Author

Robert Hyma

Just a writer doing writerly things.

| Weekly Post-Eds |

Weekly Post-Ed #51

by Robert Hyma
written by Robert Hyma

KUDOS DONE QUICK

Image via gamesdonequick.com

By the time you read this, Awesome Games Done Quick 2023 will be halfway over. If you don’t know about Awesome Games Done Quick, here’s the TL;DR: it’s a 7-day video gaming marathon packed full of speedruns raising money for charity (for this event: The Prevent Cancer Foundation). Old favorites ranging from Super Mario Bros. 3 to Crash Bandicoot 3: Warped, as well as newer games such as Stray and Pokémon Legends: Arceus, are beaten in record time to the delight of tens of thousands watching online, and all for a great cause.

For me, the joy of watching AGDQ isn’t so much about basking in the nostalgia of games from childhood, but of watching something completely new. There’s bound to be something you’ve never seen before at AGDQ. So far in the marathon, the biggest surprise was a game called Fashion Police Squad, a DOOM-esque shooter where a police officer fires a fashion gun and warrants justice to all the “fashion crimes” done in his city: Men wearing baggy suits and tourist dads with socks with sandals around the city, and so much more. The lighthearted and humorous gameplay made it an instant favorite of the event.

Of course, the most notable aspect about AGDQ 2023 was the brave and necessary stance of event organizers in response of two measures recently passed in the state of Florida, the seminal location of AGDQ for over a decade.

In a statement on the GDQ website, the reasons for canceling the live event in favor of an online-only format shortly before this year’s event were thus:

“While we would love to return in-person, we’ve determined that to provide a safe and welcoming event to all, it was best that we move away from our originally planned location in Florida.

Given the state’s continued disregard for COVID-19’s dangers (including anti-mandate vaccination policies) and an increased aggression towards LGBTQ+ individuals, including the law colloquially known as “Don’t Say Gay,” we do not believe it is a safe place for our community at this time…”

The full statement has since been removed from the official GDQ website due to the site’s overhaul while covering the event, but the full statement can be found on Kotaku’s website here.

It’s the kind of decision that makes me proud to tune into this event year after year. GDQ has always been a beacon for the gaming community and has since shown support through action that community matters more than politics and taking a financial loss. This year in particular, I’m proud to donate.

There are three days left to check out the marathon (outside of the quick uploads from the GDQ YouTube Channel in case there’s something you missed!), but here is a short list of runs I’m still looking forward to:

***

CONSPIRACY THEORIES LITE

The more I continue this reentry into college, the more I dislike the idea of the English Major. I’m nearly through with this first week of classes of the semester and am reading from three different sources: A Norton Anthology, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain, and a novella called Faces in the Crowd by Valeria Luiselli. 

If that sounds like a lot, it is.

Not because of the reading (which, if you’re an English Major like I am, you better like it) but because I’m tired of this rapid-fire “Hey, diagnose this thing you just read! Immediately!”

After every thirty pages of a novella I haven’t read before, I’m asked to scour pages, looking for themes and symbols as though I’m Robert Langdon from The Da Vinci Code. Never mind the rest of the novel; we can’t be bothered to finish it before finding MEANING. And once we find MEANING, all will be right with the world.

Not really, but maybe the stakes in an undergrad course feels reminiscent to that. Personally, I’d rather finish a new novella and digest it for a second. This process of diagnosing a longform piece of writing every 30-pages feels like stopping a movie every twenty minutes, turning to the person next to you, and asking “What do you think the movie is about?”

How about we just finish the goddam movie first?

The art of literary criticism is very boring, and more than I’d like to comment on with this Weekly Post-Ed. And if you’re asking, “Then, why be an English Major?” Well, seeking a degree to read more stories has its downsides. It’s a bit like having children—you love them more than you can express…but dealing with shit is just part of the job. Literary criticism can be a way of better engaging with stories, but most often criticism is show-and-tell for academic types. Where else can a critic say without inducing comas in a public place, “Hey, I know the REAL reason the author wrote this book!”

Literary criticism, really, is just Conspiracy Theory Lite—less sugar and calories than the real thing.

Of course, if you informed the author or writer of your genius piece of criticism, they would probably shrug, smile kindly, and say, “That’s fun. Now, please go away. I have a life to live.”

