I got a Skype call yesterday morning. It was one of   Galonodel 's friends, calling to ask if I knew where he was. He never calls me that early on a Sunday morning. Nobody does.

Galon was missing since last night. There was news of a car crash in the county he had gone to. The driver of the vehicle had named him as one of the occupants. They wanted me to tell them if I'd heard from him, or knew of anywhere else he might be. I looked up the news article immediately. Two dead, only the driver survived.

I had been texting with him just the previous night. My friends and I were at a D&D game. He was sending me all sorts of drunk texts and stickers on telegram. Plenty of hearts and nuzzles and hugs and other things. I smiled. It's what he always did, and it always made me chuckle, even if I couldn't look at all of them in polite company. He liked teasing me. It was cute, even when it was embarrassing. He thought of me when he was drinking. He loved me, deep down. I made my usual mock protests and said I'd look at them later.

12:33 AM: "To be fair, you drunk texted me... I'm just returning the favor! XD"
12:33 AM: "I love you though! <3"

I didn't reply until our game was over.

1:22 AM: "I know."
1:22 AM: /me hugs

The news article said the crash happened at around 1:30 AM.

Galon and I never had an argument, but when we disagreed, it was usually me doing it. I'd tell him I worried about his diet, or poke fun at how he would have looked cuter in his old military haircut, or disagree with his politics in some minor way. And I often mentioned, though kindly, how he misbehaved when he was drinking, particularly with me. He was, I hope, having as much a chuckle as I was at my heckling. I never meant him any ill will by it. At the end of the day I always told him I loved him, though never quite as much as he told me.

The last words I got from him were that he loved me. I hope he read the ones I sent to him. I did love him. I wanted him to know that.

I'm going to miss you hun, more than I can even imagine. The world needed you now more than ever. So did I.

BroNYCon was absolutely epic! A big shout out to Jack, who likely does not remember anything from last night but was definitely the life of the dance floor. Craziest human being I have ever met, but dear god he never quit!

I never would have imagined that a My Little Pony convention could ever be so incredible. Even more impressive than the sheer number of people was the incredible energy behind them all. The love for this one show and the community it brought together is truly fantastic. People who look at a convention and say "Those guys in pony suits are freaks" forget that those guys in pony suits are truly passionate about something and do what they do because they love it and each other so much. That alone is an amazing thing.

And before I go, a huge shout out and thank you to Keapano, who not only helped organize and manage an amazing con with so few resources, but went out of his way to grab badges for me and a friend, saving us at least an hour in line.

Here's hoping next year is even better.

My reviews are rarely at the cutting edge of gaming. In fact I tend to gravitate toward older games that I've recently rediscovered or simply waited to find in the pre-owned section, so you can imagine my excitement when I unwrapped a brand new copy of Skyward Sword this Christmas. I had an immediate vision of releasing my review alongside the professionals and adding my voice to the throng. I played the game for a few hours, began writing, and suddenly stopped. My review, while mostly honest, lapsed into cliches and did nothing to distinguish itself. There was nothing I was saying about the game that thousands of others hadn't said, and the more I wrote, the more I realized how very little I actually had to say about the game, and how little I was enjoying the process.

So I waited, and played the game through carefully and quietly like I mostly do. Looking back, I'm glad I waited, and I hope you will be too.

Since Ocarina of Time, the Zelda formula has been well established, and Skyward Sword is no exception; in fact the game takes the formula soaring to new heights, both literally and figuratively. I'll give the designers their due credit: this game is so incredibly Zelda that it puts all other Zelda games to shame for sheer... Zelda-ness. I'd say out of the whole series, it's definitely a top three.

There's a downside to this almost blind adherence to tradition, though. Skyward Sword banks entirely on the fact that it's the first game to tie every other game in the series together. If you're already a Zelda fan like me, you'll cream your pants every five minutes. If you're new to the series... prepare to be a little confused.

