Save-The-Date

Lauren has been consumed with wedding planning of late. The main thing for her so far has been maintaining her venue/catering spreadsheet, into which she seems to feed more data continually. It's like a black hole, a once-great star that turned cold and collapsed inward from its own bloated mass; and yet even now she feeds it yet more names, more contact numbers, like sacrifices to some mad god.
Knowing what I do of singularities, my main concern has been staying the hell away from the whole thing. If I seem unwilling to help with the wedding planning, let it be known that it's only because I know exactly where I stand with respect to the event horizon of this particular gravity well.

Of course, I am excited to be planning a wedding. But my version of planning conveniently skirts issues of actual importance and any potential decision-making. Yes, my contribution to the team has mainly been coming up with ideas for save-the-date cards and wedding invitations. Behold, my screwing around with GIMP 2!

I am having fun just getting acquainted with the software, so if folks have ideas for additional cards, be they just-for-fun like these or legit DIY ideas, I'd love to hear them.

Twelfth son of the Lama

I know I had mentioned previously that I'm not a slave to celebrity - most of 'em, anyways - but the Dalai Lama's a tough guy to turn down. Let's be serious: A world leader, spiritual rockstar, and champion of non-violence - the guy's a triple-threat (actually, not all that threatening). When a ticket surfaced to go hear him speak at MIT, I couldn't resist.

As an exercise in breathless celebrity worship, however, it was an utter failure, owing entirely to the way in which he conducts himself. You look at this man, knowing full-well how revered, how great and honorable a soul he is... and you laugh. Because this is the man that's sitting in front of you:


He's patently ridiculous. And it's actually quite wonderful.

The talk he gave centered on the need for a return to ethics, especially a secular/universal system of ethics (pointing out that America's recent financial crisis was precipitated by a crisis in ethics). It was difficult to understand half of what was said, as his English isn't fantastic and his translator periodically had to help facilitate his communication. On top of that, he was prone to tangents in an endearingly grandfatherly way; the man talks about whatever it is he wants to talk about, ticket price be damned. What he had to say about ethics, non-violence, and compassion (always compassion) weren't terribly surprising, either. He himself states that, while powerful, these are extremely simple concepts.

What did surprise me was, despite his obvious idealism, is that he's also profoundly realist. An MIT student asked if one can reconcile working for the military-industrial complex with a belief in non-violence. The Dalai Lama's response was, basically, "A man's gotta eat." He echoed this sentiment several times during the talk, stating that, while he wouldn't exactly applaud one's choice to build bombs for a living, you can't effect change through pure idealism. Rather, it all starts with compassion (again with the compassion?).

The other moment he surprised me was when he told us all how much he respected and loved George W. Bush. That's right. Our George W. Bush. "You can have him!" would probably have been the sentiment of most of the audience. It's not to say the Dalai Lama approved of Bush's administration or policies, though; rather, the things he talked about were Bush's sense of humor, his humility and directness (traits that really have been ascribed to him by basically anyone who's written on the topic). It went to show, and I believe it was meant to, that he's operating mainly at the level of human interactions - that politics is top-down, while he intends to work from the ground up.

He loves to laugh. In fact, he's almost constantly chuckling when he's not contemplative or voicing profundities. He made jokes about living in exile and about why the Chinese government is so afraid of him (it's because of his devil horns, apparently). He even joked that when Chinese officials searched his person (and I kid you not) he warned them that his constipation might prevent them from searching his shit. Sans vulgarity of course - the Dalai Lama may deal in cheap laughs, but this was a family affair.

All in all, it was fascinating to hear him speak. He was an unexpected character. MIT undergrads, on the other hand... well, their behavior was expected. During the Q&A a girl asked this question:

"What do you think MIT's role should be with regard to big industry - specifically pharmaceutical companies?" (Fishing for the Dalai Lama to diss the school)

His replay was this: "I don't know. Hmmm. (Something like 'do what you feel is right'). Next question."

The audience laughed and applauded his non-answer, which was entirely appropriate. He had failed to remember where he was no less than three times over the course of the talk. He clearly had no real picture of MIT as an institution; how could he begin to advise them on their relationship with big-pharma?

