The 'Yous' Epidemic

Childhood was a nightmare. School bullying; cat got run over; broadband was called something like 'dial up'; and there was the unforgettable epidemic of 'yous'. Not 'use', 'yous'. As in, "I'll give yous a gold star if yous'd learn to speak English." Eugh!

Enduring the profanities of those whose pastimes it was to pick on kids richer than them, and for whom I felt sorry because it gave them little time for videogames, was cake next to other blasphemous obscenities with which my poor ears were forced to contend. Among them, 'yous' was the worst. I had my first encounter when I was seven.

"Mrs Black gets angry when we're late! Yous better hurry up."

The word was petrifying. Even when the bell rang, the sound of which normally sets my feet into action, I stood there. The playground emptied; tumbleweed hovered; I felt like I was floating. I blinked moisture into my eyes, but instead the memories came flooding back. His face, adorned with freckles and glasses, refused to fade from my mind. The lisp made his verbal abuse indistinguishable from 'youth'. And as he spoke, saliva sprayed from between his metal-plated teeth. The word emerged like a shark trying to speak while consuming its prey. Violent, traumatising and... unnatural.

Today I still remember the culprit's face; it's been tattooed onto my memory, black and white like a wanted poster's sketch. Except before he could be detained, his sick language infiltrated the minds of every other kiwi in this country. I hear it more than ever; and each time it revives the pain. Battle scars.

Such language isn't even remotely productive. Believe me, I've fought to justify its use: 'you's' as a contraction for 'you is'; oh wait, there's no situation where that works, ever. Or 'yous' for colloquial banter, like 'lols' for old people since, you know, old people say it! But even this doesn't hold water, since 'lol' is but a poor acronym whose lowly status has long been established. 'You', on the other hand, is a perfectly crafted word, like 'Raglan' without the 'D' and 'everything' without that vulgar 'K'! It is clear that 'yous' has no place in anyone's vocabulary.

I know there are others who've seen the light, those of you similarly afflicted by the plagues which haunt the English language. It is you who ask, "What must we do?" And, with great pain, I must say that there is no known cure. But hope is not lost, for I do have one suggestion: one other than, "It's 'you', without the 's'," since that response only turns you into a pedantic nut. My advice is this: mimic and exaggerate their mistakes,

"What are yous up to today?"

"I's gots as physicses labs ats ones, ands Douglases's gots twos tutses froms elevens untils twelves fifties."

With hope they'll realise saying 'yous' makes them sound like they're simultaneously being tasered.

Immediate results are unlikely; but the more we wait, the more the curse spreads. Even those once thought immune are finding the taint to be too much to bear. Ignorance and apathy are pitfalls which we're becoming careless to avoid. Well stand up, I say. For if you're finding yourself in one of these pits, then may my advice be a torch to light your way, or a map if your pit is, in fact, a twisted and abysmal cave crawling with 'yous'-spreaders. 

If it is, then we may already be too late.

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Introverts 201

Introvertedness is a complicated term. It's also not a word. Needless to say, a few paragraphs about social energy are hardly sufficient to clearly explain the complicated relationship introverts have with their given state of 'limited social capacity'. So, here are some things to consider.

There are those who think they're extroverts (and everyone else also thinks they're extroverts), but, really, they aren't - at least, not entirely. Cynthia, a friend of mine who socialises nonstop and has far too many friends, recently told me that her energy for them is limited like mine, except, until now, she's never admitted it. She's like a fish with too much food, except she hasn't died… yet. You see, next to her social energy tank is an inability to say 'no'. One too many yeses later and she's wondering why she's feeling so drained. Tsk tsk, young Cynthia. "True courage is about knowing not when to [be social], but when to [not be social]." Then I proceeded to give her a sword.

via Memecenter

There are those whose introvertedness clashes with their fear of missing out. I'm one of these. I'll be playing a game, or watching a film when some intrusive friend decides to message me, "U shld come ova 4 a bbq @ Zed's plce! We gt salad, but nd meat." Up until this point, I would be content doing next to nothing. But now that there's a social event going on, I'm torn between accepting and declining, never mind the dwindling energy bank! Something about, "I can watch this film or play that game at any time, but I can't summon barbecues quite so easily. Also, people die."

Added to all this is the issue of who to hang out with. Think of each relationship you have with someone like its own slope. Some friends are easy to get along with. You can be yourself, say whatever, embrace awkwardness rather than shy from it, and there are no lengthy good byes, which are also awkward. These are the downhill-sloped people. They don’t drain social energy. They give it. By contrast, there are those with whom you don't really relate, those who'll stop listening if you talk about anything other than panel beating, or those who will probably judge you for having an interest in biodegradable objects. It quickly becomes a chore to talk to these folk. Some of them will drive you insane! These are the uphill ones. And in between the two are those who don't really give or take energy. Perhaps they don't talk much; perhaps they're mute. In any case, they're flat, like Hamilton. Basically, some people require more social energy than others. A barbecue has more than just food. It has people, too, and those people will impact on whether or not I'll bother. Of course, this is on a bad day.

If anything, be grateful when your introvert friend shows up. More often than not, they decided that spending time with you would be more worthwhile than not spending time with you, and they went to the effort to do so. Believe you me, there's always effort involved. You know, you have to go uphill before you can go down again.

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Introverts 101

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What makes a good movie?

The answer seems simple enough. Acting, plot, director's passion, suspense, special effects, you name it. When all of these meet at the peak of quality, a good movie dawns, does it not? Perhaps. But is not each of these qualities subject to debate? You may think the storyline of a movie superb in its execution, while I find it clichéd and overdone. In other words, each person has his or her own views; and in the end, it would appear that we viewers determine the levels of each quality, and thus the overall value of a film. Yet, when 70 percent of people dislike a film and the other 30 love it, do we simply say it's a bad film, or do we deem it 'underrated'? What if 90 percent of people love it and the rest despise it? Is it therefore a good movie, or do only 1 in every 10 people truly appreciate art when and where they see it?

So we have ourselves a dilemma, and the conundrum remains: what makes a 'good' movie? The simple solution is to back away, concluding that 'good' and 'bad', at least in terms of quality, are relative to a person's individual tastes. Perhaps, at the end of the day, that is all we can be sure of. But such a conclusion, indeed I tell you, is lame. Let us instead veer our eyes to the abyss!

