Oh, Not Funny When It's You

So, some time ago, Star Wars Kinect was released for the XBox360, and it was met with what could charitably be described as mixed feelings, with most of the negative feelings strangely centered on a rhythm and dance portion of the game wherein much-beloved characters dance in well-known locales to popular songs made into parodies by a slight tweaking of key lyrics. "Princess in a battle" instead of "genie in a bottle" is one example.
As to why this has many fans outraged, there's no official answer, but if one were to be culled from the general consensus of the gaming community, it's that Star Wars Kinect is an officially licensed Lucasfilm product. In other words, Star Wars fans can make fun of their beloved franchise to their heart's content, but heaven forbid the people behind it have a sense of humor as well.
I could get into the psycho-socio-cultural underpinnings of this phenomenon, but The Escapist's MovieBob already did, and in reading his analysis, I remembered something from my own childhood that perfectly exemplifies the situation.

It was really hard for me to make friends after I moved to New Mexico in 1991. There's a lot of reasons for this I won't go into, but probably the most important one was that my sense of humor didn't gel with everyone else's. I understand that friends take digs at each other, call each other names, and even play mean little tricks on each other. Really, I get it; it's part of the trust, it's something you can do because of the comfort zone. The thing is, where I saw it as being "part" of the whole "friendship" paradigm, some people saw it as "the whole" and that struck me as just downright conceited. I kid you not when I say that I actually lost a really good friend because I told him to stop calling me a certain name because it genuinely bothered me. For years afterward, I thought there was something wrong with me because I just couldn't take a joke, I couldn't separate "laughing with" from "laughing at." Years later, I got a second opinion. The good news is that there wasn't really anything wrong with me, that sometimes people were just jerks. The bad news is that the number of jerks turned out to be higher than I'd thought.
My 7th grade history class had some class clowns in it. Trouble was, it was a de facto role as they weren't very good at it, as most of their jokes relied on me to be their punchline, whether I wanted to be or not. How exactly they made fun of me or laughed at me or generally had fun at my expense varied and changed almost daily. For about two or three days, though, the fixation was on the fact that I was the only boy in the class who wore glasses. Right away, I thought, "they're really desperate for a laugh." Seriously, the last months 7th grade, a year between us and high school, and I felt like I was living out an uninspired episode of Full House.
Anyway, we were all doing some sort of art project that I don't remember any details of, except that we'd have to stop about five minutes before the bell so we could all go wash up in the bathrooms. So, here's the scenario: everyone walks a little faster than me so they can get there first. When I step in, everyone turns away from the sinks and starts flicking their hands at me so water beads on my glasses, carrying on until I literally can't see and have to take them off to wipe them clean, and the process repeats when I put them back on until I get out of the bathroom, my hair wet enough that I can slick it back.

This goes on for two days. I don't get angry. I don't lash out. I don't confront anybody about it. I don't say a word.  I just stand there and seethe quietly to myself, because it's the seventh bloody grade, we're in our early teens, and flicking water at my glasses to where I can't see is the funniest damn thing in the world to these guys. On the third day, I figure that maybe I'm taking this too seriously, that I'm not having fun with the whole thing. So, I decide to give this "laughing with you" idea a shot. Again, everyone walks a little faster than me to get to the bathroom first. Before I step in, though, I take my glasses off and put them in my pocket. I make sure not to squint, because that would just give them something to laugh about. I walk in, knowing what's going to happen next, and I'm smiling. It's not a toothy, ear-to-ear grin, it's more like a Mona Lisa, at the risk of sounding pretentious. The funny thing is, I'd never felt more confident in my life at that moment. The sad thing is, no one else found it funny, made apparent when they turned away from the sinks with hands at the ready.

Awkward silence.

I'd see some turn away from the sink and watch a smile disappear almost like someone flipped a switch. Instead of knowing nods, playful shrugs, or even indifference, I saw, despite the blur, frowns and eye rolls. I hadn't gotten in on the joke, I'd ruined it. I'd ruined it by not ignoring them or getting angry or annoyed or anything like that. I'd ruined it by wanting in on it and playing along. They weren't making fun of me to be friendly or chummy, they were making fun of me because they were that desperate for a laugh. How dare I, apparently.

Maybe I should have grabbed a fire extinguisher before going in instead.

Quartet of Qontent... Content.

