If I Can Realize How Much Fun It Is To Be Batman, Why Can't He?

Just a brief one tonight.  There's a certain feel on the Batman character that I feel is underutilized.  You see, there is a certain level of cowboy that comes with the territory of being Batman.  Even at his most subconscious level, he must realize how truly badass it is to be Batman, although he may feel at times not outwardly able to express it.  I think the hardcore Batman fans wouldn't object to seeing a certain degree of that self-realization worked into the plot.  Jim Lee, of all people, managed to convey this without overemphasizing or going all campy 1960's.  It is a matter that must be handled delicately.  Every sentence or action that may express that he enjoys what he is doing as Batman is somewhat in contrast to his Dark avenger status for which he is so famous.

He made an oath to his parents, but that doesn't mean he can't enjoy certain parts of it.

In The All Star Batman and Robin there's a point where Batman is running from rooftop to rooftop, laughing. He says something to the effect of "I've been awake for over three days now, but I've never felt more alive." 

Was it any coincidence that the most light hearted Batman is the Batman with a Robin?

No.

Robin helps to bring that out of him.  I've always been fond of the opposition of their costumes.  Robin dresses in bright reds, yellows, and occasionally green.  This displays total confidence, almost arrogance.  Batman, by contrast, wears dark blues, grays, and of course, black.  With the exception of Zur-en-ahhr resurrected masterfully by Grant Morrison and Tony Daniel.

When one comes to the edge

To the great wall of mountains

The light becomes even more intoxicating

One feels as if he could bound up the side of the mountain in a few great strides

And then, why then, if one did get to the top

One could race like mad along the smooth spine

And jump clear into the sky

One clear headlong flight

Into the blue

And amen

Forever

You Guys Believe Me...Right?

Ever have a friend that seemingly knows more about any given subject than you do, or at least claims to?  The subtle note of bullshit just lingering below the surface.  Any challenge to this claims will only compound the bullshit, it's humorous to see to what extent it will go.  Each boast or claim is bound to vary in it's feasibility.  I would make a chart or an equation to represent this claim, but that would take entirely too much time and effort.  What we do like to do in the presence of the friend in question is assign a numerical value to the level of bullshit that it is between 1-10.  While it would be perfectly acceptable to wait until the bullshitter is unaware, and hold up the appropriate number of fingers, try this instead: speak the number aloud, or find a clever way to work it into conversation.

This is a game that everyone is in on with the exception of the bullshitter.  My friends and I have conduct this game unbeknown-st to the person against whom we play.  Amazingly enough, he has never caught on to the peculiarity or the abruptness that he is cut off in conversation by numbers.  He'll be on a bullshit rant, when someone will suddenly - "Ten!" in his face.

"Ten what?"
Time to deftly change the subject "Ten minutes until we have to be (insert place)"

Everyone knows that guy.  So let the game begin

Netflix: The End of Productivity as Al Knows It

God dammit, it's like crack to me.  Pure economic reasoning led me inexorably to the decision to pledge 8 American Dollars a month and my soul to Netflix.  This is pure unadultered addiction.  In one of my more classic posts, Half.com Will Be My Financial Ruin, I touched on my affinity for media, and the principles of consumerism to which I'm susceptible.  Here, I've discovered it will cost significantly less money to dedicate substantially more time to movies and television.  What was especially alluring about Netflix apart from the cost, was the variety of ways one can stream media.  For no additional cost, movies and television shows can stream directly from my Xbox, or my PC.

I find myself in one of my more classic struggles of thought, time versus money.  Some will argue, time is money. I feel that one can always make more money, best of luck making more time.

