The Love Edition, whatever that means. Inside, this cold fish will dish out hot tips and outsider info on that crazy little thing called love. I'll help you understand what it is to 'be yourself' a little better. I even write a love letter to my 16-year-old self! Happy Reverse-Valentine's Day!
I thought I'd start this off by talking about how I've been going back to work regularly, wow! I've gone from not eating lunch because I wake up in the afternoon and have snacks in my room, to not eating lunch because I wake up in the afternoon, put on a mask, and I don't take it off again for several hours. ...So I guess the only real difference is I don't have snack access. Snacccess, if you will.
If you won't, that's fine, I don't need a handout; I've been on unemployment since January. I am now getting Flintstones Chewable Income Supplements, because while I am "working regularly," it's still "in a global pandemic"-regularly. So, semi-regularly. More than none.
Why didn't I apply for unemployment earlier? Good question! That'll be ten dollars, please.
Two brief answers because I'd rather skip to the romance: 1. In March/April of 2020 I was still under the impression delusion that the quarantine would A) work and B) only last for about 6-8 weeks. It wasn't until about May/June that I realized Christmas was cancelled* and that y'all motherfuckers are trying to gaslight me into thinking any city in America has crested its "first wave." We're still in that incipient influx, bitch. Thanks for destroying my faith in humanity, even more.
And 2. I wasn't ever sure if I qualified for unemployment benefits, and never bothered to look into it. I didn't think I would, because I didn't lose my job; I just had barely any work to come in for. (Turns out the public safety is more important than 'business as usual.' I fully support such notions.) Before you ask why that discouraged me from thinking I would qualify for pandemic relief: I also have self-esteem issues and guilt complexes about asking for money, thank you very much. I want what I'm entitled to but I'm wary about 'being entitled to something.' Because that's not zen. But it turns out I totally fit the bill. Accounting, and 'looking into things,' isn't actually that hard when you sit down and do it.
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| segment-mandated meme summary |
1. "I am afraid I will suck at editing or be overwhelmed by Adobe Premiere, despite my editing talents; my literacy with it cannot match the level of productivity I'm normally at."
2. "I'm worried I will be rushed and won't be able to learn it properly."
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| thinking about this tweet helps manage anxiety |
"I always told people, and [Rob] Schrab always told people, 'If you really believe that you suck, prove it. Prove that you suck. Prove it to yourself, prove it to your mother, prove it to the ghost of your gym teacher. Just, like, suck! Just show us how much you suck. Think of the stupidest thing in the world and then suck again and keep sucking.' And you’re either right or you’re wrong, but in either case it’s almost equally valid."
(In either case, you've actually written something!)
"What you do, your body of work—I mean, because we’re all gonna die, and then you’ll have this pile of stuff next to your bed, and is it really going to matter if it’s good or bad, or whom it’s good or bad to? The only thing I can think that will slightly matter is whether it exists or not. That’s the great feeling I get at Channel 101. We’re not wasting this world. We’re connecting with each other and audiences and making a bunch of crap, which, I gotta think, that’s the human purpose in any god’s mind."
Active Appreciation isn't just listing things you're thankful for or doing whatever mindfulness is, although I guess those are parts of it. It's got a similar focus, but different depth of field? That general self-help tactic of 'listing things you're thankful for now' was not the utility it served in this particular anxiety/depression episode. Obviously, I did identify that I was happy and excited to have the opportunity to learn this new program...and then I went a step deeper than that. I appreciated how it would benefit me going forward, and how being new to learning something is wonderful. I then weaponized these angles to counter my trepidation, built-in doubts, and unrelated exhaustion. And I talked myself through how I was lowkey joyful to get to go to work, even if it made me feel tedious or tired, even with the physical and mental stress of it all. Yes, part of that joy is the money, but it's not wholly the money. It was also a glimmer of the old-world routine.
And it was like a dumb revelation: "Wow, thinking positively isn't just a light switch, it's a hand-crank flashlight. You need to manually give it the power." Sounds stupidly simple, but that's how it goes. That's how Active Appreciation™ works: I'm officially coining that phrase, but I've had this idea for a good many years now: that the things we take for granted are the best things, agreed? It's a synthesis of a rudimentary understanding of the Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs crossed with a precognitive perspective on the saying "You never know what you have until it's gone." That's true, right? Even at the small, emotion-neutral level of, like, not noticing a fan is on in a room until it is turned off. If you can realize that having an "it" is special while you still have it, you'll be able to appreciate it more.
I incorporated this in my Swiss Army Man parody video-cum-therapy (do not google 'video-cum-therapy') where I lay it out flat:
"Maybe the best things in life are the things we take for granted! A home, a family, friendship, decency, manners. These little reminders that we are here. That we are understood. And that we matter."
And that's what I'm still trying to do. By coining the phrase, I think it might stick a little better.
Hoh's Active Appreciation: if I tasked someone to try AA, I'd say: "Take stock of what you are taking for granted, then remember that those things are better than you can possibly appreciate." When we get nice things, we become comfortable with them around. When we have always had them, we don't even 'become' comfortable because we already are (and maybe we don't even notice it, like with white privilege.) Our sense of stability is built upon these unfelt comforts, whose importance is by psychological design something that we lose our recognition for. It slides into the background. We see the house that is built, and not its foundation.
Say you need a shelf. Getting one can feel like fulfilling a need, or overcoming an obstacle. ...And then your brain starts to forget what not having the shelf was like, because it no longer needs to think "I wish these books weren't just on the floor" every day. It doesn't use energy on concerns that are no longer present, so you take the shelf for granted. But if you remember what it was like to have books all over the floor, you'll re-appreciate the shelf (and the floor space.)
A car is a more perfect example. When it works, you think, "Duh, this is how it's supposed to be." (Except not, because you don't think about it.) When it breaks down, you think "Ah, fuck." The level to which you will appreciate or take for granted the repair likely depends on how long you go before getting said repair; Spend one summer month in a car without working A/C and you will never not say "I love you, A/C" and kiss your A/C when you get in the car. (Just don't kiss it while driving because people close their eyes when they kiss and that can be dangerous.)
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| I was gonna make a joke about this obviously being a pre-pandemic photo, but honestly I can't put something like this past the plague bastards out there. |
Hey hey! A nice little segue to take me out of that long-ass segment! So, now that you know about Active Appreciation™™, let's spend some of it on the recently-transforming cause of Reverse-Valentine's Day (February 15th.) The current cause is a lot like unemployment, in that I intend for the holiday to be a supplement to the love that falls through the cracks from Valentine's Day's traditional overshadowing emphasis on romantic love.
Originally RV-Day was "A day for the single people," because "Valentine's Day is for couples." And these days I'm feeling it's more "A day to celebrate the other kinds of love" because "Valentine's Day is in love with romantic love." And I'm not alone: I've seen more self/pet/etc. love posts on V-Day on social media and around.
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| Target even had these official RV-Day products, reminding us of the apocalypse we live in with a fresh fruity scent! |
So, this issue of HOH Magazine will throw some appreciation (or at least some rumination) on different kinds of love. Romantic thoughts included, as I also use RV-Day as a vehicle for self-examination. The border between the days is blurring into a joint holiday: a two-day love fest. An open relationship if you will.
If you won't, that's fine, I can respect boundaries.
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| a couple of love bears, 2019 |
As I elucidated on in the last issue, Valentine's Day is arbitrary, but useful. It actually isn't stupid to have a day where you're more lovey and/or dovey than the rest of the year. It's a cultural antenna for Active Appreciation, bro. As I've grown and wrestled with the holiday, it has given me my own outlet for all sorts of appreciations, primarily manifesting as Reverse-Valentine's Day back when I was 16.
...I had to double-check that I was indeed 16, because looking at that first video now, I look so much younger. I think of the maturity I lacked and imagine I had to have been under that number, because when I was 16, I remember feeling "this is as old as I've ever been" (like you do every year) and I felt the cusp of adulthood on the horizon and yadda yadda yadda. The way our memories work in these bodies of ours is that we feel pretty much the same most of the time, so we don't remember being 'smaller' so much as we remember 'being able to fit under there.' You feel me?
