Deranged Ramblings

It's been a rough week, with our headlines flooded with tragedies and heartbreak, tales of death and disease. I'm already dealing with all the depression that comes with winter, and so all this was just about to make me fall apart. So in the interest of clinging to positivity, I wanted to share the most inspiring and heart-warming thing I heard this week. I work with teens now, many of who are already remarkable people with big personalities. One of our high school seniors is a really tall, big guy with a great sense of humor and a easy way with people. He lives and goes to school in one of the rougher areas of the city and is brave enough to both perform on the stage in musicals and attempt to date girls at his school - not always an easy combination, depending on where you live. A few weeks ago this young man's facebook account was hacked. The prankster posted a fake status in which he announced to everyone he knew that he was gay. This was a complete lie, but the pra...

In the tradition of embarrassing stories I once published regularly on this blog, I submit a recent experience which ultimately proved that I am no less awkward and bumbling now that I have left my 20s. I suppose that I expected 30 would bring with it some greater feeling of adequacy or self-respect, a feeling of being a capable adult. I am happy to report that no such alterations to my personality have materialized as I enter my fourth decade. Case in point: the other day at work I took my lunch break a local pizza establishment near my office, because New York pizza is one of the best things created by man in his thousands of years of making stuff. I was listening to a comedy podcast on my new iPhone (yes, I know... I KNOW) and thus slightly tuned out to my surroundings, as is often the case, podcast or not. I ordered two slices which, at this particular pizza joint, meant I got a free soda. However, I was so hungry and wrapped up in what I was listening to that I grabbed my pizza ...

Let me get one thing clear first off: yes, I have read the Hunger Games. And yes, I got some enjoyment out of reading them too. I would never try to deny that. But with the imminent release of the movies, a lot of people are talking about them and there's a lot of crazy superlative going around. The word “amazing” gets thrown around a lot. Amazing, really? You are AMAZED at the Hunger Games? I struggle not to get upset when I hear things like that. Fun, yes. Engaging, sure. Amazing? Best books ever? People will look back in a hundred years and regard them as a highlight in literary accomplishment? Let’s get some perspective here, people. My initial reaction to these pronouncements is an outpouring of very nerdy and frankly quite hipster-ish indignation. So obviously I had to take a deep breath, stand back, and examine just why it upset me so much. I started to wonder what exactly these people were seeing in the books that I didn’t, or vice versa, and how each of us defines what exa...

Every now and then I get e-mailed a random survey to fill out, which usually takes only a few minutes. The one I got today wanted me to actually write something down in answer to almost every question, which I thought was annoying. I was having a bad day at work too. So here's what they got: We are interested in your feedback on an innovative new product. Introducing PERFECT MEATLOAF - Tender, Juicy, Pefect Meatloaf! Just BAKE, LIFT, & SERVE! Stop letting your meatloaf soaking in fat and getting mushy! Introducing PERFECT MEATLOAF, the specially designed pan includes an air bake lifting tray that allows for fat to drain to the bottom of the pan. Not just for meatloaf, the pan is great for roasted pork, stuffed peppers, and so much more! Take The Below Survey: * 1. Would you personally BUY the PERFECT MEATLOAF PAN? MY RESPONSE: NO Please explain why below: I don't often prepare meatloaf, though in general I do enjoy a good meatloaf despite the fa...

So I'm nearing the end of this little experiment and I have learned a few things! First, quitting video games was surprisingly easy. I always used to say "I can quit any time I want!" which sounded hauntingly like an addict's cliche. But it turned out to be true. Perhaps my addiction was not as bad as I feared - and learning that, if nothing else, was a great result from this experiment! Second, video games are not the problem in and of themselves - I mean, I never thought they were, I just have more proof now that they are not. I quickly found that, without games, I was no more motivated or productive than before. I just found other ways to burn through my free time instead. If my next goal becomes "to get more stuff done" then giving up video games alone will not be enough - I need to set up a schedule and routine that encourages productivity. So I get distracted easily and have a hard time being productive - this is the problem so many of us are facing no...

It's been a week fraught with emotions. I've felt like an unhinged person, all over the place. One minute I'm happier than I've ever been before, and the next I'm full of angst and crying over nothing. It took a while before I connected this behavior to my lack of video games this month. It's almost like playing games was the thing that allowed me to hide from stuff, to self-medicate into a state of equilibrium where I was distracted enough for all unpleasantness to be pushed aside. Without that crutch, I'm finding I don't have other strong coping mechanisms for things I've been holding back all this time. This is a problem, but an exciting one. I get a chance to really face anything that's been bothering me and develop new, healthier habits for coping with stress and anxiety. It's been eye opening to see how I've used games a cork in my emotional bottle, so to speak. Again, this doesn't make games intrinsically bad. What was bad was ...

