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January 23, 2012

Modern Warfare 3.

I am a gamer. big time. I play at least an hour or two a day and sometimes a significant amount more. I enjoy a variety of games from RPGs (Role Playing Games) to Platformers to Fighting games and FPS (First Person Shooters). It’s the latter I want to talk about.

Modern Warfare 3 is the newest iteration of the Call of Duty franchise. It shattered all previous sales record sale 6.4 million copies in it’s first 24 hours in the US and UK alone. Needless to say a large sample of the population own a copy and meet daily online to slaughter one another with weapons varying from throwing knives to AC-130s.

For years government and civil agencies have argued over the effects of violence and sex in video games. They have introduced rating systems and labored to institute bans of the most offensive materials. Call of Duty, no stranger to this kind of controversy (an optional level in Modern Warfare 2 had your character slaughtering innocents in an airport to infiltrate a terrorist organization), again feebly pushes the bar with more irrelevant terrorists and global plot convolutions. 

It’s not the story of the single player campaign that shocks me, it’s the behavior of some of the players on the players in the online

Text
September 21, 2011
8 notes

Timothy and Doc, pt. 2

Timothy: I met a girl.

Doc: Did you?

Timothy: Yes. She’s really sweet.

Doc: I’m proud of you, Tim. I know it’s not easy for you to initiate conversation with women.

Timothy: Oh, it was easy this time. I was drunk. I went to a bar after I quit my job.

Doc: So, you’re drinking again, as well. Timothy you seem to be throwing away the progress you’ve made.

Timothy: I don’t think so. It was just a few drinks and I met a girl.

Doc: Right. What is her name?

Timothy: I don’t know. Or I can’t remember. I’m going back to the bar today to see if she’s there.

Doc: And if she’s not?

Timothy: I’ll have a few drinks.

Doc: You’re enjoying this aren’t you? This acting out. You’re behaving like a teenager again. One, you aren’t supposed to drink on your medications. Two, you’re a recovering addict. Three, without gainful employment you should be saving your money not throwing it away at the bar. Doesn’t all this sound familiar to you?

Timothy: You make it sound so bad, Doc. It’s happy hour 5 to 8. It’s not all that expensive.

Doc: Jesus, Tim, is he back? Be honest with me. Is the king here now?

Timothy: No.

Doc: Don’t lie. I can see it in your eyes.

Timothy:

Doc: Damn it. You have to stop him now while you’re still in control. Your insurance is up at the end of the month. I’ll write you a bigger prescription to cover you. When’s our next appointment?

Timothy: Next month.

Doc: Can you afford it?

Timothy: No.

Doc: Please, promise me you will find a job. I can call your old boss, maybe convince him to take you back, but you have to work with me, Tim.

Timothy: Doc, listen to me. I’m OK. I’m happy for once. I met a girl, for crying-out-loud! Can’t you be happy for me?

Doc: I was happy for you. Now, I’m just concerned.

Timothy: You were happy when I was miserable, then?

Doc: And now you’re happy that I’m miserable?

Timothy: I’m happy not to go to work.

Doc: And what of the Rat King? Tim, he’s imaginary. Whatever he does, you do.

Timothy: I’m in control.

Doc: I hope so, Tim. I hope so.

Tags: short fiction conversation

Text
September 19, 2011
4 notes

Doc and Timothy, pt. 1

Doc: Unacceptable.

Timothy: What do you mean, unacceptable?

Doc: You just walked out on your responsibility.

Timothy: Responsibility to who…

Doc: to whom.

Timothy: Responsibility to whom? They don’t give two shits about me.

Doc: Structure, Timothy. You’ve been in this office too many times for too many years to risk your stability. What if he comes back? Years of work undone. Do you want to go back to that?

Timothy: What about me, Doc? I was miserable there.

Doc: Everyone is miserable in their job, Timothy. It’s just the way it is.

Timothy: Then why do it? Why make yourself miserable? Do I make you miserable, Doc?

Doc: No, Tim, the whole thing makes us all miserable. Working. Now you have got a very real problem. We’re in a recession.