The girl then attempted a follow-up question, ignoring the Q&A format and apparently irritated by the snub. The Dalai Lama shut her down.

"Next question."

The girl then made a face. At the Dalai Lama. Seriously. Her nose scrunched up and her mouth hung open in outrage, an unspoken "That bitch!" practically dangling from her lips. Well, you know what? Probably no total consciousness for you.

Buddhists one, snotty undergrads zero.

Weekend Wrap-Up

So I guess I never posted this "weekend wrap-up." Pretty lame to add it more than half-way through the week, right? Well, not as lame as you. Read on for answers to all the pressing questions that have plagued you these past three days:

One thing I forgot to mention in my last post is that I unknowingly walked by Ben Affleck on the Common last Wednesday. I was mildly curious as to why so many people were gathered around to watch a pickup game of football ("Don't these people have anything better to do?"), but didn't stop to gawk and, therefore, never got the chance to exchange phone numbers with Ben. I suspect that this won't be the greatest regret I have in life.

I made a spirited rebound from this week's stomach bug, just in time for Doug's birthday on Saturday. To test my limits I decided to get talked into drinking all day, which could have gone horrifically awry but ended up being fantastic. In order of occurrence: We grilled some food, played crazy French bocce (it's bocce with metal balls), said goodbye to ex-coworker Maxine (who now heads to Thailand to buy cheap tailored suits before moving to the West Coast), talked to Maxine's mom about ballroom dancing, shot some pool, got maybe-too-amped talking about politics with Doug's roomies (including Popular Sarah and Affable Luke), and then rounded out the night with a solid drunken-kitchen-conversation. Doesn't that sound like everything I could have hoped for?

In other news, there's a sense of restlessness slowly building in my professional life. As always, though, I'm wrestling with how to address the issue, i.e. which direction I should be headed. (If you're reading this and know what I should do with my life, feel free to pipe up, as that'd really be a great help.) The plan is to get off my ass and take some classes this summer and fall. Of course I'll probably be wracked with guilt for having spent the money when it's so tight, but who knows. Maybe at some future date I'll look back on this and realize that it wasn't just floundering. That's the hope, in any case; to arrive in a glorious future and know that your past decisions brought you there, though you might not have realized it then. Nothing to do but have some faith, I s'pose - and then hope that faith is rewarded.

This Is a Call

Afflicted by yet another bout of illness most intermittently heinous, I find in my possession a great deal of free time and precious little energy to do anything with it. As evidence to the fact, I submit that over the past 48 hours I have accomplished nothing and learned the following three facts:

• The best daytime television program, hands down, is Martha Speaks
  
• The second best is Phineas and Ferb (A great show, but does it boast lexiconal canines? It cannot, and we must judge it accordingly.)
  
• Vomiting beats the hell out of diet and exercise for rapid and reliable weight loss

A fourth fact, unrelated to my bedridden condition, is that Matt and Eli found a place and are moving on May 15th. That means we need to step up our "Moving-Out/Breaking-of-the-Fellowship Party." Unfortunately, I do not have the energy for party planning (see above). I am wizened, almost on the eve of my 25th birthday, and as feeble of mind as I am of stomach. So the call goes out to one of you (a roommate, perhaps?); will you, disdaining glory, not take up the mantle of Party Planner? Or will you instead become an architect of merriment, the valorous flame that kindles joy in the hearts of men? I beseech you, noble soul, create the Facebook event that I am too lazy to make myself.

A Hail of Bullets

I've got some things I wanted to talk to you about. No, wait, it's nothing like that! Sorry, I didn't mean to make this sound like a break-up conversation. We're not breaking up. Things have been great with you, they really have! I just wanted to bring some stuff to your attention is all. I don't have too too much time to do it, though, so I've resorted to using drive-by bullet points. Hit the dirt!