Take the plot, for example. I completely understand that most Zelda games have zero plot. Zelda is kidnapped, Link is unwittingly caught up in events and becomes the hero of legend because... well... destiny says so, and the game is inevitably hijacked by Ganon who was behind it all along. This is the way it's been since forever. But when you ramp the magical Zelda formula up to eleven, you make the lack of plot even more apparent than it was before. Essentially, the entire game becomes a series of sidequests that don't always feel terribly heroic. First off, your fairy, the spirit of the eponymous Skyward Sword, provides you with all the hints you need to complete your quest. There's no real exploration or interaction required in order to figure out where to go next; your fairy will magically appear at every required plot point and tell you exactly what to do. Secondly, Link's trials, which usually have a reasoned explanation in-world, are simply dropped in his way for no other reason than to make life more difficult for him. I'm not even inferring this, it's explicitly stated in game that Link's path was preordained centuries ago in order to "test his worthiness", and that all his hardships were created by the goddess and dropped in place like some kind of divine obstacle course. Now, you can easily argue that these trials, by definition, need to be arbitrary because Skyward Sword canonically sets the stage for all of Link's future quests. I'd actually agree with you wholeheartedly on that one; as an archetype of the Hero's Journey, Skyward Sword is an effective masterpiece. But when the game designers start having a laugh at their players' expense, it can get just a little mind-blowingly annoying. For example:

DRAGON: Ah, I see you have the Master Sword that the Goddess said the Hero of Legend would carry.

LINK: Yes, I collected many small glowing orbs and re-explored several dungeons I'd already completed in order to gain its power. Will you acknowledge me as the one true hero and teach me your song so that I may continue on my quest to save Zelda and the world?

DRAGON: Silly boy! I can't give my song to just ANY one true hero who walks in bearing all the foretold marks of the Goddess and carrying her sacred weapon. I believe I will test you again to be extra sure.

LINK: But I am the first of my kind to descend from the sky with the Goddess's sword and pass her arbitrary trials. What other test could you possibly give me that would prove me more worthy than the ones set forth by the supreme creator and protector of the world?

DRAGON: You can start by collecting these small glowing tadpoles.

LINK: SON OF A B****!

Of course, I laughed my tail off at this trolling on the part of the game designers, but as I said before, I'm a fan. Anyone unfamiliar with the way these games work will probably feel like they're being made to jump through hoops.

I have another theory about these little mini-quests, and judging from Nintendo's recent track record, I think I might be on to something. Nintendo is notorious for pioneering game design concepts, and I'm of the opinion that these clearly 'non-Zelda' segments are actually field tests for games still in the making. Between the bird flying, swimming, item collecting, chasing, and being chased, Nintendo might just have some new ideas for Wii games in the works. After all, what better way to test a design concept than by sneaking it into a game that is guaranteed to do well regardless? Mind you, I could be entirely wrong, since most of these concepts were introduced in the Wii Sports packages long before Skyward Sword was released, but it goes a long way to explaining why the game developers would decide to interrupt your questing every hour or so just to throw you into a mini-game about barrel rolls. The future will tell, but my chips are in on this one.

Now, before you go thinking I had nothing overwhelmingly positive to say about this game, let me tell you what Skyward Sword does absolutely right. Everything else. Graphics? Beautiful. Music and sound? Superb. Everything that Zelda got right in the past, it gets right here, and spectacularly so. One major change that I very much enjoyed (and others may call for my head on this) is the noticeable increase in difficulty. Part of this is due to the motion controls, which have a steep two hour learning curve, and even afterwards it's an exercise in patience and timing to win many fights. Most of it is because monsters now reliably damage you for one or two hearts per hit instead of the measly quarter heart pinpricks of games past, and that's not counting the extra boost that monsters get in Hero Mode, a new game plus feature where monsters are twice as strong and don't drop hearts. But in all honesty, I enjoyed playing a Zelda game that made me fight for my life two or three times per dungeon. Even in mundane fights, the swordfighting controls stressed patience and strategy over button mashing, and I felt this captured the original Zelda spirit better than Twilight Princess's acrobatic combat did.

Speaking of combat, the boss fights are incredible. Don't expect them to be easy either. Your fancy new magic items won't be saving your ass like they did in all the other games, and the bosses throw some nasty surprises at you that will have you balling your fists in rage. Don't worry though, the fights are worth playing over again for the sheer excitement they provide. I still shiver when I think of my first encounter with Koloktos.

All in all, Skyward Sword gave me more than enough Zelda to last until the next installment. The increased difficulty and slower gameplay made the experience much closer in spirit to the original NES title, and I hope that the developers at Nintendo continue to challenge their players like this in future installments. I can't say I was an enormous fan of the minigames or the extreme hand holding, but those were more than outbalanced by the incredible gameplay and some very fun motion controls. If you're a Zelda fan, this one's a definite must have. If you're not, get the other games first. Then get this one.

