Saturday, November 7, 2015

The Shapes of Sound

I just finished watching Vihart’s “Twelve Tones”. In standard Vihart fashion, she draws too many pictures and drones on in a mysteriously compelling way. This video discusses twelve tone rows in music, which are sequences of twelve consecutive notes that can be arranged in any order with a few rules (I don’t remember them exactly but something like you can’t go back to the note you played two notes before the current and all notes have to be played). The sequences were designed to break the rules of music in order to escape the patterns that had bound music for so long. Typical twentieth century stuff.

Anyway, that’s not the interesting part. Well, it was, but I didn’t really understand it much and didn’t pay enough attention to make any sense of it. What was interesting was the part near the end. 

At the end of the video, Vihart says she likes making shapes with twelve tones. She arranges twelve consecutive notes (by half steps) into a circle, starting with C and going to B (or it might have been A flat and going to G; I’m not quite sure where she started and stopped, but all twelve notes include A flat through G and then start over, so C to B works the same way). It looked like your typical circle of fifths but each note was a half step later instead of a fifth later. Then she sang various sequences of notes and drew the patterns they formed onto the circle. The sequences were largely dictated by the patterns on the circle so they would look nice, but they sounded nice as well.


If this sounds interesting at all you can watch the video below. It’s half an hour long though. The circle bit starts at 24:42. 


This got me thinking. Do people who are musically inclined break sounds down into basic patterns? Like, of course they do, even I do it to some extent. But do they really break them down into their own component parts that all become woven together into an intricate musical tapestry? 

Throughout the entire video, she composes pleasing harmonies out of these seemingly random twelve tone rows. It didn’t even look that difficult, she just sort of made them. I’ve never understood how people do that, but I think I’m starting to get it. 

I’m not musically inclined. Like yeah I can appreciate good music and whatever but it remains a solid chunk. I can’t break it down to see its structure past the most obvious parts. 

See, this is why I don’t like the blogs of teenagers. They always become buckets of narcissism, with every single post revealing some deep dark secret about the author while he tries to make himself sound special and unique and point out the twelve mental disorders he has that plague his life. I hate it. It’s obnoxious. And here I am doing it too.

Anyway, one time Brendan and I were listening to an Imagine Dragons song on the way home and he said something about the drumming in the song. It took me a solid 30 seconds to isolate the drum part from the rest of the song so i could hear it. It’s not that I can’t hear it, it’s just that it’s really hard to separate it from everything else. Like I said, the song is just one big mush of pretty sounds. Like, look at the waveform below. You can’t just pull out the guitar part or the drum part. It’s all one thing. That’s like a really extreme version of how I am. Obviously I can to some extent, but not very well.


And since I can’t do that, I can’t really break music down and see its patterns. If you know me at all (does anyone outside the tribe even read this? Honestly I’d be surprised if half the tribe read this), you know I take crappy artsy pictures of everything. It’s my jam. Seeing is cool, and the pictures make some half-assed attempt at capturing what I see. Sometimes the pictures are actually more interesting than the thing originally was, but not usually. 

Actually, I think this is why the default artsy picture format is a closeup shot of something with the background out of focus, for two reasons: one, seeing things close up is sort of interesting because we don’t do it that often, and two, seeing things with the background out of focus is interesting because it’s halfway impossible to see that in real life, since you can really only put your full attention on something if your eye is actually focusing on it, so you can’t see a blurred out background without accidentally unblurring it. Also, you can only get significantly out of focus backgrounds on phone cameras if you get really close, so there’s three reasons for the default artsy picture, as well as the fact that they’re just easy to take.

Back to what I was saying: I’d say that on average I’m better at seeing than most people. This isn’t me just being an arrogant prick, I just think I tend to notice more. On a purely physical level I’m actually pretty terrible since I need glasses to have anything more than a few feet away be in proper focus. But I think this is why I’m decent at taking pictures or drawing. Just like how good musicians can break down music and (presumably) see their underlying patterns, I can sort of do the same with visual stuff.

So this is starting to make sense of how musical talent in composing can come so naturally to some. If you can break down sounds into the patterns that build them up, then you can probably make your own or add things to existing sounds. In the video, Vihart created sort of random twelve tone sequences (random in that she only made a couple adjustments to make it sound decent), and then added in a bunch of harmonies to flesh it out into an actual song. And it sounded good. If she can break things down into their shapes, like at the end of the video, then of course she can add more shapes to complement the existing ones. I do it all the time, but with visual shapes. Her shapes are just made of sound instead of space. 

So the question is, can you learn to hear, or learn to see?

I’d say mostly yes. I learned to see like I do now. Five years ago I was pretty bad, and now I’m only kind of bad. It’s quite the improvement. But seriously, taking a couple art classes taught me to notice things and see more. But looking back, I was already better than most people my age, so I didn’t necessarily start from nothing. If you were to start from nothing, can you even start at all? In other words, if you have no talent in something, can you even develop the skill?

I guess the answer to that question is that most people don’t have zero skill in most things, especially in the areas that we use literally every day like hearing or seeing. So while a person could suck at seeing and noticing now, they could probably learn to do so if they wanted. Likewise, I could probably learn to hear better if I tried.

The hardest part is figuring out how to learn that. I guess I could take a music class or something, but I’m worried it would go like a literature class where I desperately try to pull out meaning and imagery from a book even though I can’t really find any. Even so, it might be worth it. 

