Archive for the 'Concerns and Alerts' Category

24
Oct
19

PS2 The Sims, Ahead of Its Time

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I’m having another one of my nauseating deja vu moments as I indulge myself in some Sims therapy, taking a break from my recent obsessive, stress-injected attempt at online/offline gaming with the grown-up version of Highlights Magazine’s hidden object hunts.

If you feel like reading a short novel and riding my train of thought, enjoy. If your a fellow The Sims fan, all the better. Come on; it will be like reading comments under a YouTube video.

Long ago, in a workplace far away, I met a guy who let me borrow his PS2 and The Sims 2 game. I was quickly enamored with the liberty to design households, not cities or theme parks like the “old” Sims games (which I found a bit tedious and boring, more like work just to watch ants at play). I created a few fun households and slowly figured out how most things worked with the help of certain Cheat Gnome codes. Without the gnome, I was quickly growing frustrated with lack of money, people losing interest in each other and dying from all sorts of unexpected accidents, often fire (because you could only put so much in a house and need to teach people how to use appliances). After failing to complete the “get a life” story mode and earning a few jars in my house, I was ready to look for fun elsewhere. When I returned the game, my coworker said I could keep the memory card, just in case I got my own PS2 and The Sims 2 game. Well, since then, I have misplaced that memory card (because nearly 10 years went by without me acquiring a PS2); but my interest in and memories of that old Sims game sticks with me.

Now, present day, I recently took the plunge and bought myself a PS2 and a Sims game. Well, first, I bought a Sims game for the Wii which kept me busy for a few weeks; it didn’t have all the “bells and whistles of the one I remembered. And, sadly, the Wii graphics could not render bodies smoothly; arms and legs are a bit square and jagged. Still, it’s a fun retreat to an…well, island retreat. And, with a cheat gnome, you can go to town on setting up your own Gilligan’s Island.

As for the PS2, I had some troubles, at first, which delayed my purchase of games. And, while I had hoped to find a copy of The Sims 2 or some even better version, I stumbled upon a copy of The Sims (the first) and couldn’t pass it up…while the salesperson just threw me a look, as if to say, “Really? That old retard? You really want to spend your money on manly sex dolls and transvestite women of color?” I say this because that is sort of what you get in The Sims (the first). The creators were not very skilled with making feminine women…nor giving a decent variety of hair styles and clothes that don’t look like globs of paint…or kid options, in general; though there are some really bizarre dress-up things you can do with the kids which should be available to the adults!

Getting started with The Sims, I was just about as frustrated as I was with The Sims 2; except in the second game, I was able to “woohoo” and marry a number of couples, forming a sort of fantasy harem, with relative ease. And, I definitely had more fun playing dress-up and interior decorator. The first The Sims (not to be confused with the likes of Sim City or the very early flight simulation games) didn’t seem to have a “woohoo” option. Nor did I see the ease of forming relationships. There was no benefit to having a fish tank (except one lousy point for this or that and the fun appearance it has) or most objects which mainly raised the blood pressure of the household fire meter. [In The Sims 2, the fish tank provides fun AND food you can cook, oddly. And, a couch can provide fun items and money. In the first The Sims, you’re lucky if you get a phone call that informs you of some strange cash prize like a Community Chest card in Monopoly.] You really need space and lighting to see into rooms and allow dumb people to move without colliding, so they don’t forget what they are doing and get into trouble. But, this takes money and causes other risks.

So…why bother with The Sims (the first)? Well, once I looked online for cheat codes and discovered, sadly, there was no gnome, I was considering tossing the game…..and then I noticed codes for freebies and a “fish eye” mode. Well, it was better than nothing. And, for the most part, Fish Eye (1st person) mode is fairly fun. You get to see people’s faces…at times, which is fun when you kiss someone or give them back rubs. You can enjoy yourself in a bathtub or shower. You can walk around the houses like you’re playing Duke Nukem. The only downside is not being able to look at the people around you (not just directly in front of you)–for example, when you’re dining with guests–seeing the baby in your arms, etc. There was so much effort to block nudity and the like that certain views were impossible.