Anyway...man, I am really feeling my age when I look at what an unripe tomato I was back when I thought "I am legally old enough to drive." Tomato pasty-ass twerp. Pasty patriarchal pea-brain. (Seriously, the ideas I had when creating RV-Day are very cringe-worthy today. It's part of why the holiday's mission has changed so much.)
I know that kid is head-strong. I still am. Self-righteous out of a moral obligation to be righteous. The only way I think I'd be able to get through to that kid with my "funky ideas" about "being cool and tight" that came from twelve years on, is that I have faith that he'd be obliged to listen to whatever his future self had to say. I'm sure he'd disagree or ask to see my work, the exact logical trains that took me from his place to my place. I'd tell him that he hates showing his work in math class, why can't he take me at my word? If he still wouldn't, I'd try my best...but as much as I'd like to volunteer to help budding-misogynist degens like him, I don't know how to best communicate the shit I've picked up over the years. Maybe a big dump of concise tweets would help as a visual aid/bullet point prop. But the way I learned most stuff was "by being there" along the way.
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| I thought I was hot shit, but I was really just hot, and shit. |
A Letter To My 16-Year-Old Self:
Yo,
First of all, George Watsky already covered this within a few years of me being sixteen, so just watch that. For starters, anyway. Yeah, you get more and more into rap music. Write that to your 10-year-old self and watch his head explode.
Anyway, primarily I'd say there's a lot you need to know about love. I'll just go through some concise lessons and if they stick, they stick:
1. Finding someone attractive isn't the same as "being attracted to" or "having a crush on" or "having feelings for" someone. Separate those ideas like water and oil right now. It'll save you a lot of confusion and timidity. Maybe you've already cracked that egg, I forget. Still good to keep in mind.
2. Crushes aren't the same as "feeling love." Those are gonna be infinitely harder to separate, like water and Kool-Aid powder. But this will save you even more confusion. Yes, the feelings you feel for your crushes are indeed labeled "love" in your mind. They're the closest thing to "romantic love" you have ever felt, but that ain't it fam. That one's gonna hurt, but whether a crush hurts or doesn't, they all fade. Love...remains. And maybe in a non-romantic form.
3. Please please please if you have "feelings for" or "a crush on" someone, please get to know them more. A crush is, to put it crudely, an invitation from your gut to investigate someone socially. Get to know them, if they're friendly, spend time with them, but don't pursue them as a Romantic Interest. If they are one, they'll let you know.
You might have a hard time picking up on that, for similar reasons as you sometimes have difficulty separating "Ooh, she's hot" and "I would actually want to date her." Maybe it's autism (you're autistic by the way. Own that shit: it basically means you're better than most people.) maybe it's just the limitations of incomplete adolescent development, maybe it's a bit of both.
In either case, For The Love Of God Treat Them As A Friend First. Pursue THAT. Crushes and feelings can always develop after a friendship has begun (and those still might not amount to a romantic relationship, that's okay!) but if they develop first, as is often the case with your "Which girl in my class this year is The Prettiest One?" pigeon brain, then your priorities are fucking wrong.
You're not going to date them, what are you thinking? First reason: you're too fucking scared to ask 'em out. Second reason: ...No actually that's the primary reason. So it ain't happening. Ditch the fantasy and grab that platonic ideal with both hands, an open mind, and a full heart. When you put the Romantic Cart before the Friendship Horse you are not applying a full heart. Friend love is worth more. Maybe you can't hitch a Romantic Cart to that Friendship Horse, but that's great! Better to ride a horse with a friend than have an unwanted cart that you can't transport.
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| Friendship, yee-haw! |
4. Have I drilled that point home enough? If you like someone, pursue a friendship with them. Let it be that simple. You can allow the crush to underscore the attention you pay to them. Accentuate. But don't let it overwhelm you. Don't let it warp or consume your perception of them. What do they want? What makes them happy? If you "love like-like them," put that first, and be a good friend, chump.
5. Seriously, the feelings you think are love, probably aren't. Just because it's the closest approximate thing, doesn't mean it is that thing. A banana-flavored Runt is not a Gros Michel banana. Please accept that while it feels deeply moving and utterly great and immensely overwhelming and you could just sigh and collapse into a puddle thinking about 'being with someone'... doesn't mean that's what Love is.
6. No, really. Crushes can in fact be that strong. They're still a feeling, and feelings can pass.
7. Love is a dance. And I know you don't like dancing so you're not going to understand this. That's fine, just take it at face value and let it soak in, in the background. Even without the dancing metaphor, it's a difficult concept to wrap your head around.
(By the way, you continue to not really be comfortable dancing in public, but you do at least overcome the self-deflective notion that it's "provably stupid." You even get a whole year where you dance in your room quite often. Don't ask more about that, though.)
"Love is a dance" is just confusing because you've never danced with someone else, I don't think. But you've heard 'it takes two to tango,' and this is basically the same thing. Love is a two-way street. Both parties need to be excited and interested in similar ways to form (or advance) a Relationship. Because a Relationship is not You and Them. It's You and Them and The Relationship. You're going to eventually start listening to the podcast (you don't listen to those yet but you can grok what they are from context clues) called Harmontown, named after Community creator Dan Harmon. (Geez, Community hasn't even aired yet.) Anyway, Harmontown will lead you to know Emily V. Gordon, who is very smart and good at self-help and relationship insights. She'll explain on her Tumblr [and elsewhere] that a relationship is a third thing that its members create together, like mutually taking care of a plant, each with your own responsibilities that go into nurturing it.
(Tumblr...it's a social media site that centers around 'blogs' instead of 'profiles' so it's like a Facebook feed but mostly non-friends. Very customizable. You'll create a blog for web comics in college, but you should make your personal one first, or else every time you Like someone's post it'll be from the web comic's blog, which you cannot ever change from your primary to your secondary. But that quirk aside, tumblr will be a great place for you to listen to different people's perspectives, which I know you're not totally ready for, but you will be. Fuck, you haven't even seen The Vlog Brothers, you don't know the mantra "Imagine people complexly." Are you writing this down?)
So yeah, love is a dance. You start with just your feelings/crush, and try to suss out whether the feeling is reciprocated. You can be direct, or indirect. But if you're too indirect, you'll probably just mislead yourself.
If you're on to something, though, generally both folks will be equally invested, and that's "flirting," which is the most akin to the actual "dancing" part of the metaphor. Body language plays a large part, I think. Not that that'll help because reading that requires its own literacy.
Unfortunately, this is all almost too hard for someone on the autism spectrum. You'll accept it. Even though it's kinda sad. But you'll find your own ways to communicate, and you'll find you don't need any pity, either. ...Even though you kinda always relish pity at your age.
So how does this dance-aphor apply to you now? What can you glean from it? Well, in case I haven't alluded to it enough already: just because you feel romantic towards someone doesn't mean anything you do will make them feel the same.
This is important, and you're gonna learn it by being broken and put back together again. I know you, David. You have this confirmation bias; you cherry pick evidence, looking for things that support the idea that the other person might like you back. You'll never be able to confirm it, though, because you won't ask, because you're a coward. Because the worst pain you could feel is finding out that they don't. Because you're afraid of rejection.
But here's the secret. You're not really afraid of romantic rejection, as much as you are general social ostracism. You were bullied during your formative elementary school years and the confluence of all that has left you with a fear of rejection rooted in believing that:
"Rejection = Receiving Hatred."
This is an extension of another fear, that if anyone finds out you have a crush on anyone else, you will be made fun of and taunted. So, anxiety tells you that if someone finds out you like them, and they do not feel the same way, they will mercilessly make fun of you, and find you disgusting, and despise you, and out you to others as a big fucking loser, and you will be flung off a cliff down the social totem pole. You're not actually afraid they 'just don't want to date you.' You're afraid that the clash of their outed disinterest with your exposed interest will ignite a chemical whirlwind of negative energy.
You're afraid they will become your enemy. All because your feelings gave you feelings for them.
It's kind of a pre-emptive victimization complex. I get where it's coming from. Being bullied for being the way you are makes you put up these defenses in the form of fears.
But I think you'll find that it's not the case. I think you feel intensely. So I think you take these feelings more seriously than most people do. Or, maybe you think you treat them more preciously than others do. Basically, zen is getting over yourself a little bit.