Seeing well is one of the coolest things and I can only begin to imagine what it would be like if I could hear half as well as I can see. And I’m not even that good at noticing the things I see. I wonder what it would be like to be as good at seeing as Gregory Heisler (one of my favorite photographers) or as good at hearing as someone like Mozart or even Bon Iver or someone. Even experiencing what Brendan or Cameron experiences would be cool (Brendan denies being any good at this but I don’t believe him, and I’ve never talked about it with Cameron but I imagine he’s better than most). 

Hopefully, someday I will be able to see the shapes of sound.

Tuesday, September 8, 2015

The Skeleton War

Wife
Months ago on that cold, sandy shore
My lover had left me for the Skeleton War
The ship horns blew and rattled my bones
Nobody could know when they would come home


A brutal conflict between bones and beast
The mortal conflict for the newly deceased
The struggle for calcium, the thousands of slain
My love. My cherished. My hope. My pain


But I have a job to do as well
For pain nor love, must I dwell
Homes and bones, I must protect
Temporary emotional disconnect


“No Milk Monday,” says the Clerk
“Oh dear. You’re right. I’m sorry!”, I smirk
I hope my sacrifice will do them well
I put the milk back that they will not sell


Water the plants, watering hose.
Step inside. Empty. Morose.
My skeleton life feels frail and dry
I wish I had tear ducts just to cry


But firm and strong, these bones must stand
to protect our beautiful, bony land
Though in my marrow, I still feel as well
War, undoubtedly, is worse than hell


Husband
Squadrons align. Ivory flesh I bear
trembles, quivers, in this burning air
Millions of skele-lads in this cruel warzone
Yet deep in my marrow, I still feel so alone


My lover back home knows all that I’ve done
and I soon hope to return, once this war has been won
Worry not my love, for you must only wait
Evading capture above from those black, pearly gates


Though the enemy is here, and closing in fast
Our general is slack-jawed, gazing aghast
Bones have a funny way of surviving though
When home is the goal, I’m not letting go


Acid grenades functioning, and ready at my belt
I bite the pin, and my hope, silently praying to myself
“Lord, you sick monster. Stealing my heaven from me.
I found happiness in hell, yet you won’t let me be.”


“You call yourself love, but you take mine away.
Your mercy is a lie, but we all have to pay.”
It felt like time stopped, after I let the bomb go
But when I felt my bones burning, I was another lost woe


Our Family
It was early in the morning. Fixing my skeleton hair.
There was a knock at the door. I yelled, “Be right there!”
The slab opens wide, two-suited skeleton soldiers
I fell to my kneecaps, a crushing weight on my shoulders


“We’re terribly sorry for your great loss.”
“Thank you”, I mutter, bearing the heaviest cross
The world spins around me. What does this mean?
My chest is exploding. My skull, a smoke screen


Every orifice I have is manifested by shock
My strong, healthy bones felt as brittle as chalk
Every hope for us. All the years we spent
Our home. Our dreams. Our future. My lament


The time can’t fly, without any wings

An angel has died. Empty throne. No king.

Sunday, August 16, 2015

College time.

The cool thing about having all your friends be the same age as you is that you all get to experience new things at the same time. Everyone gets to go through the same problems, discover the same joys, encounter the same new responsibilities. It's nice and comforting. You aren't alone.

But the horrible thing about having all your friends be the same age as you is that you all have to experience new things at the same time. It's quite terrifying, since you can't learn from any of them.

Look! I'm pulling a Brendan.

Side note: Another interesting example of the subtle but still very much existent difference between the words "get" and "have". "You get to experience this together" vs. "You have to experience this together." Thanks Mr. McCants!

My paragraphs are too short and they look weird. Side notes screw everything up. Anyway. College is probably going to be the biggest, most life changing experience that any of us have gone through together yet (lol juice). We're (most of us) moving away from home, living in weird one–room apartments, doing, like, other things by ourselves, and just generally being somewhat more independent than normal. It sounds rather trivial typed out, but it really isn't.

But I'm not ready for that.

I'm sort of ready. But I'm not ready ready. I bought everything I need (or think I'll need; I'm sure there's more). I paid for school. I filled all the paperwork. I got into the honors program two and a half months after the deadline. I bought books. I bought my Klean Kanteen. I completely overhauled my wardrobe and pretended I'm some halfway preppy guy (but let's be honest, my favorite outfit is still a pair of athletic shorts, a white tshirt, and nothing else. Even socks sort of annoy me. I'm not sure how this is going to work out).

Okay, cool. I have all the tangible things I need. But I'm still not emotionally ready, or experientially ready, or mentally ready, or just ready in the "dude you're going to college and you can barely function as it is" sense. I have no idea what I'm doing.

But I guess that's just how life is. We figure it out, we fake it til we make it, we pray about it, and generally treat life as one big trial and error experiment. Or at least I do. I dunno what the rest of you do.

Since the age of 7 I've been involved in the BSA, and they continually reminded us of scouting's motto of "Be Prepared". By now it's pretty ingrained into my head to be prepared for whatever I do (but somehow I tend to not be very prepared), but I'm not feeling very prepared right now. But similarly to how Blake is going to share his crock pot and truck, I guess we'll just have to rely on each other. We're all going to have difference experiences and learn different things, so it seems best to share these in this crazed new world we're about to enter. I don't think there's any other way to stay prepared other than to prepare as we go.

And I think that's why I think it's so cool that so many of us are going off to school with friends. These are people that we already know, and we've all been through a lot together. And now we get to figure this new life out together too. For the past four to six years I've constantly been told "You won't be friends with your high school friends in college," or "Once you get to college you'll forget about anything that happened in high school because no one cares anymore," or "You shouldn't go to college with your high school friends because you'll limit yourself socially."