Timothy: I was in a depression.

Doc: I’m afraid you’ve traded in a short term depression for a temporary happiness. You have to think about the future.

Timothy: So what would you have me do.

Doc: Ask for your job back. Tell them the truth and then plead.

Timothy: You want me to tell them that I hated my job so much that I would rather die than work another minute, that I hated my boss and my coworkers, then ask to go back to it?

Doc: Not in so many words.

Tags: short fiction conversation

Audio
June 07, 2011
[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

Charming or Terrible? The Lo-Fi Choice.

I have been writing and making music since I was an overweight, acne-ridden teenager. When I turned 16 I pleaded with my father to drop a few hundred dollars on a cassette 4-track recorder at the local music store. I had until then been recording demos of songs into the answering machine. I had gone through several of those tiny tapes and the whole process was a bit tedious, not to mention invasive as I at times had accidentally recorded over important messages. My father relented and I returned home with a brand new Fostex X24. This surprisingly flimsy piece of equipment became my new obsession. Using a cheap microphone, I began pouring all my teenage angst and depression into cassette after cassette. I would love to tell you these recordings held some sort of innocent charm, honest if not perfect. Truthfully, they are awful. It is just a kid whining over a guitar which sounds awful both sonically and in proficiency.

The point is I used the 4-Track out of necessity. Had I an option I would have used better equipment. Today many artists are choosing to use inferior recording equipment and techniques to achieve style or mood. I am aware not every artist or group can afford to go into a multimillion dollar studio and spend weeks perfecting their work, but there are very affordable options that, if used correctly and creatively, can produce work that rivals those expensive studios.

Tallest Trees’ album The Ostrich or The Lark was recorded in a cabin and my basement. We did mix and master in a studio, but it cost no more than two determined musicians could scrape together. We released the album to modest acclaim and record sells. We used the best options available to us and produced a home-recorded album that compares well with albums that cost several times the money to produce.

I have no intention of judging the way other artists conduct their careers. I am actually a fan of lo-fi music and have produced recordings in the past that are decidedly lo-fi, though often by necessity. It just strikes me as odd when artists choose to use broken or outdated equipment when they have access to better options or, still stranger, record manufactured lo-fi sounds into state of the art equipment.

I have often employed tricks to achieve a certain credibility or solidarity with current recordings or dated materials. It is commonplace at all levels of the recording industry, dialing an amp “just so” to obtain that 60’s shimmer or applying the digital equivalent of a favorite artist’s plate reverb. Though it sometimes equates to downright theft, it is accepted and often encouraged.

Perhaps it is reaction to this theft and availability that drive the artist into the exploration of the frequencies of low fidelity. Maybe it is some fierce desire to be individual that implores him or her to add extra limitations to their art, to be able to proudly declare, “Look what I did with this crappy, piece of broken recording equipment!” It is a way of saying “screw off” to the status quo.

Perhaps not. It could be that a trend has risen to popularity. Sounding harsh and/or drenched in outdated effects is encouraged by bloggers and connoisseurs of independent music. Sometimes it seems the more garbled a recording, the better it is received. Is it that the artist is hiding behind his or her self-inflicted limitations, a lack of talent just covered in noise?

I have no answer. I find myself drifting to one side of the argument to the other. I did, however, dig out my old Fostex 4-track and record a series of experiments. I wrote nothing before I sat down to record. Using sophisticated equipment on one end, I heavily effected and distorted the tracks. The poor little recorder, which now has the tendency to turn itself off inexplicably, could barely handle the input. The resulting lo-fi music was at once harsh and strangely satisfying. I have posted one of these experiments for you. It is called, Call Me Out. You be the judge.

My Little Recorder

Tags: lofi lo-fi experimental music independent music music recording recording techniques

Audio
June 03, 2011
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Beauty Cannot Be Contained, Tropicalia vs. Military Government.