• John Madden is hanging up the mike. I'm not sure how this affects the business at large, given his perhaps waning relevance. But sports fans will certainly miss him (quote Johnsen, who just found out looking over my shoulder: "Awww, now I hate football"). The guy's a legend. Heck, even I, living on the frozen Isle of Sportlessness, will regret his absence.
• Big Sam is back in town. Boston just got a little drunker.
• In what could be the only argument ever to be made against spam blockers, I was very nearly denied one of the most magical subject lines ever written: "Paris Hilton Pees Like Men"
  
• The pundits are all abuzz concerning ASU's shafting Obama on an honorary degree. I assume my readers are like-minded souls, and agree with me that this is at least somewhat disgraceful. The best reaction I've read so far comes from Marc Lamont Hill:"Barack Obama holds earned degrees from Columbia and Harvard, published two best-selling books, was the first black editor of Harvard Law Review, became the third black man elected to the Senate since Reconstruction, and, last I checked, was president of the United States. Barring an unexpected attempt to play point guard for the Washington Wizards, I think Obama has pretty much blown his load on the achievement side of things."
• Allow me one serious link (and a work-related plug) before I move onto yet greater depths of geekitude. Helen Benedict, the author of the linked NYT article, is a voice that I feel needs to be heard. She's an observer and critic of the war in Iraq who has written a book for Beacon Press concerning, specifically, the military's systemic misogyny and the horrific treatment of its female soldiers. She follows the stories of five women and their experiences, from enlistment through Iraq and back again. Her work is intelligent and heartbreaking, and, in my eyes, belongs with the likes of Chris Hedges.
  
• Super geekitude! (Note: Mute before watching, or be subjected to god-awful synth music)
  

  This video might not look like much, until you realize how it was rendered: it's procedurally generated video, meaning your computer's CPU and GPU create what you're seeing on-the-fly. In layman's terms, it is your computer creating art through math, all by itself. The benefits to this mode of production are two-fold: It obviates the armies of artists that are usually required to create the textures that go into digital world-building and it takes virtually no disk space. Do you know how large the file is that rendered that video? 4k. That's about the size of the text document I've just written. Pretty impressive.
  

• Because Mauro seemed to like the Braid artwork, here's another game that will knock you on your artist's cheeks: Scary Girl. I didn't find it overly entertaining, sadly, but it's incredibly slick and imaginative, full of characters I'd expect to see on Emily's handbag or some such hip thing.
  

Quirky Games + Easter = This Post

Easter came and went, with all the familiar hallmarks of the holiday: candy, beer, family, zombies, ham, and a 911 call. Not in that order, though, now that I think about it.

Whitney and Karen organized a pysanky party that drew roughly 400 women to our apartment. Kevin and I knew that this strong feminine presence, combined with a powerfully unmanly activity, posed a very real threat to our bachelor's pad. Luckily, we had a plan: by 12:30 pm we were drunk and ensconced in the TV room for an all-day Resident Evil 5 session. Our course seemed to shield us from any female attention we might otherwise have risked. (Unluckily, I spent most of that time expiring within the iron grip of murderous insects. Again and again my character died! Stabbed to death by giant, bipedal cockroaches.) Our protracted bout of zombie-murder served another purpose as well: Since Easter Sunday coincided with Somerville's zombie parade this year, it was imperative that we vent our anti-undead (pro-dead?) sentiment on Saturday, or risk a Bloody Sunday of shambling proportions. We can't help it; when we see a lurching gait and milky eyes, instinct just takes over.

Later that night Kevin and I went to get more beer. On our way to the beer store we saw a man careening this way and that.
"Ha, ha!" I said to Kevin, elbowing him in a most jovial fashion. "Here comes a man drunker than we!"
We continued on and bought overpriced beer at O'Brian's (which isn't as close to home as Somerville Wine and Spirits, but which is conveniently still-in-business). On our way home we noticed our inebriated friend, whom we had passed earlier, now reclining face-down in some bushes. This is when we called 911. We waited for the Fire Dept to arrive and confirm that he was A-OK before wordlessly disappearing into the night, like heroic Ninja Turtles (or, alternatively, Batmen).