But they're wrong. Usually, when someone who has an entire live's worth of experience tells me something, I'll be like okay, they probably know more than me and I should probably trust them. But this time? Not so much. I think college will be that much better because we get to do it together. As Jack Johnson says, we're better together.

I'm not just talking about me and Brendan and Blake either. Cameron has Mary Christine and Becker (who aren't in the tribe but basically are anyway), Cassidy has like, the iMessage group and stuff, Lucas is with Dan, etc. But on top of all that, I really do think we'll all still stay together as a group through college. We'll meet up on breaks with too much frequency, we'll probably have skype calls every other night, we'll text more than we do now (and they said guys never text each other).

So I don't think there will be any issues there. We'll all make other friends, which is good. It would be stupid of us not to, and honestly I don't think we could not make other friends if we tried. Cause we're the cool kids, right? But the tribe will continue to exist, and college is gonna be great.

The next four years of our lives will probably be the best four years we've ever had, and I'm glad we get to do that mostly together.

Saturday, July 11, 2015

Popular Music and Why Most of It Sucks

This post will be rank with opinion, so try not to be offended. Alright, so ever since I was old enough to understand music I listened to the weird stuff. Ranging from Deathcore and progressive metal, to chill indie and EDM (electronic dance music), my taste was far from normal (seriously guys my favorite band was Born of Osiris when I was 12). After thinking carefully about this, I think I finally understand why. Popular music these days just sucks chode. Most popular artists don't even write their own music anymore, and those that do are hard to find, and often much less popular (i.e. Beyonce vs. Imagine Dragons or Mumford and Sons). The thing about this is that most popular musical artists only write music with the intent that OTHERS like it. In other words, they cater to the audience to sell more and thus make a greater profit. Now, there are some popular bands that DO write their own music (the two listed above), but they are not NEARLY as popular as the titans near the top. Unfortunately, these bands will probably just fade away when the fads change, but lets bring this down to our level. Personally I could care less if someone liked or disliked my own music, what matters to me is that I enjoy playing it. This is why you don't see me in the stereotypical group of girls playing 'Hey There Delilah' until old age and despondency consume my soul. To be honest, I hate it when musicians only know how to play OTHER people's songs, it's silly. To learn Hey There Delilah, just because you want attention from others is sad. I'd rather sit there and improv everything I play- "hey play Crazy Train" "FUCK. OFF"-, and then build up the skills to play other artist's music if the need arises. In my opinion, this way is much better than learning a whole slew of songs, because you would never learn to come up with anything on your own- "yea man I can play every Dragon Force song......what do you mean you just want to jam". So the reason that I enjoy weird music is because it was not created to be mass produced. It's like the difference between a hand carved statue, and one that was made in the factory. Yes, the hand carved statue has more flaws, but it was made for art's sake, not for the consumer's sake. Music is becoming less of an art form, and more of a mass produced commodity/ fashion statement/ fad. "Oh yes I only listen to indie, can't you tell by my weird clothes and the scent of weed?" or "Yea dude I just got a new pair of skinny jeans and Toms for this years Warped Tour". No No No No No. Please Stop. I love Hardcore and indie as much as the next guy, but I don't dress like a concert poster. Let's all just bring it back to the music, and support artists who are trying to make their own place in this fucked up power struggle for the top 40s chart (and even more for those who just don't give a shit).

Sunday, July 5, 2015

On Family

Over the past several days, I've spent a lot of time with my family. Usually I'll spend a few hours a day at most with them, and then spend the rest off on my own or with friends. But over these past few days, I've spent every waking hour in their presence as we explored the island and found new adventures. And during that time, I learned a lot about my relationship with them.

My relationship with my family is most certainly not the best. They don't really know me, mostly because I don't let them. They aren't the most fun to be around and we fight a lot. But even though I tend to enjoy the time spent with friends more, there's a certain satisfaction in the time spent with the family. There's no worries about whether they about whether they actually like me or find what I say interesting or, perhaps most importantly, will still keep in touch in five years.

In other words, the family offers a certain permanence in its relationship with me that no one else can.

I plan to be friends with all of you in five years. But suppose we aren't? For some of us, it's extremely unlikely. And as we are a pretty solid group, I think we'll stick together. Unless someone somewhat deliberately splits himself off from everyone else, it seems that we'll stay together.

But what about in twenty years? Fifty? Again, I'm not trying to assume that we won't be. But the question still remains.

With the family, however, that question is practically non-existent. You might not speak to your sibling for four years, but you know that once you do speak again everything will return to normal. The family offers a security in its relationships. They are lasting.

Of course, there's always the cases of families that break apart. But even then, it's incredibly difficult to break that bond. Serious, grave offences must be committed to even attempt to separate two people in the family with any sort of permanence. Because that's what the family is: it is permanent, well-guarded against such disasters.

My sister may be one of the most ego-driven, annoying, and wrong person I know (so am I though), but the fact remains that she is my sister. And that will always be the case.

The tribe has become even more family-like over the years. But we aren't there yet. Let's keep trying.

Saturday, July 4, 2015

The Role of the Gluteus Minor in Hip Extension

Why the fuck would you click this post? Honestly? Go outside and enjoy the damn holiday with family and friends. Celebrate today like our founding fathers would have done with some old fashioned vitamin D (even though this isn't actually Independence Day but whatever).

Friday, July 3, 2015

Re: Real Talk with Brendan

AKA really just Zach's relationship with music.

Note: I'm typing this on an iPad and it's terrible. Literally the worst thing I've done. Oh my gosh the keyboard just disappeared. But it still works. Picture below. I'm typing blind. No keys. They only appear once you tap them. Please help. 



Music is strongly related to memory and relationships for me. 