I assume I’m one of those “real” writers when I leave class each day. I shake off the literary critic I pretend to be, put away the ceaseless conspiracy theories that are somehow college credited, and I go home to write something.

Hopefully it’s something good. Most of the time it’s not.

You just hope that, eventually, something decent gets on the page.

That’s my own working conspiracy theory, anyways.

***

  1. “This City Reminds Me of You” by APRE

***

Wishing everyone as well as you can be. You’re not alone out there,

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| Playlists |

Q4 – 2022 Playlist

by Robert Hyma
written by Robert Hyma

This is it, the final Playlist of 2022. There were a few surprises, a few new tracks from favorite artists, but on the whole I found the struggle with curated playlists on streaming services limiting.

A quick digression.

The Apple Music formula is this: add a song to your library and the ENTIRETY OF THE TRACKLIST from that album will be cycled through your Made For You playlist in subsequent weeks. This isn’t altogether annoying, but you get the picture after two or three weeks of recommended tracks from the same album appearing over and over again. I get it: It’s good for the artists and for listening to tracks that you might skip should new artists pack a Made For You playlist instead, but this gets tiresome. It’s a small nitpick from otherwise helpful playlists curated by music streaming services.

Digression over.

Anyway, the good stuff from the last quarter of 2022 was noteworthy and addictively repayable:

“Shoot Me in the Grocery Line” by youproblem is a fantastic new track. It reminds me of a swath of recent female-lead artists such as ALASKALASKA and Elise Trouw that combine tantric rhythms with gunfire lyrics (I’m doing my best Pitchfork music review impression, if you can’t tell). On the newer side, Goldpark and j.flowers.mp3 hit the mark in terms of replayability, specifically with tracks like “If That’s What You Want” and “Rome, with Love (featuring Leah Cleaver, AKS & Yelfris Valdés)” Add in the familiar bombastic lyrics of another Abhi the Nomad (featuring shane doe) banger with “Cobain”, and this playlist makes for a great low-key mix to keep playing in the background for just about anything (sans family night–Explicit lyrics are the norm on my playlists, I’m afraid).

Ashamedly, this last quarter of 2022 was my first foray into the world of Taylor Swift (I know, WAY TOO late to the T. Swift party; her new album “Midnights” was excellent). I’m not giddy enough to drop an entire pay cycle to win auctioned tickets from Ticket Master, but I’ll nod knowingly that I did, in fact, miss out after all this time avoiding T. Swift fandom. I was ecstatic to find a new Halloween staple that will be playing every October from now on by the great Jeremy Messersmith titled “666”. It’s hard to dethrone “The Monster Mash”, but as a hipster update to a Halloween jam, Messersmith’s new track hits the mark and I love it.

As always, I love exchanging music and hearing what everyone else is currently playing, so please feel free to add what you’re listening to below in the comments!

Until then, enjoy this last offering of 2022. And hey, here’s hoping for another abundant year of music in 2023. Until that next playlist drops, keep well everyone!

  1. “Did I Make You Up?” by half-alive
  2. “Shoot Me In the Grocery Line” by youproblem
  3. “F**k It I Love You” by Oh Wonder
  4. “Unholy Appetite” by Barrie
  5. “Surfing in Iceland” by Goth Babe
  6. “dandelion” by Winnetka Bowling League
  7. “666” by Jeremy Messersmith
  8. “If That’s What You Want” by Goldpark
  9. “Deep End” by Dayglow
  10. “Wildest Dreams (Taylor’s Version)” by Taylor Swift
  11. “World’s Smallest Violin” by AJR
  12. “Void” by Crystal Glass
  13. “Pizza Boy” by Everything Everything
  14. “Living Life Right” by Anna of the North
  15. “Cobain” by Abhi the Nomad & shane doe
  16. “The Core” by Babe Club
  17. “Rome, with Love (featuring Leah Cleaver, AKS & Yelfris Valdés)” by jflowers.mp3
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| Weekly Post-Eds |

Weekly Post-Ed #50

by Robert Hyma
written by Robert Hyma

ABOUT THAT POKÉMON ARTWORK…

Let’s get it out of the way quickly: I’ve been away for a while. The reason? I could name about a dozen – petty and not so petty – but the important thing is getting back into it.

One thing I will make clear is that this Weekly Post-Ed is going to be rusty.