Take Breaking Dawn: Part 2, the fifth and final film in the Twilight Saga, for example. On Rotten Tomatoes, it scored 48 percent from critics and 88 percent from user ratings. According to the formula above, Breaking Dawn: Part 2 is a good film, and critics don't know what they're talking about. Now look at Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring. This film scored 92 percent from critics and 92 percent from user ratings. Another good film, yes? Indeed, ignoring what critics think, both films are almost equal in their level of quality. Breaking Dawn: Part 2 falls just 4 percent short. But lo! The father of modern fantasy nearly beaten by sparkly white people? This cannot be!

Fortunately, there is a distinction to be made despite these films' similar user ratings. Such a distinction eludes our first glance, but it becomes clear once the veneer of fandom has been removed. Both Breaking Dawn: Part 2 and Lord of the Rings have massive fan followings. Take them away, and what are we left with? For the former, barely the skin of its teeth. When those who love the film - those with biased opinions - are excluded, what's left is a multitude of human beings who despise shimmering vampires and ravenous werewolves (which, by the way, aren't werewolves. Read the book.) who for some unearthly reason risk everything to help an annoying, age-obsessed girl named Bella… oh, and her daughter Renesmee, who, for the record, is cute in the same way the rain maker from Looper is cute; that is, creepy. There is hardly anyone, and I mean anyone, who thinks the movie is 'adequate', or 'moderately good', or 'disappointing'. It's either amazing (if you're already a fan), or it’s really bad (if you're anyone else).

By contrast, when you strip Lord of the Rings of its fan base, there is still much substance to be found. Unlike Breaking Dawn, hardly anyone despises Lord of the Rings. If you don't love it, you still like it. Over a decade since its release, I've yet to meet a man who's watched it and didn't enjoy it, let alone someone who hated it.

Still puzzled? Here are some skilfully-crafted graphs to illustrate my point.

You can clearly see that each film has a strong fan base. However, the distinction in quality is only revealed when you look past them. With Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, there is a gradual decline tending towards 'hate', while for Breaking Dawn: Part 2 there is no such decline. Forsooth, the middle ground is an abyss where rotting vampire heads and nonexistent plot lines lie in the darkness.

In these cases, at least, where huge followings of people obsess over given movie franchises, the quality of any iteration in a franchise depends not on how big the following, but on everything else. Fans of Twilight love Twilight not because it's good but because it's Twilight. Similarly, fans of Lord of the Rings love Lord of the Rings because, well, it's Lord of the Rings. However, for those simply looking for a good film - those who aren't so much 'fans' of either - they will judge either film on its constituent qualities: Acting, plot, director's passion, suspense, special effects, you name it. The smoother decline illustrated for Lord of the Rings implies that those with unbiased views, who critique the film based solely on its filmic qualities, rate these qualities of high standard. The opposite can be concluded for Breaking Dawn, what with its abyss.

Now, I know what you're thinking. These graphs don't prove anything because, err, I made them up. True enough. But they reflect what I've heard and read from others, and they are furthermore backed up by the reviews on Rotten Tomatoes. For Breaking Dawn, the difference between user ratings and critics' reviews is staggering, while there is absolutely no difference for Lord of the Rings. Critics allegedly hold unbiased views, so the consistency with regards to the latter film is undoubtedly something of which to take note.

So, in the end, what makes a good movie? I could conclude that consistency of high ratings and praise - from fans and non-fans like, but mostly non-fans - does. But I won't, for this still leaves those underrated films and those artsy shindigs that don't make it to major cinemas under scrutiny. For now, though, I think the underlying presence of the 'abyss' is a big factor in determining a film's value. Lord of the Rings doesn't have one. Twilight does. Think on literature or music, and the same distinctions apply. If anything, rest assured that not belonging to a fan club doesn't make you a poor judge of good media. On the contrary, if such a judge was ever needed, you'd probably be shortlisted.

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"We're the same temperature now."

I have to report a crime. I… I've done something… terrible.

Before you shun me into the mythical realm of sparkly people whose sole weakness is in the juncture between head and shoulders (who would have thought: without their heads, they're powerless!), and where awkward conversations abound because the focus of them is a girl who has one facial expression, zero personality, and an inability to close her mouth; hear me out. I can explain.

I'm a bit like Rowan, a friend of mine who can't watch one film in a series and not the rest. Except, in my case, it's adhering to a tradition. Said tradition involves venturing with mates Nicky and Douglas to bear the latest 120 minutes of twilight pandemonium. Yet, if you treat the saga as a comedy, and you watch it with like-minded people, it can be more than bearable. Dare I say, it can be entertaining - but only because it's hilarious. Alas, we were the only ones in the theatre overcome in constant hysterics.

The first scene was no exception. Bella is embracing Edward (as one does after waking up from a coma during which one died) when Edward, barring nothing from his romantic tone, says, "We're the same temperature now." I honestly thought I might be watching a parody.

A later scene sees Alice walk into the living room where the rest of the family are sitting in silence (though they seem perpetually poised for a family portrait, no matter the setting. I concluded it must be a vampire thing). Without warning, she has a premonition of their doom, and upon returning to the present, drops her vase of flowers (I suppose it's better than dropping a wedding cake). Everyone turns to her, but that isn't enough for Jasper. No, he vampire-sprints over to her side, close enough for his nonexistent breath to condense on her cheek, before asking, "What is it?"

Why did he need to run to her? Why couldn't he have just stood up and asked from where he was? Why wasn't there a laugh track?

Those are just two examples, but believe me, the laughter was endless, even during the fight scene, when countless heads were being torn from their shoulders. I was waiting for Bella to split in two, but the premonition ended before then, at which point you find out the entire fight never happened. It would've happened; that's why it was a premonition; but it didn't, because the bad guy was going to lose, and losing is undesirable. It was then, when I realised everyone's bodies were still intact, that the laughter stopped. Not only that, I was disappointed.