A curious thing happened this past week; not only did I produce a video, I produced four in about as many days. It all started with me getting ready for a sketchbook project that's nearing completion whereupon I'll film the final product as opposed to scanning it. Next, I came upon a video of Mike Matei demonstrating the painfully meticulous inking process for the title card of the Angry Video Game Nerd's Star Wars episode. Someone in the comments cheekily asked about the potential of making a mistake, and that led to me making the first video Ink is My Pal. It was the first time I'd ever filmed myself with my Sony Cybershot H55, and I realized just what a complete technical moron I can be at times*. As such, I turned the trials and tribulations into the next three videos so that not only will I not repeat the mistakes I made, but others can hopefully learn from them as well.
Fair warning/cop-out: These are rather "quick & dirty" as videos go; they're rushed, half-scripted/half-improvised, and edited entirely using YouTube's new built-in editor, which essentially stands somewhere between a typical Linux video editor and iMovie. Polish wasn't the point, however; it was making as many videos as I could in a short amount of time and getting past my usual meticulousness and perfectionism in favor of just making some damn content. My more fiction/narrative/abstract works, by contrast, I hope will be a little more refined and at least look like more effort's been put into them.



*See, I've made videos since at least high school, where I worked on the morning's televised announcements and produced a number of news stories and sketches. However, while that may sound like a robust regimen of working experience, the fact is that I left all the technical stuff to other people. Instead, I focused on scripting, storyboarding, and (minimally) editing. I ended up acting a little more than I wanted to (thankfully in Voiceover, with which I'm far more comfortable given my radio-face), and rarely operated the camera beyond simply pushing the record button every now and then. 

My Trust Was Betrayed

UPDATE: Confrontation is always awkward, but it's better than just venting to everyone/no one. Deleting entries always feels dishonest, and I'd rather fix the present than erase the past.

This is one of those situations where the matter itself seems pedestrian, even inconsequential, but its implications and preceding events give it a gravitas that does not turn the molehill into the mountain by exaggeration, but reveals it as one by way of perspective.


I have a chocolate stash. It's a "stash" because my roommate has a weight problem and virtually no self control (the result of depression, among a handful of other issues). About three years ago, she even asked me to put a lock on the pantry door at our old apartment. I told her flat out that I would do no such thing as I didn't feel like locks and keys had to factor into my eating habits. Since then, things have not changed that much, and I've just about given up on trying to help her despite her asking me sometimes. The pattern breaks down like this:


*) She asks me for help.
*) I tell her to hold back (and sometimes take actions to that end).
*) She gets angry and carries on. I tell her I'm trying to help, just like she asked.
*) She says that she knows, but can't help feeling angry, and carries on out of spite.
*) I point out the absurdity of that way of thinking.
*) She says that she knows, and breaks down crying.
*) I tell her I'm not going to help her just for her to project onto.
*) She says she'll try, and I believe her a little less every time.


Irrational behavior that turns willful when help is offered upon request. Turn that over in your mind for a moment.


As a result of this, something of a compromise has been reached. I don't hide or restrict all our food, but I do keep a few things out of sight for reasons that will become abundantly clear.


Above our sink is a cabinet where I keep some of the liquor. On one side is a small cardboard box with my shotglass collection in it. On top of this box, I often keep a few Hershey bars and a jar of peanut butter. It wasn't until a few months ago that I even told her about it. The deal ultimately is that I don't dictate her diet, just as long as what's above the sink stays off-limits (she can barely reach it, anyway). The fact is that I work and she doesn't, so there's an eight-plus hour window of temptation.


Two days earlier, I'd stocked it with a pair of Hershey bars. When I was getting them at the store, I also picked up some potato chips. I told her about the chips, but not the bars (again, out of sight, out of mind). I do not touch the chips out of respect (after all, I've got the two great tastes that taste great together).


Yesterday, I noticed one of the bars was gone. I thought it just fell behind the cardboard box and left it at that.


Today, I get this text message, which I read on my break at work:

"Can of air, candy - heath, twizzler, favred starburst"

My reply:

"Air is in the closet in the office, top shelf immediately on your left."

Her reply:

"I dont like to tear my comp appart." 

Not that I was telling her, "Do it yourself." but that's not the point, chalk it up to assumptions. She sends another message 2 hours later:

"Bread couple loaves, can go in freezer"

Admittedly rolling my eyes (planning ahead is not her strong suit), I reply:

"I'll pick them up tmw along w/ the candy since I already have to drive into Ellisville to get my tickets sorted out."

She says:

"Mk"

We live about a good 30 minutes from any grocery store. Needless to say, small trips are a little inconvenient. Also, I'd gone grocery shopping the previous day, which had me a little annoyed at her being so scatterbrained. So, with tomorrow's trip planned, I came home, made dinner, and, shortly thereafter, went to my stash. The last bar was gone, and I realized nothing had fallen behind the box.


I stormed into the office, seething. She asked what's wrong, and I said, "Hershey bar."
Her response is, "Well, that's why I was tellin' ya to get more candy." and I can't tell if she's jokingly apologizing or being defensive and willful. She told me to take some of her cash and go get some more, and I still can't tell if she's actually trying to make amends or acting tough to make me feel like the bad guy.
I'm too mad to say anything, as much as I wanted to say, "I had no intention of driving anywhere tonight, and I'm not going to renege on that because you've got no self-control."


