Category: culture

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Or, "What Do You Mean, It’s Not Spelled ‘Formulative’?!" (But seriously, thanks for over-the-shoulder proofreading, Nesting Partner! Maybe I should have an editor on retainer…)

Or, movies I played repeatedly to the point where the VHS tape player started making funny noises. These are movies that I still quote, reference, or just refer to/think about quite often. While some remained on their original tapes, most of the ones I saw were copies. There were also some interesting snippets like

That Scene from Robocop 2 set to a Prince song

Cain's computerized face on his new Robocop body display; he is mad. Caption reads "Prince Music Stops."
*record scratch* wait, what?

We’ll set down some foundation.

Back then, we didn’t have torrents and seeders and CD/DVD burners. We had family-owned rental stores and the setup at home: VHS machines, a stereo, two televisions, and a lot of cables. I apparently have miss-remembered how the copy protection was thwarted– I thought it was something physical that could be covered up with tape, but that’s for blocking recording— but it may have been a matter of using certain formats and cords. Or it could’ve been just that easy.

Regardless, he figured it out. Magic, I tell you!

And in addition to recording the movies and shows we really enjoyed, his hobby was creating quick-and-dirty music videos: a snippet from a cool scene (if not entire cartoon episodes) with its original audio replaced by songs. It’s why I still associate "Benny and the Jets" with Gumbi, and I didn’t know the dialogue for Cain’s warehouse raid in Robocop 2 until I was an adult. I’ll need to hum that particular song to mom so she could place it for me, but I remember this mashup most fondly, because it kinda worked.

But, onto the actual movies.

Unico and the Island of Magic (English Dub, 1983)

It hit all the spots: compelling story, engaging characters, competent animation, and cute critter having to deal with terrible, terrible people wanting to harm the little guy. I recommend the English dub (like here!) to get the Full Baby Albi Experience– not only was it excellent, but it adds a terrifying depth to Lord Kuruku. He had no business being that scary, and I may have to mute his scenes if I get around to re-watching it in English. Yes, I am a weenie.

In the first panel, Cherry is confidently standing in front of a window. Second panel has her running away from the window as lightning strikes and scares her, caption reading: "enjoying my kiddie anime for kiddies," "Rob Roy as Kuruku"
JEZUS FCKN CHISMUSS

Tiny Toon Adventures: How I Spent my Summer Vacation (1992)

This movie. Was. My shit. Every start and end of summer, without fail, I’d rent it. I couldn’t go on any grand adventures, so I imagined I was along for the ride.

I’d bounce on the waterbed as Buster and Babs went down the river, empathized with Plucky’s lust for roller coasters, wanted to punch that skunk dude (which turned out to be a pattern as I also wanted to punch the one from Archie!Sonic), cringed at the safari schenanigans, and related to Shirley more than I thought I would.

(Video summary: A parody of the very loud THX logo that is played in theatres: THUD. Audience in shambles if not blown away as the trademark is declared: "The audience is now deaf.")

Rock-a-Doodle! (1991)

Apparently I enjoy movies with water themes.

So, this is the Don Bluth film everyone trashes (when they get tired of trashing A Troll in Central Park). And I’m right along with them, seeing it as one of his weaker installments (behind A Troll in Central Park). But, when I was a kid? Loved it, silly singing owls and all. The play that it’s based on is pretty interesting, as well.

And I wished that evil owl turned me into a cat.

The protag in his cat form, shocked that he's all furry. This line is easily misheard as "I'm a furry!"
Anyone that knew me for the past ten twenty thirty years: NO FUCKING SHIT

Watership Down (1978)

The bright cover art tricked many a parent who just wanted a movie with idyllic bunny time. Not that’s there’s anything wrong with that, but we received so much more. It clued me into the fact that animation could be for anyone, and come in many forms, and can be taken just as seriously as ""real"" film.

This is also the poster child for the "damn, stuff for kids went hard in the 70s/80s" conversation. Not only did we have bunnies bleeding out, but Dumbo got drunk, parents were tortured or dying on screen, monsters were gross, and rest in peace Artax i am not sobbing right now! It does show how things have changed.