I mean it. I haven’t written one in over a month. It’s like a guitarist that hasn’t plucked the strings in a while—those first few notes are going to be all over the place. The F-sharps, and D-flats are likely to tinge the ears something awful–ouch.

Case in point: The Pokemon-inspired artwork above. It’s the logo of Pokémon Scarlet, which isn’t only old news, it’s not even what this Weekly Post-Ed is about. I made it a month ago and never used it. I had a whole list of thoughts about my play-through of Pokémon Scarlet, what I thought worked and didn’t work (including that epileptic inducing frame rate–blek!), but I’m not going to get into all that.

Nope.

I’m including the graphic – something I should have used but didn’t at the time – because its a prime example of how I’ve felt about starting the New Year.

***

A LATE(R) NEW YEAR’S MESSAGE

This Weekly Post-Ed began a week ago, before the New Year, before my deadline of this past Monday came and went with a self-esteemed thud. I had written something reminiscent of all the other New Year’s messages that exist on the internet: Fondly recanting all the things I learned from the past year, my hopes for the future.

Then something strange happened: I stopped writing. For several days.

Oh, it wasn’t out of laziness. I had a deadline, a renewed commitment to updating this website, and the draft was nearly finished. Each morning, I sat at my computer, opened the draft, and thought about the fixes I could make. I figured in a day or two, I would be finished. I would smile knowing this Weekly Post-Ed wouldn’t be perfect, but it would be the start of something.

I just had to type the remaining words.

Only, I didn’t.

Each day it was the same: wake up, sit down, write nothing, rinse, repeat. I was seriously concerned. It’s not that I didn’t want to write this Weekly Post-Ed, I just couldn’t. I felt physically incapable, like I suffered a bout of carpel tunnel and the usual way my fingers and wrist flexed were no longer under my control. There was a numbness, a state of nothing.

By the end of the third day, a thought crept to the surface of my mind, something I didn’t want to admit. Then, I wrote a line in all caps in my draft:

“I JUST WANT TO DO NOTHING.”

This struck me as surprisingly true. Nothing at all? After months of skipping out on writing something serious, I still wanted to do nothing? How much more time did I need to get my act together? It’s not like the rest of the world wasn’t planning something grand for the New Year

That’s when I searched online and that is PRECISELY what I found.

There wasn’t the usual smattering of dream vacations and goal-setting that permeated across social media; it was a message of growing despair. I read messages of hopelessness and directionless-ness. I read about those who had had enough to the constant fight to come up with a better, gleaming version of themselves for the upcoming year.

I read messages of wanting it all to stop.

I couldn’t help but agree.

For the first time in my adult life, I didn’t want to think about how this year would be better than the last. I didn’t care about losing weight or publishing more stories, about finding that hidden hobby that liberated my life of all responsibilities, or finding true love or reconnecting with old friends. Deep down, I wanted to do those things, but even more than that I wanted to stop.

Just stop.

I took a moment to consider why. There were the usual suspects: Cultural stressors like a never-ending fight with variants of Covid, the political landscape looking more like the Land of Mordor, a constant connection to the internet and, as a result, constant advertising. From the uptick of pop psychology coming up with another term for what was wrong with me and my childhood, to the constant selling of lifehacks that will boost my creative output/personal happiness/financial security if only I use these easy tips—

–And now Jeremy Renner is in the ER because of a snowplowing accident??

You know what, I just can’t right now.

Let’s do this first:

***

CELESTE OVERHAUL

Photo by celestegame.com

“It was time for a new look to the website and there’s no better wintry design than the game Celeste from developer Matt Makes Games. Not only is the snowy mountain asthetic of Celeste perfect to ring in the New Year, but the themes of the game resonate deeply with me currently. For those that don’t know, the game stars a girl named Madeline who summits Celeste Mountain in order to deal with her anxiety and depression. She meets many friends along the way, including a dark version of herself that she must confront. It’s a game about facing who we are, what we’re capable of, and through the magical gameplay and music that only video games can juxtapose.

Attached below is the art I made for the background, complete with flying strawberries bobbing around Celeste Mountain in the background. I hope you enjoy the new look!

Drop a comment below with your thoughts on Celeste!“

Sincerely,

WHAT REMAINS OF THIS ORIGINAL WEEKLY POST-ED #50 DRAFT

***

A MORE LATE(R) CONCLUSION

I’ve wrestled with a message for over a week now that this is what I have to show. It’s not much at all. It’s all the angst and disbelieving cries from a world that says of the New Year, “Do more? Really? Well, why don’t you get on your knees and suck my…”

You get it.