Now, you can't call me ignorant, because I've read the book corresponding with the film, and in that, they prepare for a fight which never happens. That sucked. But the trailer for the film hyped itself up by showing snippets from an action scene never realised in text. I guessed that the film developers changed the ending - that they followed through with the fight. But my hopes were cut short. Sure, they filmed the fight, but it was a fight that never really happened. No consequences, no remorse. What a stupid story! In other words, the first 90 minutes, a boring slew of awkward conversations and training sessions spread far too thin as a build-up to their inevitable doom (as foreseen by Alice), yet sufficiently appeased by numerous episodes of unintended humour, was, in fact, a build up to nothing! This means the film's drive didn't even exist, leaving it utterly void of purpose.

Furthermore, the action scene was all but saturated in cheese! Not garlic, cheese! This was primarily due to the Volturi leader sending his cohorts one at a time to have their heads removed. Why not just attack all at once? Seriously. Logic. You see? Even the fight scene - the one part of the film I thought might be worth watching - failed to deliver. Not that it would've: an action scene needs to be grounded in plot for it to appeal; and this film's 'plot' was contingent on said action scene. So the fight had no purpose; the movie had no fight; and the entire film caved.

In hindsight, I blame Alice. If it wasn't for her future sight, Breaking Dawn: Part 2 might've had a chance at a decent ending. It's a shame, really. I was always on team Alice.

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Does Grammar really Matter?

Grammar and Punctuation¹: a volatile blend of simplicity and complexity. Simple in purpose, yet horrendously difficult to master. Each one of us knows what the term means - it isn't rocket science - but when it comes to hearing its application, I oftentimes close my eyes, picturing a cave occupied by men and women. They wear the skins of primitive beasts, and their tools are a collection of stones and bones. Fittingly, like the mammoth they slew and from whose bones they procured, grammar and punctuation is too great a beast to simply tame. It must be laid to rest.

Forsooth, some say that grammar doesn't matter; that it is an old-fashioned mix of arbitrary rules belonging to a minority who refuses to adapt; that those who claim to be well-versed are all compensating for things of actual significance that they lack; or that it is only relevant in some situations, like during a job interview or an exam.²

Such claims are bold, but they are no bolder than the ones proclaimed from those who hold a different view. Indeed, some would go so far as to say that grammar and punctuation might be the Achilles heel of today's Western society.

To those who uphold the former-most view, that language is changing, and that we ought to change with it: I agree. Language is always changing, much like fashion. Yet, no matter the fashion, there are standards; and in every instance, there is a scale ranging from inappropriate to over-dressed, with just right sitting in the middle. It is the same with grammar. There are standards, even today - standards that many people would rather do away with. I might want to wear shorts and a tee shirt instead of a suit to my wedding, but you would all gawk at me (or not attend) if I actually did. Likewise, I gawk at the eight out of ten native English-speaking people who can't differentiate 'have' from 'of'.

Granted, this comparison fails to shed any light as to why grammar and punctuation matters in the strictest sense of the word, and it even appears to support the claim that grammar is only important in some situations, like during a job interview or an exam. Perhaps that is because this claim is spot on. Just like most things, finely-tuned grammar only truly matters when its counterpart, poor grammar, bears unwanted consequences. Applying sun block at the beach matters because, if I don't, I'll get burnt. Correctly-punctuated writing matters in an exam because the alternative is to lose marks. Following is a spam email I recently received.

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T-Mobile Nederland BV
Waldorpstraat 60,
2521 CC Den Haag,
The Netherlands.
online-client service.

CONGRATULATION!

From T-mobile NL we are proud to inform you that your email address have
won you 850,000.00euros from our online anual coordination.

Chose an option which you will like to receive your winnings presenting
along side your winning reff number: NL/VV5-421/0031012.

(1). Come to the Redemption centre here in the Netherlands.
(2). On-line Bank Transfer
(3). Courier Delivery service

Congratulations once again.
Regards,
Robijn van-kloose.
Award Coordinator for T-mobile NL

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A sore thumb is a grave understatement in illustrating just how jarring this email is to anyone with half a brain. Indeed, it is completely submerged in discrepancy. You might have noticed that the word in capitals is missing a letter. Just one letter of a fifteen-letter word, yet we all notice it, and I'm sure we would all agree that it is unacceptable. Even with the 'S', the word itself, capitalised to grab the reader's attention, is a tell-tale sign of spam, yet the typo (I'll give them that much) is icing on the cake. Then there are 99 others. You see, even if I would have been so easily fooled, this one slip up is the ultimate sacrifice of credibility.

Credibility. It matters.

Things that uphold credibility: research, enthusiasm, confidence, good grammar.

If you can't back up a claim, prepare to be criticised. If your tone is dry and stale, prepare to be ignored. If you sound as confused as the people you're trying to instruct, prepare to be questioned. If your grammar is atrocious, then you can forget about everything else; you're going in the spam folder! Essentially, in all cases where you want to be taken seriously, strong grammar and punctuation strictly does matter.

via cheezburger.com

But what about in all other cases? Does grammar matter on Facebook, on Skype, or in casual emails? Your first response might be: no, it doesn't. You have nothing to prove on these mediums; you type like you talk; and there is no reason to put any effort into it. Fair enough, I say. And once again, I completely agree. In fact, I see no need to comment on the structure of someone's imperfect Facebook status when there isn't any pressing reason for them to write it correctly. If everyone understands it, and it makes sense, then that's all that matters. My hope is that, in cases where grammar does matter, they know what to do, and they'll get it right.

There is a difference, however, between a man who knows better but simply doesn't care, and a man who strives to get his grammar and punctuation correct, yet falters at the last word. My view is that everyone is innocent until proven guilty. In other words, it's only when there's a genuine mistake that I consider addressing the author. In such a case, my train of thought plays something like this: "If John has made a grammatical mistake despite making an effort not to, then he is likely to make the same mistake at a later time when it may prove detrimental." What is the next step upon this realisation? Do I point out the food caught between his teeth, or do I leave it unnoticed, hoping that he won't be too embarrassed when he eventually gets given a mirror?

In essence, grammar and punctuation on mediums like Facebook doesn't matter, or at least it wouldn't matter if these social mediums were the be all and end all of communication. But they aren't. Eventually, you will write something - a report, an essay, a personal statement - in which your understanding of grammar and punctuation will be your backbone. A good performance requires practice. Whether or not your grasp of English needs a polish is entirely up to you. Perhaps you know it well enough; but when it comes down to it, will you know where to place the apostrophe, if any? Should there be a comma before the quotation, or not? And can you properly distinguish its and it's, or there, their and they're? Your lecturer can. Your employer can. If you can't, then teach yourself. Google it, learn it, then practise it. 