And I’m really trying hard not to get into the rant about Netflix’s bastardization of that beautiful novel. John Boyega as Bigwig couldn’t save it. And anyone that isn’t upset about how Netflix-y it is hasn’t either read the book, seen the animation, or absorbed and acknowledged the themes in the work. This adaptation lost its vibrancy and depth by looking as realistic as possible and dumbing itself down to be streaming-service consum

Lord Frith (the deity for rabbits) looking down on this rant in disapproval. Caption reads, in big bold font, simply STOP.
oh ok sry

But seriously. Read the book, as well. As for the movie? A beautiful adaptation; watch that too.

Robocop (1987)

Where I got my distrust of corporations… and sense of humor. It’s kinda sardonic and mean. Anything to cope in the current capitalistic hellscape, I guess.

(Video Summary: A nuclear (lol) family playing a board game around nuclear mutual assured destruction: NUKEM! Get them before they get you!)

By the way. Idiocracy is not the documentary of our world. It’s fucking Robocop, because that’s where we’re fuckin’ headed.

What? There was a remake or something? Nah, never happened.

Robocop glitching and shaking.
NEVER. HAPPENED.

Honorable Mentions

These tells don’t crop up as obviously. Or do they?

101 Dalmations (1961)

In my opinion, the best example of music perfectly timed with the animation, which is something you don’t see a lot of these days. Also obligatory crush on Roger.

Various animated compilations

Like the Hungarian Folk Tales or the stories based on Janosch’s German books. It really made me appreciate fables from other parts of the world.

Rude Dog and the Dweebs (1989)

As a self-proclaimed capital-D Dweeb, obviously. I should buy a shirt.

Hans Christian Andersen’s The Little Mermaid (1975)

Added to my mermaid obsession (along with Saban’s TV series and Disney, natch). And the first clue of my penchant for the bittersweet/sad stuff like the emo goth I am.

But I saved the best for last, because it’s got a funny story.

The Hobbit (1977)

What funny little birds
They had no wings
Oh what shall we do
With the funny little things? Funny Little Things

It was the earlyish 90s, and we’d always get a stack of tapes for the weekend. I’d pick out my own, usually only one or three, while my parents chose theirs. Whether family affair or Parental Supervision Required, we’d all partake together in at least one movie before watching the others on our separate televisions (schedules). And one afternoon, I had a choice: an old favorite to distract me while they did taxes or something, or… something new?

I was, and still am, a creature of habit. While the other title was alluring– being animated and eye-catching, and what kid didn’t love cartoons?– I wanted something beautiful and comforting and familiar and epic. So I stuck with my first choice, The Hobbit.

Gandalf standing with his wizard staff.
hey kid wanna go on this adventure for the tenth time?

The other choice available was Heavy Traffic.

The movie poster for Heavy Traffic.
NOT FOR YOUR KIDS

Fortunately, I twice dodged that Bakshi-shaped bullet by sneaking a peak, and quickly losing interest due to the lack of dragons. I ended up not viewing it until my almost-20s, when doing research for a college paper. I think about that sometimes, if my parents pulled a Ratings-Panel-Underestimating-Watership-Down. I’d probably be weirder than I already am. And probably more vulgar.

…or so I remember. It’s likely that the question never happened. Then again, I swear up and down that I got my oatmeal-and-egg habit from my parents, and that was denied vehemently, so who knows? I’m okay with being an unreliable narrator on this one.

Scene from Heavy Traffic; Carol dancing with a patron while Michael supervises. He's labeled "my mom reading this," while Carol has "me probably misremembering."
Memory makes fools of us all.

Don’t talk to me about the remake. I’m still livid about it, and not just because Bluerberry Dinnersnatch is in it (but it certainly doesn’t help, but he did make a good Smaug, fine, I’ll admit that). First of all

Gandalf glaring, accompanied by only one word: "STOP."
oh i did it again did i

That’s going to be a different post, isn’t it?

A pair of eyes, with the rest of the creature in shadow; their response to a question is simply "YUP."
Yup.

We’ll put a pin on that, then.

So, that is that, for now. As I finish unpacking, I have to find a new spot for these ancient VHS tapes. It’s one of the few things I have left of my dad– our likes and memories smashed together on flimsy tape.

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Bloganuary Prompt: What do you complain about the most?

The one thing I bitch about the most? Heteronormality.

Nah, scratch that; it’s how binary everything freakin’ is.

No, wait! How I’m expected to be androgynous because I’m non-binary.

No, wait, it’s how the [insert community here] has a racism problem it refuses to acknowledge.

Okay, let’s go with that one. It hurts my heart when I’m hit with racist microaggressions when I exist in queer-forward spaces, on top of the general history of Whiteness marginalizing anyone that isn’t white.