We all get it.

So, if you’ll excuse me, I’m not quite ready to write my New Year’s message yet. I’m not even ready to acknowledge the blitz of news from the first five days of 2023 yet.

A Buffalo Bills player collapsed on the field after a tackle??

*Insert brain numbing buzz*

At this point, my message is to exist. Consistently. And to show up.

What more is there considering the circumstances?

***

  1. “Void” by Crystal Glass
  2. “Cobain” by Abhi The Nomad & shane doe
  3. “The Core” by Babe Club

***

Wishing everyone as well as you can be. You’re not alone out there,

Jeremy Renner is really in the ER because of a snowplow accident? 2023…just why?

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| Weekly Post-Eds |

Weekly Post-Ed #49

by Robert Hyma
written by Robert Hyma

This Weekly Post-Ed is entirely about the recent PS5 exclusive God of War Ragnarök. If that’s not your thing or you are averse to spoilers, then I invite you to enjoy the rest of the known internet until you are ready to read about it. Much love as always, and feel free to click around the website all you like.

Cheers!

GOD OF LORE

The recent reboot of the God of War series by Santa Monica Studios has been the most comprehensive representation of Norse Mythology in decades. I would position God of War in front of the Marvel Cinematic Universe’s rendition of the titular Thor and the Norse pantheon, as well as Neil Gaiman’s beloved American Gods series.

I spent the past month watching a playthrough of God of War Ragnarök, a roughly 22-hour marathon for the main storyline. The immensity of the game and its lore brought to life a harsh Viking world ruled by gods, giving brevity to a frozen, expansive universe wrought by Fimbulwinter—the long, desolate snowscape that entraps the world before the end of all things known as Ragnarök. Littered across the nine realms were beasts and enemies imbued with Bifrost powers. Menacing bosses and lesser gods attacked our heroes at Odin’s whim, breathing life to a stunning and varied pantheon of powerful beings.

Our hero, Kratos, the titular god of war, began his journey to Ragnarök at the conclusion of the previous title. In that game, Kratos and his son, Atreus, complete the burial ceremony of his deceased giantess wife, Faye, and succeeded in scattering her ashes from the highest peaks in each of the nine realms, but not without consequences. Kratos encountered demigods from the Norse pantheon, ultimately killing the two sons of Thor, resulting in a debt that was to be paid back in blood.

At the start of God of War Ragnarök, Atreus is older, a teenager transitioning into manhood, and careening towards a life where he will have to answer his own destiny. Kratos must prepare his son for a possible life without him—it was the vision given to Kratos that when Ragnarök destroys Asir, he must also die.

***

SOME GAMEPLAY THINGS

I admit that I’m not so interested in the gameplay mechanics of story-driven video games. Yes,  I’m one of those viewers who enjoys getting to the next major cutscene to see what happens next. However, as impatient as I was to get on with the story, I was just as pleased by the constant injection of new skills and abilities that complicated the puzzles in God of War Ragnarök. It wasn’t a case of acquiring a skill that would then lead to cutting down a discolored bush that conveniently blocked a previous pathway, but instead introduced new combinations of abilities that coalesced into skills that amplified fights with more intense enemies.

Not only were the puzzles consistently interesting without overused mechanics (think: freezing waterfalls or cranking a wheel to unlock a drawbridge or pathway), but the enemies themselves were just as varied and unique. Mini bosses with health bars the length of the screen were equipped with move sets and AI that didn’t bore the player, often leading to gratifying and earned conclusions to epic fights. And each major enemy had their own finishing sequence or killing cutscene where Kratos absolutely butchers a body to pieces in a way that pays homage to the gruesome origins of the series—all of it highly satisfying and must-watch brutality.

The weapon crafting system added new abilities and combos regularly, and it was a joy to watch the complexity and combination of move sets with the improved battle system. While Kratos no longer launches into the air and mutilates waves of soldiers/beasts like in the original trilogy, the realism of the fight sequences added a sense of drama and stakes that made every outcome earned and worthwhile. 

