I guess you could say I was paste off.

I have a headache right now, which thankfully has been a rare occurrence in adulthood. So this entry is likely gonna be disparate thoughts stitched together. It’s odd, because I used to get headaches all the time as a kid. Maybe I wasn’t drinking enough water or there was something iffy in my diet, but it was a nigh daily happening. I became used to having painkillers on hand as a matter of course. That dried up close to 20 years back though and it’s not something I think about until I feel that familiar pressure in my brain.

I put a status up on both my Facebook news feed and in a private puns group. “What’s it called when you find the sound of people sipping miso soup triggering?” I’d thought to myself that it was a fun little joke. I expected I’d garner a couple of likes, maybe a few comments of people who didn’t get that it was a “misophonia” joke. In both cases, someone made the misophonia connection early on and commented. Others went for plays on “misanthrope” and “misogyny”, which was neat. As I’d expected, some people just didn’t get it. A few dumb comments with people making unrelated puns like “miso hungry”, which reflects on the “miso” aspect but completely misses the set up. I don’t really know what I’m trying to say here, except that it was a pretty simple reminder that as soon as your message enters a public space, its meaning is up to others to determine. In a way it’s stopped being yours. I think about musicians and other artists whose texts are open to interpretation. It’s always seemed weird to me that they rarely come out and say “well this is what I intended to say with this song” or whatever. They often prefer to stay enigmatic and distance themselves from semiotic analysis. In this case I wondered if coming out and saying “welp, it was a basic misophonia joke that didn’t really need commentary” would serve any purpose. Was I better to step back and let it be its own thing? It was the path of least effort, in any case.

I was folding washing today and found myself messing up the folding of one of my girlfriend’s spaghetti strap tank tops. I looked at the misshapen lump and had a real “Once in a Lifetime” moment. How did I get here? I was co-habiting with someone else. Sharing a bed with them. Our lives intertwined. Hell, sharing food even. Flashes of memory: I thought back to how we’d met, our early dates, milestones, holidays, time with family. I flashed forward to future time with family, holidays, milestones, telling our kids about our early dates, how we’d met. At that moment it seemed simultaneously the weirdest fucking thing in the world that five years past I was half-way across the world with no idea who she was, but also the most natural thing in the world to be spending my life with her. In this moment between moments, the bizarre and wonderful duality of existing at all, of circumstance and co-incidence, of taking chances and following through, all flickered in and out of my mind, too quick to catalogue. What would my life be/have been without her? Isn’t it weird to have all of this inside of you at every moment and not constantly unravel?

To that end, isn’t it weirder that I’m not having headaches every day?

Just a bunch of haw-seplay.

In attempt to warm up my mojo and finally get down to business, I’ve garbed myself in my new donkey onesie and chunky slipper boots. It’s almost 9pm and I have no good reason to not’ve written. I mean well, but it’s all too easy to get distracted by shiny things and when there’s a task at hand, everything but that task glistens alluringly. I wrote the word “alluringly” assuming it wasn’t a real word and I’m kind of disappointed to discover that it is. It sounds clunky, which is peculiar for a modifier to “alluring”. “Alluring” is such an enigmatic and exotic word. It’s shiny, shimmering, splendid. It holds a kind of taboo promise. Seems that little bit naughty. If “alluring” was the suave dude you went home with, “alluringly” would be his Ed Hardy laden wardrobe. Those two letters do nothing but taint the potential of all that came before. “Alluringly” are The Matrix sequels. “Alluringly” is realising 16 years later that Lucas was actually a pretty shit director. Jar Jar Binks is the poster child of “alluringly”.

“Alluringly” was the rigid side dish regime at The Rooster Rotisserie and Grill on Bloor. Don’t get me wrong, the portions were gargantuan. The food was delicious. Service (though pushy for a bewildered newbie) was quick and the prices were good for the meal size. There are a heap of side dishes, but their policy is so inflexible. You get two side dishes with a combo, no complaints there. I saw the beetroot and thought how my poop hadn’t been noxiously red in a while, so I picked it. As the woman behind the counter started heaping it on, I realised just what a commitment that much beetroot was. I asked if she could possibly give me a third of that and a small amount of broccoli instead of what had amounted to around three large beetroots. Nope. No way. Two side dishes, no mixing. I’m not blaming them, I’m just complaining because I’ve built my own soapbox here. I understand their policy in theory, but they’ve also opted for a separatist movement between foods. You get two mammoth amounts (in that they’d each feed a mammoth) of individual vegetables. There is no “steamed vegetables” option or selection based on rough grouping. So I had a generously sized pork chop flanked by mountains of potatoes and beetroot. “Alluring” was the sight of the plate beforehand. “Alluringly” is my body figuring out how to process all that starch.