All of my favorite songs are almost universally not my favorite because they sound good, but because I have strong emotions related to them. Sometimes I first heard it during a certain event. Or I really grew to like it during one of those times. Or sometimes I really only like it because someone else likes it.

For example, I like most Irish folk songs because I strongly associate them with the trip to Hampden-Sydney.

I like My Moon My Man by Feist because Brendan played it after school one day Junior year when I was just starting to become a part of the tribe.

I like Polaroid by Imagine Dragons because Brendan likes it, I guess. I never really liked it at first, but then I sort of realized it represents my relationship with Brendan and all of our carpool talks. It's my favorite song on the album now.

And I like Toes by Zac Brown Band because, in a way, it sort of embodies my relationship with Blake. I don't really know why, it just does. 

Why is this? Music, like any form of art, demands a strong emotional response from us. It's created to do so—it's emotional in nature. It's supposed to convey meaning, information, beauty. And beauty evokes emotion in us.

And yet for some reason music does this for me the most. Visual art almost never does this. I'm an incredibly visual person, but visual art never seems to evoke any emotion in me. At most I'll think "that's cool" or "that light is really interesting". Sometimes a picture of friends will do a little, but never like music does.

In the same (but opposite) way, I'm not an auditory person at all. It's incredibly difficult to separate sound into the three deminsional array of layers and reflections and textures that the visual world is. Images constantly spin in my head, revealing all of their hidden caverns and interior converging lines. But music (or sound) never does this. It remains flat, in a constant stream of static input that shows only its most obvious side.

I'm exaggerating slightly here. I really enjoy music, but I can't play with it in my head like I do with pictures. If that makes any sense. There's no spiderweb of infinite possibilities with music. 

Anyway. The point is even though I tend to respond better to imagery, music conveys emotion and gets a response way more than images do. Those songs I have a strong emotional response to become my favorites. My favorite music is almost never based on the song itself, it's based on the associations I form with the song. For all I know this is a universal thing, but it's equally my thing.

I listen to music to remember. Remember my friends, remember the moments, remember the late night talks and the Tuesday afternoon river trips and the spur of the moment theological explorations in the middle of the woods.

Take a Walk, I Like Birds, Volare, Gooey, Latch, Happy, The Distance. All memories. 

The Myth, the Legend: Harris Teeter

Some call it The Empire, and some call it the best thing since Jesus, but most just call it Harris Teeter. This beautiful company was actually conceived (much like Jesus) through a coalition between two small town grocery stores. One was owned by W.T. Harris in Charlotte and the other by Willis and Paul Teeter in Mooresville ( . Y . ) <--teets for visual learners. Both of these markets began in the mid-late 30s, and grew substantially through the passing decades. Eventually, however, each owner owned multiple grocery stores and in 1960, they decided to merge and create Harris Teeter.
Fifteen stores were already open and in operation after the merger, so Harris Teeter grew rapidly. This rapid expansion drew the attention of the Ruddick Corporation in Charlotte, which bought Harris Teeter in 1969 (LAWL). There was now a steady incline for the Harris Teeter company as it continued to open more stores in and around North Carolina. The 80s, however, would be the true game changer with a boom (much like the creation of the Universe) in sales and stores. This was due to the company's new acquisition of Hunter Farms Dairy in High Point NC, which allowed Harris Teeter to distribute and sell dairy products at lower rates.
From here on out Harris Teeter had pretty smooth sailing. New stores were appearing (we have 235, and mine is number 43), and it had become the most prominent grocery store in NC (with those miserable Food Lion cousin fucks in second). But unfortunately not all was smooth sailing. In 2013 the illustrious Harris Teeter was bought out by Kroger, which I'm not really happy about. I mean, I'm glad that Harris Teeter is expanding, but Kroger? It's not a question of how many Kroger employees it takes to screw in a light bulb, Harris Teeter does that for them. The question for Kroger is if they can find the fucking light switch and not burn down the whole store, yet they buy out MY EMPIRE. YOU'RE FUCKING KIDDING ME? THIS IS AMERICA AND I WILL NOT LOSE TO SOME KROGER FAGOT IN A BLUE DICKIE WITH A HAND IN HIS PANTS AND A COCK IN HIS MOUTH. THIS IS NOT SOME COCK CHOKING ANIMAL PORNO WHERE THE PROTAGONIST JUST CRIES AND IT KINDA MAKES YOU FEEL BAD, THIS IS HARRIS TEETER...........thank you for reading.

Social Charity: The Importance of Us

I realized that I have yet to post on this blog, and I've finally gotten over the recovery period needed after the end of senior year papers and thesis and am ready to write. Enjoy.

Anyone who hangs out with any number of permutations of the tribe members will notice our propensity to turn everything to a "we" thing. One of the funnier and more absurd of these happened in the Great Smoky Mountains during a trip for our outdoor elective. During the hike in we stopped at a waterfall to check out the place and readjust packs. Josh, Brendan, and I decided to head toward the pool at the bottom of the fall and have a quasi-competition over who could best handle the 30-40 degree water as inevitably happens when you have a high density of testosterone in any place. We dunked and came back up and Brendan's prescription glasses were no longer on his face. Without missing a beat he says, "Josh lost my glasses." You may thing of that as a humorous accusatory statement or maybe even rude, but I see a strong bond that holds friends together.

There is a reason our hunter-gatherer ancestors lived in tribes. The more people you have in a group, the better chance for survival for the whole group. In a tribe, the skills of each individual works toward the betterment of the entire group. One guy may have a natural talent for hunting, so he provides meat for the tribe. Another may be knowledgeable about plants and so would gather and help the tribe hit its micros. One guy may be really good at building so he would take care of shelter. Likewise with other skills. These are the basics of a key concept that Adam Smith calls the "division of labor". Futher, not only does each individual improve his own talent, but he learns the talents of others and improves his skill set because he is a member of a larger group.