Alas, without the ability to quickly fill “motives,” the game seemed a chore…and has become a chore, particularly in “chapter five,” when it seems you are forced to raise two kids. And, that’s one rather funny and strange part. It’s almost like a Greek myth. My newly married wife didn’t even have sex with me to conceive. She just took a very sensual bath, and–poof!–flower petals rain down as a cradle is born nearby. And, we clap before the kid starts wailing and draining every battery until no parent wants to attend him/her, and the game warns you of child services coming to take the child away. I was genuinely tense reading that; I was/am taking virtul child-raising seriously. There’s no option to toss or punt the kid when he becomes intolerable and no cheat code to make them happy. It’s buck up or game over. And, I didn’t want to get through four chapters of this story just to get a grim ending and be denied completion. [Just to add a note, the second kid was born when, shortly after the first sprang from infant into a fully intellectual and talented child, as mysteriously as the way she was born, when the mother (not the strange non-customize-able Mom figure, just to be clear) went to make breakfast. Having read about how Hera birthed Hephaestus, that was all that came to mind. This woman had no sex and was birthing kids from the water and food. Amazing and amusing.

When the first kid was forced into the “life” of my Sims protagonist, I had a powerful flashback or deja vu moment. I had read about this game. I had studied so many aspects. I knew what was limited and what was unique. Didn’t I? Or, am I imagining it? Am I suffering some sort of insanity from too much solitude? When did I read up on this game? When did I write about it before? I knew you were not supposed to keep the wife happy in chapter five; you’re supposed to let her be miserable so you can get two promotions, which require a fair amount of socializing if you pick the Musician career path (which I did because there’s no other Artist path, not even a cook as you could be in the Castaway game). If she is too happy, the kid seems to come with ease…and the kid sure did! I just wanted to make my wife happy.

I…forgot? what I had read…but then remembered. Weird. I remembered and am remembering all that I supposedly read too late. If I had ready internet access to all that is The Sims, I might have caught myself in time. Instead, I am forced to save a single file prematurely just to save me from repeating a thousand steps in a day; and this leaves me with getting out of some jams which cost goals and time…and that takes the fun away.

Now, if you’ve stuck with me this far, you might be saying, “Wait. The title of this post says something about the game being ahead of its time. What did you mean by that?” I’m getting to that. I just get carried away, now and then.

This is another freaky part, aside from all the freakish faces I’ve encountered in the game and being forced to get into a hot tub with some unappealing stranger just to wake from a dream and get screeced at by an equally unappealing mother figure. When I went to design a woman, the first design that appears looks INCREDIBLY close to the beloved Taylor Alison Swift, the sweet-sounding songstress I’ve come to adore. No fooling; check it out for yourself. You just start designing a family and switch Male to Female; and–bam–there she is standing before you. Except, the eyes may be a bit green; there seems to be a Sims standard for starting with green eyes. But, you can fix that. Still, the woman sure looks like Tay…and kinda sounds like Tay. But…..this game was made in 2002. In 2002, Tay was a mere 13, her cosmic number. And, throwing another freaky wrench at you readers, there’s a clothing option that features a T-shirt with the number 13 on it. Why that number of all numbers? I’ve seen plenty of sporty shirts in games with numbers like 5, 7 and 21. And, in a game like this, I wouldn’t be surprised to see a 69. But, 13? Why 13? Was that the number of the day the game was released? How…convenient. Convenient like the instrument choices the game provides, including a RED (Tay favored color) electric guitar and a piano approved by Arianna Grande…er, Arianna Chimeway. Hmm…but the name on the piano was close to Grande…another intriguing detail. So, now you see what I meant by the game being ahead of its time. These bizarre inclusions and my sickening bouts with deja vu have supplied ample time-traveling madness.

How is this possible? How is it a game from 2002 can be a Tay Swift simulator? I didn’t see more than a glimpse of her until 2008. When I start the Castaway game, the first female figure option is usually a dark-haired woman who looks like a cruise director. From what I recall of The Sims 2, that also presented me with a dark-haired woman as a starting step, though both The Sims 2 and Castaway have a “randomizing” feature. The Sims (the first) seems set on presenting you with a Ken doll and Taylor Swift. Bizarre. Almost as bizarre as the feeling I am having even now, that I have written all of this before and am just repeating myself.