Wait, no, let’s take it a step further with [community] has a [bigot] problem it refuses to acknowledge, if not actively encourage. And it really hurts when it feels like these peers should get it, you know?

Because why the fuck is biphobia still a fucking problem in the overall queer community? I’ve friends who are currently shouted down and erased because they’re never seen as queer enough.

And all of my Black peers stay away from the Hoteps of the diaspora because they insist on hetero normativity, and toxic masculinity.

You know what? It’s bigoty. That’s what I complain about the most.

That’s it, that’s the post, because I’m tired of repeating myself ad nauseum. We’ll be here all day with the long list of examples I can illustrate.

A bitch is tired. I’ll probably expand on this at a later date, complete with personal anecdotes. But for now, just allow me to get to the point:

Solidarity ain’t shit when you’re still a fucking bigot.

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Bloganuary writing prompt: What are your favorite sports to watch and play?

People Speedrunning Video Games.

No, seriously.

It’s very awesome to see people become so good at the game that they beat it in record time. They have an intimate knowledge of not only how the game itself works, but the quirks and nuances of not only the format the game is in, but also the system the game is played on. It can get pretty technical when you think beyond speed, though that alone is still pretty impressive. I personally enjoy the runs where glitches are exploited and the game is utterly broken– that takes time and dedication.

When a speedrun tournament is happening, I block off my evenings and not move from the couch. The outside world ceases to exist. I’d have a spread of finger food, hookah, drinks, and other friends that enjoy video game content (but if it’s just me, the spread is much smaller). I cheer on my favorites, jump up when a hard trick is pulled off, and you know I’m shouting when someone breaks a world record! I laugh, I cry, I wish I wasn’t hand-eye-coordination impaired.

These events are my Super Bowl.

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Bloganuary writing prompt: What books do you want to read?

This year, I’m making a point to go through my To-Read list of over 300 books. Some are recent, but most have been around for quite some time, and some may be pruned as I lost interest over the years. Additionally, excuse any preliminary typos for my Bloganurary posts. I refuse to give myself the luxury of sitting on these entries for months with revisions and hand-wringing (it’s January, after all), but I’ll do my best to edit in post (in-post?). But onward. I promise, this will be a short list!

Speaking of that To-Read List... 1

Around the Way Girl, by Taraji P. Henson

Look, she was the only reason I stuck with Empire to the end (okay, the first reason; the second reason is that I love mess and Empire’s storyline was Mess Squared, ending with someone getting bludgeoned with a prosthetic leg). But I love her in just about everything she’s in. Hell, she’s the reason I sat through one of Tyler Perry’s awful movies, and even her acting couldn’t save that thing. Since quoting Mean Girls is so hot right now, you can say I have a BIG LESBIAN CRUSH on her too (her as Shug Avery? SWOON, I tell you). Admittedly I have a surface-level knowledge of most celebrities and actors, and unfortunately Henson is no different. So I want to read her book and know more about her. I can’t wait to pick this up!

Speaking of that To-Read List... 2

Queen Bees and Wannabes: Helping Your Daughter Survive Cliques, Gossip, Boyfriends, and Other Realities of Adolescence, by Rosalind Wiseman

Since I mentioned Mean Girls earlier I figure I’m obligated to add this. Based on the movie that gave us Boo, you whore, this is actually nonfiction! I feel like I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am– this isn’t the first time the film deviated from the book its based on, and it won’t be the last. I’m morbidly curious and a little afraid– and I feel like I could’ve used this book.

Speaking of that To-Read List... 3

Now I’ll Tell You Everything, Volume 25, by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor

This is what I call a Nostalgia Read. I grew up along with Alice as she experienced loss, befriended friends, and tried to find out what the hell a pomegranate was and why breasts were compared to it. And of course, the series slipped my mind until it was announced that this would be THE LAST ONE. So now I’m getting around to it. Finally. I feel like I should find a synopsis or summaries of all the previous books in the series; it doesn’t feel right just diving in after years of neglect. That’s the only reason why I haven’t gone further than the first chapter.

Speaking of that To-Read List... 4

Small Steps, by Louis Sachar

It’s the sequel to the much-beloved Holes. Enough said.