If I wasn’t entirely explicit, I’d still fully recommend this place if you have a massive appetite and want to eat a lot of a few things.

On the contrary, I don’t have a large appetite right now, but that isn’t stopping me from wanting to eat a lot of a lot of things. Due to insufficient planning, it’s one of those Friday nights where I’m tooling around on the internet in lieu of meaningful human interaction. Please don’t think I’m complaining. You wouldn’t believe how much stuff there is to do on the ‘net (as kids these days call it. In my day we just said Information Superhighway for short). I’ve got Netflix, a ton of games and so many unread stories on r/NoSleep. While I’m doing all this (ALL OF IT) though, I want stuff to nibble on. Something cold like ice cream or maybe wobbly like jelly. There’s chocolate around the house, but I’ve got this sneaking suspicion that if I have some of the chocolate there’ll be less in the house once I’ve finished. What if I want chocolate another time and there’s none to be had? I don’t think I wanna live that kind of dystopian existence. So the idea of eating chocolate, while alluring, is appearing more alluringly by the second.

I’m a long way from Tipperary.

I miss how I used to listen to music. Anyone who knows my burning hatred of physical media should understand that I’m not directly talking about the little red My First Sony Walkman I got for my 6th birthday with a “Simpsons Sing the Blues” cassette (though that was several layers of bitchin’). The way I miss music listening is on a more abstract level. I miss how personal music listening used to feel.

Music hasn’t changed, I have. The distribution methods have. Perhaps it could simply be a case of scarcity. With the advent, nay proliferation, of streaming technology there’s no reason why you wouldn’t be listening to whatever you want whenever you desire it. The sheer quantity of music is limitless. Artists’ entire discographies within a few clicks. You can go from never having heard of a musician to devouring everything they ever produced in a number of hours. The framework now gives you more music than you have time to absorb. It’s easier than ever to explore new music, but if you’re anything like me, that brings with it guilt over repeated listens in order to know a new album inside and out. I’m willing to admit this is most likely a personal rather than widespread issue. I’m not even sure it’s an issue in the first place.

At age 14 I “discovered” music listening and it awakened something in me. Imagine one day discovering that eating was something humans did and becoming instantly famished. I was ravenous and desperate. These were the days of Napster, so I begun downloading tracks like crazy. I’d latch onto bands I liked and seek out others with a similar sound. I made mix CDs with pretentious names and had them on constant rotation. I knew track orders by heart. I experimented with sculpting  ebbs and flows. Making tracks together shape moods. I got into albums, enjoying the cohesion of tracks stacked in a deliberate fashion, as to curate a listening experience. Through rote, I knew every single track by heart in order, knew all the lyrics. I devoted so much of my brain to music archiving that I’m surprised I had any room left for school work.

This issue has less to do with the availability of music than it does an economy of scale. Let’s not pretend that I committed all 60GB of my first iPod to memory. You could just as easily tie it to shifting values with age too. At 30 the social capital of encyclopedic music knowledge has plummeted, especially when we all have pocket computers. I’d kill for that earnest enthusiasm though. The excitement that came with a new album release, dissecting and analysing the song composition, lyrics, track structure. These days there are several new bands each week, plus 2018 seems to be when all my favourite 2008-2010 acts are putting out new albums. It’s not possible to keep up and the thought of doing so is so daunting that it doesn’t feel worth trying. How did I have the time? I kept up with TV shows, video games and was always on top of the freshest music. What didn’t I have in my life then that I do now?

Oh, that’s right. I was single and barely slept for most of my early 20s. That’d do it.

Dear Telltale: Quit playing games with my heart. Also Backstreet may or may not be back, alright?

I’m trying to rush and finish this entry on my way home from the gym. The goal is to get as much time as possible playing vidya games tonight. I’ve got the evening to myself and one of my goals at the moment is to rekindle my love of gaming.

I started the other night, by loading up a year old save file for the Telltale Games Tales from the Borderlands. Like most in the Telltale line, it’s the gaming equivalent of a Choose Your Own Adventure tale. It’s all on rails, with assorted dialogue options depending on how you want to interact with the game’s characters. Some decisions have consequences that could dictate whether or not a beloved character survives or perishes. Telltale do an astounding job putting together the dialogue and plot. They’re refreshingly funny, and emotionally manipulative throughout. I don’t know what kind of heartless sociopath could through the adventure without becoming immensely attached to characters both central and supplementary. The Borderlands universe was an excellent choice for this style of gameplay, considering the original games did a superb job of etching character into every aspect of that would. Everything oozes personality and Tales from the Borderlands both takes and runs with what they’ve been given. One of the best aspects is how they break down the stats at the end of each chapter. You can see how your choices measured up with other players. It’s fascinating to note how your moral compass measures up with fellow players and just how effectively the writers have toyed with everyone’s emotions.