Submitted for your approval; a man of considerable age and fair wisdom has a very strange experience, an encounter with a virtual and highly desired lover, for what may be the second time in The Sims Zone………..

16
Sep
19

A Party Year and I Don’t Feel Festive

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Chinese astrology (and, maybe, predictions from astrology in general) is a bit like a certain brand of computer games that seems to have a mind of its own, telling me how and when to play. And, I guess, as I recently experienced a major “glitch” (troubling error), perhaps that too resembles my experiences with Chinese astrology.

I refer you back to 2015…a Wood Sheep year I thought was a sign of finding the love I have sought most of my life. I thought good things were in the near future; I just had to get out and find them. But, not long into that fateful year, I wound up in a hospital and was subject to a number of tests and treatments like a lab rat just to get me back in semi-normal functioning order. The expression “it cost me an arm and a leg” became a grim, somewhat sinister reality that year and continues to haunt me. I saw pretty faces but lost all or never had any chance of achieving a greater connection with them. So much for finding love. If there was any love that year, it was more like pity and it came with suffering.

Now, to be fair, there was no book or placemat telling me that was the year to find love. I took it upon myself to believe that from what I had grasped of/from Chinese astrology. I didn’t have a master/medium/guru to consult. I simply “divined” the possibility from what I had learned. Which, like many of my mistakes in this life, resulted in a slap-in-the-face disappointment.

In 2004, I took a costly trip overseas to fill a big hole in my life’s “experience folder.” I followed the ways of Bruce Almighty and said (to anyone who wrinkled their nose at me when I told them what I had planned), “If you don’t like what I’m doing, you can ‘megabyte’ me.” I didn’t know much about Chinese astrology at the time but had an inkling of good feeling and built my hopes up by carefully planning everything I could. Sadly, while I was ensured a measure of safety from certain harm, plans fell apart, social experiments failed under a cloak of deceptive friendship and I returned home with a case of souvenirs which left me feeling nearly as empty as I did when I left home.

I cried for days if not weeks, nearly as long as it took me to shake the jet lag. I felt as if the monkey (year) had made a fool out of me, once again. I remember watching so many others enjoying themselves while I struggled to insert myself into the fun, somehow. It was a bit like watching a celebration on a big TV and thinking I could step through the screen; there was no logical way to fit into the picture. The party crowd was just an illusion on the other side of a glass wall; I was not welcome (unless I changed who or whatever I was/am, maybe). I took what small positives I could from that experience…it was an experience which taught me a few things I’d hopefully be able to use on future trips to avoid repeat disappointment.

Now, what does all of this have to do with the price of tea in China? Perhaps nothing.

But, this year, 2019, is said to be a year to party and enjoy the fruits of past labors. Yet, as I think of the past eleven years, I cannot fathom how or what to celebrate. I used to dismiss the disagreements with family, who seemed unable to understand my interest in, my passion for celebrations of other cultures, and find my own small way to enjoy something like the Asian moon/harvest festival.

2011 was probably the last year I can recall feeling remotely good about that. I made an effort to grow pumpkins and redeem what was lost in my youth to very strange foul weather, a freak hail storm which destroyed a precious pumpkin plant in my family’s garden in the middle of summer, as if some god threw down a lightning bolt and said, “No! You can’t have any! No pumpkins for you!” I sought out my own kind of moon cake and bought paper lanterns. I had a party for one outside while the rest of my family isolated themselves with TV and computer screens. It was both mildly amusing and deeply tragic.

This year, I feel very un-festive. I feel like…what’s the point? And, somewhat accepting my lack of company on the same wave length, I feel like leaving the lights off and the decorations packed away. The Asian moon/harvest festival just came and went, and I didn’t even check out the moon until the night my most recent upset unfolded, the cliche Friday the 13th. I didn’t find my special moon cake. And, as family talked about caramel apples, I didn’t feel as strongly as I have in the past to get a special one of my own (which usually costs more than I’ve been told makes any sense to pay).

I couldn’t care less about dressing up for Halloween, if family can get together for Thanksgiving or if there are any decorations or presents out for Christmas. I’m slowly starting to agree with all those who “bah humbug” the holidays as commercial trickery. And, that really makes me want to cry. But, perhaps, all my “dammed” tears (tears I cannot seem to shed alone and which continue to amass behind a mental dam) are merely the sound of paper tearing, paper torn by the grim reality of practical value, telling me what is merely an illusion of happiness and what is the biological function of inevitable decomposition.

