To the citizens of my neighborhood:

I address my fellow citizens of Generic Neighborhood Estates in hopes of coming to a reconciliation. I’m of the understanding that we are all mature, responsible, well-off adults (of the favored ethnicity and religion of course), therefore I’m sure we can all come to an understanding regarding the incident that happened last week. As long as no authorities have been contacted, then I believe that there’s still hope in maintaining this Stockholm-syndrome esque relationship I share with all of you!

Now at this point, some of you may be wondering: what incident could this frighteningly good-looking man be talking about? “I experienced no such incident last week, all I heard was the melodious and beautiful sounds of a musician on their drum”, to which I say to you: you are a saint. I hope that your Christmas is filled with hookers, cocaine, and rave music (assuming you’re into that. If you’re not into those things, why not?). I hope that your children become the next George Clooneys/Betty Whites of the world, and that I have the privilege of being their loyal servant one day. I hope this all happens to you amazing people, who had no problems with me making beautiful music last week. You may stop reading now. I love all of you. Call me.

It’s at this point in my letter when I address the rest of you sacks of bitch.

Of course, I’m referring to those of you who did not appreciate what I had to offer our small community. It’s been proven in many, many studies that the sounds of music can only enhance the quality of living in any population of people, and this special relationship we all have definitely falls into that category, I think. You are all human, right? I only wonder because I can’t imagine what genuine human would hate the beautiful sounds of banging drums.

Was it the resonance that made you turn your head? The tone? The impact of the sticks on the beautiful drum head? Or was it the obvious passion, the pure emotion that resonated from my heart the day I beat that drum in the middle of our neighborhood park?

No matter what your reason was for sending me hateful letters after the fact, just know this: I very much dislike you. It is because of people like you that the fine arts are frowned upon in today’s society, the reasons why poor trumpet player Johnny will get his trumpet shoved up the ass of another poor trumpet player Johnny, and no one will raise a finger to stop it. I hope that you eventually develop arthritis, and spend the twilight years of your life in uncomfortable, yet non-lethal pain.

Just to spite you poor vegetable-people, I present this recording of my performance that day, hopefully for future reference of what can be accomplished when passion and a love of performing change the world.

Sincerely,

Dat mane

I have a dream.

Let us reflect on the state of domestic pet-ownership in the current day and age.

As it is, cats have all the traits of the perfect human companion: an attractive, mostly self-sufficient being who only really depends on you to give them food/water and clean their excrement basket. Apart from that last thing, who wouldn’t want that kind of control over someone? At our most base instincts, we have an innate desire to have control over something or someone other than ourselves, and even though you can’t control if a cat comes to you or not, you sure as hell can control whether they eat today or not. (Disclaimer: I do NOT endorse withholding food from your cat/pet to exert some sort of need for power on it. What are you, some sort of  power-wanter person? Dick.)

Now, take that ballooned sense of control and apply it to a platypus. You think a platypus gives a shit about your power? Platypus spits at your power (if they could spit I swear they would)! Platypus’ (platypi?) are 100% self-sufficient, and wouldn’t have survived in nature as long as they have if they weren’t so none of you biology majors try to prove me wrong (I looked it up on wikipedia, IT’S RIGHT GUYS). Now, there’s a reason us bi-pedals haven’t quite gotten the hang of domesticating a platypus, and that’s maybe probably only partly due to the sharp, poisonous barbs they secretly have. It’s like a puppy that could secretly shank you whenever it wants, just because it can. You think you can control that? Good luck getting ghetto-stabbed by a furry duck. 

Cold. Calculating. Deadly.

Obviously what you’ve all been thinking is, “I want a platypus...but I also want a cat...TREVOR MY LIFE MAKES NO SENSE PLEASE HELP!”, to which I say, fear not rhetorical pet-lover! I alone understand that platypus’ and cats must be combined into one creature.  I understand the need for a creature of this evolutionary-calibur, and that despite the fact that it’s combination of poisonus barbs and sharp claws would probably make it viable to over-take lions as “best predator forever”, this creature would make an amazing companion. Little children would marvel at it’s awkward duck bill and furry feline good-looks, and adults will be pleased with the fact that they won’t need to entertain their children for at least a week. In response to everyone fearing that this biological disaster marvel won’t happen, fear not! For I, your local blogger, will donate the total amount of money I make in the next 2 years to research trying to find an ethical, practical way to physically combine a platypus and a cat into a catypus. If at least 3 and a half people join me in this endeavor, I believe a difference can be made.