Song by Caetano Veloso from the album Tropicalia: Ou Panis Et Circenses

March 31, 1964 a United States backed military coup occurred in the new capitol of Brasilia, Brazil. Thus began a 20 year reign of terror. The goal, of course, was to stop the spread of Communism in South America. Cuba had just fallen to the Socialist Revolution and concerns were heightened by the rising influence of labor organizations and the nationalist policies of the previous presidents.

Upon taking control military leaders began consolidating their oppressive powers by drafting a new constitution that “promoted democracy” and purging intellectuals and dissidents. Student groups, progressive members of the Catholic Church, politicians related to the previous government, and labor organizations were quickly disbanded. In the coming years members of these groups were often imprisoned and tortured for information. The grand and despicable practices of dictatorship had begun their stranglehold on the liberties of the people.

At this time, however, another movement was dawning. The bright and colorful music of Tropicalia was rising to popularity. Steeped in psychedelia and rock and roll influence, arguably the world’s most progressive music at the time was being recorded and performed in the midst of chaos.

The Tropicalia movement, also known as Tropicalismo, was led by internationally acclaimed artists like Gilberto Gil, Caetano Veloso, and the more experimental Tom Ze and Os Mutantes. The music and associated visual, literary, and cinematic aspects of Tropicalia were based on the ideas of Antropofagia, or the cannibalism of all culture in the effort to create something new and unique. The influence of African rhythms, samba, rock, reggae, ska, jazz, blues, etc… can be heard in these groundbreaking recordings.

In the midst of terrible oppression, the music of Tropicalia was at once joyful and deadly serious, a testament to the incredible perseverance of the Brazilian people. Often considered the genre’s manifesto the 1968 album Tropicalia: Ou Panis Et Circenses is a stunning work of collaboration amongst Tropicalia’s elite. The album’s strong political message ultimately led to the arrests and eventual exile of it’s masterminds, Caetano Veloso and Gilberto Gil. Other artists in the movement were not so lucky. Many were arrested, tortured, and/or forced into psychiatric care.

While some artists continued to blossom and enjoy long and celebrated careers, the genre mostly faded from popularity in the early 1970s due in part to the Brazilian military government’s enactment of more and more extreme methods of oppression. This brief and bright musical movement, however, has had a long and lasting impression on the world’s music inspiring popular artists as diverse as Beck and Bjork.

Tags: Tropicalia Tropicalismo Brasil Caetano Veloso History Music Ou Panis Et Circenses

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May 31, 2011
9 notes

Heaven and Hell, Part Two.

Local legends are often colorful, shocking, and sometimes completely ludicrous. Recently, during my honeymoon stay on Florida’s forgotten coast I have stumbled upon an interesting collection of State Parks and Nature Preserves steeped in folklore and legend. Heaven and hell, not only exist, they do so within miles of one another.

Presenting Elvy E. Callaway’s Garden of Eden:

43 miles outside of Florida’s state capitol lies the Apalachicola Bluffs and Ravines Preserve. This preserve is home to some of the world’s rarest plant species. Trees such as the Torreya taxifolia exist nowhere else on the planet. This “stinking cedar,” nicknamed for the strange odor emitted when it is cut, has long been called the gopher wood. Could this be the same gopher wood that is mentioned in Genesis?

According to secular lawyer turned 1936 Gubernatorial candidate turned Baptist Preacher, E. E. Callaway, it is. Callaway maintained that not only is this area the Garden of Eden in which God created man, it is the site of Noah’s famous foray into ship building. Local author, Malcolm R. Campbell, who apparently during his high school years exchanged dueling letters to the editor in the Tallahassee Democrat with Mr. Callaway about the legitimacy of the Eden claim, is not so sure. However, he admits to having difficulty arguing with a man who had spent 75 years researching the location of the Garden and who’s logic was surprisingly sound. In Callaway’s 1971 book, In the Beginning he presents his case. The book which is out of print and increasingly difficult to find maintains (thanks to Mr. Campbell’s blog):

  • The Biblical garden contained a four-headed river system; the Apalachicola-Chattahoochee River system is the only four-headed system in the world. (Chattahoochee, Hiddekel, Spring Creek, and Flint.)
  • The site features gopher wood, officially known as the rare Florida Torreya (torreya taxifolia) that grows only within a 25-mile radius of the area near Bristol, FL.
  • Twenty-eight of the thirty varieties of trees mentioned in the Bible can be found at the location promoted by Callaway.
  • Onyx and bdellium (pitch) as mentioned in the Bible can also be found along the river.