It’s really difficult to stand firm on any feeling because there always seems to be that other side of the fence making some kind of noise. If you’re the festive sort, there’s someone who’s a “humbug” nearby, trying to lower your lights and silence the music. If you’re the “humbug,” there’s someone turning up their music, launching firecrackers and/or turning their home into a spectacle. It’s like, no matter where you go, there’s no peace of mind. And, if the peace people carol about cannot be found, well, that’s just tragic and tears me to the core. It makes me question everything. And, questioning everything just stops the world dead. Everything becomes a rusting amusement park strung with cobwebs.

I “hear” some factor of Virgo (and/or Pisces?) might be responsible for this recent bout with self-doubt. But, who knows for sure. Though, I do see others, even here, having similar doubts. At least, it appears the doubts are similar. But, knowing my luck, this is just another misconception, another assumed grasp of reality ready to be shaken by disagreement.

It just makes me feel lousy to think this year could be the biggest party in twelve years and I, once more, don’t feel like being part of the crowd. Imagine going the next eleven years, listening to people rave about that party back in 2019 before they bemoan the toils of the present “labor” year.

To be fair, I’m not much of a crowd person, as far as I know my core spirit (though my thoughts of such have been swayed by research of astrology). I’ve never been comfortable at loud parties with countless people…or even a family of fifteen. When I was a kid, grown-ups did all of the partying; and us kids just had to sit quietly with a present, if we were lucky to get one. We didn’t get to play much together nor with the adults. I would latch onto brief smiles from pretty older aunts and cousins and think I was at the door to some magical world…and then be forced to let it all slip away as I returned to a restricted life at home like Cinderella and try to reset my mind for school work and all the education I was being told was important. I rarely knew the true warmth of friendship; friends would appear and disappear or change into something I could no longer accept.

And, I still occasionally mourn the loss of what I consider the best friend I’ve ever had, partially blaming myself (and partially blaming her). She was the only friend who stood beside me and came to my aid when I was suffering; she checked in on me like a good nurse. Male friends were only looking for fun I could rarely supply because I didn’t share the same sort of imagination or have the latest toys. But, *she* wasn’t like that; she would have been my friend, no matter what I had or didn’t have. And, though I didn’t share all of her interests (which made me worry I wasn’t the best of friends), I was fairly content just being with her, seeing her smile and hearing her infectious laughter. Yet, we drifted apart after she denied me the growing feelings I had and went to a different school where she became involved with some guy using drugs; and, back then, that was like a cardinal sin to those of us who had been raised on anti-drug campaigns. Had I known then what I know now, I might not have shuddered at all at the realization and fought to keep her at my side (instead of letting her go and drifting into my own solitary misery). [Granted, to be fair, I was in no position to fight for someone else at the time. I was grateful to have any friend visit me and give me some sign of comfort and/or strength to fight with my own internal monsters. I couldn’t be someone’s hero when I needed my own hero…or heroine (a female hero, not the drug).]

If I had an inkling of that same good, enduring feeling (that I had with her) with another person in the past thirty years, I’d be less inclined to mope. But, sadly, I cannot say anyone could compete with her. A rare phone call or email just isn’t the same as someone who could pay me a visit and shake the tears from my branches until I could smile, again. A pen pal is a nice dessert but far from the main course I still do not have in/with me. And, I think of all the things we had yet to do together, things so many young lovers claim they’ve done (or so I hear). While many turned their focus to the pursuit of sex, I was thinking about so many other possibilities that would bring far better, enduring joy. It just never came to pass. And, at my age, it seems like a foolish notion to consider anything outside of a world of broken marriages and single parenthood, of “sloppy seconds” and “second chances,” if that, of people making desperate moves out of desperate positions only to fall back into fruitless ruts after attempting to satisfy their “sweet tooths” (or sweet teeth?). I don’t want to think any window has closed for good………..

….So, we’ve reached that point in my train of thought when I know I need to hit the breaks (Tsssh!) and regroup so I can get on with my life before I am completely and permanently derailed.