How does this relate to blaming something you did on someone else? Well, it doesn't really. But Brendan wasn'y actually blaming Josh. In a way though, he was sharing his defeat. Going back to the hunter-gatherer society, if one person failed to provide with his skill, the others would be able to help share the defeat so the one who failed would not suffer as badly. If the hunter could not bring home a kill, maybe the gatherer could gather more wild edibles and so the hunter would still get to eat. If the hunter were a lone wolf he would have gone to bed hungry and not hit his protons, resulting in death or worse... catabolism. Joking aside, sharing defeat is an important aspect of social bonding that I think our group does well. If one guy feels lonely or goes through a break up, or procrastinates on homework and ends up with a ton of work to do the night before the some of the other guys can help ease the load. This isn't exactly division of labor because it doesn't really split jobs. Rather, it is something I call "social charity."

On the surface, social charity would not seem to benefit the entire group. It is helpful to remember that a chain is only as strong as its weakest link. If one guy is particularly falling behind he risks weakening the entire group by either holding us back or by breaking off from the group. If he breaks off we lose the talents and skills that he has to offer. It is exactly like the mustical body of Christ that St. Paul describes in 1 Corinthians 12: "But instead, there are many parts, indeed, yet one body. And the eye cannot say to the hand, 'I have no need for your works.' And again, the head cannot say to the feet, 'You are of no use to me.' In fact, so much more necessary are those parts of the body which seem to be weaker... so that there might be no schism in the body, but instead the parts themselves might take care of one another. And so, if one part suffers anything, all the parts suffer with it. Or, if one part finds glory, all the parts rejoice with it. (1 Corinthians 12:20-22, 25-26 CPDV). Social charity seeks to strengthen the weak parts of the chain instead of expunge them, for if the weak parts are destroyed, there is no more chain.

Social charity also works on the opposite end of the spectrum. Say one guy has the potential to be set up pretty well going into college due to a good bit of money from graduation and no debt thanks to a full ride. Well then, "we" are set for college. We share in each other's successes as well as defeats. 

Personally, social charity helps me to stay humble. It is rather easy to become prideful and greedy with wealth but sharing the success reminds me that goods are for the bettering of each other. In a world of greed and chaos, the "we" concept helps us survive as friends to enjoy success as well as help stave off depression, anxiety, stress, and loneliness. Reading these blog posts, we almost sound like a group of depressed teenagers, but really these guys are some of the happiest people I know when we are all together suriviving and thriving as a tribe. Together we are better by a power-that's exponents ladies and gentlemen, not your everyday multiplication- of eight than any of us could be on our own. 

There is no "I" in "team" but there is a "we" if you screw around with the letters a bit. 

Tuesday, June 16, 2015

Imagination

The teenage years have been ingrained in my brain as a period of activity and shenanigans and making memories. You can ask most adults and it seems like they'll provide you with example upon example on how they cherished their time. Whether it was that time your Uncle Roy snuck out in the middle of the night to meet up with some cute blonde, or how your grandfather shot a 10-point buck on his very first hunting trip. This time has always been rumored to seem so fulfilling, but it doesn't feel that way at all. The time seems to fly by without anything significant happening. The memories you make don't feel deep enough to notice later on. Sometimes you wonder if they even qualify to be labeled as proper memories. However, imagining what could be always seems so vivid and remarkable, you can hardly believe that kind of emotion even exists within you. You see yourself skydiving out of a plane with some of your closest friends. You're now scaling a gorgeous cliff face vegetated with all the most gorgeous, scenic plant-life you've never seen before. You imagine lounging near a lakefront nigh untouched by modern civilization and literally bask in your ideal relaxation and self-fulfillment.

Just thinking about it what could be invokes an emotional response. It feels like you can survive off this satisfaction alone, however the reality of your true situation bleeds through the vision. The physical record shows that nothing notably close to your expectations has been accomplished. That dark fact looms over you, beckoning you to change it. It hates its blank slate. It hates lack of substance. It feels empty and meaningless, almost hurtful. A water-less ocean is only a desert after all. Unfortunately, the feeling is not strong enough and is easily ignored or brushed off as hormones or a sour mood.

Monday, June 15, 2015

The Wikipedia Game

Over the past few years, I've off and on played the Wikipedia game with others. If you've never played, it's simple. You can play with just yourself or with a hundred other people. All you need is a computer with an Internet connection and Wikipedia. Choose a random page (either select one or click "Random Article") and then decide on another page you plan on navigating to. Using only links found in the articles, try to get to the specified page before anyone else.

It seems like an easy game, and sometimes it is. Other times, it's so unfathomably hopeless that you begin to wonder if the page you're looking for even has links to it. Yet even in its difficulty, I usually get there eventually. You almost have to at some point—unless you're just not paying attention, the nature of Wikipedia will show you links that get you closer and closer to your destination. At its heart, the game works because of Wikipedia's interconnectivity. But it's a bit more complicated than that.

Sunday, June 14, 2015

Stannis and Why He is the Mannis: Part I


Stannis Baratheon
King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men.
Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.


Recently on HBO's Game of Thrones, this aforementioned character did something awful. I mean, gut-wrenchingly awful. Like Red Wedding minus the awesome build-up awful. On the show, Stannis burned his daughter, Shireen, alive to melt the snows that entrapped his army. If you think that's ok, you're probably a piece of shit. So you might be asking yourself; why would someone ever make a post on their super-popular blog about how he is the Mannis?
         