Look, within a year or two you will come to a great epiphany, that will help steer you away from being a huge jerk-ass: that you are single because you choose to be. Nobody is "not asking you out" as some form of persecution, or because society has strict rules that put the onus on revealing feelings on 'the dude.' You are merely more comfortable not asking anyone out. And it's because of a fear of pain, sure. You accept it, though, and it's great. I mean it's not great-great, but it's a huge step towards self-love, bro.
(Being single can help you self-actualize better, and also not fall into depending on getting fulfillment from another person. I know you think you'd be a good boyfriend now, but I know you're very needy, too. Not 'getting any' will help straighten yourself out on your own, rather than learning from mistakes that hurt you and/or others. At least, keep telling yourself that.)
After that epiphany, you'll start to hypothesize that you could probably ask out some random person, if you felt like it. Because if they reject you, you'll never see them again, so who cares, right? Sure, you don't even want strangers on the bus to think you're an asshole, but in the grand scheme of things, who gives a shit? You'd feel sore, but you'd get over it. So this becomes an active theory: that if they aren't someone you spend time with -- not a potential-friend, nor a classmate -- you could be comfortable attempting to ask them out (you just need to figure out an ask that isn't uncomfortable to say, hah!) and you're confident that even if they do somehow hate you for asking, it's not going to hurt too much, because nothing else was lost, socially, in the approach.
You never try this out, of course. Truth is, you never really have the opportunity. You go to community college, so you don't partake in the glamorized "campus life." And also, you decide preemptively not to pursue whichever captivating classmate might catch your attention. "I'm just here to learn" you'll tell yourself, before classes even start.
And this proves to be a wise move. You don't want potential [additional] inter-personal drama in your film program, where everyone's big projects are dependent on collaboration, input, and just plain help from other people. You're all in this together. A relationship -- or an attempted relationship -- that turns awkward could throw a wrench into a literal production. You'll have plenty of other wrenches to dodge, so it's better to play it safe and not go after anyone.
This decision also just makes you a cooler person. It greases the wheels for the feminist train you're about to board: by treating women as "people" instead of "potential partners" you start, to quote Watsky, "killing the game right now." You're doing something called praxis, which is a word you'll come to appreciate. You're still not as cool as you will be, but you're well on your way.
...There are two kinda-downsides. You're not going to have many opportunities to 'meet random people you could try asking out consequence-free' during or after college, as I said. You don't 'go to bars' because you don't drink (which is okay & cool) and so you don't see the appeal of that 'scene.' Nor do you see the appeals of a 'club' or a 'gym.'
Also, even if you did patronize these people places, you'd never go talk to an attractive stranger; not because you're afraid of rejection, but because you respect their fucking privacy and personal space. Why should you, some random dude, go budge in on someone else's night? They don't want to hear from you. Imagine them complexly. You're a nobody, no matter how good-looking you are (I'd hit it) you could be bad and they'd have no way of seeing how you aren't. If that's their impression, they're entitled to it, so spare them that stress.
Don't go up to them. "You know who does that? Assholes, I bet." This is a fun bias & stigma to prevent you from taking any chances! You are going to remain afraid of looking like an asshole, even if you're not gonna turn into [that kind of] one. Even if you "don't care what a stranger thinks of you," you don't want someone you want to approach to walk away thinking "that guy was an asshole." You're comfortable knowing you're better than that, so just don't give them the chance to get a wrong impression.
This is anxiety talking, but it has "better safe than sorry" to back it up, which does hold up in Anxiety Court. You also just don't want to interrupt a stranger's night because it's kinda creepy and/or rude, right? You don't want to be a creepy and/or rude asshole, either. So just keep to yourself. Let attractive people alone, they get enough pester and bother.
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| thanks, Hipster Logo Generator. |
To quote a video you will make, "I know a lot of good men ask, in however many steps and ways, to be someone's boyfriend too. But I plead nolo contendere to being afraid of coming off as one of the many assholes, that I don't even bother trying to be seen as one of the many 'good men.' Because I, like many people, don't want people to hate me."
By processing thoughts like this in your Reverse-Valentine's Day videos, you will be able to categorize and evolve from them. But this one thought is something you still wrestle with. Is it "selfish" to "take yourself out of the game?" Is it "egotistical" to assume you're "good enough" to even ask "if I take myself out of the game am I just taking one more Good Guy out of the game, rather than taking an asshole out?"
(Also, does worrying that you will look like an asshole count as you not imagining yourself complexly? Oof, that's a brand new thought I just had right now... how much benefit of the doubt do you choose to assume there will be for you? What even are these thoughts? Let's nix it: Dan Harmon says assuming things is bad, so let's let that put a cork in this.)
You'll find that those questions aren't that important because you're framing the situation in an unhelpful, anxiety-spiraling way. You're not actually "out" of "the game." Whatever that means. C'est la vie. It is what it is. What makes you feel comfortable? That's the perspective you should have for these thoughts. Change the puzzle you think you're working on. If it would maintain your comfort to stroll up and ask someone out, then follow that bliss. That just hasn't been bliss yet, so you ain't followed it.
The other kinda-downside is that, through college and beyond, you still harbor that, uh, big crush you have now. That, uh, isn't going away any time soon. You'll write at least 12 drafts of a feature-length screenplay about it. Less 'love letter' and more 'apology.' About how you've learned you shouldn't put the Pursuing Parter cart in front of the Forging Friendship horse. And hopefully future generations of teen boys can learn that lesson. It's a good script, dude. Just...don't expect to shoot it anytime soon.
You'll think about that crush a lot, and learn a lot about yourself. You'll make a few videos dancing around it, to help you process your shit. You'll face it within yourself in a dream. You'll feel like you almost want to let it go, and then you'll decide to want to let it go. To separate the "I really like you as a friend" water from the "I really like-like you in a way that isn't love but feels like it to my dumb brain sorry" Kool-Aid powder, grain by grain.
You'll come up with a metaphor that helps explain how you want to separate those two concepts. You'll start writing it as a comic, then decide to make it a Reverse-Valentine's Day video. You'll then go so far down an introspective rabbit hole that you will be able to overcome it. By yourself. (And this only will delay the video EVEN FURTHER! Ha ha!!)
But when that video is finished (I'm still writing it as of publishing) I will embed it here for you to see.
Throughout this self-improvement Homeric epic, you'll maintain that essential truth you recognize even at 16: that being friends is the best, and makes you so happy. It's more important than those other feelings. So cherish that friendship. And maybe...talk about those feelings, it'll help.
You've got a lot of shit on the docket coming up. Some run-of-the-mill soul-shattering, and even some universe-is-abusing-you level shit. The worst years of your life are ahead of you. But you'll become better. That's the good news. It all builds character. It's all about growing up. You get strong, and you have the support you need. And you avoid the paths that lead other young white dudes into being The Fucking Worst. That is an absolute win. So even if I cringe watching some of your videos these days, I know you're going to be great.
The best part about all of the changes you're gonna go through, many that completely alter your perspective and sensitivity on different things, is that you can't do a thing about it because you're already me. My current identity is constructed in part by pulling you thread from thread, keeping the good and chucking the bad. So you're gonna be fine.
It'll only hurt a bit.
Love,
David, age 28
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| okay can we admit he's hot shit now? |
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I'm Into This! — February 2021
Pokémon Brilliant Diamond & Shining Pearl
(...kind of)
(Editor's note: this segment ran too dang long. In the interest of keeping this month's issue a smidge shorter, the complete and unabridged article on this topic will be available here for you nerds to read. Predictably, David can go on about Pokémon minutiae for hours. The following is an abridged version appropriate for general audiences. – David, editor-in-chief)
If you know me, you know I love Pokémon. And if you love me, you love I love Pokémon. Seems fair for the Love Edition that I express my deep love [and know] of Pokémon.
The announcement of remakes for the Generation IV games Pokémon Diamond and Pearl were not unexpected. In fact, I'd been expecting them since the originals came to North America in 2007. We'd recently had Pokémon FireRed and LeafGreen, remakes of the original Gen I games; so even while being amazed at D/P's graphical improvements on the Nintendo DS, the most cutting-edge Pokémon games yet... I knew in the back of my mind "They're gonna remake these some day." I just didn't know when that would be, or what that would look like.
Until now.