I'm not a perfect human being. I never claimed to be. But I do the very best I'm able to do under the circumstances. Even if I'm terrible at it, nobody can fault me for not trying.

I try very hard at everything I do. Sometimes I try too hard and screw up. Nothing I've ever done for the first time has come easily to me, and I'm generally better at understanding than I am at doing. But one thing I can say with absolute certainty is that I've never made the same mistake twice.

Usually when I do things, I do them awkwardly. Carefully. I take great care in everything I do. I attend to every detail. Oftentimes that leaves me doing something slowly or strangely, especially if it's something I have little experience with. But that attention to detail, that carefulness, that hanging on every moment... that's how I learn. That's how I've always learned.

I'm deficient in a lot of ways because of this. I can rarely do something quickly. When forced into haste, my mind wants to take in everything, too much, too fast. It's not that I'm incapable of acting, it's that my actions demand my entire brain. I don't know why that is, but it's how I've always been, whether by some fault in my upbringing or from inherent brain structure. My best guess is the latter, but my hopes are the former. The latter can at least be remedied, while the former is something I have to live with.

This has always caused me problems. I'd say I was mentally handicapped except for the fact that I have an extraordinary ability for learning and retaining knowledge, I'm gifted with numbers, and I possess superhuman patience. I can learn and remember anything because I focus, I pay attention. I pay extraordinary attention. And I don't give up, even when others tell me I should.

People often made fun of me for this. I was on an entirely different planet from everyone else, often confused by the things others said or did. I lacked the same instincts and sensibilities that my peers had. I was self assured in my way of doing things and looking at the world, and when someone tried to tell me otherwise, I let them know how I felt. I got into a lot of fights over this, and I lost most of them.

So when I find myself faced with something new, I do what comes naturally: I observe, I learn, and I act. If that doesn't work, I modify my strategy and act again. And I keep acting until I find a strategy that works. If I fuck up, I keep going. I never let being wrong stop me from going forward. I'm allowed to make mistakes.

I have to look at the world this way. It's my way of understanding. I get stuck sometimes. I don't always have the best habits or the best ideas, but there's nothing I can do about that. I just have to keep going and keep learning. It's all I've ever done and it's all I can do. I've come a long way. I have a lot further to go.

Bunny signing out.

Been about a week now. Everything's mostly unpacked and in place. Loving this apartment, at least the parts of it that are finished. Where's all da furries at?

A friend of a friend died today in a motorcycle crash, and it left me feeling pretty helpless. What are you supposed to say to someone when their friend dies? I'm usually good at that. This... well fuck.

I don't even know if the friend in question is someone I would have known personally. It sucks, being in a fandom where nobody knows anyone else's real name. A one paragraph news article was all I could find.

I feel so detached right now. Not sure whether I wanna hit something or just stare at a wall.

So last weekend Raff, Keapano and I went out apartment hunting and found a beautiful place in Williamsburg. Needless to say we grabbed it up.

The move'll be in a couple weeks. Housewarming party to come soon after.

Excited? Hell yes.

Any fuzzies out in the New York City area? Feel free to drop me a line.

Retail sucks. Retail really, really sucks. Anyone who makes a career out of it probably also owns gag balls and riding crops and has hookers over every Friday night to tie them to the bedposts and discipline them.

But working retail in a store for pregnant women-- that is a truly soul draining experience. Not only do I deal with stupid customers on a daily basis, but I must also own up to the grim reality that these people and their relatives are breeding

First off, there's a Haitian lady who's been frequenting our store for the past two weeks. I've rang her up three times and each time it's the same routine.

"'Ow much dis? 'Ow much dis? I buy dis, I no want dis. Okay, 'ow much now?"

This would be alright if the lady were merely ignorant of the fact that, in the United States, we list our prices on the shelf tags for everyone to see. I could understand if, maybe, she were simply unfamiliar with the American marketplace. But then I'll scan an item and she'll stop me.

"Dis say 4.99 on shelf. Why you say 5.99? Is 4.99. You go see, over dere."

I grumble silently and go check the shelf tag, all the way realizing that I'm not dealing with a doddering old Haitian woman but a canny bargain hunter who purposefully has me read off every single item to her so she can squeeze every last penny out of me that she can. Even this might not be a problem if the woman didn't then question why the total and subtotal were different. I've explained the concept of sales tax to her twice already and she still asks.

