Thomas

First of all, a tiny preface:

Yes, I like playing video games. Despite this, I’ve tried to avoid the topic of video games in my blog here. I know they simply don’t interest everyone, and, anyway, I have plenty of other things to talk about besides nerding it up and talking about whatever cool new game I played recently.

However…

Thomas Was Alone is a masterpiece.

The narrative structure presented in the game Thomas Was Alone is truly exceptional, easily on par with some great post-modern pieces of literature.

The plot is extremely simplistic: some lines of computer code become self-aware, including the little red rectangle Thomas, who finds himself inside a set of geometric cells. There is portal which leads him out of one cell and into another, and along the way he meets several friends—other quadrilaterals of various sizes and colors—all of whom have distinct personalities.

Yes, rectangles.

The official website for the game describes it as “a minimalist game about friendship and jumping and floating and bouncing and anti-gravity.” This sums up the gameplay, sure. But the characterizations are brilliant, evoking personalities that go deeper than many popular movies and books out there.

If a game can make you care about sentient rectangles—make you anxious about if they’ll achieve their goals and learn to work together and overcome their self-esteem issues—then it must be doing something very right.

Thomas Was Alone could have easily been a children’s picture book (except, perhaps, for a single use of the word “damn,” a few minor pop-culture references, and the highly-conceptual nature of various ideas here and there). On the printed page, however, we would have lost the British narrator, Danny Wallace. A word on Danny Wallace: I’d even consider listening to Twilight if Danny Wallace narrated it; he was that good.*

Throughout the 100 levels of the game, each includes 1-4 sentences/lines of story, many of which include the thoughts of the various quadrilaterals—let’s average it to about 250 narrated lines.

All this to say:

Utilizing only about 250 lines of text (in other words, about 4-6 Microsoft Word pages) and a few variously-colored rectangles, Thomas Was Alone achieves more with its structure and its characterizations than many feature films or full-length novels out there. It is a brilliantly told story that any writer should take seriously, regardless of his/her impressions of video games.

Really, it’s nothing to me if you play it. But it might be something to you if you do.

http://www.mikebithellgames.com/thomaswasalone/

*Actually, this probably isn’t exactly true. I don’t think anything could make me want to listen to the Twilight audio book. But Danny Wallace is as good as they come.

A Thought on Romeo and Juliet

I think that one of the problems with our society is that we have this intense focus on romance. We have thousands and thousands of books and movies and songs all about romance, its ups and downs and inspirations and shortcomings. It doesn’t help that we’re barraged with the Romeo and Juliet story—or allusions to it—every which direction we turn, in our English classes and in the movies and by approximately half of all Taylor Swift’s songs and in books about vampires and their pedophilic, forbidden love with human girls.

This single-mindedness when it comes to romantic love, however, causes us to lose sight of any other sort of love that is out there. Love has many faces. There is not only one type of love, one highest type, one most fulfilling type. And the longer we continue to look at only the once face of love, the more we allow the others to slip away from us.

And so it is that the loss of a romantic love is considered and felt to be such a tragedy. If you have boiled your entire love experience down into only this one type of love, then of course it feels like a tragedy; you have not allowed yourself to become familiar with any other face of love.

The real tragedy with Romeo and Juliet is not that they couldn’t be together, or that their love was forbidden, or even that they died. No, the real tragedy is that they willingly closed their eyes to anything but each other. Romeo mistook Juliet’s face as the face of love—as if love couldn’t look like or be anything else. And Juliet did the same of Romeo—as if love could only come from him and from nowhere else.

This isn’t sweet or heart-melting, and it certainly isn’t a good example of what love can and should be.

Rather, this intense focus on romance is much more harmful than anything else. We feel unfulfilled if a romantic love is not in our life or in our present circumstances, because it is the only type of love that we fully accept, the only type that we choose to let in, to make us feel satisfied. And so we don’t allow ourselves to see or to feel all of the other loves that are out there, pressing in on us. We feel as though we are no longer loved once our boyfriend or girlfriend or spouse leaves us or dies or disappears or betrays us, even though there are a great many other faces of love ready to show us how important we are, and how much of a light we bring into the darkness of the world. Surely all love is a light, a sun. But we only allow ourselves to see the small flicker that is romantic love.

Please, forget about Romeo and Juliet. Their tragedy is their own; it does not need to be yours and mine.

Know that you are loved. Every moment of every day you are surrounded by love. Of course it might not always be romance. But it is love, of one sort or another, and it is enough. At least, it should be—we are the ones who choose to not let it be enough.

Piano Men

I’d never had the chance to play the piano in the middle of a street before. So when I was walking up 16th Street Mall this past weekend and saw an upright piano just sitting there, how could I refuse?

—just some simple blues improv, and then into a rendition of Hotel California by the Eagles. Nothing fancy, nothing groundbreaking or difficult. Mostly I chose Hotel California because I knew Randy didn’t like it; we had just been talking about it in the car the day before.