Speaking of that To-Read List... 5

So Let Them Burn, by Kamilah Cole

Cole was one of the authors affected by the terrible business of that Goodreads Review Controversy, which is… a lot. Here’s a comprehensive video by With Cindy and another from Reads with Rachel for good measure), for they both explain WTF happened and highlight other authors that were unfairly targeted. They aren’t the only writer I plan to check out, but I feel the strongest pull toward this book. A fantasy story based on Jamaican culture, I feel this is an absolute breath of fresh air from the vast majority of European culture-based ones (at least, when I was growing up; y’all kids got it much better these days!).

Iron Widow by Xiran Jay Zhao

Frankly, I’ve been sleeping on this author and I’m forever Late to the Party. (And FYI, she was also instrumental in helping piece together the bigger picture re: Goodreads Review Controversy.) I knew her first from her analysis of Chinese culture and representation in media. I want to check out all of her work. > Iron Widow is a YA sci-fi retelling of the rise of Wu Zetian, the only female emperor in Chinese history. The series follows an 18-year-old re-imagining of her as she avenges her sister’s murder by an intensely patriarchal military system that pairs boys and girls up to pilot giant magical mecha based on creatures from East Asian myth (Nine-Tailed Fox, Moon Rabbit, etc.), but in which boy pilots are treated like celebrities, while girl pilots must serve as their concubines. https://xiranjayzhao.com/index.php/books/

Now tell me that doesn’t sound rad. I dare you.

Speaking of that To-Read List... 6

Winter Without End, by Casimir Laski

The author is also Cardinal West on Youtube, who I began watching for their in-depth video essays of xenofiction. When they announced and released their debut novel, I was pretty hyped! Their essays are so informative, illustrative, and thorough— suffice to say they know their stuff, and I have very high expectations about this tale of an uneasy post-pandemic alliance between dog and wolf. Yes, I love Watership Down, why do you ask? But seriously: in case you’re wondering what xenofiction even is, look no further than one of his videos.

Speaking of that To-Read List... 7

Alecto the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir

No book cover as of this post, so have this. . No reason. No reason at all. It’s only the fourth book in an amazing series full of sci-fi, bone mischief, necromancers, lesbians, a certain red-headed badass (that’s also a lesbian), memes (that’s not as bad as it sounds, honest), monsters, ghosts probably, and bizarre magic (in addition to the bone mischief). MY EMOTIONS Y’ALL

Honorable Mention: something by Connie Willis

I could not finish one of her more recent works, Crosstalk. It stressed me out with its hectic farce-y pace. The constant need for the protag to dodge gossipy coworkers and meddling family was incredibly draining, especially for an introvert like me. My DNF Explanation

She is a big name in Science Fiction circles but I haven’t ran into her books until now– probably because she writes romantic ‘screwball’ comedy in the manner of 1940s Hollywood movies (Kathryn Cramer); romances are typically not my forte. So despite the lack of fun I had with Crosstalk (and, I admit, my allergy for romance in general), I want to check out some of her older work to give her stuff a fair shake.

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Bloganuary writing prompt: What are your thoughts on the concept of living a very long life?

I want to note that I’m on two meds for depression, which could account for my more-than-rosy tone here (and on my worst days, it’s still meh, but at least I’m around to complain about it). Not everyone has that privilege, and I acknowledge that. I love y’all and I’m pulling for y’all. There’s no wrong answer to this question.

But what is my answer?

“Sweet.”

Edward from Twilight.
“Hey Dracula, meet me in my sunroom at high noon to say that shit to my face. Oh wait, you can’t? SUCKS TO SUCK, LOSER!”

But I’ll want to know the caveats up front, because what’s a long life (or immortality) if you can’t do anything with it? And, you know, what’s the catch?

  • Will you be taken care of?
  • Is it one of those science fiction things where you’re a brain in a jar?
  • Or a fantasy thing where you’re actually a vampire (and unless your story is set in Washington, can never set foot in the sun again)?
  • Or the most likely scenario of strutting around a nursing home with your best friend?
  • Will you still be of sound mind, if not body?
  • Can you even afford to?
  • Where is the fine print, Beelzebub!?

Despite the potential for Dubious Deals with Devils, Transhuman Technicalities, Monkey Paw Jackassery, Pitfalls of Capitalism, and whatever else you may think of… From where I’m sitting at this point of time, it sounds pretty dope.

You’ve done so much, and you can reflect and witness more history. You’ve more to experience and hell, even if it’s just existing and vibing, that’s still an experience. And the stories you can tell! To compare and contrast the then and here and now. To be a representation of an obtainable future for younger generations– I know, as a queer Black person, it is comforting to see an elder that has survived and continues to survive.

