There was something off-putting about Stephen. In fact, if one were to judge, he was probably the one who fit in the least with the rest of us, this is even considering the 42 year old Army Captain from Maryland, and the overweight pilot from Iowa.
Part of it was the way he dressed: as though he was preparing for an 80's Lounge Party. His balding also made me a little suspiscious. Not of steroids, of course, he was far too skinny for that, but just in general; I made it a rule a long time ago to not trust balding people.
As soon as he opened his mouth, I recognized his accent: he was from Georgia. He always had a question to ask: some clarification to the point that had been plaguing him. He was taking from our valuable time.
When we all shared our goals, most were simple: to become more social and be better with goals. He had a slightly different cant. He had been training and practicing NLP, or Neuro-Linguistic Programming. It was a study of how the mind learns and interprets language, medically used to treat traumatic disorders. When used by guys like Stephen, it was a way to use language to take emotional shortcuts. In short, it was like little, linguistic hypnosis. He wanted, he explained, to use all of these skills in conjunction and be a life coach. It was a glorious lifestyle, to be sure.
Sandy blonde whisps clung desperately atop his head as he craned his neck back to ask a question in his Southern drawl. I was ashamed of my Southernness for a moment, that I should be lumped in with him.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Harry Potter and the Sorceror's Stone - Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Wizard
I always bore a deeply seated hatred towards the Harry Potter novels. It was something about the idea of it: children shouldn't be heroes. Even as a kid, I realized this was rediculous. Of course, I only believed that after my own dreams of being a knight in shining armor were dashed. Incidentally, I got them back, embarassingly, around the first couple years of high school. As Vonnegut periodically said, "So it goes".
Foreseeably, this whole series reeked to me, in my ignorance, of, at best, pandering to the masses of children who loved the idea of being famous or magical, and at worst, Mary Sue fan-fiction.
That echo of the past came to mind when Hagrid mentions Harry's heritage:
"'But yeh must know about yer mom and dad,' he said. 'I mean, they're famous. You're famous.'" (Rowling 50)
It pissed me off. Even though I knew that Harry came from an unusual lineage, I don't like the text referencing that, or destiny, or another of the other stand-bys of fantasy lit that exist as a means of cheap literary exposition.
The quest narrative worked for myths, mainly because they didn't have to originally entertain us, they were the stories that we believed were true. Fantasy lit, and video games, have this nasty habit of trying to echo their forefathers, but only accomplish in sounding trite and uncreative.
I realized, eventually, that stories are rarely interesting when they are average people. They have to be average in the ironic sense. Often there are terribly average, crippling mediocre, in fact. If they even start to stand out, then they lose their credibility, because there is the expectation that they will become mighty and extraordinary. It is almost easier to start out in an adventure with some sort of destiny, because there is the expectation of trial and tribulation. If you're slightly above average, then you will constantly be held to a higher standard. I'm rambling.
To risk sounding vain, I am going to liken this to one of my current projects. The idea is for a fantasy comic with no spectacular heroes. While the one character is a veteran, he isn't particularly famous outside of his circle of influence. He isn't trying to save the world, and it is only through his eventual fame in being good at his job (dungeon clearing) that he begins seeing a bigger picture. At most points though, at first, there isn't a bigger picture. He isn't a reluctant anti-hero who initially refuses the quest, and chooses to instead build his riches. There simply is no quest, no great evil. The world as he knows it is repairing itself, and in the meantime, there are dungeons to be cleared, and treasures to be acquired. Of course, eventually he will have to become more spectacular as a result of experience, but is that too predictable?
I guess there is nothing new under the sun.
Foreseeably, this whole series reeked to me, in my ignorance, of, at best, pandering to the masses of children who loved the idea of being famous or magical, and at worst, Mary Sue fan-fiction.
That echo of the past came to mind when Hagrid mentions Harry's heritage:
"'But yeh must know about yer mom and dad,' he said. 'I mean, they're famous. You're famous.'" (Rowling 50)
It pissed me off. Even though I knew that Harry came from an unusual lineage, I don't like the text referencing that, or destiny, or another of the other stand-bys of fantasy lit that exist as a means of cheap literary exposition.