There was something very surreal in the scene. I think I’ve probably had this dream before, in fact: there I was in a foreign city, a piano with cracked ivory just sitting there silently, boasting a miniature mural of blue flowers and other non-geometric swirls, waiting to be played by any random passerby. The middle ‘E’ was broken, but all the other keys held their own surprisingly well.

Emily and Michelle and Randy sat behind me on the curb, resting their feet from all our walking, listening, watching me play, chatting idly amongst themselves. A couple of people stopped to listen for a moment, went on their way. Michelle came up to me and took a few pictures—or possibly a video of me playing; I’m not sure which—and then Randy came over for his turn at the piano.

Once upon a time, Randy used to play the guitar in a Johnny Cash tribute band; we’ve all heard him play the guitar and all knew he loves music. He had just given us a fun, interesting discourse on music the day before, in fact. But the piano?—I’ve known him for years and never knew that he played.

You think you know someone…

He sat down, played a bit of Tom Waits (or was it Tom Jones?), and then onto the main hook from some blues piece or another—maybe Swanee River(?) I’m not sure. I leaned into Michelle, whispered, “I didn’t know your husband knew anything about the piano.”

Michelle whispered back, “I didn’t either.”

Ralph Waldo Emerson once wrote, “Life is a series of surprises, and would not be worth taking or keeping, if it were not. God delights to isolate us every day, and hide from us the past and the future. We would look about us, but with grand politeness he draws down before us an impenetrable screen of purest sky, and another behind us of purest sky. ‘You will not remember,’ he seems to say, ‘and you will not expect.’” (from his essay, Experience)

Sometimes life catches us off guard—even when we think we’ve got it all figured out. Sometimes people surprise us—even the people we’re closest to.

Plans, knowledge…sure, these are helpful. But surprises?—now those are much more interesting, aren’t they? More interesting, and altogether more worthwhile.

So then, a tip, if you don’t mind:

Let yourself be surprised. 

You Too?

Before the trip was even over, Michelle asked us all our favorite moment from the trip. It was hard to answer this. Not because I didn't have one, per se, but because it was difficult to explain the why.

For a few moments here and there, I allowed myself to think that Denver isn't as impressive as I had imagined it would be. But this isn't very fair; certainly Denver left an impression on me. If nothing else, it is impressive by the sheer fact that I will think of it again.

I will think of how sad it was to say goodbye to my son, knowing that I wouldn't see him for 36 hours, and that there was simply no way to get him to understand that this was happening.

I will think of hearing Randy be completely absorbed in his element, getting the chance to talk about the history of rock and of radio and of how we define musical genres.

I will think of how tightly I had to grip the steering wheel as we passed through Pueblo, because the wind there can be insane.

I will think of how I very nearly lost my mind in Manitou—but we don't speak of that anymore.

I will think of the fact that there are times you're actually supposed to throw spoons in a movie theatre.

I will think of outdoor escalators.

I will think of how surprised I was to learn that Mt. Rushmore isn't nearly as far as I had always assumed.

I will think of eating Taco Bell three times in two days.

But mostly I will think of the stories we tell, and of how no matter how well you know someone, there's always more there to learn. It's a beautiful thing that we can never fully know someone else, that there will always be just a tiny bit of uncrossable distance between ourselves and any given human being out there.

That said, I think my answer to Michelle's question would have to be:

My favorite moment was the stretch between Manitou and Denver, when I simply sat back and listened to their stories.

There is something profound and beautiful to be said of hearing your words come out of someone else's mouth, to hear that someone else shares your same thoughts and feelings and joys and frustrations and doubts.

I once read that a friend is born in the moment when you can look at someone else and say, “Wait—you too?” and I think this is very true.

What is also true though, is that any friendship can—in fact, should—be full of these moments all throughout, not just at the very beginning.

We share words, and sometimes in doing so, we find that we've always shared thoughts and ideas and beliefs too, without even realizing it.

The Things We Deserve

On the one hand, I suppose it would be appropriate to have a blog about Thanksgiving, with it just having happened and all.

On the other hand, I feel like that could be a bit trite.

Hmm…

…oh well. Appropriate, trite, or otherwise, read if you dare.

My mom showed me a meme the other day that said “What if you woke up today with only the things you thanked God for yesterday?”

And, quite regardless of one’s thoughts on God (i.e. revolving around the possibility of His/Her/Its/Their/Whatever/??? existence), I think it’s still a very interesting point:

In short: Perhaps we only deserve the things that we are grateful for.

Hmm.

We only deserve the things that we are grateful for.

It’s a very different mindset than we’re used to here in the West. The more typical idea around here is that you either work hard for what you have, or else you just get lucky. And either way, that’s just how it is.

If you just get lucky, then the universe/fate/God/karma/coincidence/??? must have good designs for you, and that’s worth being grateful for, isn’t it?

And if you work hard for what you have, then all the more so; perhaps there is even more room to be grateful: In this case, no, there may not be a specific person or entity that you need to explicitly “thank,” per se, but…I wonder if gratitude is something more than just a simple Thank-you and a smile and a handshake.