I know I shouldn’t let any of this get to me. But, I feel an inclination to mentally stab myself (not using an actual knife) for missing out on some festivities, for not making the proper moves to share in the fun, every time word of some party going on reaches my ear. I don’t buy into all the “best ever” and “bigger than ever” crap people keep pitching. But, I know there’s a party…and, even though I’m not the best party joiner…suffering from some variety of social discomfort/anxiety…I’m missing…something. I suspect what I am really missing is the joy of good companionship, of friendship and revitalizing love. But, many if not all of us feel that pull when people are enjoying themselves; don’t we? You feel like you’re on a dark street looking in on some lively, colorful crowd laughing, dancing, eating and drinking. You feel just a little like that infamous Scrooge traveling the pathways of time and space with those three eerie spirits.

But, down the road, I doubt these feelings will matter much…or they will just become “wash” in the layers of sand gathered during aging. I just…don’t want to be an old humbug. But, I also don’t see a way around it. And, that makes me quite nauseous and tense.

And, how does one go on living when the past seems so empty, when your story cannot feel as good as that of another you encounter (and it makes no sense to say it’s better than the case of some other poor chap)? When that fateful day arrives to write an obituary about yours truly, what will it say and who will write it? I currently don’t have someone I know will do myself justice in print. Nor, even if I did, can I feel good about filling this life to its fullest. Maybe I never should let such notions get into my head. Maybe everyone can only live life as full as they can or the Fates allow. Maybe I only get half a life while someone else gets twice their expected share. Maybe that’s just the way of the cosmos and beyond human understanding…and not something we humans should dare pass around as fact or expectation.

So, what if I write my own obituary? Would that matter? A little. And, still, it would feel empty. Because, aside from my good intentions and fewer deeds of service than some I’ve come to know, I see plenty of missed opportunities either thrust upon me by controlling and/or mentally abusive adults or spawned from within myself by genetic “doubts” and “fears.” And, it pains me to think of when I did take chances only to fall flat on my back and injure myself. It’s as if even trying to do something was in error. So, why try anything? It’s a question that continues to peck at me and leaves me feeling restless.

If only I could tune out the rest of the world and focus only on what is in front of me. Even if I could or would do that, could I be content or find contentment in that? Or, is it already too late?…because I’ve bitten the apple that flooded my eyes with illusions of wonder?…with ideas of what could be and pretty faces I wish I could call my friends and lovers?

16
Sep
19

Who Was Forced Into This World at Birth?

*****

Just a quick/simple question…

Who here was a forced birth? When you were born, did your mother go into labor?…or was labor induced before you were plucked from the womb? And, did you suffer in any way from the forced birth?

[Okay; maybe not very simple.]

I ask because I was a forced birth. And, I was subject to some “birth defect” as a result. And, looking at how my life has unfolded and continues to unfold, I keep getting this rippling, echoing feeling like I should never have entered this world, or this dimension. [Yet, another part of me pulls me in a different direction and tells me I am here for some special purpose that is written in the numbers and stars. It’s an on-going game of tug-of-war inside me.]

Now, after you answer that question, if you care to walk with me, be warned. It gets a bit “heavy.” And, you may feel the ground crumble from under your feet.

As I touched on in a previous post, I see so much in this world/dimension that is wrong and conflicts with my spirit. I’ve endured so much “crap” and see plenty of others suffering even more, at least, in ways I don’t even want to imagine much less see. I see plenty of people living in delusional ways at great expense while plenty more unseen or badly rendered faces get dragged through messes with authorities and militaristic policing forces. And, I start to wonder if the stories we write, so many that have been “dystopian,” aren’t unfolding as we write them…or if certain stories written long ago, perhaps predicted by ancient people, aren’t weaving into existence.

I am divided between the world around me which lacks friendship, self-esteem, cooperation and a little discipline, which settles for and offers little for slavery, lacks glamor/style and divides people like cold fish in a processing plant…and the world I see on TV which is either on the verge of destruction, even total annihilation, or “living the high life” of risk, wealth, drugs, marriage and lust. I see dreamy possibilities but no real and/or pleasant path to achieving them…nor do I comprehend what I would do once I reached that dreamy plateau…which makes all creative efforts fairly worthless, like building a house of cards just to see it fall. If there is a way to reach the “golden city,” it seems paved with traps, deception and torture; is it any different than being lured into biting an apple from a tree you were warned to avoid?

