Pizza and Brains

            It’s interesting, what sticks with you over time. It isn’t always what you expect.

            This week, for the first time in over three years, I returned to the pizza store where my wife and I used to work. Colleen had just been cured of lactose intolerance and we were celebrating with lots of cheese.

            We were both uncertain as to what would be dredged up in our memories as we returned. While it makes the best pizza we know of, that store was a source of great stress for both of us – so much so that it led us to quit, in spite of the fact that we generally enjoyed the work itself and were very attached to the place.

            Entering the store as a customer (for the first time), I expected to be flooded with reminders of all the negativity that led to me quitting. Instead, I was surprised to find that, instead, I was remembering all the good times I’d had there. A few of the more entertaining bad memories surfaced, but my mind just glazed over them. Colleen reported much the same. That’s nostalgia for you.

            It’s nice to get flooded with positive when you’re expecting negative. I wonder if that’s just how our brains work – with it being easier to remember the good than the bad, as long as it was from long enough ago. Hmm... Now I must do some research into that.

            Oh, and the pizza was excellent. Coming from someone who spent five years treating making pizzas as an art, that’s saying something.

Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.

Words

            Have you ever taken a moment to stop and think about words. I mean, really think about them. Not the meanings of words, so much as the existence of them. They’re amazing!

            It’s so fascinating that we have this in-depth method of communication. Humans wouldn't have accomplished anything close to what they have without it. Yet, if you stop to think about it, words are downright weird. We make nonsensical sounds with our mouths and vocal cords and, somehow, when we hear them, they have meaning for us. How did this come to be?

            I've thought about this a lot, as I've worked on writing my own languages. Most (if not all) spoken languages these days are built on the blocks of previous languages. Words and grammar have evolved and become so natural to us that we take them for granted – at least until we find ourselves wandering in a foreign country where no one understands what we’re saying. How did it start, though? What was the very first word?

            My theory is that the first word would have been an order, such as “Go!” or “Get!”. That seems the most likely place for a primitive language to start. You want someone else to do something, so you create a word that, when accompanied by a gesture, can convey your meaning. A language has started.

            But, by telling someone else what to do, we recognise that we are different than them. We start calling them “You.” Then, since we have a way to address someone else, we come up with “Me” to refer to ourselves.

            From then, it snowballs onwards, with the language getting larger and larger. We come up with more commands and, for clarity, we come up with words for objects as well. That way, we can tell “you” to “get” a “tree”. Poor you will have a hard time of that, but at least he understands what we want.

            Then, of course, names for people come into existence, so we can distinguish all these “you”s from each other. Plus, if everyone is “me”, we feel like just another “you”, so we want a name to use for referring to ourselves.

            Armed with our new language, we charge into the future, teaching these odd sounds we've made up to our children, and they to theirs, until the vocalisations become second nature and no one even thinks about how remarkable words are. In fact, we even have squiggles to visually represent words.

            The squiggles are taught to us as sounds that string together into the words we know, but eventually they take on a life of their own. We see a word and, even if it’s spelled wrong, we know what it means just as well as if we heard it. It truns out taht as lnog as the frsit and lsat letetrs of a wrod are in the rhigt pacles, it deosn't eevn meattr waht odrer the rset are in! W3 c4n e3en r3pl4c3 c3r74in l3773r5 wi7h numb3r5 4nd 57ill b3 4ble t0 r34d. I wouldn't be surprised if I ardshfu tunboef slinwy guwisju and you still understood what I was talking about.

            Yet, all this time, it is still just random sounds we make or generate in our heads. Sounds that, more than likely, would sound incredibly stupid if we didn't know what they meant (some sound stupid even when we know what they mean). Somehow, there is a transition in our brain where the sounds and squiggles that represent a “tree” turn into a tree.

            Aren't words incredible?

Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.

Of Music and Maille

            Oooh, this is new! I'm actually writing my blog while still at an event. Hopefully I won’t get interrupted too often, but if I wander off I hope you don’t mind.

            Festival of Friends is a music festival, rather than the usual medieval fairs or geek conventions we go to. We were uncertain of how well we’d do here, but we've done quite well for ourselves. People love our stuff! And because this isn't the sort of event people usually find chainmaille at we drew a lot of attention.

            We've even continued the pattern of selling a tie at every show we've been to. Just before I sat down to write this, one of the vendors across the aisle from us could no longer resist the ties he’d been admiring all weekend.

            Oh! We also have someone who wants to stock our products in her shop! That’s exciting news.

            I haven’t wandered around the festival that much – I'm a little afraid of being disappointed. Festival of Friends was an annual event for my family to attend, but a lot has changed. Instead of being out in a park, it’s moved to a fairground and that has changed the entire feel. It feels... well, like a fair. Not that it’s a bad thing; it’s just different.