Rather, I tend to think that thankfulness is more about acknowledging the journey. People often say things along the lines of “It’s not the destination that matters; it’s the journey.” Most people, I suppose, would say that they agree with this, at least passively. Really though, I think that this idea is all about thankfulness, just as much as it may be about embracing the moment and learning from experience and all the other ideals that people more typically draw out of it.

What I mean is, perhaps we could say: Being thankful is how you make the journey matter more than the destination.

Or else maybe: Being thankful is how you continue to make the journey matter more than the destination, even after you’ve reached the destination.

Maybe this topic is trite to discuss, but I think – at least, I very much hope – that being thankful in our lives will never become cliché.

So then, I have to ask: What if you woke up today with only the things you expressed gratitude for yesterday?

Because maybe those are the only things you deserve.

Thoughts?

Cheers,
Aaron

A Paradogs

Emily and I spent this past weekend moving. And you probably know that—as you’re packing & unpacking boxes, lifting light & heavy things, sliding furniture across the floor, driving back and forth from one house to the next—you have a lot of time to think.

At some random point during our move, Emily began to sing the Oscar Meyer song (I suspect either because it appears in an episode of the Simpsons, or else because she was hungry—I’m not sure which). I didn’t pay very close attention to her singing it in the moment, but of course the diddy got stuck in my head.

As I listened to the song playing on loop in my mind, I realized something about the lyrics:

It’s a paradox.

I wish I were an Oscar Meyer wiener

That is what I’d truly like to be

‘Cause if I were an Oscar Meyer wiener

Everyone would want to be like me

Think about it. Break it down logically:

1) Everyone wants what I want

2) I want X

3) Therefore everyone wants X

Those first three steps are fine so far as they go (aside from the fact that they hint at a rather ego-centric, imaginary-audience issue in the singer), but the song specifically mentions a fourth step that really throws a wrench in the works. The word ‘cause at the beginning of the third line is vital here, and makes the meaning:

4) I only want X because everyone wants X

The question is: If he didn’t want to be an Oscar Meyer wiener, would anyone else want to be one? And, if nobody else wanted to be one, would he want to be one?

It’s a closed loop. A paradox. A chicken-or-egg scenario.

I have to wonder: Did the writer/singer of this song intend to create a paradox, or did he accidentally trip into this cosmic, mind-blowing, paradoxical force simply by having self-esteem issues (ironically coupled with imaginary-audience issues)?

After thinking through the grand paradox that is this song—and realizing that surely I must be one step closer to unlocking the mystery of the universe, all because of a hot dog—Emily kindly informed me that I am remembering the lyrics to the song incorrectly. Rather than the last line being: “Everyone would want to be like me,” rather, I’m told, the line is actually: “Everyone would be in love with me.”

That makes much more sense.

It turns out the writer simply has self-esteem issues.

How disappointing.

Polar Bears Are People, Too

Just last week, Emily and I took our son Emerson to the zoo. He’s only ten months old, so I think most of the excitement of the animals was a bit lost on him. I think he couldn’t even see half of the animals, and he certainly didn’t understand the concept of looking around each cage until he found the animal hiding there.

But that’s okay. We’ll keep taking him there every so often until things start sticking out to him a bit more.

The animal that seemed to stand out to him the most, however, was the polar bear (which is perfect, because the polar bears are my favorite animals at the Albuquerque Bio Park). There was the one polar bear, walking back and forth along the top of the rocks in his pen just like he always seems to be doing when we go to the zoo. Of all the animals, that polar bear was the easiest to see, and Emerson seemed to love watching the big, furry white thing moving back and forth, sticking out its huge tongue, staring at the crowd.

So then.

I’ve been thinking quite a bit about this reanimating-extinct-animals thing that’s been going on in the science arena. And though I really would be quite interested in seeing a Dodo bird (besides just the cute one on Tiny Toons), I have a few concerns over this entire process…

First of all, let me say up front that I’m not exactly against the entire act in and of itself. I think it would be wonderful if we could start undoing some of the damage we’ve done environmentally. And it certainly would be a breakthrough for science, and could have many great applications for people and for the globe.

And I’m not even too worried about the entire premise of Jurassic Park (though there are certainly legitimate concerns there, and I think that the timing of the re-release of the movie in theatres is quite interesting…)

But I started thinking about something else along these lines:

As for some of these animals that are endangered—or in danger of going extinct—it would be really cool if we could help prevent that from happening. And I thought, “Even if something happens to the rest of the polar bears, we could bring them back, and that would be really cool! We’d never have to worry about them going extinct!”

This sounds great. But then I realized: it’s also exactly where the problem lies.

If we could bring polar bears back from the brink of extinction (or from extinction itself, if it comes to that), why would people bother trying to protect them anymore?

If we can veritably manufacture elephants, what would stop poachers and ivory dealers from killing all of the elephants we have? (With claims of “We’ll just make more!”)

Have we learned nothing from The Island, Never Let Me Go, The House of the Scorpion, or Final Fantasy VII?

If it’s easy to get something, you take it for granted. If you have an abundance of something, it devalues each occurrence of that thing.

Or, put more simply: If we can reverse extinction, I worry that people won’t work so hard to prevent it.

And it seems to me that the animals deserve better.