I wish to be that for someone else, too. The world may be against me, but I’m still here. Oh, and modems were real. Real slow.

I want to see the science fiction I grew up on finally become plain ol’ science. We’ll get those flying cars any day now. Just not anytime soon. And I’ll sign up for the cyborg program to extend my life another 100 years or something (provided that Elon Musk stays far, far away from the technology behind it; I’ll literally rather die than let him put chips in my brain).

I want to stick around to see if things get better. And if not? Well. You’re going to be hearing about it!

Anyway.

You know that bit where Sarah Lynn is on a talk show, spinning in a chair and declaring that she’s gonna live forever? That’s my answer, in a nutshell. Sign me the fuck up!

Sarah Lynn spinning in a chair, declaring that she is going to live forever.

Oh.

I’m utterly terrified of death with a tendency to procrastinate. If I had it my way, I will be late to my own funeral (which, for the record, will be a party). So that’s probably a factor.

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When you’re a kid, dancing fell between two categories: stuff you tried to emulate from music videos and friends, or dances you learned at school. I typically made do with the latter since I lacked MTV and dancing friends in my immediate vicinity.


In elementary school, there was a period where we could choose a fun elective to partake in. I can’t even recall what all the options were, but I felt like I needed to forfeit The More Fun Stuff to know how to work my two left feet with the remedials. What were the Cool Kids doing? They already knew how to dance, I guess, and took up other things. My friends and fellow nerds were the ones lining up on the outdoor patio, taking instructions from the teacher. I did feel awkward, but I did have a little fun– and the small confidence boost of doing the right steps after a few tries was worth it.


Unfortunately, that was the exception to how the academically-sanctioned dance classes usually went. And most of the time, it was under duress for Participation Credit– where they won’t call your parents for being a difficult punk destined for the electric chair. (Hey! I’m cool! Did you get that reference!? And now that Prince song is stuck in my head…)


Cue gym class, the bane of BLERDs. We were taught the waltz (where would I use this?), square dancing (where can I use this?!), and whatever popular line dance was happening. But unlike the outdoor patio scenario, that was humiliating. My bullies and crushes alike were watching me go “AYE!” in the wrong direction. (BTW, If that VHS tape of me doing The Macarena for extra credit in gym still exists, please dispose of it. Or post it on YouTube. You cannot kill me in a way that matters.)


So. I have a (mostly) negative association with dancing. Understandably. I guess.


I didn’t try again until high school, when I complained loudly that no one was dancing– specifically, no one was dancing with me. And thanks to my big mouth I found myself rooted in place, swaying side to side with a boy who I had a major crush on, and I didn’t dare move my hands past his shoulders until the last bit of the song. My friends cheered me on and hollered when I got brave enough to move them down to his hips.


Everything was mortifying at that age. But it’s funny now, and I did eventually find it funny the next day (and I touched my crush! I was giddy for days, honestly).


I declared myself strictly the wallflower type through college and beyond. I have all the excuses and methods (and observations):


  • You’re too busy people-watching– but don’t make eye contact, or Rinoa will find you.

  • If you’re a mosher, you cannot be caught dancing.

  • If you like un-dance-able genres, you have no obligation to do so.

  • “Sorry! I’ll be behind the bar! All night!” If that’s already covered, bring a hookah or something flammable that must need babysitting.

  • Be outside and away from the dance floor as far as possible… even if you don’t smoke.

  • Find a plushy couch (or, with consent, a lap to sit on) and be so darn comfortable you don’t wanna move.

  • All dogs (and cats) must be petted and/or chased around constantly.

  • Speaking of chasing constantly, you can always seem to be looking for somebody that you just keep missing!

  • Wear heavy, heavy platform boots. Can’t possibly dance in those! (You can always take that as a challenge, should you change your mind.)


But in spite of those, I have been caught:


  • dancing with my best friends because I know they won’t (maliciously) make fun of me as they help me out,

  • being upset when declared having “rhythm like a white girl,”

  • dancing in my room when I have too much energy,

  • participating in those crowd-pleasing line dances where you just follow the directions (and there’s a ton of people messing up with me so I blend right in),

  • following workout videos that were suspiciously like dance lessons, and

  • that one time I danced at that wedding. We’ll blame the open bar.

  • And that other wedding.

  • And the one where my aunts dared me to.