And, while all of this–and more–passes through my mind, I am sure some may breeze by my words and shake their heads or laugh at their foolish nature. You may tell me all I have said makes no sense or isn’t true. But, maybe, that’s just how you perceive this world/life. And, maybe, we each experience it differently. Maybe, no matter how we connect, we are each experiencing this existence separately and only seeing virtual reactions from the bodies/minds around us…isn’t that a terrifying thought?

So far, my only “saving grace” has been to be mindful of the good stories from long ago, of figures like Jesus being of service to others. I tell myself to help others when and where I can; so even if the rest of this life sucks and the world goes up (or down) in flames tomorrow, I can die knowing I did some good.

But, even that feels somewhat sad and empty…or, rather, I feel sad and empty when my thoughts shift to what seems to be missing in this life…love and friendship…comfort and acceptance…being in tune with the natural world as nature intended and feeling the fullness of my spirit as it was created, not simply repeating the words of some fabricated religion, telling myself it will get better. Talk is cheap, as some say. And, I am growing tired of talking. My spirit burns and yearns for something greater. It wants to sink my toes in warm, wet sand and let the symphonies of crashing tides and whispering woods fill it to the brim of zen/blissful completion. But, if this world is so crappy…if everything is polluted and some risk to my being…why? Why do I burn this way inside? Is it a mad trick to torture me?…like dangling a carrot in front of a hungry horse?

16
Sep
19

A Fatal Choice -Which Do You Choose?-

***

Let’s say you enter this life and have two choices of how to live.

A) You survive until you are 60 to 110 years old but are doomed to die from a plague sweeping the planet which ultimately touches nearly every person like mold on pumpkins. Your life expectancy is a blend of genetics and whatever man-made products you put into yourself which keep you going as long as you can…as well as bringing you down in the end.

B) You sign a contract or invest in the necessary equipment (sort of like paying for college and all that goes with it to get a degree) to transfer your “doomed” human identity into a machine supplied by a monopolizing company already spreading its financial cloak of dominance over the planet. However many years and however you live those years as a human being are inconsequential; as you will join the collective hive/mind of billions of other robots who bought into this “life insurance plan.”

Which would you choose?

Or, do the prospects of both make you wish you were never born?

[More on that philosophy in a near-future post.]

Just answer the question. Don’t LIKE or star this for later and forget about it or pass it on. And, if it’s not too much trouble, explain your answer/decision; what makes you choose that path?

13
Sep
19

Tay Break: Reality Check Moment, 9-13-2019

***
So, I find myself asking myself, once more, why do I do it?  Why have I done this?  Why have I and why do I continue to give so much time and energy to it?…especially if I get no desired response?  And, why do I bother doing it HERE…where it’s much quieter than other places I’ve been and heard about…why not put it out THERE?  So many questions.

What’s this about?  Oh, you know.  My obsession with the lovely Taylor Alison Swift.

[Okay, you can stop groaning in the back!  All right!  I know!  Too many posts about her.  ‘Got it.]

I’m just having one of those moments when I question my purpose, my drive and my sanity.   I’ve crossed the one-gig line.  I have more than 1 GB of Tay Swift art on my computer.  I don’t know how much space other artists give, on average to their obsessive projects.  But, that seems like quite a lot to me.  It’s uncharted territory and makes me feel like I’m on some Star Trek quest.

I have a BUTT-LOAD of new pictures to present here in the coming months…well, aiming for her special birthday.  [Though that creative sharing finger of mine is itching to put them/some up sooner than later.]

But, why am I doing this?  I am not sure…I mean, I know I am putting my feelings out here…but what good is it doing?  I haven’t heard anything.  Haven’t seen…well, that’s the funny/weird part.

You see….

I get this feeling like someone IS passing my thoughts and ideas onto HER.  Or, she and I are so in sync that we’re sharing the ideas.  Because I’ve seen a few little things that make me think it’s true.  I’ve seen a few videos that seem fairly convincing…though I can’t often find any clear message in the lyrics, and usually learn later that the song was supposedly about someone else in the spotlight, someone who grazes HER personal space like a cartoon villain.  Spotlight on the silhouette over there, before we reveal the mystery star of the song.  [Seriously, some sorta Pokémon slash Cutey Honey slash Sailor Moon slash Speed Racer action in play.]