I had my first dream about video games last night. Quite revealingly, in the dream I had a vague sense of uneasiness and guilt about playing and kept saying "Just a few more minutes!" to some companion whose face I do not now remember. I woke up and laughed, but felt a little uneasy. My resolve has still been strong, but there has been some temptation, usually in a quiet moment when I'm not sure what else to do. It's been an amazing experience having to choose how to spend my free time, rather than defaulting to habitual behavior. Even if I just end up watching some dumb TV show (Babylon 5 is surprisingly fun!) it's out of a choice and for just a small increment of time. By and large, though, I've been more productive in one weekend without video games then I was in the previous month! I've written a bunch and, most impressively, suddenly found myself with a stronger urge to be social. I actually went dancing all night with a group of friends and not ONCE...

My name is Matt. I am thirty years old, and I am a video game addict. To be fair, I doubt I currently play games more often than the average American watches TV and movies, and certainly there have been many times in my life when I was playing even more than I am now. But that doesn't change the fact that what I always thought of as an entertaining pastime and a fun hobby has actually been dominating my life for the better part of twenty years now. Playing video games is my default behavior - that is, it is what I will almost certainly be doing with every moment of my time in which I don't have to do something else. On my days off, during my free time, if I'm not at home playing games I start to get a slight itch that slowly grows into a low-level panic, feelings that invariable distract or ruin whatever else I happen to be doing. During intense gaming weeks I can clock up to 20 hours playing games, and the only reason it's not more is because of a full-time job and a ...

Upper West Side Mom : I would like to schedule a make-up class for my son. Me : Ok, great! Is there any particular day or time that would work best for you? UWS Mom : Oh, anytime really. Me : Ok, let me look at our schedule. How about tomorrow afternoon at 4:00pm? UWS Mom : No, Wednesday's don't work. Me : Huh. Okay.... It looks like there's a Friday at 12:45pm. UWS Mom : Actually it really needs to be in the morning, like before 11:00. Me : Right. Well... many of our morning classes are full. However, I think we could make space in a class Monday morning at 9:00am. UWS Mom : WHAT!? Me : What? UWS Mom : That's so EARLY! Me : *long pause* So... not an option? UWS Mom : Is there anything else? Me : Hmm.... Maybe Saturday or Sunday? UWS Mom : *horrified look* Me : Right, well then I think Monday 9:00 is really our only option. UWS Mom : *disgusted sigh* You don't have anything later? But still before 11:00? Me : No, I'm sorry. UWS Mom : *disgusted sigh* Are you sur...

I have the unique opportunity to observe innocence every day. It appears to me in the form of wide-eyed and playful three and four year olds prancing around my office having fun. Sometimes they just sing softly to themselves, lost in their own fantasy world. Sometimes they explode into what, if replicated by an adult, would appear to be a psychotic breakdown. All of this is for the most part pleasant and often charming, or at least amusing -- but it can also be extremely uncomfortable. Innocence sometimes upsets me, because I know that it is fragile. It is a state of being that cannot last, but leads inevitably towards disappointment and despair. All is not lost, however, for even these dark places are not the end but themselves lead to another, more hopeful and wiser level of consciousness. But even though I know that, it doesn't keep me from looking at these innocent children and shuddering at the pain that lies ahead of them. At various moments, bits of their care-free world ar...

Given that my very first blog post ever (recently discovered by archeologists and dated circa 2005) was a reflection on my 24th birthday, it seems somehow appropriate that I return to the blog briefly to record my thoughts about having survived yet another year. Today I am 29, which sounds like a respectable, mature age in which one can really be taken seriously as a proper adult who has his act together. Alternatively, 29 could be considered as the age in which one truly feels that their youth is dying, and that they only have one final year of fun and excitement before the big “three-oh” arrives with its attendant expectation of maturity. I don’t really feel either way. In fact somehow I don’t feel any different than I did when I wrote that ancient blog post about turning 24. I’m perhaps a little less confident and little more tired than back then, but I have the same idealism, the same neuroses, the same wry smile, and, with little variation, the same fundamental strengths and fla...

I’m no child psychologist, but I do work in an office where an endless string of kids parade in and out, allowing me ample opportunity to observe behavior. We also have a big TV here playing cartoons half the day, which gives me a chance to glimpse commercials for children’s toys. I’m noticing a particular trend, which may be obvious but I’m only now really beginning to appreciate. There is a difference between little boys and little girls. I have no idea how much this difference is actually biological or how much it is merely cultural. Like many “nature or nuture” issues, I suspect the answer is a complex combination of both. But look at the toys marketed to boys versus the toys marketed to girls. Yes, the boy-toys are in general related to conflict, war, and competition. And yes, the girl-toys are in general related to domestic, nurturing tasks. This says a lot about our perception of gender, of course, but I’m making a slightly different point today. While both kinds of toys embrace...