Hmmmmmmmmmm. I'm sorry. Chalk it up to something I "Will Get Used To," but allow me to add to the "dislike" side of the aesthetic debate, that the Pokémon fan community got into the minute footage of these games premiered, as part of a Pokémon Direct presentation on the 25th anniversary of the original Pokémon debut.
The future is full of dull surprises.
Don't get it twisted: I will still buy and enjoy these games. It's important to criticize what you love, is all. Imagine the things you enjoy complexly. You're stronger and cooler when you can comfortably say something like "I really like what WandaVision was doing but the ending felt a little flat to me." It's well-rounded. Like these chibi-ass characters' heads in BD/SP:
Johnstone makes a fair point, and while I respect the artistic decision from ILCA (who developed the game instead of Game Freak) to literally just translate the 2D art to a 3D format...that is exactly my whole entire problem with it. I think it's a lazy decision. And not to put the blame at ILCA's feet, but Game Freak has developed every other core series/remake Pokémon game so far, and they've all looked great. Simplistic deduction, but them's the facts. It's a fine decision, but it's lazy compared to every other remake.
The in-battle stuff looks pretty great. My gripe is expressly with the overworld look, which is where more than 50% of the gameplay will be spent. The Duplo player characters and NPCs I don't have an issue with, they're a little too chibi for my tastes, but that's okay. But they're indicative of the problem: they are walking around a 1:1 re-skin of the original graphics. Which is a big let-down! Sinnoh is a region of abundant landscape and bountiful biomes, and the other regions all received tremendous graphical expansion in their remakes. Whereas BD/SP are giving us basically the same thing with 3D and a tilted angle:
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| top: Diamond and Pearl — bottom: Platinum |
Okay now that my family is definitely not reading this part, who can I sue for taking a year of potential fornication away from me? I can bitch about this without seeming entitled, right? Let me have this.
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| and then, naturally, they made it look bigger and better-er for the Switch. |
Point is, I was comfortable throwing events in a living space. I felt excited about the shins that I could dig. Around the start of this new social chapter, I began to concoct a notion in the corner of my mind: "Do we wanna maybe make a dating app profile?" Basically, the translation from 2D sprite overworlds to 3D, higher-definition overworlds we expected was something like this:
And that's a reasonable thought to have or expect from where I sit! (Yes, that sentence applies to both topics) But this thought was a subconscious subplot. As in, I wasn't thinking it, I was thinking of maybe, perhaps, considering beginning to think about entertaining the thought...is that enough qualifiers to show how noncommittal of an idea it was? Good. Because then, the pandemic hit. And it was like the entire world was being exponentially punished for my personal 'slight moving of a needle' vis-a-vis being a single person.
I was thiiiiiiis close to considering throwing myself into the game, boys. Exploring my options. Seeing who out there is interested in what I got. And to be completely frank, it would be more for casual [safe, natch] hookups than seeking relationships. I've been a Dateless Wonder for so long, I think some action is well in order, is that vain? Is that self-esteem? (Where's the line!?) I got a lot to offer. I was merely beginning to be thinking of capitalizing on that. And then we all had to stay inside for 6-to-8 weeks... about ~7.5 times over, and counting. Thanks, you dog-shit moron bastards. Go fuck yourselves, but not amongst yourselves. I can't even angrily yell "Go kill yourselves" because you actually seem to want that, you dumb fucks; and that's highly likely in this pandemic, so I can't say that, ethically speaking. It's uncouth.
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| this scenery just comes alive to me, it's unreal, but it evokes a lush, dynamic nature. It's also much larger in proportion to the player character than in the original games. |
The Galar region looks stupendous. Seeing it made me indescribably jazzed at the mere concept of visiting a Sinnoh that looked like that. Instead, it's this:
Pokémon's core games are always "more of the same." But that's what I like about them. To me, these games are about taking on similar adventures but in different regions with different Pokémon. I love that. A familiar routine that also has flexible variety; it's comforting and great. But this art style choice feels like "more of the same" in a stunted way, so I can't help but criticize. It reminds me too much of the originals' visuals. They didn't evolve.
However, I'm already getting used to it as I'm writing. Like, really, it looks fine. It's not terribly underwhelming. But it is depressingly whelming. It could've been so much more. I should be marveling at a brand new rendition, achieved simply by copying of the aesthetics and scope of Sword and Shield. But it's a different studio this time, so there was a different vision. And while I respect that...it still feels like a compromise.
But, speaking of a compromise, Game Freak is working on a different kind of game set in the Sinnoh region, Pokémon Legends: Arceus. Its trailer premiering right after the BD/SP trailer almost as a preemptive salve to offer what we would feel ILCA's game utterly lacks: it is more graphically in-line with the other recent core series games. So we are getting that kind of game, too! But, there's a catch; it can't just be the same as BD/SP. So it's set in the past, centuries before the Pokémon world we are used to playing in.
Fuck it, I'm in! That's an awesome concept! I love the world of Pokémon a bit more than my own; I'm very excited to get to see some of its history first-hand, and to get to wander the beauty of the Sinnoh region prior to human settlement. Shut up and take my money. No complaints about Legends: Arceus.
My only complaint about Legends: Arceus is that we didn't get Diamond and Pearl remakes from Game Freak tho. Why not give this one to another studio, or do this a few years after more typical remakes? But, at the end of the day, I'm glad this wasn't an 'either, or' scenario. I'm grateful we're getting both. But...I wanted the remakes of D/P to blow my mind the way the others did.
It's just an awkward bummer. Like banging your funny bone, it feels strange but that feeling will fade. Brilliant Diamond and Shining Pearl and Pokémon Legends: Arceus should serve us all of my, and our, Sinnoh Region Remake needs. I just really wanted ice cream cake. Not ice cream and cake.
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| [source] |
None of the Super Bowl LV Commercials
I don't feel like talking about this, actually. It is an understatement to say that the way marketing departments have responded to the pandemic is offensive. Why should I waste my motor functions by exercising thought on how they decided to parade pandering to the poverty line this year? At most I'd be giving them free ad space. Nah, pay me for that shit.
Yes, I might laugh at a commercial. And yes, I will also concede that I appreciate a commercial that's just a bunch of inspirational pablum, because I do think there is real value in extolling virtuous sentiments to the widest possible audience, even if you say "Pepsi" at the end of it. That's still a bad commercial, though, because you could just as easily say "Levi's" at the end of it. As I learned in Screenwriting, a good commercial (or rather, an effective commercial) makes the product and/or its use integral to the 'entertainment' or 'narrative' of the piece. If you can swap out one brand for another and the commercial can stay exactly the same, it's "a bad commercial."
Since I'm writing this segment in mid-March, I think it's worth pointing out that I can't really remember any commercials off the top of my head, so none of them were by any metrics "good." The Best Thing Since Sliced Bread was a 2020 commercial, I think. (And even there, I forgot what the product was until I went to confirm that it was, indeed, from The Before Times.) So, I will refrain from giving this year's commercials any more attention.
Except...one image does remain in my head like the echoes of a rung bell, and its name is John Cena in a cool-colored car hawking Mountain Dew. Which, since I mentioned the product, I have to counter by typing "Fuck Mountain Dew." Yes, the flavor seemed interesting. I don't remember what it was. Frankly I'm more interested in that car.
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| if car commercials had steez like this, I maybe wouldn't be completely indifferent to car commercials |
I can back that "Fuck Mountain Dew" up by submitting into evidence that PepsiCo had $1,000,000 to just give away, and instead of actually giving it away they spent tons of money on a commercial and the air time for said commercial to demand that you guess a number on Twitter in order to maybe get a million dollars. So yes, masses, here's His Benevolent Highness Mountain Dew flaunting his fucking wealth and withholding any of it from you unless you leapt at giving them a Twitter trend like starving fish in a small pond, pushing the fat catfish to the top.
Carrots on a string for corporate awareness, that's all this was. Fuck Mountain Dew. Wrongdewers.
This year, all the commercials were bad. Because a year of Global Pandemic That Barely Affected The Rich has opened a rich, righteous, justified vein of healthy cynicism for all of us who got out of bed at least once since March of 2020. It's all carrots on a string. Every time they "honor frontline workers" by putting them in a room together I want to blow my fucking brains out (figuratively - I would never withhold the world of my goodness like the fuckers at PepsiCo withhold millions of dollars that people could use to pay their rents that weren't FUCKING FROZEN LIKE THEY SHOULD HAVE BEEN IN APRIL. Fuck's sake.)
