There is one common opinion about World of Warcraft that I've seen among practically everyone I've spoken to about it, online and offline; It is evil.
WoW is an insideous beast, a wolf in sheep's clothing, luring unwary gamers in with it's siren song of infinite replayability only to devour their very souls, consume their very humanity, turning them into a lobotomized zombie with the single goal of playing Wow. Constantly. It is manipulative, luring you away from your friends, your family, your job, and eventually, your life.
List of known WoW victims:
http://news.softpedia.com/news/Two-Fanatic-World-of-Warctaft-Gamers-Have-Died-Becouse-Of-WoW-11821.shtml
http://www.eurogamer.net/article.php?article_id=59697
http://www.tomsgames.com/us/2006/08/08/world_of_warcraft_players_addicted/
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/technology/4183340.stm
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Monday, October 13, 2008
Existential Crisis
Who am I? Why am I here? What is the meaning of life? What is the meaning of meaning? What the hell?
As I sit here, as I have for the past month and a half, devoid of all human contact for extended periods of time, I have come to realize that I am undergoing what they call an "Existential Crisis", though I think just a mild one.
Mild or not, sitting around all day pondering 'why' is the mental equivalent of engaging yourself in physical combat. At the end of the day I can feel my brain trying to leak out of my ears.
In place of humans, I have substituted my dog and cat. I regularly have meaningful discussions with my dog that involve talkingrealfast and running around dancing interpretively, only to have him follow me with more enthusiasm than Rosie O'Donnell during Dykes on Bikes. Just the other day, I took a stroll down my hallway, only to spy the black and white beast lounging on the couch, staring longing out of the window. I was moving before I was even aware of the compulsion to jabber nonsense while jerking my arms and legs wildly. Within a second or two, he was dancing beside me, a look of all-encompassing enjoyment on his doggy face.
My conversations with the cat include no words. Instead, we stare at each other for a while, I inevitably blink first, sometimes two or three times, before the cat blinks once, and then she meows at me. I, of course, respond with a high pitched 'meow' of my own, to which the cat replies, "Meow?" Repeat for a while before the cat somehow lets me know by the inflection of her 'meows' that she wants me to pick her up and set her next to her bowl of food.
Do animals have Existential Crises? Do they sit around and try to figure out their purpose? The purpose of everything? I've known a lot of people who have turned to drugs for the answer in my situation, and now that I think about, I would if I could. Is it only humans who are arrogant enough to assume that we even have a purpose other than to, say, destroy the earth as part of the natural cycle of things? Maybe humans are too lazy or afraid to create their own purpose, and just want one given to them? Oh well, people have tried for years to find an answer, but 'why' doesn't make sense in the first place.
Essentially, you are asking "why is" ? You might as well ask "why is blue"...if the question doesn't make sense, there is no answer, and my current, most comforting belief is that people make their own purpose, and right now mine is to suffer is much as possible so that I will never take anything for granted, even simple things like walking around the block. Eventually, I guess I will try and stress this to other people, and get them to wake up/open their eyes/whatever general metaphor you feel like using.
As I sit here, as I have for the past month and a half, devoid of all human contact for extended periods of time, I have come to realize that I am undergoing what they call an "Existential Crisis", though I think just a mild one.
Mild or not, sitting around all day pondering 'why' is the mental equivalent of engaging yourself in physical combat. At the end of the day I can feel my brain trying to leak out of my ears.
In place of humans, I have substituted my dog and cat. I regularly have meaningful discussions with my dog that involve talkingrealfast and running around dancing interpretively, only to have him follow me with more enthusiasm than Rosie O'Donnell during Dykes on Bikes. Just the other day, I took a stroll down my hallway, only to spy the black and white beast lounging on the couch, staring longing out of the window. I was moving before I was even aware of the compulsion to jabber nonsense while jerking my arms and legs wildly. Within a second or two, he was dancing beside me, a look of all-encompassing enjoyment on his doggy face.
My conversations with the cat include no words. Instead, we stare at each other for a while, I inevitably blink first, sometimes two or three times, before the cat blinks once, and then she meows at me. I, of course, respond with a high pitched 'meow' of my own, to which the cat replies, "Meow?" Repeat for a while before the cat somehow lets me know by the inflection of her 'meows' that she wants me to pick her up and set her next to her bowl of food.
Do animals have Existential Crises? Do they sit around and try to figure out their purpose? The purpose of everything? I've known a lot of people who have turned to drugs for the answer in my situation, and now that I think about, I would if I could. Is it only humans who are arrogant enough to assume that we even have a purpose other than to, say, destroy the earth as part of the natural cycle of things? Maybe humans are too lazy or afraid to create their own purpose, and just want one given to them? Oh well, people have tried for years to find an answer, but 'why' doesn't make sense in the first place.
