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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