But, beyond these preciously curious moments…I am in doubt of my usage of time and energy.  …Except for the benefit the effort has given me, which is practice with my latest digital art program.  In a small way, being one of my biggest muses, she has helped me practice my personal therapy, my art (even if I haven’t drawn anything by hand on paper in a while…which depresses me a bit).  [ I can’t seem to draw on paper, anymore, without more “heart” to fuel my creative muscles.  I just don’t feel like drawing for practice, which goes against the good artist code.]

I have another reason that I am questioning my obsessive creative effort, but…can you believe I am kinda afraid to say it?  [I touched on it in my first big letter to Tay (in my blog archives).]

Not knowing how to wrap this up, I’ll just silently bow or nod and step away.

06
Sep
19

Mad Guide to Living Your Life Better, August 2019 issue

***

Pop a happy pill and drink some water before entering this matrix.

 

Every so often, there’s a new pitch for how to live your life better than you already are. And, often enough, the pitch switches sides, telling you what you previously thought is now wrong. For example, too much coffee…or, later, any coffee is not good for you. Then, turn around a few times, and it’s recommended for this and/or that benefit. And, that’s just the tip of the shit-berg.

Have I said this before? Coffee?

You may have heard gluten is bad…for some, anyway. And, the world screams as it changes all of its labels to read GLUTEN FREE PRODUCT, whether you’re buying cereal or sunglasses. [You think that’s crazy until you find rubber boots that can cause the big bad C and require warnings from certain states, telling people to buy and wear them at their own risk.]

Sunglasses. Now, those have been around for some time. But, did you know you should be wearing the best protective sort every single day to protect and prolong your life? [Did you know we are mole people and should be living underground to get away from the big bad sun which we need for vitamins and sanity but can also kill us?]

Did you know dangerous rays are all over the world and constantly threatening you? Do you have sunglasses as big as radar dishes covering your face? Well, you should. And, sadly–sorry, ex-military businessman with the nifty sales pitch in each of his different product ads–there’s nothing on the market that big, today. Latest news reports say you should be wearing big, goofy shades with 100% UV protection even on cloudy days, when people I meet think I am silly for wearing them. [I wear them on some cloudy days just because I suffer from social anxiety, in part due to poor distance vision which denies me from seeing some faces clearly.]

And, what goes into just about every pair of sunglasses? Plastic. And, plastic, lately, is getting a bad rap in the USA for being low on recycle-ability. I guess it has something to do with international relations, particularly China.

Plastic is quickly becoming a landfill and water supply hazard (while more and more people pitch frivolous kids’ products all made with some kind of synthetic fiber and/or plastic in this age of “everyone’s an online salesperson looking for a buck to party”). Which is kinda ironic, considering the push for plastic and recycling which so many if not all of us bought into all these years. Heck. We just recently invented plastic printers for making layer-upon-layer of goop to fabricate fun little things we never thought possible that way.

So, now, celebs are jumping on the aluminum bandwagon, again. Aluminum, in. Plastic, out.

Canned water? Unbelievable.  I’ve already had canned water.  Someone I know calls it “La Crotch.”  As if bottled water wasn’t sad enough. We might as well carry canteens everywhere; canteens outfitted with water filters. Hmm…..

If that’s too heavy for you, you should know that optimism is important to prolonging your life, some study says just to fill air time on the local/world news. Good to know. Right? But, pull up your pants and spit out your gum. Because, wait; there’s more.

Many of you out there are of the mindset that a vegetarian/vegan diet is the way to go; and poo on us meat eaters for slaughtering intelligent life. Cows have feelings, ya know! Well, recent reports say a vegan diet lacks certain nutrients key to brain health (including B12?). So, if you don’t eat your meat, you might lose your mind.

That reminds me. I have a chicken sandwich waiting for me…in a plastic container. Uh oh. No. Not the plastic. Well, yes, right now that plastic is a problem. But, so is the chicken. I don’t know if that’s a naturally raised chicken or one from a lab. I thought it was bad enough when I heard chickens were being pumped full of stuff to make them bust-ier for more meat on the bone. But, now I hear chickens are being made in test tubes because farmers can’t cope with raising them the old-fashion way anymore?