Facebook, text, email - they might not matter right now, but they will matter when it's too late. For the sake of a job interview or exam, it's not unheard of to, you know, prepare.

For those times where grammar and punctuation strictly matters, every other instance may or may not matter in retrospect. It is your call to make. But it's all part of a constitution, and governing that constitution is a language that probably stems from your childhood. Do you remember? You learned a 26-letter alphabet, and you came to appreciate 26, not 25, distinct characters as the building blocks for communication. Today, not once do you forget one and replace it with more of the others. You accepted the whole package. It was either that, or nothing at all. Creating your own language, choosing your own rules, it doesn't work. You speak English, a constitution complete with standards and guidelines. Typing "your" when you mean "you're" is like spelling CONGRATULATIONS without the S. It's incomplete and, quite frankly, irresponsible. This, my friends, is why grammar and punctuation matters. It's the same reason the letter 'S' matters in the English alphabet. Forget everything else. You can punctuate and spell how you like on Facebook; you can rebel against your employers with a typo-ridden resume; but you can't then call it English. English has 26 letters; it has spelling and grammar rules; and it has punctuation marks.

If you say "should of" or "yous" or "Some-think", then by all means, keep saying these things. I trust you of all people are the smartest of us all, for your grasp of language is so firm that you feel confident to play with it, as if the tendon above the heel bears no limit to its stretch.

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1. As both nouns are part of the same constitution, I'm treating them as a single term. For instance, "Parks and Recreation" IS a TV program.

2. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J7E-aoXLZGY I love this!

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More Betterer

Let's face it. English is too damn demanding. We have to spell words, use commas and full stops, and then decide how many exclamation marks to use at the end of something remarkable!! And then that's not all. Nowadays we're having to contend with… with…  double superlatives! "Say what?" You ask, your tone aghast and your face warped with shock. Precisely.

Let's be clear. Saying things like "more nicer" and "more stronger" don't make any sense. But not saying them is yet another cumbersome task for the burden of speechcraft. All these regulations - it's hard enough as is not to break the law without worrying about the rules of… how do I say it… language! Well, worry no more. For I offer you the most moral code of moral codes: if you really don't want to give something up, justify it!¹ After all, if you can't beat'em, join'em.

The phrase "more better", along with all its variations, has become widely used in today's declin- I mean Western society. It probably stems from the fact that some words allow you to attach "er" to the end, like 'cuter', 'smoother' and 'funnerer', while others don't, like 'satisfied-er' and 'beautiful-er'. In the case of the latter two, one should say "more satisfied" or "more beautiful". Halt! All of a sudden we have two different utensils for the exact same piece of pie, and only one of them ever serves as proper etiquette. It's only natural, therefore, that they sometimes get mismatched, or we simply become too accustomed to our spoon of choice.

There are two main reasons why a man shouldn't say terms like "more better".

1) They don't make sense.

2) They sound retarded. The 'er' in "better" does the same job as the word 'more' preceding it. Forsooth, they mean exactly the same thing and do exactly the same job. Thus, if you say something like, "My new job is a lot more better," it's like saying, "My new job is a lot betterer," or, "My new job is a lot more more bett," to either of which I'd ask, "Who hired you?"

But this phrase, which simply leaves the word 'more' completely and utterly redundant, has been ingrained into your minds like the alphabet. Like how one plus one is two and not, in fact, sixty-five. It's part of the basics, and cannot be simply erased without you questioning the authenticity of your very own childhood. Fortunately there is no such need to wipe your memory. At least not yet.

It should be noted that I'm a man who doesn't just complain, but comes up with solutions as well. In fact, I can think of an entire one reason that completely justifies the use of 'more better'. Take Bobbery, for instance. Bobbery broke his leg last Sunday. It's now Tuesday. Life sucks because he's maimed and can't do much. But he can still talk - and his mouth is now his only remaining source of dignity. Screw that up, and he might as well be a fish.
Sarmeena, one of his good friends, pops in for a visit. "How's the leg?" she asks.

"Well," Bobbery begins, "it's more better than it was yesterday."

"Uh, what did you just say?" she says, her tone aghast and her face warped with shock. Rightfully so.

"Sarmeena, I can explain."

"I'm listening," she concedes, proving her loyalty as a friend through thick and thin.

Bobbery takes a deep breath. "You see, yesterday I was feeling a bit better than Sunday; but today I'm feeling much better than yesterday."

"So?" Hostility is creeping into her tone now.

"So, the amount by which I feel better today in relation to yesterday is greater than that which I felt yesterday with regards to the day before."

The ensuing silence is awkward, and Bobbery senses that the threads of their friendship are wearing thin and farther between. Much to his relief, she simply laughs and flicks her hair. "Oh, why didn't you just say so?" And she proceeds to share her chocolate with him, chocolate that she was about to keep to herself. It's berry and biscuit.

So what did Bobbery mean, exactly? Simple. The improvement in Bobbery's health between Monday and Tuesday was greater than the improvement between Sunday and Monday. Thus, he feels more better today than he did yesterday. So long as this explanation can apply to your uses of the term 'more better' or any of its variants, you will be able to defend ridicule, embarrassment and the Facebook-approved certainty of your friendships.2 You can thank me laterer.

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1.    Sarcasm

2.    This justification actually holds no water at all. "More better" still sounds retarded because Bobbery could (and should) have instead said, "even better," or, "better yet". Fortunately you probably didn't read this far.

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First World Angst

Today I experienced a bout of first world angst. It only lasted five seconds. After that I ate food, resolving all previous problems. Then tonight it happened again, this time for about thirty seconds - maybe more! For half a minute the entire world was against me. Of course, self-awareness yet prevailed, and here I now sit, writing this blog, twisting the truth to make a point. Oh, I've already said too much.

It's not right.

It wasn't enough. That fridge, closing without permission as fridges are wont to do. Sometimes I end up holding it open with my foot while I pour the milk on my cereal over at the bench¹ - I'm quite coordinated like that - and then swivel round to return the milk before the door shuts, all in one fluid motion. But today wasn't just so.

Today, I had toast.