Essentially, you are asking "why is" ? You might as well ask "why is blue"...if the question doesn't make sense, there is no answer, and my current, most comforting belief is that people make their own purpose, and right now mine is to suffer is much as possible so that I will never take anything for granted, even simple things like walking around the block. Eventually, I guess I will try and stress this to other people, and get them to wake up/open their eyes/whatever general metaphor you feel like using.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Poetry class.
I've always enjoyed reading and writing, but I've never taken any classes geared towards developing me as a writer. All throughout high school, it was either grammar classes or English classes run by crazy feminists who endlessly quoted Helen Keller and Ralph Waldo Emerson.
When I signed up for "Creative Writing", I was hoping that, since it's a college, the classes would be less full of silly dolts that detracted from my intellectual development(recurring theme in high school) as a writer, and instead helped me develop creative ways to torture inconceivably obnoxious children.
Well, my hopes were partially enforced, as there were no annoying chatterbugs boring into my brain. I was confronted by a whole new breed of annoying. These people, when they chose to sign up for a poetry class, somehow didn't realize that they would have to write poetry (maybe they understood this part), and have it critiqued by the professor in the class. Admittedly, I wasn't aware of this, either. However, almost every person in the class become irreversibly offended when the professor offered criticism. It was as though their belief was that they were beyond any sort of help, that they transferred onto paper the literary equivalent of God Himself.
One of the most prominent examples, and most repetitive, was that of trying to explain to everyone what they meant by particular words. A student, when faced with another's interpretation of their poem, actually said, "No, what I meant by'word' was 'other word', you are wrong."
What they failed to realize what that, had that piece of writing been published, or had they not been there, the other student's interpretation of their writing would have remained. Basically, if someone is extracting from your poem something other than you intended, you did not do a good job of writing it. Of course, the professor, being more intelligent that everyone in the room, attempted to offer some constructive criticism, but was met with closed-minded hostility.
It reminds me of American Idol. At the beginning of the show, you always have the horrible vocalists who honestly think they can sing, and sing well, only to appear heartbroken when faced with Simon's honest and almost always correct opinion. They then proceed to villify him. That's natural, I guess. Kill the messenger.
The exact same thing happened in this creative writing course. When offered with constructive criticism(as it always was), they completely shut down and probably didn't learn anything.
Please, people, I have one request. If someone sucks at something, do not lie and tell them they are good at it! You don't have to come out and say "Man, you suck", but you also don't have to stroke their ego like Paris Hilton strokes her ego.
Tell them how they can improve.
When I signed up for "Creative Writing", I was hoping that, since it's a college, the classes would be less full of silly dolts that detracted from my intellectual development(recurring theme in high school) as a writer, and instead helped me develop creative ways to torture inconceivably obnoxious children.
Well, my hopes were partially enforced, as there were no annoying chatterbugs boring into my brain. I was confronted by a whole new breed of annoying. These people, when they chose to sign up for a poetry class, somehow didn't realize that they would have to write poetry (maybe they understood this part), and have it critiqued by the professor in the class. Admittedly, I wasn't aware of this, either. However, almost every person in the class become irreversibly offended when the professor offered criticism. It was as though their belief was that they were beyond any sort of help, that they transferred onto paper the literary equivalent of God Himself.
One of the most prominent examples, and most repetitive, was that of trying to explain to everyone what they meant by particular words. A student, when faced with another's interpretation of their poem, actually said, "No, what I meant by
What they failed to realize what that, had that piece of writing been published, or had they not been there, the other student's interpretation of their writing would have remained. Basically, if someone is extracting from your poem something other than you intended, you did not do a good job of writing it. Of course, the professor, being more intelligent that everyone in the room, attempted to offer some constructive criticism, but was met with closed-minded hostility.
It reminds me of American Idol. At the beginning of the show, you always have the horrible vocalists who honestly think they can sing, and sing well, only to appear heartbroken when faced with Simon's honest and almost always correct opinion. They then proceed to villify him. That's natural, I guess. Kill the messenger.
The exact same thing happened in this creative writing course. When offered with constructive criticism(as it always was), they completely shut down and probably didn't learn anything.
Please, people, I have one request. If someone sucks at something, do not lie and tell them they are good at it! You don't have to come out and say "Man, you suck", but you also don't have to stroke their ego like Paris Hilton strokes her ego.
Tell them how they can improve.
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