... that word... because I watched a lot of Star Trek.

-Mistakes were made but, if I had the chance, I'd make them again.

Ideally, with notes.

-The best ideas come at the worst times.

Like when I am trying to go to sleep, in the shower, or driving my big sexy truck. (I still don't have a tape recorder. (You know, it is the gift-giving season.))

-If you keep throwing emotionally charged-arguments at a wall, some of them are bound to stick.

And then the wall is transmogrified into a parrot.

-Everything is such that it stands in the "like" relationship to someone, but nothing is such that it stands in the "like" relationship to everyone.

And no character map is such that you won't find yourself missing your Mac.

-Death is the absence of presence, but absence is the presence of distance.

Faith and Quantum Physics (dare I say "or Faith in Quantum Physics?") have tidy solutions for this apparent contradiction.

Blurhggle Gurggle durggle mrgle.

Woo hoo sequential-art-pictures! Daily Gems from Wondermark, Bunnycomics.com, Penny Arcade, and xkcd. Enjoy.
Also re: the penny arcade comic, it turns out some people that are not necessarily his press secretary care about this. Further proof that Americans, or a sub set of Americans that are persistent enough to be named a constituency of the news media, have completely lost their shit. The president is supposed to represent you in an exclusively legislative capacity. It is not a big deal if he smokes, plays Playstation instead of Wii, (or vice versa) or uses a digital media device that one giant software company made to compete with another giant software company's extant digital media device. Stop reporting on this trivial stuff. Barack Obama is going to turn radioactive waste into lime jell-o and I don't want future historians to figure out that he was just a man.

A Brief Post in Which Elliot Weighs in on Something Tangentially Related to (American) Football

I like funny shirts.
I have an aesthetic to my funny (tee) shirts and it is simply this:
There is limited space on a tee shirt to use before clutter, entropy if you prefer, occurs.
As such, line drawings are better than photo realistic pictures and silhouettes are better than line drawings.
A picture is worth a thousand words, but words still tell the joke.
The picture presents the conflict.

So I am waiting for a new shirt, most likely in red, white, blue. It will have, from left to right, a graphic of track pants, a inequation sign, and a graphic of a holster. I don't know what text if any is necessary to clarify.
Maybe both of these graphic will be shown in relation to a man with a gun, but I think the essence of the joke lies in track pants, gun holster non-identity.