            The music has changed a lot, too, but that’s a good thing. There’s a very good variety, ranging from folk to rock (the later it gets, the younger the music gets). And the crowds attracted? All ages. It’s not often I see such a diverse crowd. We've even encountered a number of fellow geeks! (One of the security guards was at ConBravo! Where we had a table two weeks ago.)

            Backtracking to when Festival of Friends was at the park, I simply must share a story from when I was a kid. This is the story of the time I got lost. Well, actually it’s the story of the time my family got lost. We were at the festival and my parents had been talking about leaving and I was adamant about staying. So, there I was, watching the band playing on stage, and my parents got up to go juggle. I looked around, couldn't find my parents and panicked. I thought they’d left without me!

            So, I did what any kid would do – I tried to catch up with them. I ran all the way to the car which, to my relief, was still there but, to my despair, was devoid of any family members. However, I had been taught very well – I knew that if I got lost, I was to stay in one place until I was found. Plus, if I stayed by the car, there was no way those dastardly abandoning parents of mine could leave without me.

             I waited. And I waited. Crouched down beside the car (probably crying), I waited. During this time, there were announcements I couldn't hear at every stage of the event telling people to look out for me and telling me to report to the missing children’s tent while my parents themselves (and any other relatives still at the event) frantically searched for me. They did eventually find me, but not until their second trip to the car because, with me crouched down, they couldn't see me.

            And that is the story of the time I caught my parents trying to abandon me and I cleverly outwitted them when I was somewhere between the ages of six and eleven.

            Well, I should sign off before the crowds of the last rush show up. Next week I may have something interesting stories as I plan to be attending a free online writer’s conference this week. Write On Con. If you’re an author, you should check it out.

P.S. Be glad that I edited this between the time when I originally wrote this post (surrounded be music, talking and distractions) and the time I posted it. Be very, very glad.

Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.

The Cursed Game Conquered!

            While this is a story about my misadventures surrounding a videogame, you really don’t need to be even remotely interested in videogames to enjoy it. The following is an amusing account of how, after 14 years, I finally managed to beat Final Fantasy VIII, the game I was cursed to never know the ending of.

            It all started when my brother bought a Sony PlayStation from one of his friends in est. 1999. The two of us went out to buy ourselves some new games to play on this exciting new system (yes, I know that the PS2 came out the next year, but it was new for us, okay?). Being that we were the age we were, we were buying our games from whatever allowance we had managed to save up, so, naturally, we were getting used games because they’re so much cheaper.

            I don’t recall for certain what game or games my brother bought (probably racing games), but I bought two games: Final Fantasy VII and Final Fantasy VIII. I’d heard that it was a well known series, and even played Final Fantasy III on my Super Nintendo, so I was excited to try them out. Unfortunately, as the gaming console belonged to my brother, my play time was limited.

            When I did play the games, I found I was not disappointed – the Final Fantasy series is well known for a reason. They’re good. And their graphics are always cutting edge for their times – particularly their videos and cut-scenes (short videos that interrupt the game to tell part of the story, for you non-gamer types). The other thing about them is that they’re long. This specific game had four discs, while your average game of the times had one.

            It turned out that my brother and I both liked Final Fantasy VIII, and we played through the story at about the same pace. It was when I had reached a cut-scene on disc 2 that the curse struck for the first time. The game froze. Right in the middle of the video. No matter how many times we tried to get past, or how many tricks for repairing scratched discs we tried, neither of us could get past that cut-scene.

            Well, our pockets being rather shallow, we figured that we had gotten what we deserved for buying a used game and gave up on it. We were disappointed, but there was nothing we could do.

            A couple years later, when my brother and I now co-owned a PlayStation2, I decided I was going to take another shot at playing Final Fantasy VIII. I knew disc 2 was damaged, but I hoped that the newer system could possibly get past the scratched part in the video. It was worth a try, and the video did get further this time, but still it froze.

            Luckily, I now had a paper route, so I went out and bought myself a new copy of the game! I then played past the video, and continued along my game. All was well – until one day...

            Our PlayStation was still in use, even though we had a PlayStation2 – after all, that way my brother and I could play games at the same time without annoying each other. With the new disc available, he’d started playing Final Fantasy VIII as well. But something went wrong. Somehow – we don’t know how – a small patch of the disc he was playing managed to melt itself onto the system. Frustrated, and really wanting to play his racing game, my brother forced the game out of the system and broke the disc. Would you care to guess which disc it was? That’s right. Disc 2.

            It shouldn't have been all that bad – after all, I could still continue playing on my other, rather scratched disc 2; it just meant that I wouldn't be able to play the game a second time and get past that video. Except that there was a slight problem with the old PlayStation memory cards (this was before the systems had their own memories) that would sometimes cause them to wipe themselves of their save files. Can you guess what I discovered the next time I went to play...? The curse had struck again.

            That was it, for me. I gave up on the game again and eventually forgave my brother for breaking the disc. Then, another two years later, I decided to try again...