  • And that other wedding where I rehearsed The Wobble with my relatives.

  • And my friend’s wedding where I was terrified I’d drop my date on the floor as I dipped her but did it anyway!


But seriously. You get the idea.


I am still jealous of the people that can just… move. Without a guide, or knowing enough of the basics that they can cobble something together. Let the music flow through them and not worry about how silly or how stiff they look (or do, and just don’t give a shit).


I can count on one hand where I’ve truly felt that. But soon, it’ll be two hands.


In the last pit I was in, I didn’t dance too much– like a goldfish, I wasn’t acclimated to the water (crowd) well enough and I promptly froze for the rest of the night, to be around too many people too soon. So I was watching others, taking notes, hoping I’ll learn how to do that. I was too self-conscious to let go of my dance anxiety, too worried I’ll look like that ultra stiff and awkward lady from the vine (the one in my mind’s eye, anyway; in retrospect I’m reconsidering that she may be taking the piss but any rate, let the woman dance!).


But the last few times were great. Once, I heard a favorite song and moved without thinking! Then, a show was so good that I couldn’t help but two-step and sway the whole time. I wore wedges in the mosh pit! I fell in the mosh pit, because you don’t wear wedges in a mosh pit, you two step-in those! I’ve brought partners to shows and sometimes we’d dance. Sometimes, together! And I’d touch them, all dance-like! From our last date I was giddy for days (hell, I’m still giddy)!


As you get older, you stop giving a shit about things. I hope that’s what is happening to me when it comes to this dancing stuff. Maybe I’ll even get the hang of it.


Or not.


But I’ll continue to have fun regardless whether I’m shy two-stepping or being an introverted wallflower, people-watching and staying close to the exit.

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This man knows not of how this information has affected me

But he knows the color of the car I just drove away in

“Flinch,” by Alanis Morissette


Triggers and C-PTSD are a motherfucker. I’m not sure if I’m using the correct terminology, so let me just paint the scene. At any rate, my reaction was as visceral as those song lyrics.


You’re mindlessly scrolling on your social media of choice, when you come across a thread. It seems like a cool idea, an outing or event, and you’re actually free that weekend. So you scroll.


And you see a familiar name. It takes a moment, but you remember.


And you want to throw up.


Because this name is no longer a friend of yours; you stopped speaking to each other after a heated argument. A major one, you can say; that was no pineapple-belongs-on-pizza debate.


I remember that morning.


I tried to explain how wrong it was to post and share the murder of a Black person, even if it was for a supposedly noble cause, because institutionalized racism even affects how our deaths are portrayed in the media a mere trauma porn– no dignity, all spectacle. It is about Impact, not Intent. But she doubled down, screaming about so-called justice. She did not listen. She ignored nuance. And somehow my concern translated to “you want those cops to get away with murder.”


It has happened before. And I have a feeling it will keep happening. Because to those so worried about justice, the end will always justify the means– and if that means my pain is a stepping stone to a slap on the wrist for a cop, then so be it. “Justice is served! Sorry about your mental health, though. Have you tried thinking about the bigger picture?”


I’m tired of that racist shit, the same conversations.


And I’m tired of this coming from people who I thought I could rely on.


I cried that morning. “Why are people like this!?” I wailed on my girlfriend’s shoulder.


I’m tired of my pain not mattering, and it hurts.


I saw her name, and it came flooding back.


So what did I do?


Before logging off for awhile for a nice bubble bath, I let a few people in that thread know. Some understood, others opened dialogue with me and respected boundaries when I ran out of spoons.


Only one said she “understood” my point of view but didn’t see it that way, and hoped that I didn’t hate her for “partying with this person once a year.” I said I didn’t. And it wasn’t a lie. But I thought, if you’re willing to overlook such gross thought patterns for a giant bonfire and booze, how long will it take before you reveal something heinous of your own? Would you have my back if The Pattern asserts itself? Could I cry on your shoulder?


I didn’t know.


Since it’s been proven time and time again that I’m just unimportant collateral damage to the culture at large, I have to find my own ways to protect myself. On the outside it’s callous, unforgiving, with ghosting tendencies, and kinda mean. But for the people that have been burned like this one too many times– for those on the margins who would rather not risk their safety for the possibility of friendship– they get it.


And with my adult life punctuated by moments like this… is it any wonder why I just wouldn’t bother? It’s not a difficult choice when you frame it like that, and I’m saddened that it has to be this way. Sad, and resigned.