"In a perfect world, this great nation's mascot would definitely be a catypus."

-George Washington

The nation demands it science. Make it so. 

Erik Erikson's Stages of Video Games, Part 2

LAST TIME, ON: THIS BLOG!

In case of short term memory loss or cases of episodic amnesia, in my last blog I journeyed through the swamps of my childhood to talk about the super serious topic of video games, and how they affected my childhood...or something like that. Using Erik Erikson’s Stages of Development, I broke my childhood into chunks and defined an inner conflict within each phase, using the stages of development as an outline. If psychology, video games, and sprinkles of humor are things that activate your console, then read on friend! If not, then I advise you to politely participate in intercourse with yourself.

Stage Four: Industry v.s. Inferiority (Gamecube, 10-14 years)

When the Gamecube came out in 2001, I was more than ready as a gamer pupae to sink my tiny pupae teeth into what games came with it, the grandest of them all being Super Mario Sunshine. Awwwwww shit, son. This game had graphics for days, with my very own water shooting backpack partner, just like in my greatest sexual fantasy. Add in a bunch of aerial flips and twists, some Bowser Jr. ass-kicking action, subtract a realistic storyline, and it was perfect. What more could a kid ask for?

Nothing unusual to see here.

...wait, a new Super Smash Bros game? You’re...you’re yanking my shit, right?! New controls? New maps? New game modes? NEW CHARACTERS?! Surely this, was the end of the world right here. The fact that I got to play as Bowser himself, at his most badass, just sent my little pupae mind into a roaring, flaming spin-crash that only the best of NASCAR drivers could even hope to replicate. It was unfair to my poor brain, like pitting a diamond-skinned grizzly bear-breathing dragon against a 10 year old child whose skin was made of pillows...and it was great.

But that wasn’t enough! No, not by a long shot! With these two behemoth-calibur games came a vast multitude of other games that interested my just as much, if not more. Soul Calibur 2, Super Mario Tennis, Pokemon Colosseum/XD, Legend of Zelda: Wind Waker, Sonic Adventure 2: Battle, and more. And I had to be good at all of them. Unreasonable? Maybe. But to a 10-14 year old kid, priorities are like the news: you vaguely know about it, but you don’t really care enough yet to pay attention.

So it wasn’t enough to simply play these games. I had to be the best at them, out of all my friends I alone had to be the one. I worked hard at it. Many night filled with Super Smash Meleeing, or Mario Tennis-ing with my brother, many 80s training montages happened in that part of my life, and they all paid off. I ALONE won at Mario Tennis. I alone beat Wind Waker. I alone was “really cheap, dude” with Fox in Melee. My dominance was established, and I was a winner. 

Image not related.

So did I succeed in this stage of development? Damn right I did. No one else could...it had to be me.

Stage Four: Identity v.s. Role Confusion (Gamecube/Wii, 14-19 years)

At this point in my life, I had three great video game loves: gamecube games, nintendo DS games, and of course, the wii. When the wii came out in 2007, honestly I wasn’t really that excited about it. Sure, I finally got guitar hero for my own, instead of sneaking into my friend’s house at night to play “Killer Queen” while they were asleep. Yeah, eventually we got the new Legend of Zelda game, which was pretty cool for a while. The main thing that I was excited for was (surprise) the new super smash bros game. Even that though, all it really offered me in terms of new stuff was new characters. So what motivation did I have to be the best at a console that didn’t have games I really liked that much?

Well in short, there wasn’t. I had become confused as to what type of gamer I was-did I like beat-em up games (super smash bros)? Did I like strategy/turn taking games (pokemon)? Was I a master of adventure games (legend of zelda/metroid)? I had no idea, because all I knew is that I’d have, at the very least, 10-15 years before “Wii Sports” became an acceptable thing for me to enjoy. No, I had to be edgy with my gaming, and I didn’t know how. I needed something to be competitive with, and all I had was super smash bros. 

Please...violence...need...no more family games...

