I was running a D&D session for some friends the other night in which they had to enter a market run by and for the undead. The party's rogue decided to go dress the part, so that she could blend in more easily. In real life this was accomplished by her player searching pinterest for an outfit she wanted.
When she came back I said “okay, so, you're dressed like that, and somehow Sarah McLachlan is playing in the background, even though she's never done a tour in Faerûn.”
Alarm: Get up. Hey. It's morning.
Me: Ugh. No. I haven't even been asleep yet.
Alarm: And that's my fault? Look, you told me to wake you up, so that's what I'm doing.
Me: But I'm going to be all groggy and uninspriational to all the people I'm supposed to inspire today. Five more minutes.
Alarm: And those five minutes are going to help?
Me: ...No. They might just make things worse.
Alarm: Why didn't ya go to sleep last night, buddy?
Me: Psh. Like I know. I tried. I tried to sleep in bed, in my favorite recliner, on a sofa, but it just wasn't happening. Ugh. [gets up]
...a mode of aesthetic idealization that either emulates or aspires to recreate “primitive” experience.
Many years ago, near the beginning of the web, I was working at a bookstore. A customer came in and said “I'm going to make a website that looks fine on any browser, and I mean, someone using a Hercules monitor on a 286. None of these VGA colors or web things.” Bear in mind this was in the late 90's, the state of graphics technology at this point was the 1024x768, 256-color, VGA monitor.“XGA” was in the works, but not widely adopted yet. But this man wanted to make a website that looked good in black and white on a 300x600 screen. More power to him.
Last night I stayed up late reading. As in 2AM late. Am I paying for it today? Yes. But I loved it.
I've always been a reader. I've always loved it, always enjoyed the feeling of immersion. And I love my e-reader.
Don't get me wrong, I have hundreds of books. I would never get rid of them, and I love them.
But reading is so much better on an e-ink screen that weighs almost nothing, so I can hold it up over my head, read in any lighting conditions because the screen adjusts to the light without me finding a lamp to position over my shoulder... not the point.
The point is that it was nice to fall back into text, to get wrapped up and immersed in a story, to forget all my responsibilities and cares for a few hours in the dark and just read.
I’m publishing this as part of 100 Days To Offload. You can join in yourself by visiting 100 Days To Offload.
I've been deeply busy with my day job lately, which is a good thing! I've been promoted!
But it means that I have almost no time to write creatively or freely. I'm spending all my time writing procedures and policies and helping others work more effectively. Again, it's a good thing, but a new thing.
So I'm going to content myself with writing smaller creative things, like, well, this.
The second thing you notice, when you walk out of the Manila airport into the rain-slick night, is that you apparently don't need to breathe any more.
You grew up in the high mountain deserts of Idaho, and now that you're here, a full mile closer to the ocean, the air is thick and so oxygenated that you seem to be absorbing oxygen through your skin. One breath every five minutes seems to fit the bill. In three years you will return to the high mountain deserts where you were born and wonder how anyone can breathe when there is clearly no air up there.
My main computer decided that it had had enough the other day. I don't know what pushed it over the edge, but it could have been any number of things. It's been a developer machine for four years now, and I'm more exploratory than usual. I try to keep my systems lean and mean, but cruft gathers over time and systems get tired.