I'm not a fan of our store so I really shouldn't care so much, but I'm tragically Jewish, so I have to fight my genetic urge to argue back to the letter of the law.

Stop staring at me like that, I'm allowed to be self deprecating. That's the fun part of being a Jew.

A few minutes later I see a girl walk through the door. There was nothing particularly stupid about her except that she was walking with her hands out to her sides, arms flexed, wrists limp, and swishing like a gay man trying to do "I'm a Little Teapot" from both sides of his body. I have seen plenty of gay men swish. I've even swished myself in the privacy of my own home after dark when nobody was looking. But I have never seen a girl swish, not in such an overly affected way. It was actually offensive.

Sure enough, she comes up to my register. I ask if she has a rewards card. She looks at me for a moment and gives me her best valley girl. "Ummm... I dunno. But I'm pretty sure my mom has one." That's great, sweetheart. I'll remember to ask your mom for the card next time she buys your schoolbooks here.

And let us not forget the best part of my day: the woman who could not remember her own name. I will spare her the embarrassment by leaving her name out of this, suffice it to say that when I asked her for it to look up her account, she took a good ten seconds to remember her last name. I thought it was just a brain fart until it took her another ten seconds to remember her first name. Yes ladies and gentlemen, there are people out there who apparently need to think about the question "What is your name?"

Now, I'm sure there's a perfectly good reason for these people being so stupid. Maybe if I got to know any one of these individuals I'd find they were perfectly tolerable people. But I don't know them, nor do I want to, so instead I will share the tales of their ridiculously low intelligence and let the rest of the world decide.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to make a phone call. My aunt just had twins and I haven't found out how many yet.

-Geo

When I decided to see this in IMAX, it was out of sheer boredom. A fellow fur and I were traversing the wasteland known as the Palisades Mall on a Sunday night, and, with nothing better to do, decided to see the film that everyone (and by everyone I mean the TV) was talking about. It looked like a decent sci-fi government superpower themed movie, and we figured if nothing else it would at least look cool in IMAX. I mean, hey... it's IMAX. How can it not be awesome?



How wrong we were.



You see, I can sum up I Am Number Four in about three words: Twilight with aliens. Seriously, there are way too many parallels. Angsty teen moves to dreary, nowhere town? Check. Aloof high school hunk is secretly a vampire alien with superpowers? Check. Two hours of teen drama followed by a marginally relevant fight scene and sequel hook? Check check. Now, if only the movie were based on a tween marketed book series... oh wait, it is!



I knew this movie was going to be bad the moment I heard the opening narration. The main character doesn't even attempt to hide the fact that he's an alien from the audience; we're treated to an entire plot exposition, complete with title drop, within the first five minutes of the film. Anything interesting I could have learned from watching the next hour has now been spoiled, making the movie only marginally more exciting than watching Angela Lansbury masturbate in a bubble bath.



But then that's probably for the best. The main character has about as much depth as an avocado (but what can you expect from a guy named John Smith), and the only evidence of his otherworldly background is that we're CONSTANTLY TOLD HE'S AN ALIEN. The audience isn't even treated to a gratuitous home-planet-exploding scene to reinforce his backstory or provide us with insight into his current plight. Instead we see cut-away scenes of the evil Mogodorians (who look like Stalking Cat if he were Stalking Shark) caravanning across the country and perpetuating such heinous acts as buying chicken and frightening fat children in the next car over. None of this really explains who John Smith is, or why the Mogodorians attacked his planet, or why Cathy Griffin is still doing stand up. It certainly doesn't explain why I'm watching this movie.



I wish I could say that I Am Number Four has some kind of redeeming quality that makes it worth the two hours and fifteen minutes it would take to pirate and watch, but it doesn't. While Twilight was so terrible as to be amusing, I am Number Four is simply bad. Whatever action the teasers promised falls far short of expectations, replaced instead by a bunch of whinging teens and alien puberty metaphors. By the time all the cool action sequences came around I was literally falling asleep. Yes, literally. Not even a forty foot tall screen filled with CGI alien kung fu explosions could rouse my interest. IMAX did a better job salvaging the Titanic than it did this wreck.



Go ahead and watch this movie if you don't believe me, because that's the only way I'd recommend it to anyone. As for me, well... I'm going to go see what Mrs. Lansbury is up to in that bubble bath of hers.