As a man having toast does, I took a plate from the cupboard, a knife from the drawer, the toast from the toaster, and the butter from the fridge. That evil, evil fridge. I'm sure it hates me, for within its lair is where I encountered the terror of the first world.

You see, a man can leave the pantry open when he's borrowing the bread, or even the cupboard above the bench housing the sugar. But the fridge? Nope. Can't do that. Can't leave cold condiments and beverages exposed to the elements. That would be counterproductive. Why, world, why? Why do you make us suffer so? You give us electricity, lots of cool stuff, and an appliance that keeps the food chilled at a constant three degree using negligible amounts of energy. But you make us KEEP THE DOOR CLOSED!? Agh!

Alas, in the five seconds it took me to butter my toast (my finesse with the butter knife is unparalleled, even when the weight of the world appears to be resting upon my shoulders), my frustration quickly tempered. A certain thought, something like, "Oh, right, I have so much more than I… FOOD!" occurred, stopping just short as I began devouring my breakfast.

You must be miserable.

It wasn't until later tonight, in the midst of my shower, that that previous thought was given the time to conclude. Of course, the thing which triggered said thought was a mysterious and perhaps uncanny bout of bipolar disorder going on in the water pipes. For a good thirty seconds, the temperature was bouncing between hot and cold; and the cold wasn't fun. To make matters worse, one of those bounces lasted just long enough for me to think it was permanent and make the water hotter. Suffice it to say that, thanks to my Samoan blood, I came out of that bathroom unscathed --- but just barely. During this second encounter, I was all up in arms at the fact that I shouldn't have to deal with indecisive showers! But in the end, I again became aware of my foolish thinking and, in introspection, thought, "Oh, right, I have so much more than I need. Why the heck am I complaining?"

I don't know the answer to that; but I think the constant pipeline of awesomeness, in the form of technology, food, great people, good weather, stable jobs, convenient healthcare, are all part of the constitution. They're great, make no mistake. But they fuel an insatiable appetite for more. and our capacity for expectation only grows with each subsequent undertaking in first world convenience.

Sort of like this: "I'm complaining about a fridge door shutting. My life must be so boring. OMG, my life is boring! Time to complain!" Like that.

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¹ Sure, I could open it all the way without the need for the whole foot-stabilising, but then the fridge door would slam against the pantry door, which was already left open for added bread-returning convenience.

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Grammar Matters, Otherwise You'd Still Say 'Brang'

Important: This post was originally a column written for Nexus - the University of Waikato's weekly magazine. However, it went unpublished because, I think, there wasn't enough room in this week's issue what with it being the last issue for the year. It's all wrap-everything-up themed, so they replaced my column with something way less cool (I read it, and decided it was way less cool). Since it didn't get published there, I decided to publish it here! Naturally, this column is aimed at a university audience, but it's just as relevant for them as it is for everyone else. Read on, if you will.

With the end of the year approaching, it's time to look back, to reflect, and to let go. Remember when you let go of that word 'brang'? It's a non-word kids substitute for 'brought', and it's often interchanged with 'brung'. You've probably forgotten, because it's been over a decade since you grew out of it; but I'll try to jog your memory.

One day in your fleeting childhood, you were given a divine revelation. You realised that 'brang' and 'brung' sound like both of two things, and nothing at all like 'brought'.

via Your Daily Portion of lol's page on Facebook

For one, they sound like creative uses for 'bleep' when someone curses on a candid video clip. For instance a man might say, "I'll BRANG you up good." If this was on TV, you'd hear the sound of clanging cymbals instead.

Secondly, these words 'brang' and 'brung' suitably fit onomatopoeias for the violent strumming of a guitar. Onomatopoeia, by the way, means a word formed from the sound with which it is associated. Examples include flap, meow, clap, patter and brang. 'Brung', of course, is simply the past tense. Clap, clapped; brang, brung.

"Tama brung his guitar as he walked to school. The guitar strings snapped from all the branging."

I bet you remember now, right? In hindsight, it wasn't too difficult to grow out of. After all, 'brought' sounds so much better and more sophisticated than 'brang'. So you quickly detached yourself from 'brang' and 'brung', and dumped them in the sewers to float amongst all the others. By 'others', I mean: 'should of', 'ragland', 'alot', 'some-think',misplaced apostrophes. The list goes on. 

You got rid of them, yes? 

What? You say you still use some of them? 

You say you still cling to these foul and pungent mutations? 

You, who stand here at the crossroads of your life; you, who hope to make it to the top someday. My friend, you're still deep, deep underground, where the waste of yesterday churns, where vermin gnaw through decaying flesh, and where unrealised dreams become lost in the darkness.

To this I have but one question. As the season changes from spring to summer; as the cool fog clears for the rising sun, will you forfeit the burdens of the past that hold you down, and rise up out of the ground like a flower through soil? If so, then stay your tongue and sever those foul words; for a flower can be full of potential, but as long as there are weeds, it cannot hope to grow.

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Movie Reviews with Matt: Looper

*Minor spoilers

Ever wanted to go back in time? Well, news flash, it probably wouldn't work. But don't worry; it works in Looper because, in Looper, all the paradoxes that come with changing the past are completely pushed aside. Yes, they're entirely ignored in a film whose plot revolves around that very concept. But it's not all bad. In the end, you get a three-dimensional sci-fi flick about love, identity, sacrifice, and creepy ten-year-olds who look more like six.

This newest instalment in the time travel universe centres on Joe (Joseph Gordon-Levitt), a desensitised junky with no purpose in life other than to accumulate silver and 'move to France'. The year is 2044, the state of living is declining in America, and every now and then a person the Mafia wants dead appears from the future and is killed on the spot. Indeed, in the year 2074, time travel is invented, outlawed, and only used in secret by people like the Mafia. It's almost impossible to murder without a trace, what with all the uber technology; so the Mafia sends their liabilities back to 2044, where, as soon as they arrive, a man they've commissioned (known as a Looper) does the job for them. Joe is such a man; and since his victims have silver attached to their bodies, his dream of starting over is certainly coming into view. However, things get interesting when the Mafia no longer has need for Joe. As is custom, they send his future self, Old Joe (Bruce Willis), back to be killed by, well, himself. Of course, it'd be silly if Willis died after five seconds of screen time. So he doesn't, and instead, his mission is to kill the murderer of his (future) wife, who in the present is but a child.