What the freak have we become when we no longer hunt or raise animals according to the laws of nature? Are we those freakish movie vampires that keep humans in giant blood bags to harvest blood? What’s next? Synthetic cow meat? Mutant strawberries? [Well, we already have those…just without the abilities to moan and walk.]

Let me just pause right there and scream for a minute at the thought of all human food coming from laboratories and/or factories. How F’d up does the planet have to be for that? Why are we prolonging the inevitable? Why not just nuke the whole thing and call it done?

Why are we waiting for the next big celebrity break-up song, pointless award show or waste-of-time-and-money charity (aka tax write-off) game show? Do I really need the lovely Taylor Alison Swift to tell me we are never, never, never putting this Humpty-Dumpty world back together? Why are we looking at Mars or wasting our time here? Mars is not going to be better than this if we are just as stupid as we are tomorrow.

You’d think I’d say “as smart as we are today,” but how smart do we really project ourselves? We keep thinking we’ll be smarter…and then something else stupid happens to make us think otherwise (or that’s just how modern man keeps pitching things to keep everyone scared little cattle chasing fool’s gold and feeding the wealthy).

Tree of knowledge? No, dumbasses. It was the tree of foolishness that made us think we were pursuing progress. We’re so far removed from nature that we can’t see the shit on our faces.

And, what about the big marijuana and vaping crazes? While many claim both are not smoking old-fashion cigarettes and fair to your health, recent reports say no marijuana is safe for minors and pregnant women. And, vaping is as bad or worse than the old cigarettes…for some reason, due to a marijuana ingredient? [Wha? T-That’s ridiculous!] So, if you are a stressed out pregnant woman looking to ease your mind, you already can’t drink alcohol or smoke cigarettes. And, now, marijuana is out. So, find yourself a hand to mutilate and go to town on that poor soul.

But, remember to be optimistic and live longer. Because you’ll want to live longer to buy more stuff to protect that longer life to buy more stuff and live a longer life until you can no longer lift your fingers and need a robot body to take over, buying replacement parts to live a longer life and buy more stuff to protect its hardware and software. Because, down the road, you know they’re going to have concerns for gluten-ous viruses and hazardous app drugs corrupting hard drives everywhere.

So, be sure to advise your future robot self to stay optimistic…if optimism is even a thing, by then, and not replaced with “optimalism.” You know…like optimizing your computer when it’s newly bought, taking out all the cheap promotional stuff that slows it down like a boot on a car. Nutty sales gimmicks.

[You may scream, now. And then, get happy.]

Live long and stay optimistic, mad world dwellers! Or, live fast, cheap and die happy. No suicides….be-hecause that would be crazy! I mean, you were brought into this world. You might as well get your money’s worth. Just try not to breathe too deep, run too fast or fly too close to the sun. Oh. And, ignore that tree over there.

03
Aug
19

Tay and Capital One? Scary or Redeeming?

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So, I WASN’T imagining things when I caught a glimpse of the lovely Taylor Alison Swift in a Capital One commercial.  It exists.  [I just looked it up.  And, Tay, you are looking uber extra swiftly cute in those simple costumes.  Lovin’ the “easter eggs,” cuz, if you’ve noticed, I’ve been using some dedicated to you, too.]

But, in light of recent events with the whole hacking of Capital One account records/software…WHY?  Why is she suddenly aligning herself with the company?  Jennifer Garner has been doing ads for a while.  Did Tay do one previously that I missed or forgot?  If not, why now would she start?

On top of that, it wasn’t too long ago I heard about her having problems with securing her master records.  Is that the reason?

Is she in some sort of financial trouble and being forced to make some shady deals?  Say it isn’t so, Tay!

Please, Tay, be smart and stay safe.

If you are the angel trying to save Capital One, why?  It’s a credit card company.  It’s plastic.  It’s a temptation to mankind to spend what they don’t have and accrue debt they refuses to pay.  But, maybe, if you’re that good, you can set things right.

But, if you are not the woman I think you are, if you are involved in some sinister scheme…I don’t know what to say.




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