Before we proceed any further, I must establish that this will be an argument for the Stannis Baratheon of the books! The series upon which Game of Thrones is based (George R.R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire) is becoming increasingly different from it's televised counter-part. Stannis' storyline is one in which these changes are especially apparent. In the show, Stannis burns his daughter the day after the food supplies for his entire army get destroyed by a band of twenty men. In the books, Stannis refuses to burn anyone in his army after weeks of starvation in a Northern blizzard. In the show, Stannis is clearly lustful towards Melisandre, whereas in the books, he usually avoids intimate contact of any sort. 

Clearly, book Stannis and show Stannis are different characters. The former is far from the monster the latter has been made into. However, even some well-informed book-readers live under the delusion that book Stannis is not a fit ruler. I will now tell you, lucky reader, why he is possibly (definitely) the best living candidate for the Iron Throne.

I will start, as any decent apologist would, by addressing Stannis' perceived sins. The first (although not foremost) among these is his maiming of Davos Seaworth. Davos was a lowborn smuggler who saved Stannis and his garrison from starvation during the Siege of Storm's End. He smuggled a shipload of onions past the Redwyne blockade, thereby saving the men in the castle. In return, Stannis raised him to knighthood, and gave him wealth and lands... but also ruled that Davos would have to lose the first joint of each finger on his left hand as punishment for his years of smuggling. Some presumed Frey-sympathizers out there say that this is unfair; Davos saved the entire castle! He should be treated like a hero, not a criminal!
          
These objections, however, ignore two pertinent facts. Firstly, Davos was in the castle with the rest of the men. Smuggling the onions wasn't some sort of heroic sacrifice, it was self-preservation. Now, obviously, Davos acted with valor and deserved a reward, which Stannis gave him. But that doesn't erase all the crimes he's committed in his life! Which brings me to my second point: Davos' punishment. Now, many (most) would say that cutting off one's fingers is a pretty extreme punishment for any crime, and I would agree. But it's not recognized as such in Westeros, where someone could be beheaded for cheating on the king. More importantly, Davos found the punishment just; he agreed with Stannis' sentence (albeit under the condition that Stannis do the cutting himself [which he did cause he's a badass]). Davos' penalization was not, as some detractors might say, a cruel injustice forced upon a selfless hero. Rather, it was an agreed-upon penance for years of crime.

Another, more common sin that Stannis is faulted for is the, "murder" of his brother Renly Baratheon. After the death of King Robert, his brothers (Stannis and Renly) both declared themselves King on the Iron Throne. Stannis summoned what power he could to Dragonstone (approximately 5,000 men, not really conquest material). Renly, having received the lordship of the Stormlands (which should also have been Stannis') and an innate charm from Robert, forges an alliance with the Tyrells and forms a host of 80,000 men. Stannis, being the rightful king, met with Renly and told him to surrender his false claim. Renly refused. Shortly thereafter, Stannis sent a shadow demon from Melisandre's womb to stab Renly in the neck (yeah... don't fuck with Stannis). Many of Renly's men then swore to Stannis, which allowed him to march on King's Landing.

Now, again, there are two main facets of this situation that the anti-Stannis, anti-Jesus folks ignore. They say that, although Renly was not king by rights, he would have been a better ruler than Stannis. This claim is not only unprovable, but also probably false. At the time of the conflict, Renly had gathered 80,000 men. That's the largest army we've seen in the entire series (except possibly that of the White Walkers). All he had to do to win the throne was march to King's Landing. He could've stormed the city and executed Joffrey in an hour. But what does he do instead? He holds a month-long tournament in the middle of the Stormlands. This gives Stannis time to arrive and later kill Renly. If Renly hadn't been screwing around, he could've won the War of Five Kings in a week. But he didn't take the war seriously; he made a game out of it, and it cost him everything. Who's to say that he wouldn't make a similar mistake with the kingship? Renly may have been more charismatic, but at least Stannis takes his job seriously. 

The second issue people take with Renly's assassination is the cold-heartedness it seems to suggest in Stannis; How could a man kill his own brother for a crown? How evil of Stannis! While this is a fair objection, it is one that must be borne by all contenders for the Iron Throne. Joffrey would kill Tommen to be king in a heartbeat, and Renly was planning to kill Stannis the day after he was murdered. It's easy to forget the fact that Renly was preparing to destroy Stannis and his army. Although his method would have unquestionably been more honorable, Renly was aiming to kill Stannis just the same. He would have been far less justified as well, since Stannis is in fact the king by law. Furthermore, Stannis himself is haunted by his actions afterwards, realizing how he had loved his brother. It is doubtful that Renly would've reacted similarly to Stannis' death.

Some other problems people have with Stannis are his burning of the sculptures of the Seven at Dragonstone and his murder of Cortnay Penrose. These acts cannot be justified; they are moral failures through and through. However, Stannis did not perform them entirely of his own volition. He committed both sins on the advice of Melisandre of Asshai. Melisandre manipulates Stannis (perhaps unknowingly) with promises of what he's always wanted: significance, recognition, glory. Stannis has been living in Robert's shadow his entire life, and Melisandre's prophecies give him a way out of it. This desire, coupled with the fact that his queen and over half of his men had converted to the Lord of Light, leads Stannis to do likewise. One condition of his conversion was that he had to burn the ancient statues of his former religion that were kept on Dragonstone. This was wrong, but Stannis was partially manipulated and strong-armed into doing it by circumstance. 