The plot is constantly moving and evolving in Looper, keeping the film feeling fresh and exciting. What starts with but one character becomes a full-fledged cast of five or six, each with different goals, often clashing. Forsooth, no character is all good or all bad. Everyone has a past, and the concept of time travel is used to emphasise the vehicles driving different characters' ambitions. Old Joe is fuelled by the love of his dead wife; Sara (Emily Blunt) is ready to sacrifice herself out of love for her son; and Joe - well, be sure you don't count him out, even though he smokes. But with Old Joe, it becomes particularly intriguing when the very drive to avenge his wife - his memories - is thwarted by the actions of his past self. What if he never meets her? There would be no one to avenge, and his purpose to live would vanish from existence. There's a scene in which this almost happens. While short, it questions the very concepts of identity and purpose - who would he be without his past? - and thus suggests the importance of treasuring one's own memories.

Of course, this scene also reveals, dare I say it, a plot hole. Old Joe's 2044-self is doing this and that, any of which might change what Old Joe (from 2074) has come to know. But what about all the things he might do between 2044 and 2074? Shouldn't Old Joe's mind be in perpetual flux from all the things his past self will now do differently based on his recent, life-changing experiences? Well, he's not. It seems that his 2044-self, and nothing outside of that instance in time, matters. To me, this makes absolutely no sense. Bear with me; there's more.

Ever heard of the grandfather paradox? Looper runs on the assumption that, if time travel were possible, a man could go back in time and alter his past, thus changing the future from which he came. The grandfather paradox can be understood in the following example: Bobbery uses a time machine to go back in time, before his grandfather had had a son (Bobbery's father), and then proceeds to kill his grandfather. So now Bobbery's grandfather is dead, which means Bobbery had never been born. However, if Bobbery had never been born, then he couldn't have come back in time to kill his grandfather. As such, if he could've never come back in time to kill his grandfather, then his grandfather lives, and Bobbery was born after all! Which means --- you get the idea. In other words, the universe would implode. Anyway, a certain event towards the end of the film makes as much sense as going back in time and killing your grandfather. That is, it makes no sense at all.

A third and final plot hole (there isn't room for more) joins us in the restaurant scene, where Old Joe attempts to kill Joe. If Joe was to die, then Old Joe wouldn't exist. So why is he shooting at him? Also, if Old Joe never existed, he couldn't have killed Joe. Whoa, slow down! Another paradox!?

If you can ignore these inconsistencies - Willis pretty much tells viewers several times not to think about time travel too much - the film is mostly good. Some of the major details are predictable; Joe narrates at the beginning to inform us who's who (a shortcut method to get the premise covered); some scenes simply feel weird in their execution; and there's a ten-year-old who's more like six and way too smart for either age, who's a paradoxical combination of creepy and cute. However, these finer details are more-or-less shoved to the bottom in light of a well-developed plot, action which entertains, and a cast of interesting characters. The ending, while cheesy, is very apt and refreshing. It completes the film and solidifies a message veiled behind all of the action - that true love means sacrifice. That, or the future has lots in store for coming generations - like telekinetic powers!

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Bad Endings

There are good endings, there are bad endings, and there are those endings that would've been good if so-and-so had died properly and not come back to life five minutes later. Be it book, movie or even videogame, the ending is the last thing we see or read. It's the final impression we get, and it has the power to make or break the entire narrative. A good ending often means a good movie. I say 'often' because it can sometimes mean a redeemed movie. For instance, the movie sucked but the ending was fantastic. Following are some of media's not-so-fantastic endings, at least according to my personal opinion.

Salt

via IMDB

I don't know what's worse: a bad ending, or no ending at all. This movie shocked us with the latter. Granted, it might've been its only innovative factor. But I almost got a fright when the credits began to roll. Where did they come from? Ted Winter is revealed to be the main bad guy about two minutes before he dies, and then Salt is taken prisoner on a helicopter. Next, she's running through a forest and then whoa! Credits!

Spy action is always fun, but this movie had no build up, no climax, no nothing. The antagonist's death was as impacting as the bit where Salt removes her contact lenses. I remembered that bit because I, too, wear contacts. Despite not having a personality, she was likeable from that moment onwards. Of course, that only made the ending (or whatever it was) even worse, because I'm still at the edge of my seat waiting to find out what will become of my contact-lens-wearing heroine!

The Hunger Games (film)

via IMDB

I knew the credits were coming for this one. The music told me so. But the scene itself wasn't end-worthy at all. Without the "this is it, guys" music, and the fact that the film ran for 142 minutes and was at its 141st, there would've been nothing endy about it. It didn't even feel like the end of a scene. President Snow (who looks uncannily like Santa, and whom I therefore like to call 'Evil Santa') is staring at a TV screen. He isn't happy with what he sees, so he walks up some stairs. No way! (That's the ending).

I remember the scene well because a) it wasn't in the book, and b) it was bad. I recall expecting him to go somewhere - a hidden room perhaps - where he'd unveil a secret weapon or some type of trump card; you know, to create one of those 'dun dun DUN' feelings, or a cliffhanger for you technical folk. I think viewers deserved something like that, what with the lack of any twist whatsoever throughout the entire film. But no, it just ended. Granted, I read the book, but the book had no twists either. In the end, because it was impossible to replicate Katniss's thoughts from novel to screen (the book ends with her not wanting to let go of Peeta's hand), the filmmakers decided to add a shot of Evil Santa walking up some steps. What does that even mean!?

Every Videogame Ever Made

Superb game, bar the ending.

I use the term 'every' lightly. What I mean is, rather, the vast majority of story-driven videogames. In almost all of them, you spend somewhere between 20 and 100 hours making your way from start to finish, and there's always some major obstacle to overcome at the end. It's fun, of course, because otherwise you wouldn't have made it this far. Anyway, after dying countless times and wasting more of your fleeting life trying to out-button mash the computer, you eventually make it. It's the end: quite often a five-minute cinematic of the world now liberated from evil. After that, it's the credits. That's it. You don't even get to save your game, to explore the evil-ridden world with all of its evil-ridden-ness. Once the credits are done and you reload your game, it pits you right back on the brink again. You sit there moping as you finally realise that glory and honour don't last. No one remembers you. When you look at the screen again, it's just before the final battle. Everyone's terrified, and you're the only one that can save them. Or can you? After all, no one will ever know. Such it is with life; and like life, perhaps it's just so that you cannot see the onscreen, fictional world free from evil, for no man can, in fact, perceive such a world. It doesn't truly exist. All you have is the personal achievement of conquering yet another videogame. You'd put it on your CV, but then who would be your reference!?