Initially crunching the data I formulated the following fundamental law.  You're welcome.

z< xy

x= The number of DVDs Al buys/month
y= Cash value of 1 DVD (In American Dollars)
z= The Cash value of one month of Netflix in American Dollars

That was the most voluntary mathematics I have ever done.  Other than this one occasion that I'm pulling from the recesses of my mind. 1st grade, I recall having optional homework (What a strange notion!) of a sheet of addition equations to bring home and complete.  For whatever reason, I found it most stimulating or at least satisfying to operate those equations with great ease.  I remember specifically there being daily planners in which the daily tasks that were mandatory were prefixed by a green circle, and the ones that were optional were blue triangles.  Something strange is now occurring to me, perhaps it's just retrospect or hindsight, but I feel, (and feel I'm justified in feeling) that circles, and green for that matter, are more indifferent to action, and portray a lesser sense of urgency than do blue triangles.

Link From Legend of Zelda Series Befriends Police Officers

My college friends like this story more than I do.  I’m not fond of the stories where I black out.  It’s not flattering and represents lack of self control.  What is remarkable and fairly consistent however, is certain portions of my logic and wit remain uninhibited by utter inebriation.

We begin our story post undergrad, however returning to my alma mater, Colby-Sawyer College for a night of drunken revelry.  The biggest night on a college campus: Halloween.  I make no secret of my insecurities about returning.  I never want to stand accused of living in the past or being that guy.  I do, however, have many friends that still attend the college, and a stellar consume in the form of Link, the Knight from The Legend of Zelda series.

The cool thing about being a guy that’s sometimes there is that your presence is that much more special.  It’s like being a guest star on a hit show.  And who has the best lines in sitcoms?  The guest stars.  I mean, c’mon, they show up and the audience applauds before they can even deliver that first line.  And that first line kills man.

This was far from a standout performance from Link the guest star.  Arriving to a place where I knew little people and was not nearly as glamorous as my imagination had led me to believe accelerated my drinking.  Wife was not around to be the voice of reason.  My strategy going into the night was to obtain a good buzz, take some good photos, and make others laugh.  Well, I made people laugh, that’s for damn sure.

Officially I had resigned myself to drinking half of my fifth of Jameson.  That was until I looked down and it was miraculously three quarters finished.  It’s 9pm.

Fuck.

Recalling the times of the events a year plus later is not realistic, darkness fell, and Al was blacked out.  Operating on my primal instincts, fight or flight instincts surfaced.  I chose flight for wife’s off-campus apartment, more than one mile away.

When I’m drunk I think that I’m the fastest man alive.  When I’m blacked out as Link, who knows what I’m thinking.  I took off, sword drawn, ready to face any adversary who might stand in my way.  Any adversary that is, other than local law enforcement.  The flashing blue lights were blinding and managed to penetrate the whiskey haze that was my mind.  Instantly, I drop to one knee, sheathing my sword (As though they were truly intimidated by a plastic sword) and begin fishing for my license.

“Son, we normally say this to drivers, but you’re all over the road.”

I start immediately confessing shit.  “Yeahhhh I’ve haaaad a few sh- chardonnays.” (Side note, I don’t know how to phonically represent slurring, but rest assured, I was).  “Hesh my ID and my Girlfrieeends skaoool ID.  Dat’s my girlfien, I swear to god it’s not just some girl I kidnapped.”

Cops laugh “Where are you staying?”

“Up on de campus wif mah friens.”

“Alright son, let’s get you back.”

“Coooooool.  Can I Ride shogun?”

“Absolutely not.”

The officers of the law kindly place me in the back of the cruiser and drive what seems like 1000mph back to campus whereupon I or they contact my friend Jon, to claim me I guess.  This is where things get really funny.

Picture me, shitfaced dressed as Link, standing between two cops, the three of us arms folded as college kids emerge from a dorm on their way to the dance, all doing their best to act casual.  Meanwhile, I, for whatever reason, have adopted an English accent.  I notice that the students are doing their best to not make eye contact with the cops. I bring this to their attention.

“W’dja lookit these kids.  They don even wanna look at you.  They don’t want to get in trouble.”