The theory, though controversial, caught on in and around the small town of Bristol, FL. Locals begin promoting the preserve as the surefire Garden of Eden. They erected signs directing visitors to holy sites and an information kiosk. The signs no longer exist, but photographs in the Florida Memory Photographic Collection document the strange attraction well.

In a charming bit of travel writing I found by author Rory MacLean, on the website travelintelligence.com, he relates the story of a Bristol resident taking him on a tour of the holy garden. The author admits to an emotional feeling upon visiting the site and admits that the area is special whether or not it is the actual garden. That what is important is “that locals believed in its existence. Or wanted to believe in it.” MacLean’s guide even offers the hearsay, “if you check the tides and currents of the oceans that was probable at that time, you’ll find that they’d carry a vessel without a rudder straight from Bristol to Mount Ararat”

In an article for the Orlando Sentinel, Kate Santich reveals that, “This habitat was created at least 14,000 years ago, during the Ice Age, when flora and fauna from northern climes moved south. As temperatures warmed up again, though, those species mostly disappeared except in these ravines, where it stays moist and cool. As a result, the Garden of Eden looks and feels like no other part of Florida.”

Though no one has any hope of proving the Garden of Eden is in Florida, Mesopotamia, or non-existent, everyone seems to agree that this patch of paradise is exceptional. It’s uniqueness may not be proof positive that Adam’s nostrils were breathed to life on the banks of the Apalachicola River or that the rare gopher wood was carved into the great Ark of Noah, but it most certainly inspires it’s visitors.

Tags: Bristol FL E E Callaway Garden of Eden Apalachicola Folklore Florida Panhandle

Audio
May 30, 2011
[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

Heaven and Hell, Part One

Song by Will McLean from the album Broadside Ballads, Volume 6: Broadside Reunion

Local legends are often colorful, shocking, and sometimes completely ludicrous. Recently, during my honeymoon stay on Florida’s forgotten coast I have stumbled upon an interesting collection of State Parks and Nature Preserves steeped in folklore and legend. Heaven and hell, not only exist, they do so within miles of one another.

Presenting the interesting case of Cebe Tate’s Hell:

The popular image of hell is that of a fiery furnace of torture and suffering where the damned spend an eternity in atonement. Depending on various beliefs and mythologies, it is populated by demons and devils, ferrymen and gods. Since childhood one of my favorite Greek myths involves the three-headed, devil-dog, Cerberus, of Hades’ underworld, a guardian tasked with keeping the dead from ever escaping back through the river Styx. It is also the namesake of Cebe Tate.

The network of tributaries to the Apalachicola Bay between the Apalachicola and Ochlockonee Rivers form a vast swamp, an ecological wonder with vast and diverse wildlife including several endangered species. This swamp is christened with the colorful, albeit frightening, moniker Tate’s Hell. Legend has it that in 1865 a cattle farmer ventured into the swamp near his farm and resurfaced ten days later and twenty-five miles from home. He had been drinking the swamp water to curb his thirst and was losing his mind from the complications of a water moccasin bite. He stumbled his way into the town of Carrabelle and collapsed at the feet of two strangers. He said, “The name’s Tate and I been through hell.” He also reportedly repeatedly mumbled warnings of a demon cat in the swamp before his death moments later.

Why would a man walk twenty-five miles through a swamp? The answer is simple, revenge. I have seen many versions of the Cebe Tate story since I became interested in this oddly-named State Forrest, but the must detailed and exciting account comes from the local magazine, Must See. Author, Daniel Anderson, reveals that Cerberus Tate was nearly killed by cats while sleeping in his crib as an infant. At the age of six his eyes were nearly scratched from his face by a kitten he had “taken a shine to.” Over the years Cerberus developed a hatred of cats he learned to associate with his name. His hatred became his demise.