The next morning I retreated to the suburbs of Danvers. Seeing my folks was great, especially since Elliot was able to make it out. (Coincidentally, I just yesterday listened to his radio show at UVM for the first time, "the graveyard shift with MC Beeftray." There's a streaming archive if you're interested in expanding his listenership, but he informs me that today may be his last show for the year, so listen now or forever hold your peace... er,well, hold your peace for the summer.) And... well, that's all I really have to tell you about family stuff. Minus the parenthetical comments, it doesn't amount to a whole heap of beans. Did you know that my parents are nice people? They are!
....Moving on.

I downloaded the demo for Braid the other day and was impressed. It's a much-buzzed-about, award-winning, indie title, so there were high hopes there. Picture a "Super Mario Bros." game that plays like a brain-teaser, where all laws of physics are malleable, time is fluid, and the artwork is inspired by A Lesson Is Learned (...and wow, holy fuck, I just found out that apparently the artwork was done by the artist of A Lesson Is Learned, David Hellman. Have I got an eye for art or what?).
As discovered on the brilliantly titled blog "Rock, Paper, Shotgun," Soulja Boy is apparently a fan of the game, as well. Is he high while playing? Certainly. Could that also be considered a point in the game's favor? I should say so!



In addition to Braid, I also played the abrupt, stupid, and totally hilarious Robot Dinosaurs That Shoot Beams When They Roar (also courtesy of RPS). Good for a lol, especially the intro, and especially if you're at work (note that sound effects are a prereq to maximize enjoyment).

Anyways, that's all for now. Hopefully post here again tomorrow.

Breaking the Silence

It brings me great pleasure to announce that I'm still alive, literate, and connected to the intertubes. Let's get to it, then.

I just got back from my first visit to the big-boy doctor. I have to admit, I kind of miss the Lion King pastel drawings and stuffing my pockets full of lollypops, but from what I understand there are benefits to seeing an internist as opposed to a pediatrician; for one, I can live with marginally less shame. For another, my new doctor doesn't look uncomfortable asking if I'm sexually active; having that conversation with your pediatrician when you're 24 is... well, it's awkward for everyone. So overall, the changeover has definitely been a positive one. It helps that I genuinely like my new doctor. This is really important since he'll occasionally be handling my balls. It's still awkward, but I just want to feel, ya know, safe.

Anyways, the bottom line of the visit was this: I am the pinnacle of good health. I think his exact words were "a burbling font of vitality." I kid, of course. Those are my words, as is my assertion that I can focus healing energies through my fingertips or that I can radiate my Life Force to spur the growth of trees and flowering plants. Then again, he didn't deny that I could perform those feats.

At Lauren's suggestion, I asked the doctor about ADD medication. I was hesitant to even ask him and, in so doing, clinicalize something that, to me, is a mere foible. Unfortunately, it's become hard to deny the growing mass of people frustrated by my inability to ignore blinking lights and shiny objects. Also, I have what seem to be "blackouts" in my short-term memory; conversations I can't remember having, forgetting where I've put something or what I'm doing two or three times within a one-minute timespan, etc. So the doc and I ran through a questionnaire from the DSM IV and... well, I have attention issues (not so much with the hyperactivity - I'm a lazy sack, after all).

The question is, does it affect life to the point where you want to be on meds? No. I don't think my work has suffered particularly because of it, and my life is definitely in working order. I do kind of daydream about giving a one-week trial a whirl, though; in these fantasies, taking Ritalin turns me into the Sherlock Holmes of Somerville, a liquid-cooling system for my overclocked brain. Seriously, though, how many super-detectives do you know on Ritalin? None. The kids you know on Ritalin are out chasing birds with sticks.


And to prove I have ADD, let's change the conversation. Look at this!

Seriously, he's ridiculous. He thinks "aw, I wanna bite that toy!" but then he realizes "urrrrr, I'm trapped in this box!" Beer can breastwork FTW.

The Blog Goes Pop

The editorial staff here at "Here's the Thing..." have received some constructive criticism from our girlfriend, Lauren Kearney (no, not THAT one); specifically, that we speak too often and at too great a length regarding our digimal interfoozits and our obscure, nerdly obsessions. Apparently, the blog has been a little too "niche," a little too edgy thus far. We are told that the blog could benefit from greater mass appeal, that, in fact, Lauren does not like to read the blog in its current format. A suggestion was put forth that we could, I dunno, write about how our day went.