It’s at this point that I distinctly remember both police officers breaking into uncontrolled laughter.  Jon comes to claim me, in between these two cops, and I’m just so pleased to see him, I’m all but homefree.  A giant grin, spreads uncontrollably across my face, but Jon refuses to make eye contact with me.  It’s game time for him.  He’s answering all questions yes sir, no sir, where I have reason to believe I may have called one of the cops dude. 

Now I should give partial credit to the police officers and maybe it was my luck to be reeled in by two of the most good natured police officers around.  Because clearly there are some inflexible, Nazi cops out there.  I would like to believe though that I could, with my antics make some of the sternest cops at least smile, or think about it.

Creative Process

Horses and rabbits have something in common.  They are unable to vomit.  Can dogs look up?  I don't know.

As stated previously, I do my best thinking in the shower, which hopefully turns into writing.  Blogging.  My blog is writing in the sense that professional wrestling is a sport about athletic competition.  But it's a chance to stretch the legs and throw the proverbial tennis ball against the proverbial wall.  In this example however the tennis ball is the random thoughts I have and the wall is the dictator (the microphone and tape I carry on me at all times) into which I shout these random thoughts.  My voice will allow me to catch the tone of the writing and hopefully convey that.

So I knew, while in the shower if I didn't rush back here, sopping wet, and write this all down, it would be gone forever.  Thoughts are fleeting, until they are immortalized in words.  Sure, I'd recall bits and peices, but they would be out of sequence and different words would be used, and I would be frustrated with the results.  Liken it to remembering a dream hours after you've awoken.  Chances are, you'll be able to recall one or two details most.

A radio show or podcast would be ideal.  Dammit, I should have been a com-major.  I remember in psych nursing having to record my own relaxation tape and how interested in the recording process I became.  It was interesting that you were given the option to adopt a previously recorded one, or make your own.  Basically, I could have picked a relaxing song, wrote some BS about it, and got roughly the same grade.  This became an excuse to get into the recording studio and add effects, do levels, work with recording software, cut, edit, loop, etc.  Things with which I had little experience, but was able to navigate with surprising ease.  I've always considered myself relatively tech savvy, however it was probably a result of several factors, ideal circumstances if you will.

One of my co-workers was discussing the all female gym she frequents called Curves.  It was then and there that I vowed to open an all male gym called Straight Lines.  And hire this guy and this guy to greet customers.  Note on the first guy wearing a fanny pack and short shorts.

Brinkmanship

I do my best thinking in the shower.  I take my longest and best fucking showers in a hotel.  Cause the hot water never ends right?  Fuck it, I'm not paying for it directly right?  In college it was the same.  If there was a paper due in oh, I don't know, hypothetically, 4 hours?

It's shower time.

Maybe it's the noise, the noise or the feeling, the soap, the preoccupation.  I think it's the ability to be doing something while focusing entirely on something else.  

(Not what I meant)

I find similar thought patterns in activities such as running and golf.  In that sense I think one's conscious self is so ingrained in the lather, rinse, repeat, actions, that the subconscious is really able to flourish and thrive.  That area from one's brain where true inspiration is cultivated becomes suddenly so accessible.  For me, it was always a "Eureka!" Moment.  My great idea, my pivotal thesis or intangible undeniable argument had been just lingering below the surface.  Always present, just needed to be discovered.  There was never any doubt that I was lacking a great idea, pretentious as it may sound.  Then I would emerge from the shower, wearing nothing but a towel, and proceed to pull off what I had previously thought was impossible.

For the record, this is called "Brinkmanship."

A fairly new term coined to describe those who push a situation to dangerous limits.  It can be used in a contemporary sense to describe those who insist upon procrastination as a means to feel the pressure as an ultimatum unfairly enforced upon them.  They will refuse to accept their previous inaction as cause for their sudden predicament.  They will however, ally all against them and view the work to be completed as a race against time, as a challenge.

Denial 101.  One of the most predictable human emotions.  This couldn't be my fault.  And one would think having this self awareness would lead one to scrap brinkmanship in favor of the more practical, preparation and foresightedness?