It sucks.


I didn’t stick around long enough to find out if she knew that the company you keep could be a yellow or red flag for most people, and to be honest, I didn’t explain either.


At the end of the day I didn’t hate her. I just couldn’t trust her.


So I lost her number.

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I’ve had not much to blog about, other than the vague yearning to fill up a page with little old-school gifs and stamps. I’ve also been craving to create and I’ve made good on that craving, beyond poetry. There’s VTubing and taking immense joy in noodling about with the lore. I’m finally kicking off two fanfiction ideas that have been in the back of my mind for years. I may even get into pixel art. And at the same time, this blog has been quiet. I’m (trying) not to stress (too much) about it. Sometimes things happen on other platforms, sometimes privately, sometimes in progress, and sometimes things are just still.


But hey.


I’ve found something ancient.


It’s an account I’ve had since high school, if you can believe that. It’s pretty neat to come across things that are over two decades old, still floating around. I guess that’s true for anything posted on the internet; it’s just a matter of if you can even access it. (The more embarrassing pieces are very well Lost Media. So the hope goes.)


On top of this discovery, I’ve been feeling pretty nostalgic lately. A recent trip to Hot Topic had me obtain a few tees:


  • Linkin Park’s Meteora 20th anniversary edition
    Meteora was my go-to album just starting college and figuring my shit out. I still bump to it when I’m feeling particularly emotional. My girlfriend has seen me drunkenly sing and mosh along to the entire album, once. I destroyed all video evidence but if it pops up on MySpace I wouldn’t be particularly mad about it.

  • a panel from a Junji Ito manga
    Tomie, specifically. That was the first horror movie series that I really got into, thanks to the local video rental store that had a lot of different stuff on its shelves.

  • The Sonic the Hedgehog tee does not count; it was not Archie!Sonic. And the round belly 90s Sonic did not have any in stock in my size.


Cue pondering my current draw to the things I grew up on: the usual. It’s fun. “I know that thing!” It reminds me of happier times when the world didn’t seem to suck so much. Maybe, even something profound on how history marches on but at the same time, falls back. It’s comforting, like the childhood blanket lovingly folded up in the closet– except it’s unfolded on my bed.


“This was something I loved as a kid, and is still important to me, and even a codifier to who I am today.”


Revisiting stuff reminds me of my mindset, and it’s wild to compare/contrast the then/now. “Faint” is still a personal favorite, but at least I have a support network that does not make me feel like that (those work emails, on the other hand…). And as I start sliding back into my Goth phase, maybe I’ll be creepier this time around. I’m certainly building up the makeup arsenal to pull it off.


The current Sonic comic run is okay. I’m enjoying it. I miss Princess Sally.



I should probably say something about The Old Internet. A lot of people have said it better already, and I will certainly link to some of ’em later. I miss it, and I don’t mean in the Eternal September sense– that’s some cynical elitist bullshit. What I mean is, an Internet before things became about content, content, content, c o n t e n t in front of as many people as possible using the most intrusive algos. Wait– I have content? Yeah, but that’s a technicality. And you don’t see me shoving it in your face and I’m not trying to sell you something. I’m just hanging out over here.


And here’s the kicker:


The Old Internet never left. Some of it is abandoned and/or archived, but that is the nature of most things. When there isn’t a revamp, revival, or a “classic” spinoff– it’s here, continuing, slowed down perhaps but hasn’t stopped. Pretty obvious, if you look beyond the big names. You know the ones. They usually have apps, maybe a Material theme, and are just geared to enrage you unless you did some tweaks. And install an adblock.


I’m compelled to quote/cite Ploum, who also penned this excellent teardown as to why Facebook Entering The Fediverse Is a Bad Idea, Actually. But I digress:


It feels like everyone is now choosing its side. You can’t stay in the middle anymore. You are either dedicating all your CPU cycles to run JavaScript tracking you or walking away from the big monopolies. You are either being paid to build huge advertising billboards on top of yet another framework or you are handcrafting HTML.

Maybe the web is not dying. Maybe the web is only splitting itself in two.

“Splitting the Web“


I’m also in danger of repeating myself. In short, the dusting off of old habits and a more engaged involvement of my media consumption. And, how I spend time online. (Some updates: Pocket was reinstalled for the edge cases of articles I didn’t come across in RSS. Tildes ultimately won out and kbin gets a visit when I want a TLDR news cycle and the urge to be snarky.)