I feel like I'm being manipulated. Things haven't been going well, and this is just one more matter.

Back in front of a camera

Well, I'm still sick and I'm sick of being sick. So, I decided to make a video whether I felt like it or not, just to give myself a boost and help win a little moral victory over this damn cold. The results are slightly better than I thought they'd turn out. In any case, I don't have to look at that "time since last" counter on my YouTube channel continually adding up as I kept waiting to get well enough to sit in front of a camera or record a voiceover. If I want that YouTube partnership, I have to stick to my promise of a consistent output, even if the format changes slightly. I like doing the reviews, but I don't want to get stuck doing them. DeviantART and Flickr Video will still be my main jumping-off point for my more artistic pieces, whereas YouTube will always be a little more candid and personal, with video-logs and opinion pieces.

Another Double Feature (G.I. Joe & Star Trek)

Just finished watching two movies I'd been half-looking forward to seeing. In short, I'm disappointed in myself for not seeing the first in theaters (and not just for starring two of my favorite actors, Eccleston and Quaid), and I'm not disappointed by the second.

G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra was really good, beyond expectations by leaps and bounds. In fact, if the Transformers movies had been given this kind of care and attention, the world would be a better place. When it comes to the revivals of these time-honored properties and criticisms thereof, there's always an argument that crops up without fail between those who are eager with anticipation and those who are anxious with it. It goes something like this:

Eager: This is gonna be awesome!
Anxious: I don't think it's going to be any good.
Eager: Dude, it's based on a buncha toys, what do you expect?
Anxious: I expect at least what I got from the cartoon.
Eager: Like what?

Here's the long, but not that complicated answer to Eager's question:
I may not have kids, but I'm not old and/or jaded enough to forget what being one was like, and I know then as much as I know now that parents frequently and sadly underestimate them. Children are not sheep that have to be guarded from all the dangers of the outside world. They don't have to stick their hand in the fire to know it's hot, but that doesn't mean they're afraid of it, either. The point is, throughout history, certain groups of adults (of the not old and/or jaded enough variety) have acknowledged the fact that children see the world differently from adults, and therefore things that adults may regard as unsafe and/or damaging to children may not actually be so. This is how we get shows like Doctor Who, Thunderbirds, Starblazers, Transformers, G.I.Joe, Thundercats, Batman: The Animated Series, and Avatar: The Last Airbender, shows that are made for and aimed at children, yet never come across to them as remotely juvenile or condescending. Tom Clancy it is not, but it sits comfortably on top of pulp-era escapades like Sky Captain and The World of Tomorrow or Indiana Jones, sharing the same floor space as the films of Pixar studios and the James Bond franchise.
It's as intelligent as any Bond movie, and certainly as exciting. The characters are broadly drawn, yet just deep enough to be interesting. Relationships and origin stories are re-written, at times drastically, from their source material, but keeps a high degree of familiarity and integrity to elevate above a pale imitation.
Possible Spoiler: The makers left this film open for a sequel, but given the state both sides are left in at the end and the way certain beloved characters are resolved, I won't be disappointed if I don't see it or it never happens; This is a good film, let's keep it that way.

Star Trek was better than I had expected. I was expecting some bland and generic science fiction drama that only vicariously uses the well-known name and occasional trappings to get attention (case in point, Battlestar Galactica). Fortunately, this isn't the case, but, by virtue of the movie's own metafictional admission, it is not to be an acknowledged part of the Star Trek universe. Don't get me wrong, I like this movie, and it's distinctly superior to the last two Star Trek films, but it can't really be a part of the greater whole. It's equally demanding of its acceptance by Trekkies as it is dismissive of its own place in regards to canon. In other words, it does just as much to be Star Trek as it does to not be Star Trek. What we have here, then, is a movie that has a love/hate relationship with its own audience.
Maybe that's why I liked it so much.
I've always had a love/hate relationship with the franchise, and it probably plays out like most middle-of-the-road Trekkies: The original series is equally fondly remembered by those old enough to see it at the time and those who came after, acknowledged by both as an unprecedented cultural landmark; The movies came and went, and we liked at least half of them; The Next Generation did the impossible, appealing to a new audience without coming at the expense of the old; Deep Space Nine was a welcome change of pace and scenery for the franchise, but wore out that welcome after the first year; Voyager wasn't much better, was practically ignored for it, and couldn't have died a quieter death; Enterprise was a competent enough return to form, but was too little, too late, and is tragically under-appreciated as a result.
Rather than do a full and proper review, list the problems I had with the film and its treatment of certain characters and concepts, comparing/contrasting them with what I liked, I'm going to give you a simple formula to use as a guide if you're unsure about seeing this film or what to expect going in:

If you LOVE Star Trek, you'll HATE this movie.
If you LIKE Star Trek, you'll LIKE this movie.
If you HATE Star Trek, you'll LOVE this movie.