Fortunately, for every bad ending, there's a good one, right? With regards to film and novel, I think you can remember a few. But in terms of videogames, it would appear not. However, utilising such endings as metaphors for life itself, perhaps the final reward is in the lessons they teach us. Life is short; kill off the lead character.

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Introverts 101

*Interlaced with helpful analogies and metaphors!

Introverts are often misunderstood. I would know, because I'm one of them. But we're humans too, and like all human beings - regardless of gender, race or hair colour - we just want to be acknowledged. But how can we be acknowledged unless we're understood? Thus, I shall endeavour to explain, in a logical fashion, how introverts work based on my own experience and the general nods of affirmation I've received in previous discussions on the subject with like-minded people. The key term to keep in mind is social energy. Having said that, it must be noted that a man should not, upon reading this, put introverts, or anyone else for that matter, into a box labelled 'explained'. After all, "you're unique, just like everyone else." Rather, I hope only to demystify, even if just a little bit, the clouded notion people tend to equip pertaining to introverts.

Social energy is exactly what it implies: it's the energy one has to be social. Like sleep, we all need it, and like regular energy, it's expendable. Some people have large social energy 'tanks', if you will, while others have smaller ones. Of these people, some expend their energy quickly, while others are able to trickle it out over a long period of time. I for one use it up pretty fast. It sort of gushes out (I often appear quite extroverted), but I'm able to adapt to the situation. For instance, I can go to a four-day non-stop social conference, and use it up over those four days, or I can go on a two-week long non-stop social trip to Nelson, and have enough social energy to last the entire time there. Regardless, at some point or another, the social energy depletes, and from there it needs time to restore itself. For the introvert, this means being alone, or around few people, just so he or she is recuperating social energy faster than he or she is spending it. I'm sure everyone needs time alone sometimes; but introverts undoubtedly need more. Lots more.

During this period, social events are hideous beasts, while time by oneself is heaven on earth. Therefore, if a friend text messages me, "Hey, come over! I want to catch up with you and ten other people all at once!" I'm likely to say no. However, it's not because I don't like them, or any of the other ten people for that matter. It's simply because I can't be social right now. I'll talk sparsely, get irritated easily, and wish I wasn't there. Simply put, my company wouldn't be enjoyed, and I'd think myself inconsiderate. As a general rule, I don't take well to spontaneity. However, you might notice that even your introverted friends take quite kindly to spontaneous events, at times. This would likely be because you caught them at a time when their social energy is high, and they're rearing to use it like a dying man in a desert is rearing to drink of the fresh waters and eat the magical pineapples in the sparkling oasis he's just discovered. However, like this sparkling oasis, such occasions are rare and should not be depended on.

via blog.lib.umn.edu

You see, introverts generally like to plan ahead. This is because social energy cannot simply be 'summoned' when there is none. So, if my social energy is low, and you invite me to an event today, I will likely decline, even if I'm not doing anything. However, if you invite me to something a few days in advance, I'll likely accept, because I can plan for my social energy meter to be full and usable. If it's planned, it'll work out.

On that note, there is another factor to consider when trying to understand the concept of social energy. You see, I like socialising, but I also like not socialising (often, choosing between the two is like choosing which flavour Subway to get: not easy!) I also get accustomed to things that are yet to happen. I might have a super busy few weeks, but know that Saturday is going to be a nothing-at-all day, which I'll look forward to, and which will thus motivate me to get through the week in high spirits. However, if, on Friday, some friends invite me to lunch on Saturday, I might say no, because it violates my plans to do nothing. However, if they invited me before I made those plans, then I would've said yes! I also said yes to a two-week long beach mission in Nelson, because I had time to think, and I was given six months' notice.¹ In short, social energy not only restores over time, but even when full, it often needs time to prepare itself. Your food might be in the fridge, but it needs time to heat up.

I hope the concept of social energy is easy to grasp. If so, then it should have helped to explain and justify why introverts like me need time alone: primarily to recuperate and to prepare. When my social energy is high, I talk a lot, and appear very extroverted; but I could just as easily be at home doing nothing, and that's equally fun. However, everyone's different, and when an introvert declines your invitation to the game, or when he or she is quieter than normal, it might not have anything to do with social energy. It might just be that they don't like rugby, or that they have nothing to say. It might even be because they're busy. Introverts make plans, too, you know. In the end, don't adopt the idea of social energy to every instance where an introvert says 'no' to you. And don't bother asking why, either; it'd take all my social energy to explain it again.

----------------------

1. You don't need to give me six months' notice, or any notice. Just don't take it to heart if I say 'no'.

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'Fun Size' chocolate, with added moral

Somewhere along the way, I seem to have overlooked something. I realise that language changes. 'Thus' and 'hence' are used interchangeably; 'whom' is pretty much a goner; and 'gotten', I'm still getting used to gotten. It makes me think of mutated cotton. But I'll get there. 

What I don't get - what I'll never get - is something far graver than any of the aforementioned tweaks to the English language. It quite frankly contradicts the very thing it aims to promote. Still wondering? Then let me ask you, at which point did 'fun' become synonymous with 'MINISCULE'?

Some things can be small and fun: Gameboys, cell phones, iPods, vegetables. In fact, vegetables so small they're invisible are the most fun. But chocolate -- chocolate is never fun when chocolate is small. Better word associations for a lack, or shortage, of chocolate, include: taunting, tormenting, torturous, dire, deprive-yourself, I'd-rather-die, and so on.

No man even closely associates any of these words with 'fun', unless they're a masochist. And even if they are, leaving one's taste buds pleading after a nibble of melt-in-your-mouth chocolate is never, ever fun.

So, why do we have this?

The bit in the yellow.

Let's hope they don't release a SUPER FUN size.