I remember playing Final Fantasy VIII at age 13 and being so enthralled by the story. It felt like I was playing through a book. I related this to my dad, who responded with a generous attempt at empathy of “that’s great. Glad you’re having fun”. He seemed otherwise unconvinced of its merits. As a kid I never could have predicted that gaming would be the most lucrative entertainment product on the planet. Years ago I had this dream of an interactive movie in a cinema. There’d be certain points where the audience would be able to collectively choose the direction the film took. Having several options, the most popular one would decide the outcome. Each showing then would have the chance for one of several endings, with some endings requiring rare audiences choices. It’d possibly even encourage repeat viewings. Maybe there’d be a discount for each subsequent visit.

After getting into these Telltale games, I’m half convinced the the technology is accessible enough to put into practice. There’d be an expensive set up cost, but the reward would be a wonderfully​ organic experience. I mean, considering Twitch Plays Pokémon, the technology to do this online (rather than in a theatre) more than likely already exists, though it likely wouldn’t feel as immersive as it would with the added proximity of inhabiting the same room.

Is someone out there gonna jump on my idea? I’d certainly love to see it come to life. I wonder if I know anyone at Telltale…

If I travel and eat enough, my blob dreams could be manifested in reality.

I do love going on holiday, but holy shit do I ever hate getting there. Being somewhere outside your norm is amazing. Exploring new territory is exciting and makes you feel like you’re expanding your boundaries. Not gonna lie, I primarily enjoy being somewhere else because it allows me to eat from areas beyond my favourite restaurants. Maybe I should forego vacations and instead look for a good restaurant at every Toronto subway stop.

When I’m on “tour”, I don’t want to have to make hard decisions. Neither though, do I want to be mentally pressed in the lead up. So in simpler terms, I wish everything could just be organised for me in accordance with my wishes. Oh, and let it be dirt cheap too, of course. It’s dumb, shitty and entitled, but undeniably true. I can tell that when I grow up, I’ll be the kind of person who’d gladly put money into other people’s if it made my experiences all the more convenient. For the first time since the 90s, I understand why travel agents exist.

I mean, it’s not the 90s. There’s still no fucking way I’d use a travel agent, but I get how it could be a viable option for old people.

Ugh, can’t I just develop teleportation powers already? That way I’d never have to book flights or any other transportation. Dealing with additional insurance costs for car rentals, delivering them to specific locations and shopping around Google for promo codes would be a thing of the past. Accommodation wouldn’t be a necessity, but if I wanted to stay somewhere different it’d still be an option. I just want to appear in an area and start ravenously devouring local cuisine. Like the sudden appearance of a B movie blob, devouring innocent passers by. I’m sure French people would taste dainty and delicious.

The reality of the situation is that life doesn’t happen like that. If you want nice things, you need to work towards them in one way or another. People don’t rush to prostrate themselves at your feet and do things for you. Unless you’re part Veela anyway. If you don’t want to think about the minutiae, then you pay for the privilege of not having to do so. If you don’t want to windmill slam fat stacks of cash onto someone’s desk, then you need to pick through travel forums, Facebook threads and RetailMeNot for inevitably outdated or invalid promo codes. Or happen to be travelling with a mega type A saint who gets off on that kind of thing. Sometimes they accept gratitude as payment.

None of this is news for anyone, but sometimes I like to use my space here to whinge profusely (read: every single day). A holiday is supposed to be relaxing. So why can’t I earn enough to do that windmill fat stacks move? You there. Person reading. Can you cause me to become a viral sensation somehow? I could use the sponsorship money for all of my dreams of laziness. It’s a worthy cause, at least from where I’m sitting.

Which is on the internet. Co-incidentally the right place to find all the info I need. Dammit. I was looking for excuses, not solutions.

More like nostaljerk.

Why is familiarity so comforting? I’ve been on a nostalgia kick lately (primarily because I’ve deep dived back into the Laser Time archive for my workplace listening enjoyment) and it’s been delightfully tickling my brain. I listened back to the early 90s “Mortal Kombat: The Album” (you’ll surprise yourself by remembering the absurd hit “Techno Syndrome“. The rest of the album is, if possible, even more cheesy. It features songs about the various characters (or in Sonya Blade’s case, a ballad she apparently sings about herself? And she’s been outfitted with a British accent?). The best part is how token most of the lyrics are. The Immortals were never given comprehensive background information about each character, so they had to write about what they know from playing the game. The result is a bunch of songs about assorted special moves each character uses, or in the case of Sub Zero…

“Whoah, Chinese ninja warrior
With your heart so cold sub zero
Whoah, your life is a mystery
Why you wear the mask? Sub zero”

Also a blatant rip off of Marky Mark’s “Good Vibrations”, but instead with the dubious line “Freezing Vibrations” (which makes no fucking sense, but I’ll go with it). AllMusic gives it a grand two star rating. It’s a festering piece of shit. Stock 90s techno coupled with the aforementioned flaccid lyrics. It should be a pain to endure, but instead it’s so fucking bonkers that it comes 180° to being a blast to hear. It’s not even a guilty pleasure for me and the only downside is that “Mortal Kombat: The Album” isn’t on Spotify, making me realise what a colossal waste my $9.99 each month is. If I can’t groove out to dancefloor suicide, what am I paying for?