***

BOUND TO FATE

The story of Kratos in God of War Ragnarök has the titular warrior battling his past life, one in which saw the likes of Apollo, Zeues, Hercules murdered in his quest for vengeance. Atreaus, meanwhile, is facing the future, Ragnarok and the end of the world, and his connection to fate in the cataclysmic event. Atreus is, in fact, this world’s Norse Loki—a centra figure in bringing about the end of the world in Norse mythology. With his fate prophesied certainty, he tries to break free of fate, to uncover Odin’s plot before the all-father can achieve his plan of acquiring ultimate knowledge to preserve Asir gods and his rule. 

The journey of the game is a proverbial breaking free from assumed pathways of our lives, to claim a future that is not dictated by the past. Whether that means growing out of the shadow of our parents (as Atreus and Thor must decide) or to discard a past in which we no longer think ourselves loyal (as in the vengeance that defined Kratos through the first trilogy of games as he killed the gods of Olympus), there comes the question of choosing to be better.

This game is asking if we have a choice in all of that.

Many characters must wrestle with what it means to serve fate or act differently from prophecy. Will Thor serve his father, Odin, at the cost of his family and history as a drunken bodyguard to the all-father? Will Freya, the former Queen of the Valkyrie’s and former wife of Odin, wish to kill Kratos for the death of her son, Baldur (which was the final fight in the previous God of War title—a decision that cost his friendship with Freya and made her a merciless enemy)? 

As Kratos concludes later in the game, “Fate only binds you if you let it.”

***

SOME MISGIVINGS

There a few items in God of War Ragnarök that give me pause. I’ll list the two biggest gripes for me personally because I believe the story suffered greatly from them.

The first is making Atreus the Norse god Loki. This was an odd choice because of how central a character Loki is to Norse mythology. He’s the prime antagonist in many of the myths, often acting as the sole reason Thor or Odin are foiled in whatever aim they have. To make Atreus Loki depleted the mythology of a central component that it desperately needed. All who referenced Atreus by his “giant name” (as Loki) never seemed to recognize him as the famous god of mischief. It was as though the scheming, trickster god never existed, which, from a story standpoint, left much to be desired. If Loki were a separate character and not christened unto a main character, there would be room to maneuver away from Odin and Thor and the rest of the Norse pantheon that would keep the player guessing about what came next.

I’m unsure why Loki was used as an alias for a character who didn’t embody anything resembling the antagonistic Norse god other than shapeshifting abilities. This big change made it hard to buy into the mythology of this game’s universe, in my opinion. It’s like the Greek pantheon existing with Zeus—something would feel lacking.

The other serious story problem had to do with how the climax handled the fate of Kratos. God of War Ragnarök HEAVILY foreshadowed throughout its story that Kratos would die. Every major dialogue in the game referenced fate and if there was any choice in the matter. All of this very tense and exciting; I couldn’t wait to see how Kratos would either elude death or sacrifice himself as the tragic figure being set up by the writers and developers. 

By the climax of the story, Kratos was willing to go to his demise to give his son a chance at a life without the haunt of his past crimes.

Which meant for 22+ hours of the main storyline, everything was lining up for an epic conclusion to the series.

 Except in the climax, NONE of what was foreshadowed came close to happening.

The final fight with Odin was theatrical enough—Kratos and Atreus team up with Freya to finally put a stop to the all-father hellbent on sacrificing the nine realms and his family in a selfish pursuit of power. This was fine. But the fight unfolded like any other in the game—Odin unleashes magic attacks and teleports around, seemingly too powerful of a foe, but eventually he is bested and put to death by Loki spirit magic? 

At no point was Kratos in serious peril. 

At no point did a decision have to be made by Atreus to save his father or himself (or anyone else for that matter). 

Kratos was just as dominant and invincible as always—and it was disappointing. This was Odin he faced! The all-father. The most powerful and cunning of the Norse gods. Certainly, there could have been a situation that called for Kratos to lose.

It never happened. The finale felt like any other Marvel movie: New powers and weapon upgrades led renewed team spirit that led to victory.

Yay. Woo. Huzzah.

In the end, Atreus wakes up in a realm protected from Surtr and his destruction of Asgard. Kratos gives his boy a hug. Atreus goes off on his own, a boy grown up into a man. The world is at peace.

And I watched the screen as credits rolled, unsure of what to make of all this.

***

A BIGGER STICK

Why didn’t the ending work? Why didn’t I cheer for Kratos when he prevailed like he always has? Wasn’t that a satisfying conclusion? Kratos is a changed man, a wisened father who learned of self-sacrifice instead of defaulting to the butcher god-killer he he once was. And when faced with the knowledge he might have to die in order to give his son a chance at a better life, he chose to live and save his son—having his cake and eating it, too.