It’s no falsehood that after the first 2 or so years after the Wii’s release, games for it started...sucking. I mean, for a family-oriented console, it was great, of course. But for a person who wanted to be a serious gamer at the time, like myself, I noticed it was distinctly lacking in explode-y things. Sure, mario kart wii came out, and so did Skyward Sword; but it was too to apologize, Nintendo. So I had to ask myself a very important question: am I still the nintendo fanatic I was? And more importantly, did I want to keep throwing all my support to a console whose games lacked communal interest? I needed to think. In case it needed to be said, I failed this stage-my gaming identity was lost.

Stage Five: Intimacy v.s. Isolation (Xbox 360/Wii, 19-present)

One pre-determined day, my best friend decided he wanted to sell his Xbox 360 for $50, along with Black Ops and Portal 2. Now, I didn’t know much about either of these games, other than that everyone thought they were great, exciting games. At the time, I still regarded xbox games with the same scrutiny that a Pepsi-lover would look at Coca-cola: I didn’t like them very much. I thought that multi-player first person shooter games were what’s wrong with gaming today. that immersive, in-depth single player storylines were the best way to game. Now egocentrism aside (my opinion is what matters, blah blah blah), I still wanted to play these games, because they were different than what I had been playing. So, I bought the xbox from my friend, and went to play black ops that night.

If you can search youtube for the worst black ops gameplay video you can find, where the guy playing just has no idea what he’s doing and makes ALL the mistakes, then my first time playing the game was much like that, except subtract any and all good things I did while playing. Pretty much the best thing I had down was moving my character, even though he would stop moving after about 5 seconds due to an excess of bullets in his body. I soon discovered, through many, many other deaths, that this was the challenge I needed: the first-person shooter challenge. I had found my gaming destination, and in accordance I went and bought halo 3, borderlands 2, Skyrim, Oblivion, Bioshock, Bioshock 2, and others. Bioshock in particular blew me away, because it presented me with the challenge of a first person shooter, but with the immersive storyline that I thought these games couldn’t have. I was immensely satisfied with these games, but more importantly, these were games I could talk to people my age about.

"You shoot people in the head? I too, shoot people in the head."

I was able to share my experiences with these games with most people I knew, because they had played them before me. “What you’re just now playing bioshock? Well, better late than never. Isn’t it awesome?!” were many of the responses I got, and I was actually able to go on forums and gaming websites and read what people thought about these games. Even though I didn’t think about it at the time, this was a very good thing for me, more things to talk about increased the amount of people I could relate to, which sounds obvious, because it is. This is always a good thing, no matter what it is that increased your social range, so in summation, I had passed the fifth stage of development! Wheee.

So what’s the point of this? Well, video games are often thought of as a waste of time; a lifetime of playing video games will prepare you for a life of playing video games. This is true, absolutely. Video games are entertainment, pure and simple. However, the point made with this is that video games can serve a much bigger purpose: they bring people together. If anyone plays video games for the sole purpose of entertaining themselves during the long, dull hours of their life, then they’re not gaming right; they’re meant to be shared with people. Whether talking about games, or preferably playing games with other people, video games can and should be a social activity. Because for some reason, watching Batman single-handedly Bat-fuck 15 enemies just isn’t as great without your best friend screaming at the screen right next to you. No matter how perfectly you beat the final boss of a game, that’s the kind of thing you remember.

Image unrelated. Seriously, does this guy look like he's playing video games? No.

Erik Erikson's Stages of Video Games, Part One

Video games and I have a complex affair, one that can be traced back to my childhood with the very first pokemon game I ever owned: Pokemon Yellow. Yes, I had no idea what I was doing...but damn was it fun. Learning how the Game Boy worked, what all pokemon there were, how all the types worked, I was essentially a baby again in the world of Pokemon. Much in the way that a baby learns how to look at everyone and actually understand stuff, I was learning the basics of video game thinking through Pokemon Yellow.

Some psychologist named Erik Erikson once created a theory for the development of people folk. He called it, imaginatively enough, “Erik Erikson’s Stages of Development”, because clearly creativity is every psychologist’s strong suit, and because “Here’s why your life is disappointing” was much too depressing. Erikson’s stages of development, tl;dr, was a chart of the major periods in a person’s life, with a central conflict defining each period. For example as a little tiny person folk, the major conflict was “Trust vs. Mistrust”, aka deciding whether it was ok to trust the giant person out of whom you were just forcefully ejected. He decided that becoming a well-adjusted, confident person was dependant on being successful in these conflicts, so if you’re wondering who to blame for your job title as “Not mila kunis’s personal sex slave”, then blame your baby self and your baby environment for screwing everything up right from the start.