Well, I said I wanted to write from the heart, so here I am, at about 5:30 AM, with a serious case of depression. No signs of sleep on the horizon, but I can almost see the sun.

I don't like admitting I'm depressed. I don't think anyone does. It's like a failing or a weakness of some kind. "Oh, so you're depressed, eh?" we imagine the response. "What about? No job? No boyfriend? Just not pleased that things in your life aren't what you want? Go cry somewhere else, cause there's about a million and three starving orphans in China who have it worse off than you do, Mr. College Degree in the Land of Opportunity." Yes, we have so much to be thankful for here that to admit we're just not happy almost seems like a crime.

And yet... we're just not very happy, are we? In the middle of the night, when there's nobody around to distract us from ourselves, we sit and think and watch the walls for any sign of change. Some of us just curl up; others cry. Some are afraid if they fall asleep, they'll die; others would love nothing better than to sleep forever and never have to worry about a thing again. And all of us wonder why? Why me, in this room, in this bed, with these feelings? Why should I be depressed, or scared, or anxious? Why was I singled out for this?

I've dealt with this problem for a long time and in various ways, from pills to therapy to, currently, just toughing it out (FYI, toughing it out is... well... tough). It's not easy. There are physical symptoms, emotional symptoms, and symptoms you wonder may be buried somewhere in the root of your soul, if you're inclined to believe such things. I don't know which is worse; all I know is I'd very much like to be without all of them.

It's times like these when we want to reach out and feel like there's some kind of connection waiting for us, some hope that out there is someone just like us who knows what it means to have this horrifying, melancholic cocktail simmering somewhere just south of our stomachs. Even the skeptics and the cynics among us (and I fear that may be more or less all of us) secretly want to believe in the naive and callow notion that, perhaps, there's an answer, a reason for all of this, that somewhere along the line life will sort itself out and we'll strike that beautiful balance that all the other naive and callow souls out there already have. And time and again we come up against that same brick wall: the conclusion that life is essentially random, we play the hand we're dealt, and we win or lose based on that.

I don't know if life is random or not. I've never seen anything close to a god or fate, and I doubt I ever will. All I know is that some things in life can't be explained, and this miracle that I have been singled out for is one of them. Why me? Why not me is more like it. Bad things have to happen to someone, after all. If you go no further than that, you have all the clarification you'll ever need. And yet...

Once again, as though it were a crime, I will make an admission: I wish I could believe in something better that this, that my parents were right when they said life gets better, and that maybe somewhere out there is some kind of ultimate order, some cosmic balance that will kick in. Maybe that's a luxury that only the fortunate can afford. I just don't know, and it doesn't help.

We all want to reach out for something. So here I am, reaching out and wondering if someone out there is reaching, too. Maybe we're all secretly depressed inside. I hope not, but if we are, well... at least we're all here, and we can share.

The sun is starting to come up now, and I'm going to see if maybe I can throw in at least a couple hours' sleep before work. If life is truly random, I can take comfort in the chance that I'll have a better hand dealt to me tomorrow.

Bunny signing off.

On the day I first decided to call myself a writer, I made a promise to
myself. Perhaps it was the idealism of my youth, or perhaps it was
simply my fear of letting the world know what kind of person I really
was, but I swore that I would never once put pen to paper (or later,
finger to keyboard) with the intent to write about myself. Anyone, I
thought in my own callow, high-minded way, could simply indulge their
passions and write without considering anything beyond the confines of
their skulls. Anyone could tell the world how they wanted to be
understood, to be recognized, to be loved. Self indulgent writing was
nothing if not trash, a vicarious thrill to be consumed by the literate
masses who craved someone else's drama, and the purveyors of such mere
amateurs whose need to be noticed outweighed their meager,
dysfunctioning faculties. I would be different. I would take the high ground. And so for years I filled my work with analysis, criticism, evaluation, and metaphor.

And yet after all these years I've failed to feel satisfied with any of my writing, and now I realize why.

Writing, at it's very core, has always been about one human being reaching out to another. Our shared experience brings us together, makes us feel validated, and gives us a sense of comfort. Tapping into the collective unconscious of humankind is the hallmark of all good writers, or at the very least those who want readers, and it's taken me until now to understand this very basic truth.