The quest narrative worked for myths, mainly because they didn't have to originally entertain us, they were the stories that we believed were true. Fantasy lit, and video games, have this nasty habit of trying to echo their forefathers, but only accomplish in sounding trite and uncreative.
I realized, eventually, that stories are rarely interesting when they are average people. They have to be average in the ironic sense. Often there are terribly average, crippling mediocre, in fact. If they even start to stand out, then they lose their credibility, because there is the expectation that they will become mighty and extraordinary. It is almost easier to start out in an adventure with some sort of destiny, because there is the expectation of trial and tribulation. If you're slightly above average, then you will constantly be held to a higher standard. I'm rambling.
To risk sounding vain, I am going to liken this to one of my current projects. The idea is for a fantasy comic with no spectacular heroes. While the one character is a veteran, he isn't particularly famous outside of his circle of influence. He isn't trying to save the world, and it is only through his eventual fame in being good at his job (dungeon clearing) that he begins seeing a bigger picture. At most points though, at first, there isn't a bigger picture. He isn't a reluctant anti-hero who initially refuses the quest, and chooses to instead build his riches. There simply is no quest, no great evil. The world as he knows it is repairing itself, and in the meantime, there are dungeons to be cleared, and treasures to be acquired. Of course, eventually he will have to become more spectacular as a result of experience, but is that too predictable?
I guess there is nothing new under the sun.
Monday, February 9, 2009
The Golden Compass - Relativity of War
It is unfortunate that all children eventually become adults, and in doing so, realize what war really means. I've realized as of late that when I was a child, and my father was away doing "Army things" I never had any traditional grasp on what that meant. Of course, as I got older, but truly not until I did join the Army, did I fully understand what exactly what war meant.
I laughed then, when I read about the little games Lyra and the other children would play, finding it quite amusing, and also, in a way, tragic, that they should use the term war:
"In many ways Lyra was a barabarian. What she liked best was clambering over the college roofs with Roger, the kitchen boy, who was her particular friend... [in] racing through narrow streets, stealing apples from the market or waging war... What could be more innocent and charming?... of course, Lyra and her peers were engaged in deadly warfare." (Pullman 31-32)
It goes on to explain the "Endless permutations of alliance and betrayal" (Pullman 32) that this children fight through, but there is never an example of a child dying, or even really getting hurt at any point during these battles. It is unfortunate, then that kids watch adults and wish to be them to the point that they emulate them. In some twisted comedy, these sorts of habits are perpetuated and remembered through the generations, creating causes for more violence and needless wars.
This all becomes training for Lyra, in some form or fashion, which is ultimately helpful to her in her later adventures. She is able to lie and manipulate those around her in such a fashion that she can get closer to her goal. This as well sets her up in a position where betrayal is a relatively minor concern where loyalty might have been a virtue. This, however, was not in the prophecy, and serves to indeed settle things later on in the trilogy, regardless it is hard to ignore the idea that this was not some form of conditioning for later life.
I laughed then, when I read about the little games Lyra and the other children would play, finding it quite amusing, and also, in a way, tragic, that they should use the term war:
"In many ways Lyra was a barabarian. What she liked best was clambering over the college roofs with Roger, the kitchen boy, who was her particular friend... [in] racing through narrow streets, stealing apples from the market or waging war... What could be more innocent and charming?... of course, Lyra and her peers were engaged in deadly warfare." (Pullman 31-32)
It goes on to explain the "Endless permutations of alliance and betrayal" (Pullman 32) that this children fight through, but there is never an example of a child dying, or even really getting hurt at any point during these battles. It is unfortunate, then that kids watch adults and wish to be them to the point that they emulate them. In some twisted comedy, these sorts of habits are perpetuated and remembered through the generations, creating causes for more violence and needless wars.
This all becomes training for Lyra, in some form or fashion, which is ultimately helpful to her in her later adventures. She is able to lie and manipulate those around her in such a fashion that she can get closer to her goal. This as well sets her up in a position where betrayal is a relatively minor concern where loyalty might have been a virtue. This, however, was not in the prophecy, and serves to indeed settle things later on in the trilogy, regardless it is hard to ignore the idea that this was not some form of conditioning for later life.
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