Using this model, I decided to judge judge how successful I’ve been at playing video games (wasting time) by identifying a central conflict for each stage of my video gaming self up until now. Will I end up confirming my success? No idea. Am I thinking about playing Borderlands 2 right now? You bet your ass.

Stage One: Trust v.s. Mistrust (Pokemon, ages 6-8)

When I was 6, my dad took me to Wal-mart to buy a game for the gameboy color my cousin had just given to me. As I looked through the hoards of obviously worthless games, one in particular caught my eye: Pokemon Yellow. My dad bought it, love at first playthrough, blah blah etc.

One thing I think about as I reflect on those years is how little of an idea I had about what I was doing. Pokemon? I had no idea what they really were, just that I was supposed to make the little bar go down on the other pokemon and I won, that’s all I needed to know. I thought moves like tail whip did damage, only to find out they didn’t and therefore had no purpose in my mind. However as all the games teach us, as all the anime episodes dictated, as literally all the movies hit us over the head with over and over and over again, you have to trust your pokemon man or you’re an objectively horrible person! Did I trust my pokemon? I trusted them about as much as a 6-7 year old could trust pixels, which is about as much as Ash trusts Team Rocket to successfully capture pikachu: None. I just knew they kept dying over and over again because fucking Sabrina and her bitch ass. Who are you to kill my objectively bitchin’ Nidoking over and over again? Huh?! Type advantage what?! Sorry, I can’t hear you over the sound of throwing my gameboy across the room. 

"ROOOOAAAAHHHHGGGJDAIGOIAE."- Every Nidoking ever

 

So we’re off to a great start.

Stage Two: Shame and Doubt (Pokemon with friends, ages 8-11)

When I was 8 we moved to my current residence of Frisco, Texas and I started going to a nice elementary school, which meant that I had to at least make an effort to make new friends. This was made ironically easier because of my love of pokemon, because even though pokemon was considered very uncool around that time, the few (3) of us who did stuck together like a group of war veterans who have seen some shit.

However, this didn’t mean that we always got along. Many, many an argument was had over which pokemon was objectively the coolest looking, or who could absolutely kill all the other pokemon if given the chance, or which pokemon would be the coolest to have as a pet dude! For me that answer was always Umbreon or Houndour, both of which according to my friends, “suck dude you’re stupid they’re so gay”, because back then insults didn’t need a compelling argument or creativity to be effective. This caused me to doubt my liking for these pokemon, because even though Brian picked his nose and creeped the other kids out, he had a shiny pokemon. Case closed, failure of stage two confirmed. Let’s move on before the tub of ice cream starts looking more attractive than it does.

You use a rattata?! Get lost, nerd.

Stage Three: Initiative v.s. Guilt (N64, 8-10 years)

In the middle of that entire “People don’t like the same pokemon I do” phase, I was also experiencing a different kind of beast: The Nintendo 64. Gotten for me upon moving to Texas to help me adjust somehow, I soon became enamored with the wonderful game known as Super Smash Brothers. Ahhhhhhhhhhh that name gives good feelings.

It was at that moment that I became unconsciously training myself to be a Super Smash Bros assassin of the highest quality. I would fight whoever I could find, whoever was willing to test their skills with a controller against me, and in the end I always came out on top. After about a year of playing this cocaine-influenced game, I played my best friend for the last time.

A match of legendary proportions was under way, and it was too late to stop. The location was decided, the characters picked, the map chosen, and the terms set: the winner won the title of undisputed Super Smash Bros champion of the neighborhood. My opponent chose pikachu; a considerable enemy indeed, but a definite bitch when compared to the utter might of Mario, my italian buddy throughout my entire Super Smash Bros career, as proven by the 20 minute absolute apocalypse that ensued. Pikachu proved to be no match for the pride of Italy! Mario, the epitome of all that is manly and testosterone-filled, slapped Pikachu’s japanese ass across the Mushroom Kingdom for 20 minutes, and it was awesome. 

Say my name.