Even the inspirational ads were bads, because while I like tweet-sized nuggets of wisdom, I know what a fucking Super Bowl Commercial costs per minute. You could have easily donated that money to Texas, or Trans Youth, or Fucking Anybody, and gotten some free publicity off of that, you immoral scumbags. I had to put the "free publicity" tail there because I know that's all you fucking care about. If I had 5.6 million dollars to spend on 30 seconds of "LOOK AT ME" time, I would just fucking give it away to those in need. Don't believe me? Give me 5.6 million dollars and watch me prove it, bitch. See? You won't, because you're a fucking coward who prefers having 5.6 million dollars. (I don't even know who this is referring to, but if you don't have $5,600,000 on hand to throw right in the toilet then it's obviously not you and we cool.)
If you want to play a drinking game next Super Bowl, do a shot every time a company puts a celebrity in a commercial for arbitrary reasons. You'll soon forget the troubles of this plane of existence.
And if you want to donate money to help out the Ted Cruz-sponsored weather/food/everything-else crisis in Texas, you can donate to the organization Feeding Texas here.
NBC's Hannibal (Rewatch)
Speaking of being decisively "done with" people who are -- by their own accord -- un-deserving of your respect, I decided to rewatch Hannibal. Netflix and I have had a "will they/won't they" about this for a good many weeks; it's always in my recommendations, and I finally gave in to its temptation. Let me tell you my whims have been pretty on-point lately. It's like being nudged in the right direction by a divine power, if I may be so lofty. Because this was no mere rewatch: it was a deepening of my understanding of my own spirituality and self. I may as well have been 8 years old watching the show when it originally aired, for how much more I'm getting out of it this time.
You hear of shows that take a while to find their footing, and you hear of shows that hit the ground running. NBC's Hannibal is a show that hit the ground strutting. It is an exceptionally proud peacock (fitting that it is perhaps the greatest program NBC has ever aired) but, it is not pretentious...at least not in the way we often point at art for 'being pretentious.'
To let the Dictionary app do the talking: Pretentious means "attempting to impress by affecting greater importance, talent, culture, etc., than is actually possessed."
In Hannibal's case, it is actually possessed. The surface style, bold surrealism, and cinematic confidence of this show is no pretension: it has the utterly great writing talent and audacious storytelling chops to back it up. It's...like...earned pretension.
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| I think that's just called 'confidence' |
Every single flourish is carefully crafted, and it's form mirroring function: the presentation is just as important as the nutritious value. The show is analogous to the meals Hannibal Lecter prepares in his nightmare food-porn kitchen. It's analogous to Hannibal himself: he is an exceptionally multitalented human being and the most cunning serial killer in the world to boot, and on top of that he dresses in super-fine three-piece suits, patronizes The Arts, and writes hand-written invitations to dinner.
He's a fancy pants, but he backs every inch of it up. His food is allegedly delicious, and he'll also stab you in the femoral artery with surgical precision in one second if you try to come up behind him. He is not pretentious. He is fully aware of his own value, worth, and power. He knows exactly what he is.
Just watch it if you haven't, it's fucking astonishing.
But also, only watch it if you think have the stomach for it. Back when it aired in 2013-2015, I recall constantly being in awe, asking "How did this end up on network TV???" at all the over-the-top gore and bodily carnage: disgusting, horrifying "art murders" that you can't help but acknowledge the beauty of. (Almost like the show is trying to get you to empathize with how Hannibal sees the world.)
Watching it again, I'm...still asking the same thing!! But I'm also asking it of the lavish dialogue. Like scenes where the subtext is soooooo sub- to the text that it's only legible on the faces of the actors (who all bat a thousand) and through the viewer's own comprehension of the dynamics and thoughts between characters. I started asking "How did [writing this fucking good] end up on network TV???"
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| Mikkelsen's performance is immaculate, conveying so much with utmost subtlety. |
I can probably answer the former question fairly decently: later-airing shows like your Law & Orders are allowed to present really disgusting criminal acts and depict violence and gore. The creators of Hannibal just looked at all the empty space within those boundaries and realized nobody was using it, so they pushed it as far as they wanted.
I cannot answer the latter question, except to point out lament that this reality gave us Star Trek programming from Alex Kurtzman instead of Bryan Fuller. And folks, I don't even watch Star Trek.***
I digress... One little sugary nugget I'll share with ya is boy howdy, 'Punished' Will Graham in the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane in the first half of Season 2 really really reminds me of me in quarantine, huh?
"Reasons for stopping multiple murders do readily occur to me, but um..."
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| patiently sheltering-in-place with no stimulus to redistribute to people in need like |
I'm not actually joking? I find a kinship with this state of Will Graham; if you recoded my behavior regarding my burning anger so that 'yelling and swearing' were taken off the 'expressional responses' table. The furious rage is there, in every waking second, but it's channeled into this wellspring of passive aggression and indignant disposition. A calm fury.
"There's a common emotion, we all recognize and...have not yet named. The happy anticipation of being able to feel contempt."
If that seems like a simple, "#relatable" bauble, there's still a whole corn silo's worth of Deep Shit™ that I've been digesting like bites of an opulent three course meal. I could write for another hour about the spiritual and personal awakenings I've been able to take away from this show, this time around.
But I'll spare ya (unless you ask me in person, probably as we're watching it together. Basically lots of pausing to go "See, because of how we're created in God's image?" or "Ain't that just how the devil gonna do ya?") Besides, that wouldn't be as useful as simply asking you to watch the show and find your own takeaways. If we both went to the beach, we would no doubt take home different sea shells as souvenirs. Tell me Will, what have you taken home with you?
See!? It's so easy to make fun of the way Hannibal does metaphors and analysis of human behavior. But, also, it's meme-able because it's understandable, and oftentimes helpful. I'll give one longer, deeper example of my personal gain from this NBC TV show that used to air after episodes of Grimm†:
I did a poor Mads Mikkelsen impression one night on my Instagram story, talking about how if you go to bed feeling like you put in a good day's work, bed is a prize. And the sleep, your reward. But if you feel unfinished in something, you'll find it hard to sleep, with your mind racing. Tell me Will, how rewarding are you finding your bed these days? Effectively, I discovered some actionable wisdom about how we can decide what our attitude is, to influence our behavior in beneficial ways. And regardless of how much I worked in a day, [i.e. lots of physical labor or a little bit of writing] I can get to bed easier and get to sleep faster if I choose to tell myself "I did enough today. Let's get some rest."
I struggle with feeling like I've not done enough, and I fear the egotistical pitfalls that might come from 'choosing to tell myself' that I'm better than I am, or that I've done good when I've done bad (though vice-versa is also worrisome.) But I also know that idolizing "the grind" is unhelpful, and over-working yourself is actually not cool.
There's some mental-health-focused blowback against the Burnout Culture in the creative community, which I dig. And it applies to the world of business, too. To betray my passing knowledge on the subject: a 4-day work week is all we need...or was it 4 hours a day? Bit of both? I don't remember, and I won't look it up. Sweden something, Japan something-else. Doesn't matter. Both is good. (All I know is I've been working 3-4 hours a day these days and it's quite enough, thank you; any more would reduce my productivity for sure, the Swedepanese are on to something. I digress.)
Point is, this humorous insight I improvised in an awful Danish accent served as a genuine concession to 'choose to tell myself' something that is beneficial. And it allows me to still recognize, when it's time for bed and I don't feel like I did enough in the day, that "that's okay." And I can drift off to dream land without racing thoughts like "Oh man I need to finish February's issue it's already mid-March!" Such worries are now more easily...put to bed.
So thanks Hannibal. More than just a great show, he's also a frightfully good psychiatrist...as long as he isn't your psychiatrist. I'm glad there's that LCD barrier separating his reality from mine. Although, since starting it, I've had at least two nightmares I can summarize as "Hannibal was there."
These nightmares are only points in the show's favor, trust me.