The murder of Cortnay Penrose is less understandable. Stannis demands that Penrose surrender Storm's End and Robert's bastard son, Edric Storm. Penrose refuses, knowing that Edric Storm might very well end up burned by Melisandre. Stannis then sends another shadow-monster to kill Penrose, whose successor gives Stannis the castle and the boy. Clearly, Penrose was right to defend the fortress and, by extension, Edric Storm. But, again, Melisandre's influence is the driving force behind Stannis' consideration of killing Edric. She tells him that burning Edric is the only way for him to become Azor Ahai, which he believes to be his destiny and duty. Even then he refuses to do it, wrestling with the decision for days on end. Fortunately, Stannis' other influence, Davos, kidnaps/rescues Edric and sends him far away from Dragonstone, saving him from possible burning. Does Stannis execute Davos for this? Does he exile him or torture him as an example? Almost. But in the end Stannis listens to Davos and ends up saving the Night's Watch from the wildlings under Mance Rayder. Stannis has made mistakes, but so has every character, even those we love (R.I.P Robb Stark), and most of those didn't have to resist a creepy shadowbinder on top of it.

Stannis is constantly referred to as one of the greyest characters in A Song of Ice and Fire. I contend that this greyness does not come from a moral neutrality, but rather from a moral dichotomy. Stannis has one of the most sinister characters advising him, and one of the most virtuous. He has done things most people wouldn't even come close to doing, both terrible and great. But, as this post has shown, he is a far cry from the cold, ruthless villain that some people (FREYS) view him as. In part II, I will deliberate on what exactly earned Stannis the title of Mannis.

NBA Finals: 2015 Edition.

I love sports, I really do. They helped me get through some tough times and some of my closest friends came about through playing sports (hey Josh!). I watch sports all the time. The first thing I check every morning is the scores and stats. Any kind of sports from Basketball and Football (REAL FOOTBALL NOT THAT SISSY ASS SOCCER CRAP), to tennis and even golf if I'm depressed. Sports are very important to me, and they play a big role in a lot of peoples lives. Look at LeBron's decision to leave Cleveland in 2010. The sheer hatred of the Cleveland Cavaliers fans towards arguably the greatest player of all time shows how much sports matter. So much passion is exuded in these simple games and cities are very dependent on the success of these teams. Sports matter, and while you may not like it, I love every second of it. So now that I'm done with justifying why I love sports and why all my posts are going to be about it, lets actually talk about sports.

The 2015 NBA Finals are one of the more compelling finals in recent memory. I may be late hopping onto the gravy train, but it still has to be said. LeBron's feel good, coming home story and maybe, just maybe being able to bring Cleveland something versus Stephen Curry's MVP season and his push to be considered the greatest shooter ever, while trying to bring success back to The Bay Area in 40 some years. That's just one story line out of so many. One is LeBron James trying to prove that he deserved MVP. Another is LeBron James putting an entire team on his back, and carrying them it to other worldly heights. Its not all about LeBron though. Game in and game out, Stephen Curry and Clay Thompson are proving that they deserve to be in the conversation of greatest backourts in league history. Curry proving he deserved that MVP trophy.

As the series is now Golden State 3 Games to Cleveland's 2 Games, the biggest story line is becoming more and more apparent. LeBron is having little help, while Curry is having tons of help That is the reality of these finals. LeBron is putting up god-like numbers (36.6 ppg, 12.4 rpg, and 8.8 apg), while playing an average of 45.5 mins out of 48 mins. He is the the Cleveland Cavaliers entire team. Anytime he comes out of the game, the Cavaliers fall apart into the mess of role players they really are. J.R Smith is out hucking 3's like he's Curry, Shumpert is letting his hair think for him and Delladova is just being Deli.

ew


It's sad because LeBron will get all the hate from people for losing this series. They will say he's chocked away any chance of being on the level of MJ: Our Hero. Nevermind that he is without his 2nd and 3rd best players on the team, or that Golden State is as healthy as a team can possibly be in the NBA Finals. Golden State has had everything favor them this series. Home Court advantage, a better PG, better SG, better PF, better Coach. And yet they barely hold a 3-2 series lead, where one made shot could easily have reversed the situations. Odds are LeBron and Co. are going to lose this series. We shouldn't put the blame on LeBron at all though. Take away LeBron from Cleveland and you get 4 straight years in the lottery. He is in the midst of arguably the greatest finals performance of all time, and while his team may be down it's not his fault. Everything Cleveland does, LeBron is at the root of it.

So this post swiftly turned from about the Finals as a whole, to a defense of the greatest player in the world and his many critics. Thats fine. He's carrying a sorry ass team to the peak of basketball, and people are saying hes not doing enough, or complaining about he's going about it.  He should be praised for the work he's doing, even if team success isn't following suit. One man can only do so much, before others must step up and help. And right now, no one is helping LeBron out at all.

Walking in a Weaboo Wonderland

The Spring of 2015 is a wonderful split for new and recurring anime series. We have new seasons of some very well loved shows, like an exciting, dramatic continuation of Fate/Stay Night and The Disappearence of Nagato Yuki, the well anticipated sequel of the Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya. There has also been the introduction of some other very well made manga adaptations. Owari no Seraph and Ore Monogatari are some amazing new show adaptations that cover a broad spetrum of genres. However, the best new anime to show its face this Spring most definitely has to be Dungeon ni Deai wo Motomeru no wa Machigatteiru Darou ka (DanMachi). While having the most adorable and awesome protagonist, being Bell Cranel, it also has the most wide variety of perfect waifus to ever be created: Hestia, Lilli, Sylph, and Welf (if you're into that sort of disgusting thing). As well as beating the hell out of monsters in a badass fashion, this show wins. 10/10 would watch again

Its a Blag!