Despite my display of dominance among the adolescent gaming community in a small neighborhood in Frisco, I felt bad because I was incapable of taking pride in much, and so I felt bad for beating my best friend so badly. Even though I was the king of Super Smash Bros, I had to smash my friend out of existence to do so, which for some reason felt really bad to me as a kid despite having absolutely no future implications whatsoever. Unless there’s a job titled “Professional Super Smash Bros Dictator Emperor” that is.

So yeah, I failed this one too. The next part of this post will come eventually, in which I continue to explore my video game past and make rash commentary and assumptions! In the meantime, Borderlands 2 guys.

Rain, guys...guys, rain!

What is it about a rainy day that feels so great?

On this saturday, I spent all day either playing video games, eating, or watching Inception for the second time in my life.

Why is this movie so crazy? I leave for 5 seconds to get a drink and I come back and have no idea what’s going on. Leonardo DiCaprio is crying about his wife while Joseph Gordon Levitt is doing something badass, and I’m just sitting there watching it with a glazed look in my eyes that says “I wanna be in a dream but I’m too busy playing video games to make that happen”, and then the dream explodes and I continue playing pokemon. Just another Saturday? Yeah pretty much.

But rain! Rain adds so much atmosphere to everything I do whenever I do it, no matter what, and I love it. Watching guys yell at video games on youtube during a sunny day feels hopeless and life-absorbing, but if I do it on a rainy, gloomy day? Holy shit! I am the master of my own destiny guys. I’m just a dapper, classy guy watching classy videos inside my classy room on a classy, rainy day. Damn I belong in England or something, I don’t know.

Don't worry, we'll be together soon, I think.

Would I fit in at England? Maybe, maybe not. On one hand I’d maybe enjoy the weather, except I could definitely see too much rain being a bad thing...though it couldn’t be anywhere near as bad as it is in Skyrim. Maybe I’d enjoy the entertainment more? I mean anything has to be better than what TLC has playing everyday, even if it is overly-intelligent english humor. I mean, I like Demetri Martin, so maybe it wouldn’t be that bad. What I’m trying to say is it’d be cool to live anywhere that’s not Texas at the moment, preferably not the U.S. Spain, France, England, Denmark, Norway, Japan, whatever man. I don’t care, I’ll adapt in a day, I’ll gladly accept the challenge.

Accept the voice of the future.

I know I’d miss home eventually, but shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...that wouldn’t be until after the third day of rain and BBC programming.

Blogging 1010

" Now I am become Death, destroyer of worlds"

...is what the newly inducted blogger thinks as they begin typing. Words that will surely change the world flow from their fingertips like a cat with a bladder infection pees. Thoughts that will taunt and provoke the mind of the reader shoot from the mind, much in the way that ten year olds play call of duty. "Surely this is my best work!" "Everyone will praise me for my insightful-ness and reward me with their money, right?" And what do the readers think when reading this new blog most of the time?

"...the fuck?"

I think that generally, it's an accepted rule that those who want to start a blog need to have things to type about. Right? Whether it's dick jokes, introspection, romance, music, or master chief/commander Shepard fan-fiction, everybody has thoughts on their mind.  No matter what you think the proper name for a man's cylindrical skin tube should be ("destroyer of worlds" is the correct answer by the way) you have the right to put that shit on a blog and publish it for everyone with a decent internet connection to see. But the question is, should you? 

You don't know me, brain.

 

It’s very easy for someone to get into the mindset that what they have to say isn’t very important in the grand scheme of things. This is the general state of mind that I’ve had for the majority of my life, but how much good has it really done? If I have things to say, and the only thing keeping from me from putting those words into a computer (like I’m doing right now) is my own brain, then well that seems pretty dumb. Whenever I ask myself if my thoughts are important, I’ve decided that my answer is now:

"Mumble mumble pokemon", because I have things on my mind and damnit I wanna type them, because "yolo" and "swag" and things of that nature. I had a blog a few years ago in high school, which went absolutely nowhere because all I really knew at the time was musical nerdism and failed relationship attempts. However a few years after that I feel like I have lots of things to say now,I also wanna and enough literary prowess to communicate these things in an entertaining way. I can hope, right? 
 
I also want to do a “Song of the post” type deal, where I link a song that I’ve really been liking a lot recently. Whether it gets listened to or not doesn’t really matter; I just like talking about music.

Song of the Post: “Pleiadian Keys” by The HAARP machine