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| For example: I did not intend to share this photo when I took it. I only wanted to capture how my hair framed my eye, because it was neat. But, here it is. |
If I don't find a groove, I may cloister up, retreat into my shell and allow "not having a good time" to create a feedback loop inside of me, so I become exponentially miserable. When I go home, I'm relieved, but also regretful. Those are the different sides of the 'not-vibing' spectrum. And you never really know what to expect from an unfamiliar gathering until you're there.
The worst party I've ever experienced was the high school graduation celebration for a few of my classmates I hadn't seen since we graduated 6th grade. The kids who went to Highland Park Junior High, while I didn't (I ended up in the exact right place for me, don't worry.) It was held at a park with a large pavilion, and maybe 50 people were there. At least a dozen of them were people I knew. And I didn't talk to a single one of them.
I was shy. But, I expected someone to come up to me at some point, so I let that notion cushion my nervousness. However, nobody did. It was humiliatingly jilting, but it was also completely unintentional. As in, it wasn't some coordinated conspiracy against me. It just happened to happen that way. A feedback loop of non-interaction. The quantum of solace there was some random, younger dude who I didn't know sat next to me on a bench, and we made small talk. He didn't really know anybody either. We shared a fleeting, sympathetic bond. I remember you, whoever you are.
After I left, my dad took me to this thing called Northern Spark, a Twin Cities-based art event that I've got a fairly-consistent exhibition in. The exhibit is my Having A Bad Time.
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| Ah, you thought I was joking! Or am I? Is this photo honest or staged? Where is the intersection between truth and artifice? Can't both things true at once!? |
Because of the emotional turmoil I let myself fall into, and because I was only with my dad, I let myself be a little more raw and sore in public. So I became a floppy, pissy wet blanket. I should've gone straight home. The negative vibes radiated out of me at this ostensibly fun nocturnal arts event.
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| pictured: feeling horrible, but tolerating to be photogenic |
Inversely, one of the best parties I went to was a mere few weeks (I think) later: a pool party thrown by a then-ex-girlfriend of a classmate, where I only knew one other person well (a different classmate) and I had a blast! A bunch of suburban strangers chillin' out, maxin', relaxin' all cool, and eating some hot dogs outside of the pool.
I think the noggin-nugget between these stories is something deeper, about my awkward, perceived [perhaps only perceived on my end?] baggage regarding reunion with people I've been on good terms with but just haven't seen or spoken to in a long time. Apparently I'm not alone, so it's fucking strange that we get weird about those kinds of situations. And yet it's...still a huge nebulous anxiety for me.
I'll embed my video when I'm done making it, like I said earlier. It kind of addresses that a little bit. But it's a hard surface to even scratch.
That's the picture those two parties kind of paint, isn't it? One party I was with a recent acquaintance, a current friend, and a bunch of strangers. The other, I was with a dozen classmates I hadn't spoken to in six years, as well as their families and their friends from their own culture. It was like a bubble I couldn't penetrate, or I was a tiny bubble on the outside of a larger bubble, unable to fuse with it. The host, one of the three grads (it was a joint party) who invited me, was someone I didn't even really talk to back when we were in the same class. By going to a different school, I had moved on from forming a connection, so there wasn't one. I was too scared to break any ice, and a lot had built up.
But with the pool party, I had an in. I had two ins: a considerate host who made me feel welcomed, who was not oblivious to the fact that I didn't know most of the people there... and my buddy from school who could be a supportive buoy in case I didn't click with anyone else. I was the same person at both of these events, but I was supported to different degrees, and I presented (or withheld) different sides of myself. It really is about who you know.
But what if...what if I could be as comfortable around those graduating classmates as I am in my room these quarantine days? Obviously being alone and being around any people, regardless of context, is a black and white difference. But surely, there's something I can take from this context to the others?
This might still sound nebulous to you. It's kinda nebulous to me. But I am hopeful -- should I be attentive to it -- I can hone my Being Myself-ness in quarantine, so that whenever I'm at any function, hot or not, the coat I can always leave at the door is self-consciousness. The parka of "performative." That presentation of identity, to 'look' or 'seem' or 'come off' a certain way that I might not want to.
I believe it may be possible to exist as I do in my room now. Not the uglier, less-exciting features, of course, but the effortlessly-comfortable parts. Bringing "being yourself" to a whole new level. Bringing it on the road, so to speak. You know, that 'confidence' thing that some people seem to already have with little effort. Quarantine is a unique opportunity to flex that comfort because I (at least) don't have to put on a 'Going Out' face on a regular basis. I'm mostly seen in the mirror. So I can take the shape that's been grooved into that pillow and sharpen it against whetstone so it can be deployed remotely. Boy that's a jumbled sentence. But if it makes even a little bit of sense, I invite anyone reading to play along at home.
To ramble further about that performative vs. non-performative notion, here's another thought I had in December: as the recycled image above states: I'm weird. And I want to be weird, it's better than being normal.
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| thank you, doctor |
But I'm not an eccentric. (At least, not by whatever my own standards for 'an eccentric' are.) And it would be disingenuous to try to be eccentric. To be performatively quirky or kooky. I just let the kooky quirks flow out at whatever speed the faucet flows 'em, man. Eccentricity has to arise organically.
I'll say things like "dig it?" in text but not so much in speech, word? I'll say things like "I don't cotton to it" or "flipped my wig" in speech, that I picked up from other peoples' lingo. Even if I sound corny saying it, if it feels right, it goes in. If I find Justin McElroy's "One mo' 'gain" slotting naturally into my vocabulary, I'mma welcome it. I'm piloting a verbal Megazord made up of different slangs and colloquialisms that found purchase in the melting pot of my head-soil.
(Man, I've been hitting the metaphor gumbo™ real hard lately.)
Let's take my somewhat-aforementioned relationship to dancing for example. I'm not the kind to dance in public, nor use the fact that I don't have dancing...ability? ("confidence?") to lean into being purposefully awkward and thus showy about how not-dancy I am. I just won't dance. I don't dance.
I'm very self-conscious about it. (Unless it's like the above video, where I'm deliberately performing with the intent of presenting it to a viewer. For whatever reason that 'layer' of...artifice? makes it okay.)
But if I'm jamming to music in headphones on my way downstairs to get breakfast, or in the kitchen making breakfast, or in front of my mirror in my room...then I'll groove to the beat. Let it inspire my joints to bend and see what rhythm feels right. What moves make me laugh in a good way, or a "don't ever do this in public" way. I do dance.
In the mirror, it's not 'performative': it's a physical exploration of the body. (Now that sounds eccentric.) It's a weird, probably fuzzy line. I don't really know what I'm talking about. But I'll know more about it having written this out, I reckon.
Basically an inciting thought crossed my mind like this: "What if I tried to explain these thoughts via video?" Well, I'd have to record myself dancing at different conceptual levels of 'dancing in front of a camera.' However, if I am being observed doing it, it would all be performative. Heisenberg principle. In the attempt to capture non-performative, free-wheeling all-natural patent-pending David's Alone Dancing: I would either be self-conscious about it and not do it as much, or I might develop a routine through take after take. I might be able to shed the idea that I'm recording myself, and approach something resembling the 'truth' of my solo dancing. But that would still be fundamentally different, constructed through consciously trying to avoid construction.
TL;DR, I couldn't properly convey the different kinds of dancing I do in a video I make myself.
Now, I also thought: what I likely wouldn't be in front of that camera is overly quirky for the sake of expressing the base awkwardness I have naturally by playing it up. In front of the mirror I try to allow myself the freedom to 'look more embarrassing' if that's where my head is at. "As if nobody's watching." But, I probably wouldn't be comfortable pumping that gas pedal in front of the camera. (At least, when I'm not playing a character where that kind of exaggerated physicality would help the performance.)
Though, partly, because purposefully upping it for the sake of demonstration isn't "true" either. The "true" solo-dancing only exists when only I am watching. (Though if I look good doing it, I might bring it out of my shell sometime.) Walk into the room and I'll immediately stop, same goes for singing: if I realize someone is now [or has been] in the room, I course-correct my behavior immediately. Though, I wonder, would I be able to develop the comfort to continue grooving or crooning even though someone else is in the space?