Oh.
Oh heavens.
Oh sweet mother of pearl.
I've reached an all time low.



There comes a time in every man's life where he needs to make a decision for himself. A fork in the road takes shape on the horizon, and from that moment onward a man knows that he can only make one choice which, in the words of Robert Frost, will "make all the difference". Every night I find myself approaching a fork such as this. Jefferson, the majestic creature, tells us "Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise". And so the road shows itself before me: sleep at a reasonable hour or stay up until 3:30 in the morning browsing countless pages of the internet which I'm bound to not remember like the disgusting garbage I am.
Basically the nightly routine.
Basically the nightly ritual.

It's a reasonable 11:30 right now, and for the past couple minutes(hours) I've been reading the wildly uninteresting yet oddly addictive blog posts of my teachers. This quickly got me thinking, "what if I wrote wildly uninteresting blog posts?", because apparently being out of school for three weeks has given me serious and possibly dangerous symptoms of writing withdraw. Thanks, Mr. K.

Being one of those people who often forgets their train of thought halfway through their sentence-
...
Oh, right. Being one of those people whose only interesting trait is that I'm friends with interesting people, I couldn't enter the blogging industry alone. So my seven (COUNT THEM, SEVEN) friends and I are  basically going to be chronicling our lives. Or in the case of Other Brendan, post about Game of Thrones. Or in the case of Juice, post about his queer anime shit. Or in the case of Lucas, post about sports bullshit.
Maybe I'm taking this too seriously.
Maybe I really just needed an outlet for writing.
But hey, worst case scenario, I end up with a little journal of my life (for at least a short period) to look back on.

I've actually come to the point where I'm purposefully doing that which every student fears most: writing. Definitely an all time low.

Finding the Finish Line


Graphic design is my passion. I guess.

I'm good at it, I'm told, but I'm not. Nothing ever looks quite right. No, it's not as bad as the picture above (which is really quite beautiful—the placement of the frog using the rule of thirds and the text is on the golden ratio between the bottom and the halfway point, quite amazing really). But for some reason whatever I do never has any of the polish that other people have.

Sure, it could be more creative or unique or interesting, but it never looks finished.

Finishing things is hard. I'm particularly bad at this. A year and a half ago I started Game of Thrones and I'm still only halfway through it. Last Christmas I started Vonnegut's Cat's Cradle but never finished, so I restarted a few weeks ago and I'm still not halfway through.

Other than books, I started a started the senior video and never finished (due to technical difficulties, but I still plan to finish it). I started a paper maché chair two years ago but never even got to the stage where I put the actual paper maché down. I still want to finish it; it was going to be all Eames–esque and stuff. I would have stained it red and maybe have newspaper comic through the stain and glossy finish, with wooden dowel legs.

I tried to start a graphic design business but gave up after not getting any clients. I'm bad at finishing.

Sometimes I wonder why this is. Perhaps it's rooted in my tendency to procrastinate. But I think it's really rooted in my fear of failure. When I was 7 my sister gave me a shirt from the Johnson Space Center in Houston. It had the NASA logo and beneath it read "Failure is not an option". I was only a kid, but it spoke to me for some reason.

I asked why, and she explained how if you fail on something like going to space you die. You either do it, or you don't go. Failure is dangerous. Failing a math test is less drastic, but it's still not a great thing to do.

I guess this is why I never finish things. It's at the very least part of the reason. I didn't finish the newspaper chair because I was lazy, but I didn't succeed in the graphic design business because I didn't want to fail. I was far too lazy to put in the work needed to succeed.

If I had gotten clients I probably could have been fairly good. Even if I wasn't good, I'd at least be better than the other graphic designers on craigslist, because they suck.

But I didn't get clients. They don't come running to you. You have to find them, and I was afraid of finding them and being told "No." A "no" is a failure, and I was afraid of that. I may be a decent graphic designer, but I'm a terrible finisher.

MJ: Our Hero

The 90's were a tough time on America. Bill Clinton was president, Desert Storm happened in the early 90's, and Nirvana was popular (those were dark and terrible days). This blogger, upon looking back into the past was confused about how American's came out alive and kicking into the glorious 21st Century. I have finally found The Answer, hence my name. Not Allen Iverson, who happens to be called The Answer. But The Answer. Only one person could have saved us from those dark and terrible days of baggy suits and bad haircuts. Only one man, one glorious wonderful, athletic, competitive, and slightly douche man. That man is Michael Jordan. MJ. His Airiness.

 

It is this man. No, not man. This Hero is the being whom we should recognize as saving us from the horrors of the late 80's and 90's. Just look at what he accomplished: Six-time NBA champion (1991-93, 1996-98); MVP (1988, '91, '92, '96, '98); 10-time All-NBA First Team (1987-93, 1996-98); All-NBA Second Team (1985); Defensive Player of the Year (1988); Nine-time All-Defensive First Team (1988-93, 1996-98); Rookie of the Year (1985); 14-time All-Star; All-Star MVP (1988, '96, '98); One of 50 Greatest Players in NBA History ('96); Olympic gold medalist (1984, '92). That's not even bringing up his all time scoring numbers (4th highest scorer in NBA History, highest scoring average in NBA History). Jordan had one purpose in his whole life. He was put on God's Green Earth for one very important reason. Michael Jordan was born to ball. And he inspired countless others to ball as well. In a very important way, Jordan was the first baller. In a generation where no one could ball, one finally did. And for that, we all owe Jordan our praise. Hail Jordan.

We have a blog!

In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth and then Zach made a blog for the Tribe. Have fun.