I've spent a good portion of my life denying my own human-ness in an effort to remain impartial, rational, and under control, and this, I worry, has been to my detriment. True, I'm as reasonable and temperate a person as you could ever meet, but I lack the fundamental connection to others that allows a writer to truly give themselves a voice. I would like to change that.

I've decided to write more about myself. From my heart, sincerely, without pretentious motives or self pity. I'm hoping that this public offering of myself will help me open up and relate more with others. I want to share what I have, and create a space where others can share. But most importantly, I want to embark on a human endeavor, one that comes from who I really am and not what I think I ought to be.I don't care who reads. I don't care if nobody reads. I'll be here. I'll know.

To all of you out there: please wish me luck.

-Geo

A random IM on Yahoo Messenger today led to this moment of fun.


hermionefetterolftd110: Just me

Geo Vaughan: Hi just you.

hermionefetterolftd110: Yay someone to talk too!! ~~~~~<3

Geo Vaughan: Hi. Do I know you?

hermionefetterolftd110: I'm 20/F please tell me your a male???

Geo Vaughan: Yes, but you're going to be very disappointed.

hermionefetterolftd110: Cool, well im stephanie and i work at a 24 Hour Fitness center and sometimes i like to come home and play with my cam...

Geo Vaughan: I'm gay.

hermionefetterolftd110: I hate it when people can't actually see me saying stuff or fixing my hair or fixing my bra

Geo Vaughan: I prefer men.

hermionefetterolftd110: U should come check me out at http://tinyurl.com/2a3k3v just accept my invite on the page baby, its even more fun if we both have a cam = )

Geo Vaughan: Do you speak english?

hermionefetterolftd110: Come on read the page they won't charge you anything, the CC verification is just to make sure your atleast 18

Geo Vaughan: Are you listening to me? Hablas ingles? Parlez vous anglais? Eigo wo hanasemasu ka?

hermionefetterolftd110: i know u dont wanna miss out on my sexy ass hahaha, if u need more convincing come check out some pics of me n my girls that im puttin up right now at http://www.pinkgirlpic.com/

Geo Vaughan: <-- GAY!

hermionefetterolftd110: well its hard to talk i got a show goin on right now, if anything come check me out some other time... site is http://axaijov.notlong.com

Geo Vaughan: <-- HOMOSEXUAL
Geo Vaughan: <-- LIKES PENIS!
Geo Vaughan: <-- BOOBIES NO!
Geo Vaughan: Are you still there?


WAIT! It gets BETTER! Not MINUTES later:


dominiqueehmannru454: looking for truth and honesty

Geo Vaughan: On the internet?

dominiqueehmannru454: Yay someone to talk too!! ~~~~~<3

Geo Vaughan: Oh no.... you're one of Stephanie's friends aren't you?

dominiqueehmannru454: I'm 20/F please tell me your a male???

Geo Vaughan: If I say no, will you go away?

dominiqueehmannru454: Cool, well im stephanie and i work at a 24 Hour Fitness center and sometimes i like to come home and play with my cam...

Geo Vaughan: No... you're not... Hermione was Stephanie. I shall name you... Beatrice. Beatrice Spiffymuffin. Hello Beatrice.

dominiqueehmannru454: I hate it when people can't actually see me saying stuff or fixing my hair or fixing my bra

Geo Vaughan: Stop telling lies, Mrs. Spiffymuffin, everyone knows you lost your hair in the accident at the power plant... how's the horrifyingly disfiguring burn scars, by the way?

dominiqueehmannru454: U should come check me out at http://slnks.com/1e just accept my invite on the page baby, its even more fun if we both have a cam = )

Geo Vaughan: Or better yet, we can go out to the IHOP and get some endless pancakes! It's OK, you can wear a paper bag over your head, nobody will see your enlarged uvula. Or your horrible sagging breast sacks

dominiqueehmannru454: Come on read the page they won't charge you anything, the CC verification is just to make sure your atleast 18
dominiqueehmannru454: i know u dont wanna miss out on my sexy ass hahaha, if u need more convincing come check out some pics of me n my girls that im puttin up right now at http://www.pinkgirlpic.com

Geo Vaughan: Actually the breast sacks might be hard to hide... what if we said they were your ectopic babies? People might believe that, nobody questions the tragedy of an ectopic pregnancy...

dominiqueehmannru454: well its hard to talk i got a show goin on right now, if anything come check me out some other time... site is http://axaijov.notlong.com

Geo Vaughan: Oh you crazy, loveable Mrs. Spiffymuffin. You take care dear! We simply must keep in touch!