It’s not new to me how much I adore nostalgia, but what is a recent revelation is how much I want the sensation without doing the work. Anime is a great example. I think so fondly of my years spent watching anime. I’d lounge around with friends into the early hours of the weekend and try to marathon an entire show. So many goddamn series. Casting my mind back to those days warms my heart, but whenever I think about getting back into anime, I realise how little I actually want to watch it. I’m way more critical than I was and getting into a new 24 episode series is a hard sell. I don’t have the time I once did. Much like video games, theory wins out over practice 80% of the time. Even knowing that, I still yearn for the underlying emotions they brought. The excitement of experiencing a whole new fictional world. Or in games, of facing and overcoming challenges coming my way.

Both industries were way smaller back then and I honestly think that was a large part of the attraction. Back in high school, anime and video games were super niche interests. We were the nerds and belonging to rare fandoms made it feel like we were venturing into unknown territory. We’d talk about them constantly, but they seemed like conversation topics only for our little group. When we found anyone else with similar interests, sharing those interests was a revelation, like we were sharing a central part of ourselves. We felt special somehow, because we were different. It may have been an illusion, but we clung to it tenaciously. These days fandom is all too easy to find. Hyperconnectivity means that others like you are only a few clicks away. Neither video games nor anime are particularly esoteric these days, they’ve expanded into normalcy. As dumb as it is, inside me there’s the sense that the experience is now cheapened. There’s nothing unique about them and with that gone, this remote concept of being special has dissipated. What’s more, the plots and character progression don’t feel like they’d live up to other available content. There are way too many clever shows to watch now, so why would I spend time on anything flimsy?

Wait, so I think I’m too cool for school now? That gives me freezing vibrations all over.

I will not bow to any sponsor.

Wow, for an ad about solving protests peacefully by offering diabetes in a can, Pepsi sure shot themselves in the face. I’d link the ad, but it’s bound to be taken down most everywhere by the time anyone would read this. If you somehow missed the “Joy of Now” ad in all of its Kendall Jenner whitewashed glory, the whole thing was a cynical cringe-fest aimed at co-opting the spirit of unrest that’s been rife in the past few years. I don’t know which brilliant internal ad exec thought going for the Bad Taste of a New Generation route would yield newfound cultural capital to coke’s attic dwelling doppelgänger. Possibly a now ex-internal ad exec.

The ad revolves around some manner of unspoken political protest. “Join The Conversation” proclaim the smiling, photogenic protester’s placards. Unfortunately for Pepsi Co, a vast many online commenters did join the conversation, quick to point out the utter absurdity of jumping on board the rebellion bandwagon by kickin’ it with a global corporation. The ad featured artists from different walks of life – A musician, photographer, model (Jenner) all noticing the protest and joining in. Whatever undefined issue was at hand when Jenner strolled past the protesting lines, a can of Pepsi awkwardly clutched between thumb and forefinger as one might hold something smelly or contagious (so as not to obscure the label, in this case), and handed it to a cop. The cop took a sip and the crowd behind erupted into cheers. Yeah, it was that fellowkids. Oh well, even if the seemingly universal condemnation did stem the rollout of their campaign, at least it’s given us countless memes that will surely entertain us all for the next week.

Pepsi Co is no stranger to misguided marketing attempts. Surely we all remember the infamous “Dub the Dew” promotion, resulting in “Hitler did nothing wrong” and “Gushing Granny” leading the pack for suggested new “Mtn Dew” flavour names? In a perfect world…

It must be pretty hard to be a marketer these days. Snark has always been in vogue, but with increasingly interconnected online communities, it’s more readily available than ever before. Unless you’re Oreos, according to a recent Google poll. I’ve read the report and still struggle to see why they’re something teens hold in such high regard. Seriously though, is a survey of 1000 teens really a valid cross-section? It’s weird, but people these days seem to be both more gullible and skeptical than ever. People are more likely to believe things if they coincide with their previously held convictions, so on one hand I kind of understand why Pepsi would’ve lunged into such a massive misstep. On the other hand, those who’re can see through marketing bullshit are able to exponentially amplify their voices in ways the 90s never offered. The notion of “cool” has always held ties to a lack of effort. It’s something you are rather than something you try to acquire.

Just ask Justin Timberlake. Drop the “The” already, Pepsi.