As an adult Cebe Tate took over the family cattle farm and all headaches associated. One summer the livestock starting going missing one by one. Cerberus begin posting watch at night and caught sight of a panther dragging a calf into the swamp. He took it personally. Against his better judgement he released the dogs and ventured off into the swamp with only a shotgun and the clothes on his back.

That is when it all went to hell. Within hours they came upon the calf’s half-eaten carcass. The dogs got the scent and tore off through the swamp. Cebe struggled to keep up. Before he knew it he was deep in the swamp, the twisting waterways turning into a labyrinth before his eyes. By nightfall the dogs had cornered the panther, but this cat would not go quietly. It struck Cebe’s best dog. The other dogs scattered. Cerberus raised his shotgun and fired but at too great a distance. The panther escaped into the brush leaving Cerberus to tend to his fallen companion. That night he dug a shallow grave at his makeshift campsite. He vowed to “see the swamp devil dead.”

The next day Cerberus stopped to rest under a tree. A poisonous water moccasin had the same idea. Cebe sucked out as much of the venom as he could, but he needed help. He had to get out of that swamp. Not being a fool, Cebe knew if he just followed the sun he would make it out of that forsaken swamp. However, the cards were stacked against old Cerberus. A fog crept in. It would not lift. He wandered the swamp for days, eaten alive by the mosquitoes and biting flies. The snake venom pulsed through his veins. Thirsty and desperate, he took to drinking the brackish water of wetland.

The panther calling in the dark plagued his sleep. The fog, his days. Cerberus Tate was in hell. Ten days he wandered the swamp. The tenacity of his hatred for the “swamp devil” was the only thing that drove him onward. He made it out. The little town of Carrabelle where his uncle ran the post came into view on the horizon like the light at the end of a tunnel. Cerberus uttered his famous line and became immortal.

202,437 acres of land now bare his name. I wonder what became of that panther?

Tate’s Hell State Forrest

Tags: Cerberus Tate Tate's Hell Folklore Forgotton Coast Apalachicola

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May 29, 2011

Foot in Mouth

I am a terrible arguer. The points I try to make which seem relevant and logical in my brain come out hurtful and idiotic when put to word. Something happens between synapse and speaking. An invisible foot about the size of my own foot rises to just under my nose. I am sure I could smell it if I just took a whiff. The moment I try to speak, this ghostly stinker inserts itself straight into my flapping jaws. Strangely, I can continue to orate for more than a minute or so before I notice the salty, sick taste. I spit the foot out of my mouth and begin the cowardly process of argumentative retreat. This dot connects to that dot. That dot makes this line true.

“What I really mean is this…” “No, you’ve got me all wrong.”

The foot, at first content to wiggle it’s jammy toes on my tongue, now kicks and probes with each step in my retreat.

“Oh, no you see…” “You’re not listening to me.”

My face would be bloody and bruised if this foot ever became more than an apparition, but this haunting appendage is real enough to me. It’s ghostly beatings leave me cowering on the edge of the bed. Assuming the position, fetal, apologizing to the love in my life.

“I’m so sorry, I’m drunk.” “I’m so stupid.”

Then and only then the foot stops its ravaging attacks. In the silence after the sickly spill of sweat-stink words, it vanishes into the ether from which it came. And as I lie knees to chest, I contemplate damages done. What toll does arrogance and pretentious assumption take on the most important bond in my life? Why can’t I shut the hell up? Why can’t I shut the hell up? Shut the hell up.

Text
May 28, 2011
10 notes

Correspondence with my Father.

I received an email from my father this morning. It contained a link to a simple youtube video that ran text forwards to one meaning, then ran the same text backwards to an all together opposite meaning. It brings to mind the beautiful passage of war in reverse in the late-great Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughter House Five.

Lost Generation video

War in Reverse video

Generally I am not a fan of receiving touching emails relentlessly forwarded again and again in aim of making me all teary-eyed over my morning coffee. For some reason however, this little, rather poorly made video got me thinking. What started as a simple “Thank you, I enjoyed the video,” turned into a 4 paragraph rambling/ranting essay. Now in totally narcissistic fashion, I’m posting my response.