Once upon a time there lived a little princess who was very beautiful. She was so gentle and kind and gracious that she almost glowed. Everyone who saw her smiled and felt happier, and almost everybody loved her. The people of the kingdom loved her. The men and women who worked in the castle loved her. The knights and the soldiers and even the visitors from far away lands loved her. The king, her father, loved her most of all. Every day she was told how beautiful she was. “You are the prettiest little girl in the world,” the people of the kingdom said. “The sweetest angel, and so very kind,” said the men and women who worked in the castle. “A treasure above all others,” remarked the visitors from far away lands. “My pride and joy, the most beautiful creature in the world,” said the king, her father, who loved her most of all, and the little girl would hug him and kiss him. But the queen, her mother, said nothing. Nobody told the queen that she was pretty. Nobody called her an angel, or...

Once upon a time there was a little boy who loved to wander. He would wander over the hills beyond the edge of the town, past the fields where the farmers were sweating under the sun, right to the edge of the mysterious forest. The little boy loved the sight of the forest, so green and dark. There were many adventures in there, the boy thought. There was magic and love and glory. He would walk along its edges, enjoying the forest smells, but he never would enter. That was forbidden. Oh, once or twice he took a few steps beyond the line of trees, into the outer edges of the dark wood, before running breathlessly back into the open air, giddy with excitement. But he could never go in properly and explore. “That is not where you belong,” his mother said one day. “The wood is dangerous. No more wandering. One day soon you’ll be a man, and then you will work in the fields where you will sweat under the sun, like your father and his father before him. And then you will marry, and have a litt...

The other day somebody suggested that the role of art during difficult times such as these is simply to be entertaining. During a recession, people don't want to consider weighty or grave matters, or to be confronted with intellectually or ethically challenging questions. They just want see a happy story with singing and dancing and forget about their troubles for a while. I understand where this line of thinking comes from. But I don't see any reason why artistic work can't provide both entertaining escapism and still stimulate critical and analytical thought and energize deep human emotion. To prove this, I am going to give my best sales pitch for a TV show which I have, on occasion, found myself reluctant to talk about with my friends for fear of inviting their scorn. Listen up, people. Battlestar Galactica might just be one of the best shows on TV right now. Yes, its on the Sci-Fi Channel. Yes, that means that is technically considered a science fiction program. And ye...

"An aesthetic education, which humanizes people, is far more important even for politicians than an economic education, which does the opposite." --From "The English Renaissance of Art"

I always knew I'd be back one day, blog. I know I've been unfaithful to you, spending my time and energy on whatever mindless pursuits came my way, but deep down I knew that you were the only love for me. And so here I am. Begging you to take me back. I promise to post on you more often. I promise to make those posts interesting, passionate, relevant. I promise to make you readable again. Can you forgive me? I can't live without you, blog. Take me back, baby. Please?

A short but violent storm hit here yesterday, and while I was largely unaware of it in my dark little cubicle, it wreaked a bit of carnage outside. On the way home from work, I came to a very busy intersection of two major roads where the traffic lights had very recently gone out and there was not yet an officer on the scene to impose order. Behind my anxiety and eager desire to get home, I found the situation interesting on a conceptual level. What would happen, I was curious to know, in the absence of some kind of arbitration of order, without the presence of law? Last year an acquaintance of mine tried at great lengths to convince me that any kind of prescriptive law or governing body was by its very nature repressive and restrictive and that the only truly free and happy society would be found through anarchy. In the absence of these repressive orders, he argued, there would not be violent chaos but some kind of spontaneous and natural order that needed no enforcement by some kind ...

One grows accustomed to all surroundings, of course, but on the first day my fresh eye was drawn to the foreign, the strange, the slightly off – so that by lunchtime on Monday I felt unsettled by the nagging feeling that something was decidedly odd about my new place of temporary employment. It looked nice at first - high ceilings, marble floor in the lobby, ultramodern flourescent lighting, but upon closer inspection there were cracks in the façade. Many of the lights were broken or barely working, and a crack in one wall let in a stream of curious local bugs. Immediately on entry I noticed a sign: “No Smoking – No Weapons.” I was delighted by the implicit assumption behind the sign that these two rules were of equal importance and severity, and then immediately horrified by mental images of a cigarette-smoking gunman running rampant through the building. Then there were the doors, which are somewhat narrower than average yet very tall, reaching right up to the ceiling. Each one is id...

When I lived in Utah, I thought that I couldn’t wait to leave. I wanted to quit the state like a bad job, and leave the entire place behind me. Sure, I had many friends and loved ones who I would leave behind, but I was unsatisfied and restless and found myself growing more irritated with the land where I finally discovered what it was like to call one place home. I think, in retrospect, that it was merely the desire to move on to the next phase of life, the next step in my progression through life, that drove me away, and Utah itself was actually rather blameless. In fact, since my self-imposed exile began, I’ve only grown more fiercely attached to the state I still think of as home. After all, nothing increases your fondness for home like living someplace much, much worse. Now, don’t get me wrong. I’ve been quite happy here in South Carolina, and have surrounded myself with good and inspiring people (many of whom actually were born and raised here). But it doesn’t compare. Seriously...