Yes, ladies and gentlemen... the internet is awesome.

I found a picture online of the infamous Giygas background from Earthbound, where someone astutely pointed out that the negative space inside the swirling red design forms the outline of a human fetus.

http://superfani.com/2009/04/15/gra.....m-of-giygass-a...

This set many people on the listed forum debating the nature of symbols, meaning, intent and randomness.

My reply was as follows:


"There was once a programming student who was coding a program for a computer to play Tic-Tac-Toe.

When his teacher came in and asked him what he was doing, he replied 'I'm writing a computer program that will use random numbers to determine the computer's move in a tic-tac-toe game, so the computer won't approach the game with any preconceived notions.'

The teacher then wisely replied 'But the computer will have preconceived notions. You just won't know what they are.'

In reality, the computer has neither preconceived notions or randomness. Randomness is only another construct of the human mind used to interpret events. Their meaning is equally worthless.

I have a bag of three marbles: red, green and blue. One person closes their eyes, reaches in, and, after feeling around for a bit, draws a green marble. His choice is 'random'. A second person reaches in with his eyes open, and, seeing the green marble, takes it intentionally. His choice is 'preconceived'. Does the significance of the green marble change because one person chose it without knowing its color? Could it not be said that the one who did not look still made a conscious 'choice' to pull that marble from the bag, but used a different standard to make that choice? In the end, the interpretation of randomness or preconception makes little difference. The only 'reality' is that two people have drawn green marbles. Both are therefore equal.

Author fiat or consensus... neither of these two factors can influence 'truth'. The truth is the game. It exists, and we place meaning to it by virtue of our cultures and upbringings.

That being said... the Giygas-as-fetus theory resonates really strongly with me. I don't actually see Giygas as a literal or metaphorical fetus. Rather, the imagery of something as fundamental as an unborn baby mixed with the imagery of chaotic faces becomes extremely jarring. It's like a Dali painting where one brushstroke becomes part of two different but coexisting objects. One cannot see both objects at once, and I relate this to why 'You cannot grasp the true form of Giygas' attack'. Giygas' visual form provides symbolism in both the positive and negative space, meaning that our minds cannot hold both forms simultaneously. Therefore, it conveys the essence of Giygas. We cannot grasp it because to see it in its entirety requires us to rid ourselves of the instinctive symbol recognition that our brains are wired for.

Following that train of thought, then, Giygas' true nature is meaninglessness. It cannot be comprehended, because comprehension creates meaning. To see and understand Giygas, we must become like him: that is to say, devoid of preconceived notions."

I really have a strong distaste for people who take offense to being judged.

Yes, there are some things we shouldn't judge people for. The color of their skin, their gender or nationality, what school they went to, who their family are... these are things that can't be helped. Nobody should be judged for things they can't control.

But some things just beg to be judged. If you have a dirty house, people have every right to say you're messy. If you do drugs, you shouldn't be surprised if people talk about it negatively. If you sleep around with lots of people, well, there's a lot of nasty euphemisms for that. And the stupidest thing you can say in response to that is "Don't judge me".

Everyone makes judgments. It's how we get along in the world. It's how we survive. A human being who can't make judgments about whether a thing is good or bad, safe or unsafe, is, from an evolutionary standpoint at least, a dead human being. So anyone who asks not to be judged for their actions is pretty much asking for it.

Mind you, messy houses are nothing worth getting riled up about unless it's really, really bad. But sometimes you just have to wonder about how blind some people really are to their own faults. Sure, you may only hurt yourself by shooting up heroin, but do you really expect people to somehow turn a blind eye for that reason alone? And yes, those people you sleep with are consenting adults, but does it really make others want to be near you when they know half your brain is occupied with sex?

As a homosexual and a furry I should probably be the last person to say people have the right to judge others by their actions. But I think it's fair enough. If someone has that much of a problem with what I do, then I probably don't want to be near them anyway. Acceptance is not a God given right, and I think a truly respectful and honest person should realise that everyone has their own ideas, and it's no right of ours to go around trying to change them.

I try not to judge people too much anyway, but that doesn't mean I deny others their right.

-rant over-

Bunny signing out.