But, here is a list of what I mean:




Nostalgia? Old Internet? 8


eeeeeeey tiny button!

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Damn, this is embarassing that I still can’t spell embarrassing. Nevertheless, I’m still glad I found this draft just bumbling about when I was switching from Evernote to Joplin. I wouldn’t shut up about this science fiction series and my nesting partner finally picked it up: Remembrance of Earth’s Past by Liu Cixin.


I threatened him with My Thoughts on The Third Book once he was finished. And yo did I have some feelings about it. So here they are! With minimal editing since I wanted to preserve as much as my initial thoughts as possible. This series– and the fourth book, when did that happen!? That’s amazing!– requires a (re)read as well.


OK. There’s some editing: I added memes. THERE’S ALSO SPOILERS.


EDIT: One more thing, actually.


I never posted this on Bookreads because there were waaaaaay too many sexism-apologist scifi bros being lil shits. So this was tucked away in my Evernote and rattled about. Until now.

But yeah, right at the jump: if you don’t agree with my read on this book, I don’t care. … Don’t bother engaging; I’ll just mock the shit outta you.

(“Hmm. Should put that disclaimer in my entry.”)


So. There’s spoilers and silliness.

She Hulk flexing and yelling LET'S GOOOOOO!
HOLD ON

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As I keep mentioning, I’m from Florida. But what is more relevant for this entry is that I grew up in a trailer (and later, a house) in the woods. So when I was younger I was surrounded by trees and spent a lot of time among them– going on walks, sitting on giant rocks, crossing railroad tracks, and getting lost, tripping, ripping your shirt, and worrying your mother to death.


To say it was a culture shock when we moved the The Suburbs a decade and change ago was an understatement. There were houses where trees should have been, and the trees that were around seemed very spread out. I had to go to an honest-to-goodness nature preserve for my woodsy walks, and that is something I take advantage of. In addition, due to lack of a transit system and a steady set of wheels, I was used to walking everywhere.


I was drawn to the isolated patches of surviving wood, and the creeks running parallel to the highway. And the more I used the sidewalks, the more likely I’d wander off them. I forage for blackberries, green onions, and chives whenever they were in season. I explored some of the city on my feet, starting with the concrete, through the bush, along a creek, and back to a sidewalk again.


Hashing is a mixture of athleticism and sociability, hedonism and hard work; a refreshing break from the nine-to-five routine. Hashing is an exhilaratingly fun combination of r*nning, orienteering, and partying, where bands of Harriers and Harriettes chase Hares on eight-to-ten kilometer-long trails through town, country, jungle, and desert, all in search of exercise, camaraderie, and good times.

About Hashing


Last year I began hashing with my nesting partner; a combination of my pestering and his desire to share a hobby with me. I kept hearing amusing and frankly, fun stories from him and I wanted to experience it for myself. It was also a way to get my homebody out of the house (read: exercise), and to satisfy my “be more social” goal that was set back by COVID’s beginning. It felt very much like my ambling about in my college and early-post college days, minus the cheap beer.


Yeah, there is beer (if you want it)! The cheap stuff, because there needs to be a lot of it! And on the path, there are marks we could follow to the next stop (or get punk’d, if the hare is a jerk), and we drink another beer. Some of us run (and we make fun of them), but most of us walk (and we also make fun of them), but we all have a good time. Oh, and remember when I said “fun”? I meant debauchery. We sing rowdy songs. We (with consent!) slap each other’s butts. We sing a lot of vulgar songs, with cursing and naughty words. We also like to party, to the point where pants sometimes go missing.


It’s been a little over a year now since I began hashing. I saw interesting out-of-the-way sights, met some pretty cool people, and had a fun time doing all of that.


Hash House Harriers have different “kennels” around the world; the foundation is the same but each kennel have their own traditions and marks! One tradition is being bestowed a “Hash Name,” but how you get one differs from kennel to kennel. For our local group, you have to hare your own trail first. After being talked about, pestered, and interrogated, whoever is on your trail that day will decide on a name based on your answers and what they know from hanging out with you.


Oh. And the names tend to be Not Safe for Work (remember the debauchery and rowdiness). And you gotta hate it at least a little bit. I am excited to do my naming trail today. I am the normal amount of socially anxious/nervous, and (said in jest) utterly terrified of what bullshit name they’re gonna stick me with!


On Out, shitlords!