Yes, you may get twelve in a pack, but there's only ever enough for one each. Don't try to argue. And one 'fun size' Snickers is like one measly bite of pizza, after which you're forced to endure the mouth-watering aroma of pepperoni and cheese and whatnot without so much as another taste.

You see, I like to down my Snickers in one no-mess mouthful, but other people nibble away at the corners like it's secretly disgusting but they're trying to be polite. Still others save theirs for later. To that group I always think, "Why didn't I do that?"

But when I try to do that, it never works: the chocolate must be eaten. And so it always is that I'm left chocolate-less, contending with the delicate munchings of those around me whose secret motives, I'm certain, are to torment me. Fun.

It was fun while it lasted, sure. But when it's gone, all you can do is sit and watch as someone else does a better job with their Snickers (an atrocious metaphor for time and resources). Regretful, wasted, depressed - these are the only emotions you feel now, and they're never fun. Wasting what time you have today could mean it'll all be over by tomorrow.

Remember, "the consequences of today are determined by the actions of the past. To change your future, alter your decisions today." (I made that up, then added quote marks to make it official.)

In life, we're told to lower our expectations and settle. Well, you know what? It's time to take a stand. Say NO, that's not fun-sized, that's crap-sized! I deserve more!

And other meaningful things.

Now go buy loads of chocolate! And avoid the I'd-rather-die size!

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Ten Reasons Why You Should Own a Cheetah

"The lion is said to be majestic, the leopard ferocious and shrewd. But elegant and graceful best describes the cheetah."

This gay marriage excuse for a debate has recently got me thinking: I want to own a cheetah! Here are ten reasons why you should own one, too.

1. The cheetah is the friendliest of all the big cats.

2. It's the only big cat that can't roar. It chirrups, mews and even purrs!

A heterosexual couple of cheetahs.

3. It's super pretty.

4. It's non-aggressive.

5. It has a super long tail for balance and coolness.

6. It's the fastest land animal, reaching speeds of up to 113km/h!

7. During the day, it can see its prey from five kilometres away!

8. It's the only cat with blunt, non-retractable claws, which help grip the ground like cleats for traction when running. Its pads act like tire treads for sharp turns at high speeds.

9. It knocks its prey to the ground before suffocating the animal with a bite to the neck. Cool!

10. It only gets thirsty once in every three to four days. Economical!

I don't want some attention-seeking, ass-licking, milk-drinking Siamese. I want a cheetah. It's my right! No... it's our right!

(Also, they're endangered. So there's a legitimate reason, if you needed one.)

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Whingebooking

A man once said, "No one sees your diary unless it's called Facebook; and if that's the case then don't expect to keep your friends."¹ That man was me, and today it is these words upon which I wish to expand.

To break it down: Facebook should not be used as a diary. You can get away with it once or twice, but, eventually, you'll lose your friends (or get your posts removed from the News Feed). Note: I have little proof that this happens, but the 'unsubscribe from x' button was implemented for a reason, and I certainly make the most of it.

"What do you mean 'as a diary'?" 
To answer that question, I point you to a term from the Urban Dictionary – whingebooking. “Someone uses Facebook as a ‘dear diary I hate my life’ platform on a regular basis […] Sufferers are often in a ‘complicated relationship’ […] or hate their job/partner/life, so most of their facebooking is negative and when challenged about it [they] will often whinge even more.”² Here are a few examples:

“FML.”

“I can’t imagine this day getting any worse…”

“I just don’t care anymore...”

“I’m going to kill myself.”

“Seriously! I wish people would just leave me alone!”

I’m sure you’ve seen some of these before. They’re all the same: The person writing has recently discovered that life isn’t perfect, and everyone on Facebook needs to know about it. What’s odd is that if you enquire as to what’s wrong, they either won’t respond or they’ll say something like, “Oh, it’s nothing…” or, “Can’t talk about it now…” which begs the question: Then why the heck did you post it on Facebook? Logically, if they aren’t going to respond to comments, then they shouldn’t have whined on a social networking website; what they should have done was write it in their personal diary. 

But the reality is that someone’s been gossiping about them behind their back - this evidently means that life can’t get any worse - and they need to share this bleak truth with everyone they know (or everyone they think they know. They don’t know, for instance, that I’ve blocked them!) And the reason they demand those valuable kilobytes from everyone’s Internet is this: they want attention. What’s worse is it works; they get the attention they ask for. It seems that time and again a stream of people will come running to their rescue with comments such as, “What happened?” or “You okay?” or “Wanna talk about it?” to which they, of course, don’t reply, and which only encourage the poster’s attention-seeking behaviour, making them more likely to repeat it in future.

Thing is, anyone with half a brain (those who don’t comment on these posts) realises from the outset that such people are seeking comfort in the form of ‘likes’ and “there theres”, and any actual details are hidden so it seems like the person whinging is suffering the worst fate imaginable. But they aren’t. In fact, their life is no 'worse' than any other person with a home, food, clothes, Internet and tertiary education thanks to excessive loans from the government. They simply have unrealistic expectations of life. It’s true. People with problems worth whinging about can’t afford the Internet to whinge on; people who truly want others to leave them alone wouldn’t be on Facebook; and if you can’t imagine your day getting any worse, then please, try being a quadriplegic, or getting fired, or living under a bridge with nothing but the elements to keep you company.

Every time I see a post like “I just don’t care anymore…” I am so tempted to comment, but not with “Hope you’re okay” or anything like that; rather, “You obviously do care if you’ve taken the time to tell the world you don’t”, or “Stop spamming my news feed, please.” Of course, I never end up commenting, but not because I’m nice. No, it’s because I know that it’s these comments, comforting or no, which they want. These comments fuel their attention; so even a rather blunt ‘look in the mirror’-like response could somehow reinforce their Facebook diarying – their whingebooking.

So to those who’re nodding in agreement as they read this: know that the best thing to do (at least until a better solution is found) – and, believe me, it’s not easy – is to say nothing and walk away. Yet for those whose stomachs churn with the familiar tendrils of guilt – you know who you are – please, do us all a favour and “face your problems, don’t Facebook your problems.”³

References:

1.     http://sanctuaryofsynonyms.blogspot.co.nz/2012/05/im-not-one-to-rant-but.html

2.     http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=whingebooking&defid=5219588

3.     http://www.boardofwisdom.com/mailquote.asp?msgid=445933

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