We have been advised that Emily Conrad's blog is more palatable.

The editorial staff, while appreciating this considered and honest feedback, counter-proposed that perhaps Lauren could support us in something for once, rather than always working to tear us down and make us feel low. Also, it was discussed that Emily Conrad's blog, while being an artfully crafted column both pithy and profitable to all readers, might also be pedestrian claptrap barely deserving of our contempt.

The editorial staff, of course, have issued a correction as they were speaking from a place of deep hurt and did not mean what they said.

So, having accepted that perhaps change might be a good thing, here begins your more palatable, radio-friendly, blog experience (henceforth referred to as "blogsperience"). We hope you enjoy the show.


************


The Flogging Molly show last Tuesday at the House of Blues was great, as expected. Dave King brought considerable stage presence and no small bit of charisma to the hall, though inevitably a few of his folksy zingers were recycled from previous performances (that I even care to point this out might just be evidence of how few bands I've seen repeatedly). I do wish, though, that for all their songs concerning alcohol they could bring some of that beer-soaked Darkbuster vibe to their shows. But what can ya do.
I couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for the opening band, The Aggrolites. They seemed like a good bunch of guys and, hell, how can you be mad at a raggae/ska band, especially one that's recorded with Tim Armstrong? Well, this is New England, and that night it was like 30°; they may as well have been selling beach balls to grizzly bears (Jackpot! Another top-notch analogy!). To Boston's credit, though, the crowd was very polite while making it obvious that we weren't picking up what they were dropping down.

On Saturday Lauren, Douglas, Eric W, and I visited at Tanya's apt. Tanya, who is a most charming and humorous drunk, and who earned her reputation as a terrific hostess one New Year's Eve by offering to sleep in the bathtub so we could use her bed, once again proved to be a great drinking buddy, as did her boyfriend and various cohorts. Later on we visited upon White Horse and it wasn't terrible at all (nor was it a heroin den!), despite widely-held views to the contrary; there was pool, Bad Religion, and 5.50 Jack & cokes—pretty much all I could ask for. Maybe it helped that I was tanked? Otherwise the guys fighting over who puked on whom in the bathroom and then aggressively questioning me on where I'd purchased my jacket might've detracted from the overall experience.

When I returned home, do you know what glittering treasure awaited me? I'll give you a hint: It was Resident Evil 5! Wait, can I not talk about that? Shit, I'd been doing so well, too.

Dubious Conclusions

I don't intend to insult your intelligence (because I'm sure you've pieced the puzzle together at this point), but I want to be absolutely clear on this point: I am a geek. Always have been. Never shrank from the label, never apologized. I suppose I did make some effort to prove I was "one of the good ones," though. You know, the sort with a pinch of humor, a dash of social skills, perhaps even a sprinkle of boyish charm — certainly not the type who would maintain a level 44 druid in World of Warcraft. Certainly not! Why, it would be absurd to think that, even now, I can hear the wind whisper the name "Willowthorpe."
Utter nonsense!

These days, obviously, geek is in. Frat boys play Halo. Liz Lemon charms in her thick-framed glasses while cracking Star Wars jokes. Comic book adaptations dominate the box office. The dam has broken; a subculture has gone viral.

I'm thrilled, I suppose. Finally, the gilded Age of the Nerd has come! And yet, I find myself ruminating on my youth, wondering... did I do enough? I wonder, were there Dungeons I was meant to scour, Dragons I could have battled? Missed opportunities. These were depths that went unplumbed due in part to the social stigma, I'm sure, but also because I frankly didn't need to immerse myself in that kind of fantasy, becoming unglued from reality and spiraling down into a solipsistic realm of imagined heroism and idealized identity. Again, missed opportunities.

The world may have accepted geek into its heart, but not that kind of geek, so I have to admit that the illicit nerdiness of D&D is tantalizing; there's a slightly gluttonous urge to throw caution and, indeed, reputation to the wind, and throw myself full-force into the creation of alternate worlds and epic histories. My sword arm aches.