            I went out to a pawn shop and bought another used copy of Final Fantasy VIII. It was worth a try, wasn’t it? When I got it home, I opened the case to take out disc 2 (I’d already played the game up to where it got stuck) and stared in disbelief. The case was for Final Fantasy VIII. Discs 1, 3 and 4 were all for Final Fantasy VIII. But disc 2, the only disc that I needed, the cursed disc, was from Final Fantasy VII.

            What was with this game!?!?

            I went straight back to the pawn shop and told them my story and they were kind enough to let me take a different copy of the game (we checked to make sure it had the right disc first). I took that disc home, put it into the system, and...! It froze in the middle of the video again. Seriously.

            But I wasn't giving up! I switched it for my other scratched and used disc and the video went a little further before freezing again, so I switched discs again! The video went a bit further, then froze again. One last switch and I was past the video of the cursed game! It was a wonderful feeling.

            So, I played through the game, quite enjoying it up until I reached the final battle. Now... the last battle in any Final Fantasy game is pretty intense, but the game designers outdid themselves this time. I’ll spare you the details and simply say that I was fighting this battle for over two hours before I died and got the dreaded Game Over. Needless to say, I was not happy. Still, to my credit, I tried the battle several more times before giving up this time round.

            I learned in later years that there were two major things that led to my downfall. The first was that the monsters in the game level up when your characters level up, which means that the more powerful you get, the harder the game is to play. The other was that, in Final Fantasy VIII, unless you really understand all the spells and various systems in the game – which for most people means having a walkthrough beside them – it’s next to impossible to actually beat the final boss.

            However, over the last couple weeks, I finally managed it! I’ll admit that I was looking up some of the more finicky parts of the game as I went along, and I definitely had a walkthrough open telling me roughly how to win the final battle – it should say something that the guide went along the lines of “Use these spells to boost the effectiveness of these attacks and hope for the best”. It was a long and grueling battle, but I won! And you know what? It was worth it.

            It was worth the time spent on the game. It was worth all the aggravation and frustration. It was worth buying three copies of the game. And, more than anything else, it was worth the wait. The ending video of the game brought a phenomenal and touching conclusion to the game’s story, which I never would have appreciated when I was younger. I also caught all kinds of amazing plot twists that I’d never noticed the previous times I played through the game.

            I've said before that playing a videogame is like controlling the main character of a book and this one is no exception. Incredible as the story in this game is (and as much as I want to “borrow” some of the plot twists), this is one case where I don’t think it could have been more effective as a book. Or a movie, for that matter. It’s small wonder that this game series is so popular. They just need to make the end battles a little less grueling.

Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.

 

Nostalgia

            What is it about the past that we find so enthralling? It doesn't matter if it was good or bad; something always draws our minds to the past and somehow, the past was always better than the present.

            Nostalgia is such a fascinating thing, not because it exists, but because it exists in so many people. While I’ll freely admit that there is a lot of merit to the saying “They don’t make things like they used to” (don’t get me started on built-in obsolescence), was the past really better than the present?

            When I think back to when I was a child, I wonder at how easily I was entertained and how much fun I had with simple things. Swimming is a perfect example. My parents have numerous pictures of me swimming and having a grand old time. I remember having a blast pretending to be a dolphin or just paddling around. Now, however, I don’t see a point in swimming. There’s no purpose to it and, because of that, I no longer have fun.

            So, is swimming less fun now than it was when I was a kid? I find that doubtful. Swimming is an activity, it cannot change – but I can.

            What is it, then, that changes us as we grow older that makes us enjoy life less, or at least think we do? Is it growing up? Gaining more responsibility? Having greater knowledge?

            If I had to choose one, I would have to go with knowledge, because growing up is optional and in order to have responsibility you have to accept it. Knowledge is the one thing that is irreversible – once we have it, there’s no going back (well, at least not while you still have a healthy mind).

            Knowledge is important to our way of life and it’s supposed to be a good thing. So why does it seem like the more knowledge we have, the less we can enjoy life? I think it’s because we over-think things. We spend our time worrying about what other people think of us, what we could have done in the past to make the present better, when the next terrorist attack will come and what we can do to get a raise. Then we look back at our childhood selves and think, “Gee... I had it made back then.”

            The funny thing is that life isn't all that different now than it was back then. We just know more, which means we have to sift through a lot more before we can arrive at what we enjoy – or we don’t enjoy things because we don’t understand why we enjoy them.

            Instead of looking back at how great the past was, I think we should take all this knowledge we've accumulated and, rather than allowing it to make us think life is worse, use it to find ways of enjoying life more. We’ll never enjoy life the way we did when we were children – we have too much knowledge for that – but we can enjoy life differently. Not more, not less, but differently.

            Either that or we should accept that ignorance is bliss and go live in the trees like every kid wants to. After all, kids have it made.

Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.