I used facts (not checked, but I think generally accepted) from here.

“That was awesome. We are definitely living proof that money is not an important factor in happiness. And divorce, so rampant in today’s society, is a non-issue if you are confident in your choices and who you and your spouse are as a couple. Separate as well as unified identities must coexist and work to strengthen the bond sworn under God to be upheld, an oath as sacred as civilization itself. That love, that bond is a perfect metaphor for man’s marriage to the earth. As mankind tries to divorce himself from the earth, civilization begins to fall apart and threatens to descend into chaos and war over the very needs our spouse, the earth, has met since the dawn of time. We desperately need marriage counseling in this relationship, the most important of our time. As I have sworn my love to Lacey before God and family, I have also sworn an allegiance to this earth. Though my love for both, Lacey and the earth, is not perfect I am trying and will try to my dying day. In danger of sounding preachy, Vegetarianism/Vegan-ism is an environmentalist cause, not just a cry for man to be better stewards of the dominion over the animals given to us by God.

  1. Conservation of Fossil fuel. It takes 78 calories of fossil fuel to produce 1 calorie of beef protein; 35 calories for 1 calorie of pork; 22 calories for 1 of poultry; but just 1 calorie of fossil fuel for 1 calorie of soybeans. By eating plant foods instead of animal foods, I help conserve our non-renewable sources of energy.
  2. Water Conservation. It takes 3 to 15 times as much water to produce animal protein as it does plant protein. As a vegetarian I contribute to water conservation.
  3. Efficient use of grains. It takes up to 16 pounds of soybeans and grains to produce 1 lb. of beef and 3 to 6 lbs. to produce 1 lb of turkey & egg. By eating grain foods directly, I make the food supply more efficient & that contributes to the environment.

There are many other environmental factors at stake in the grossly inefficient meat and poultry industries. I make no demands of anyone to stop eating meat. I just ask that we choose carefully and eat locally. Your own local economy depends on it. The ideals and values that make rural and small town America so beautiful and necessary are on death row. Big companies first make it impossible for the independent farmer to compete with the ludicrously low prices possible by the disgusting practices of factory farming. (I dare anyone to google their practices and not be mortified.) The farmers must often sell their land to the very companies that have driven them off of it, feeding the beast so to speak. Possibly the most disturbing trend is the closure of all but a few independent slaughterhouses in United States. The independent livestock farmer must now send his animals farther distances at much greater cost to increasingly inhumane houses owned by the same companies that do not want the farmer to succeed. It’s a monopoly that the American people demand every day by the choices they make at the supermarket.

Stop feeding the beast, save the earth. We must save ourselves from the environmental destruction wrought by factory farms owned by multi-million and multi-billion dollar companies. Give the power back to your local farmer and help preserve the values and ideals on which our great country was founded. And good Lord, all I harped on was animal farming practices. Don’t get me started on soybeans. Monsanto has created an invasive strain of super soybean of which they own the patent. So, when a bee cross pollinates their super bean with a regular bean on an independent farm, Monsanto then sues that farmer often taking him or her for more than their worth, forcing them to sell the farm often to, you guessed it, Monsanto. It’s agricultural terrorism. It must stop!

This video that you’ve shared with me obviously had a great impact. It sent me off on a tangent of environmentally based vegetarianism and the absolute need to buy locally to support farms in the area one lives. That was not the author’s intention. It is to boast that a generation such as ours, so often told of our apathy and lack of vision, is one with the most noble and vital cause of preserving our marriages to one another and our earth. A message of hope so badly needed in an era of near oligarchical governance in what should be our people’s republic. We the people must fight for our earth and change the tide. Our marriages and desires are not represented in Washington. It’s the power of money that determines environmental and social policies. It’s the great task of our generation to see that the power is shifted back to the people to protect our values and our earth.

Enough rambling.
Thanks Dad, for sending this video. It has my brain ticking. <3 Thomas”

Tags: environmentalism veganism vegetarianism Vonnegut