Perhaps we should ease into it, though. Dust has settled across my Magic: The Gathering cards, but they retain the Old Power. We'll start there, and see where it takes us. I'll let you know if this flight of fancy evolves into a yet greater embarrassment.

Snowboarding... you mean, like the Playstation game?

The past few weeks have been a busy time for me. Admittedly, my lifestyle is based on a core 35/65% split of work to leisure, so it doesn't take much to be a busy week for Evan - doing two loads of laundry and unloading the dishwasher would almost certainly qualify as a "frantic day." Still, it's all relative, and this is my word-space, so let's just say I've been "Evan-busy." Also, this provides an excellent excuse for why I haven't been writing!

It's rare that I leave the house for the express purpose of physical activity. Really, I'm a utilitarian sort of guy, so as a corollary to other goals I might deem exertion appropriate (e.g. walking to get a burrito, running from the scene of a crime, etc). Snowboarding, however, is an end in itself - a mode of transport with no explicit destination - and so isn't easy to justify by the aforementioned logic. And when you consider the expense, the early wake-up, the cold, the discomfort - these are all factors which work against my participation in the sport.

Yet, in spite of all that, Saturday was a gorgeous day to be snowboarding. I know because I went, and it was amazing; it was a perfect reminder that I do actually enjoy the outdoors. I forget this sometimes, but being on the mountain, feeling the wind's whip and the snow rushing beneath you, even the occasional crash, these are all thrilling, important sensations without which you can feel disconnected. It was so good, in fact, that even after I had bled a full day pass dry the urge for "one more run" remained.

The mountain wasn't enormous, but the lines were short and the conditions perfect. Really, my only complaint is that they falsely advertised themselves as having a trail named "Gobbler's Knob." That unseemly bit of British dick humor must have been discovered and eliminated, much to our disappointment. Eating free Chinese buffet is a salve upon the soul, however. So in the final appraisal, I have to say this past Saturday gets an A-plus.

What does this mean for my philosophy of pasty-faced indolence? The future is uncertain. Perhaps this summer I will experience this "ocean" that I've heard so much of...

Weekend Wrap-Up

I'm aware that you probably aren't interested in the vicissitudes of my weekend; that's fine, and I don't feel it reflects poorly on you because I'm totally the same way. However, there are a couple of points I feel we should cover. They may pertain to you!

• The jerk beef sandwich I had at Red Bones on Friday was a wholly unpleasant affair, a scorching that started in my mouth and burned its way down, like a candle, into my liar's heart, where false pride pooled into a waxen puddle. The waiter warned me about it, and I'd probably eat it again if somebody warned me not to do it.
  
• Sunday was the Chinese New Year. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but the celebrations in China Town felt more like what I would expect in a pulp-fantasy civil conflict: a cold, gray sky, and air thick with smoke; the distant rat-tat-tat of what could be firecrackers or automatic weapons; confused elderly wandering the streets, cloaked in gray ash...... and roving bands of dragons, randomly pelting people with oranges. It was all a bit surreal.
• The Superbowl was also Sunday (a perfect storm of celebration!). Great game, despite the conspiracy of Sobe and Heroes ads that were clearly designed to cause massive, irreparable harm to anyone who viewed them.
  
• I found out Animal Planet runs a program during the Superbowl wherein they do nothing but film a group of puppies for two hours. Clearly this is what picture-in-picture was invented for.
  

Stay awhile and listen!

Oh! Well, hello there.

Welcome to my blog and thanks for dropping by. This post is a bit special in that it is my very first, the progenitor to all my future works. If you happen to be reading this near to the original posting date, know that in ten years you can tell your friends with an air of superiority that you were there back in the day, that you were reading Evan's blog before it was "the thing to do." With any luck, this blog will have been "retooled" and sold out to corporate interests by that point; that you will recall a time before the blog went downhill will only net you further street cred.

Anyways, I just thought I'd get this set up today, since the weather's being all Tokio Hotel right now. But now I find myself called away to walk those rain-slick streets. Wish me luck, hopefully post here again soon.