A good concrete example of this "candid vs. curated" rumination is actually the photo upthread where I indicate that it was a photo I didn't intend to share. When I had the idea to post that type of photo, I knew I had to pick one I actually did not take to show others. And I then could not take a new one, even if I were sincerely thinking "this wouldn't be to share," because the thought of using it in that blog spot had now entered my head. Until I found one I'd already taken, that thought subconsciously piggybacked any new selfie.
I know it really doesn't make a difference to the reader, who is basically supposed to take the [un]intent of that photo at face value. You ultimately can choose to believe or not-believe my caption under it. But...that does matter to me, because I want you to trust me enough to believe that caption, so that you don't question making a choice. It should be true, because that is my aim here.
"The most beautiful quality of a true friendship is to understand, and, be understood with absolute clarity." - Hannibal Lecter, with a sentiment that's generally healthier when removed from the context of its scene
Crystal clarity is the path to being understood. As much as we all have many sides, and present different versions of our identity to different people, or in different contexts...there's an authenticity and honesty I try to live by. To "be real" as they say. Yes, I contain multitudes, so I contain many truths, and plenty of contradictions. So I can't be "100% real" all of the time. But nobody can; every non-reflexive expression is a chosen presentation, in a way. I typed each word in this post, for example.
This is kinda going off the rails into the nature of 'pure truth' like I'm picking apart the semantics of documentary filmmaking. But let's lean into it, and round out the thought.
Accept that there is no "absolute truth" because you are many truths. The secret, to "being real," is to live in a way that suits you comfortably, I think. I am comfortable with comprehensively over-explaining myself to feel secure that the nuances of my thoughts are thoroughly cataloged. Especially, I think, since I am autistic, so I am always aware that my brain is wired differently than most.
But I'm also conscientious of that excessive tendency, so I measure that against who I might be talking to. My friends that love me make room for that, and appreciate it about me. Sometimes -- especially in ordinary (or non-deep) conversations -- I know it's better to be concise or keep things simplified, even if it leaves people with [unspoken] questions [that I may or may not assume they might have. Remember, assuming is kinda bad.] Hence why these blogs are very, very long. I give myself the room to indulge in this space. You must only choose to read it. Which, thanks, by the way! Love you!
There may be extremes of, say, 'being completely crafted in presentation' (like Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson) and 'being as raw/real/unfiltered as possible' (like...I dunno, some famous person who probably seems super annoying or crazy.) But there's a wide, gradient line betwixt those paths, and maybe it's easier to ride that line when you accept certain complexities, like that 'chaos' are 'order' are not opposites.
(Example: I like to use 'betwixt' in place of 'between' when I feel like being more eccentric. Though, in this case, I substituted it on a pure [eccentric, I guess] whim.)
I barely danced at the two weddings I attended in the span of about a year; one of which being my sister's, the other being friends'. Oh! But! Believe me, I sat there just thinking about why I wasn't, didn't, couldn't. Really mulling it over! The second one especially, since I'd already been thinking about it after the first, was a good opportunity to examine the problem. Introspection detection. The self-consciousness begat self-awareness...but left the rugs uncut.
Maybe someday. I overcame a similar fear with stage fright while joining theater in junior year. (Although there you kinda have to do the thing if you're afraid to.) I have another similar anxiety about singing publicly, though I've been able to psych myself up for at least one karaoke song per karaoke occasion. Fully sober to boot, which makes me acutely empathize with and understand why they're often drinking events.
Singing in video form is a different thing, too. It's still embarrassing a little, but that didn't stop me from making two different music videos last year, to varying degrees of "in my register." And then there's rapping, which is another different thing: I don't have a great singing voice but I can rap with a decent technical efficiency, and I lean comfortably on the confidence in my lyricism. Enough to even do a live recording of a song I'd already made, in part because I wanted to prove to myself (and everyone) that I could do it all in one take. Anyway, let's jump out of this tangent.
Ultimately, "being yourself" is a combination of construction and self-discovery. External decision-making and internal revelation. Calibrating your nurture and your nature. Asking/finding who you are, and responding to what, when, where, and how you are. It's a journey with an unshaped path. We only find our way as best as we can.
Dancing remains an art skill unfamiliar to me. I just don't get it, but I know when I'm seeing a good version of it. Can I translate what I'm comfortable with in my room, to a dance floor in some utopian future where we can be within 6 feet of each other? I know I'd like to. I know I can. For now though, who knows. Now is the only thing real, so we'll waltz across that bridge when we get to it.
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Another bridge that's impassable right now is that whole "asking people out" thing. In an issue about love, I figure I should talk about romance, somewhat directly, a little bit.
Yes, I know, it's totally possible to connect with someone in that way, under these circumstances. It's happened, I've seen it. And online dating is a platform primed for that assist. But as I've already pointed out before, much like going to clubs and bars, dating apps are 'not my scene.' I see them as a subculture with qualities that I do not possess the desire to exhibit [or develop, pick up, wield, or whatever goes best here...]
And to stack a callback on this callback, being 'in a club/bar/gym/bike lane' is a thing I get hung up on for performative reasons. I'm not "A Cyclist." I don't wear the unitard or mingle with the big heavy cars at intersections. I just "am riding a bike." I'll do exercise, but I'm not "A Gym Boy." Don't look at me. I own a few athletic clothes, and my ideal fitness center is a personal treadmill in a windowless room.
So it goes with dating apps: you'd think they're a solution handed down from heaven to the particularities of my awkward teen self, what with his "I'm waiting for the girl to ask me out" and other dumb behaviors rooted in anxiety and/or self-esteem issues. Now that he's me, he has a playing field somewhat leveled to these quirks...
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| this whooooole section could be summed up by saying "I dunno" and not investigating further. But that's not what we do around here. |
Basically, it's a tectonic fault within my own identity. There's a performative aspect to 'making a dating profile' that I just can't/won't involve myself in. I could try the "be real" approach and create something earnest, but that feels like exposing a vulnerable part of myself that I usually don't let people see. I'm not even fully comfortable talking about serious 'wanting relationship' feelings with most of my friends, or any of my family. And it's simply a matter of not being comfortable talking about that stuff. Even this seems like TMI. It probably ties back to that childhood shit, the idea that if someone knows I have a crush on someone, it's only going to be teasing fodder. A giant neon sign that compels people to comment in the harshest ways. I don't believe that anymore, but that impression still shaped who I am today. Like a fossilized footprint.
I also used to show affection externally quite often as a wee lil kid, and that was at times discouraged. Though while that shaped me into an internalizing, "hide attraction to other people" kinda person, I do think it's ultimately for the better. But hey, now I'm out here tryna normalize platonic Valentines for friends and telling them "I love you." So I can re-adapt to the good qualities of that kinda thing. Being yourself is about construction and reflection!
Point is, I'm just uncomfortable making a 'genuine' dating app profile, which extends to getting one in the first place. The only reason I feel comfortable admitting I've even thought about it, is because I was literally starting to think about it in earnest in February 2020. The pandemic happened because I began to entertain serious thoughts about it. I'm sorry, please respect my privacy at this time, thoughts and prayers.
But, hey, what's the Millennial approach? Isn't it 'ironic?' I could 'make a funny profile,' just filled with cracks and zingers. The clash there, though, is that even if a 'funny' bio is funny, it's still kinda...stupid. What am I trying to prove? I'm accomplishing nothing, in my eyes. Okay sure you get that I have some sense of humor, but if I'm only making jokes it's not saying anything else informative. ('What are the jokes hiding?') So that's too far to the opposite extreme for my tastes. Good-funny or not-funny, the 'funny bio' is no laughing matter.
This is, I'll admit, a gross generalization and bias from a casual outsider perspective. I recognize it's all unchecked against the nuances of the reality. I can't tell the temperature of the lake without dipping my toe in, I know. But as a man, I feel it's fair to say I am not to be trusted, so I can't get by on just photos: the bio is an integral part of the "swipe right/swipe left" process, right? And jokes don't tell you anything about me other than how funny I am. (Which should be able to get through regardless, because it me.)
Yes, even in the obscuring of sincere information -- in the construction of artifice -- there is a way of discerning some truth about "the artist." But the closer you can get to an honest approximation of your qualities, or your 'vibe', the better the bio is, I think. First impressions count and I'd like mine to be as honest as possible, which again, performativism, how is that possible, should I stop typing now...