Well one would be wrong.  Don't you see?  You'd be removing the thrill of it all.

Those who employ brinkmanship likely view themselves as those, who thrive upon pressure.  That raising the stakes to this level was not of their action, it was inevitable and now they must rise to that challenge and get "high" so to speak off the victory.  Some will maintain that their best work only comes from the pressure.  You know who employed brinkmanship with fantastic outcomes (other than me)?

JFK.  Boom.  

This post would be infinitely better had there been a deadline imposed upon it.

Rebellion?

This is completely unrelated but, I have witnessed a young man leap from a moving vehicle travelling between 30-35mph.  Out the passenger door if you're wondering.  On to some grass if you're still wondering.  If you're wondering why...

So am I.

This young man leaped from my moving vehicle.  Buffy, as I remember her.  Unannounced.  It was one of the more surreal moments in my life, to be driving down a street, and to look beside you and there's a young man there.  Not a moment later, he's not.  This same young man had on his body following this feat, minor cuts and scrapes.

He was indestructible in the sense that Ulysses S. Grant was.  Just a throw caution to the wind sort of mentality.  Uncompromising men are always easier to admire, or at least they tend to astonish more often.

In adolescence we were at times inspired by the era of Jackass, which is certainly a risky statement to make and one which, given the opportunity, would gladly elaborate.

I'm not at all trying to suggest that in those days we looked upon the pain inflicting, sophomoric, senseless actions of that group as being especially hip or cool.  It was more than likely the "Don't give a fuck" attitude with which we identified, and ultimately attempted to recreate.  Anything rebellious be it loud music, crude television, alcohol, video games are immediately attractive at that age.  Of course it was stupid.  Don't you get it?  That was the point.

In the same manner that we would just as easily stay perched atop a mountain of snow daring each other to try a different trick, grab, or stunt on a set of skies.  Equal was the appeal of a video camera and a shopping cart.  Perhaps more appealing the added danger of the involvement of the fuzz.  We could relive it the following day.  Often our adventures fell short of our expectations, and our pseudo rebellious nature squandered by practicality.

A little nonsense now and then is relished by the wisest men.

You're welcome B.

New Year, New Revelations

Happy new year.    It never occurred to me when I was in grade school, practicing cursive, just how much I'd be signing my name on a daily basis.  It's incredible.

Whilst walking through Macy's I was mesmerized by the arrangement of colored plates all separated by color and size displayed in descending order.  Those poor plates.

Those poor, doomed plates.

They've reached the pinnacle of their existence right here, in Macy's displayed perfectly.  Once purchased, it's only a matter of time before the plates get thrown, washed, dulled, microwaved, chipped, and shattered.  The ding of the cash register upon purchase seals their fate. They remind me of a box of colored pencils or crayons, all arranged perfectly by color, all the same size, pointed tops.  They are the sacrificial lambs, blended and pushed down, sharpened and dulled.

Used, expended, but for a higher purpose.  Their sacrifice could yield a masterpiece.  Or a clichéd illustration of some utopia of green grass, blue water, a house with windows, and the sun.

This utopia where, for whatever reason the sun, a giant ball of burning gas, is represented here as a benevolent creature with eyes, a nose, and smile.

Can you tell I've been reading palahniuk?

Where was my life before Keurig?  It's interesting to me that I began drinking coffee and beer both as social constructions (Not solely for these reasons.  They're both unfortunately delicious. I slowly progressed to the rank of both coffee snob and beer snob.  No longer content with light beer and regular coffees.).  They are a means to enhance conversation, storytelling.  One can pause for dramatic effect, take a sip, open on a new subject or offer a new perspective on the current subject.  But it's the gesture, the sip, that sells it.  Makes it seem organic, spontaneous, as thoughts tend to occur.  It could be the storyteller is using a prop, the thought has been generated, the plot development loaded, all that remains is the delivery.  Say your line perfectly, and the story will stick.

Some stories, you tell them and you use them up.  Other stories, you tell them and they use you up.

More to follow.