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| don't worry, this is not indicative of my actual beliefs about myself, it's just a funny quote I think about a lot. |
And yes, I could approximate this with a bio that is both sincere and ironic. I've thought of taking the tonal approach of 'aggressive dislike of participation.' Something like "I fucking hate that I'm here." or "I'm so uncomfortable with the fact that I'm doing this." or "Sure sex is good but have you ever not made a tinder bio?" But while that is a version of '100% earnest,' it's to a different, third extreme; likely painting me as a Negative Nancy when I'm more of an Optimistic Opie trapped in the position of an Uncomfortable Upton. So that's out. As would be "Who wants to bone down?" which is too earnest in another completely different direction.
I'm a Dateless Wonder. And what that means has changed over the years. That title originated as a way to own the incidental identity. Then the identity kind of owned me for a little while, or at least I began to question if it did. Then, down the road some more, I regained control and acceptance and yadda yadda yadda. Essentially, I don't not-date because "it's my brand." But this 'brand' was created out of something that was once true, and served as a brace to support this side of myself. But I think the nature of that truth has changed its flavor as time went on.
These days, (well, pre-pandemic...so not 'these' days) my "move" is to have no move at all. I adopted this subconsciously as I entered college, while adhering to my plan to not pursue anyone. Practicing that exercise made me do this radical thing called 'treating everyone the same.'
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| [credit to taylorhicksart] |
By simply respecting whoever I find attractive as if there is no attraction, (i.e. as I would anyone else,) it presents a 'platonic ideal' side of myself. (That is a pun using both definitions of platonic.) This practice was a good way to say "Hey, this is me, this is me as neutral; this is me as a friend." By treating people I'm attracted to this way, my behavior is indistinguishable from how I would treat them if I wasn't. So any attractions or intentions are effectively quashed. Not exactly hidden, as they still certainly inform my actions and attentions, but they're curtailed behind this ideal: the projection of the Platonic David.
I know this may sound like ham-handedly obvious shit, but to a younger me this is like discovering a constellation. Cosmic wisdom. Star duh-st.
I didn't even decide to veer this social strategy into being "my move," per se. I didn't develop it to be 'a move.' It's more like the move made me it's. If that makes sense. Not making a choice is still a choice, as they say. Like the invention of Post-It notes, I realized "oh, hey this could be a move." So like a stray cat coming by to look for food in my garbage, I decided to just adopt it.
In a way, it fulfills my teenaged scaredy-cat deflection sentiment, "I'm just waiting for the girl to ask me out." But it isn't mopey or wishful or yearny. If someone does happen to feel attraction to me, and they behave brave in a way I've never been able to, then that's great. The chips fall where they may: my anxious self-preservation to not 'do the pursue' is supported by a platonic philosophy (and feminist notion of equal treatment of those I'm attracted to) and overall creates a comfort within me that my teenaged self struggled to attain.
I use metaphors a lot, because it's really easy to convey ideas precisely when you got a good one. However, I don't like to use fishing and hunting metaphors for, like, dating or relationship stuff, as they kinda intrinsically concoct a vile connotation, as though relationships are a 'hunter/hunted' dynamic, and/or they objectify the "prize catch." And that's just unpleasant. So with that in mind, rather than one of those metaphors, I'll jump off of the old adage "You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar." Because the subject in that idiom is presumably not victimizing or eating those flies.
My problem as a teen was, by "waiting for [a nebulous 'them'] to ask me out," I was seemingly trying to 'catch flies with honey,' but I was being a real sourpuss about it; I was very much expecting lots of flies to come visit the windowsill where I put the honey. (This didn't transform the honey into vinegar, that wouldn't track metaphorically. The vinegar isn't a player in this metaphor.) This made me upset because I put the honey there with misplaced hope and high expectations that flies would know where honey was and would stop at nothing to get it. (i.e. I was an idiot kid.)
With "my move is to have no move" mid-to-post-college, I put the honey on the sill, but I'd learned to temper my expectations. To not try to catch flies. If a fly flew over to that honey, that would be an ideal outcome, but I didn't frame it as 'the goal.' It's the intention, sure, but it's not being actively sought.
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| I think that's just called 'confidence' |
To tenderly bring in hunting parlance to elaborate: you can't go out and hunt flies with honey. You'd use a net for that. Again, metaphorically this gets into problematic territory, but there are essentially two kinds of people who 'capture' animals. Hunters and trappers. (Thanks for the assist again, Hannibal, I believe Will Graham's rumination on fishing helped inform this thought.) You either go out and find the animal and nab it, or you use bait to lure it. I feel super gross imagining this applying to dating dynamics so let's jump back into the fly thing:
To catch flies, you can go out with a net, or you can use bait like the idiomatic honey. Since I am afraid of going out with a net, or sometimes even looking like I'm even carrying a net (okay, only a little uncomfortable writing that, but you know how I mean it) I put honey on the sill.
To put it plainly, the big massive heartbreak that kicked off my young adulthood was a case where I was so darn sure I'd caught a fly... and it turned out that wasn't the case. To avoid feeling like that ever again, (self-preservation tactic built off of reaction to traumatic event; I see you, therapists) I stumbled into deciding to never try to catch any particular fly. To not even check on the honey until an interested fly made a buzz. To treat all flies as people (we're shedding the metaphor now:) and treat everyone the same. Allowing myself to be more myself in the company of those who hopefully want to be around myself, attracted or not.
And yes, in college and beyond, there weren't a lot of opportunities to try that "ask someone out consequence-free" idea. But I was okay with that, more than I would have been as a teen. It didn't bother me. Yes, I want. Sure, I yearn. But I'm less sad about it. Self-acceptance was the bigger boon. (And it doesn't need to be said that self-confidence is a key ingredient in making the proverbial honey more sweet. ...While I may have understood that as a teen, I didn't have it.)
I know there's a string of words that is the right dating app bio for me. I still have many doubts to yet work through in order to find out what that might be. That's fine. As I said before, [and as I've patiently demonstrated for 374 God Blessed Days of my Quarantine,] I'm content with being comfortable, rather than uncomfortable.
I've been having insights and breakthroughs lately, but I'm not going to have all of the breakthroughs. This magazine is partially a chronicling of a personal journey of self-understanding and progress. A dummy-thicc slice of who/what/where I am right now. It's important, then, to also point out where I'm not going to improve just yet. Because even as I aspire to be a better version of myself, that's not going to magically flip every light switch.
It's okay for you to not be where you want to be, right now. Every potential you is possible; and in a way, already inside you now. But becoming those you's is not going to be instantaneous or easy. I feel like we're pressured to Be The Best Version Of Ourselves the second we realize we could be. That if you become woke, you should start acting like the Most Woke A Person Can Be, or else you're trash.
But there's levels to personal growth. It's a marathon, not a dash. It's okay to admit that you're "working at it." Acknowledging is always the first step, anyway. You can put stuff on the back-burner of your mind, and it will eventually simmer and come to the foreground. Just let yourself be open to it, and the right inspirations will come.
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| here's some baseline advice to set your watch by |
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Waiting is easier when I keep track of what I am owed, for the waiting.
($14,111.29, the calculated cost of what was spent on my life in the last year. But no rush to) cut me the check. Patience is my full-time job.
It is a privilege that patience is my method of survival.
But is it patience, or delayed gratification?
Wait, what gratification? From what. For what. You never specified.
Quarantine has sculpted me: patient! as! fuck! for mail and snacks I just bought.
Wait three days before opening a book. (Won't wipe alcohol across paper. I'm scared, not stupid.)
Don't fuck with me.
I got all the time on my hands; it's your fault it's slipping through my fingers.
What's important to me is the deaths I don't have on 'em.
And you could keep giving us money,
but you seem to like deaths on your's.
— David "The Pants" Hoh
*Ironic, presumably, as I would bet the Venn diagram of 'people who cancelled Christmas in 2020' and 'people who believe there's a war on Christmas in fucking 2020' looks like the anaphase of mitosis.
**Once I learn to make my own beats and score my own movies it's over for you hoes.
***Watching Star Trek is similar to going vegetarian: I'm like this close. I'll keep apologizing about not doing it in the meantime.
†And this ain't to knock Grimm; I quite enjoyed Grimm. Silly, sure, but consistently fun pulp. Just, you know, different tier of TV.
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