That’s a lovely conclusion for some stories. Just not this one. Why?

It wasn’t earned.

If the story had shown the player that the greatest fighter in the known world could fall to something greater than himself, it would show vulnerability in a way we had never seen with Kratos. What the player received was another final upgrade, another weapon to beat and batter Odin with. 

Apparently to beat Ragnarök, you just need a bigger stick than the other gods.

Thematically, Kratos’s sacrifice would have given the story the weight it deserved. In the real world, I’m aware that it makes little sense to kill off Kratos as a character. God of War is one of Sony’s premier IPs; they would never kill off a character when more games could be made. It would be like Nintendo canceling Kirby—why do that?

I should note that I never wanted Kratos to die. It would be tragic, but not necessary in telling the story of the end of the world. What I wanted was for Kratos’s survival to be earned and I think that’s where the story stumbled at the end. The game could never give Kratos an enemy that was too much, or too powerful. The player had to win; as did Kratos in the story.

Perhaps the true lesson of Ragnarök is to witness an unjust ending of the world. In Norse Mythology, no side wins. The final war is a destruction that lays all to waste, even the likes of Odin, Thor, and Loki. Through their death comes rebirth.

But I can’t help but wonder of Kratos: if he is never allowed to die, how can he be reborn? How can his story go on?

How can one be better without knowing what it means to lose?

I’ll have to wait for next Ragnarök to find out, I suppose.

***

THE NATURE OF A THING

There’s another line from the game that encompasses exactly how I feel about the totality of it. When Brok, the southern-drawl dwarf cannot bless a new weapon because he is missing a part of his soul, Kratos presents the staff to the dwarf anyway and says, “It is the nature of a thing that matters. Not it’s form.”

Despite conflicting feelings about the story’s conclusion, I cannot deny what a momentous achievement this game was. In terms of lore, gameplay, presentation, pacing, and the character dynamics represented by the gods and secondary characters…it was one of the best games to come along in a long time.

Santa Monica Studios produced one of the best representations of Norse mythology ever made with characters and places that incite more wonderings about the land of Asir gods and what awaits all of us at the end of the world. 

And for that, the nature of God of War Ragnarök means far more than the form.

***

  1. “If That’s What You Want” by Goldpark
  2. “Deep End” by Dayglow
  3. “Wildest Dreams” by Taylor Swift

***

Wishing everyone as well as you can be. You’re not alone out there,

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| Weekly Post-Eds |

Weekly Post-Ed #48

by Robert Hyma
written by Robert Hyma

WALKIES AND TALKIES

While I haven’t finished my first playthrough of one Mario+Rabbids: Sparks of Hope, there is a major aspect of the game that stands out apart from gameplay and that is the cutscenes. Cinematically, they are fantastic. However, the biggest gripe I’ve had with the game has to do with usage of dialogue. 

In the original Mario+Rabbids: Kingdom Battle, the only character dialogue outside of the usual Mario-esque sound effects of “Woo-Hoos” and “Yeah-Hahs” of Mario and the others comes from our player-controlled and Roomba-esque robotic guide: Beep-0. Oftentimes, his lines were humorous as well as informative, acting as the main character from which we explored the world of Mario+Rabbids. Beep-0 was our translator, explaining with whimsical observation the eccentricities of the invading Rabbids in the Mushroom Kingdom. 

Fast-forward to the sequel and things have changed. Everything is bigger, shinier, a bit more fleshed out thanks to the success or the original. Now, instead of the adorable character grunts and groans sound effects, many characters are given voiced lines. These lines often take the form of runners, or a series of words that begin a line of dialogue before cutting off as the rest of the line appears on the screen in a dialogue box. This is a tactic that highlights certain words like characters and places or funny reactions, and it’s just to give characters “a little extra” characterization.

I do not think this works for a very specific reason.

Long ago, I enjoyed the LEGO videogames. Because of a lack of budget or what-have-you, characters in LEGO games (LEGO: Batman, LEGO: Star Wars, LEGO: Indiana Jones) did not have voiced lines. Instead, the game was portrayed through glorious silent acting with cartoonish stunts, pantomime, and comical sound effects. And it was marvelous! In an industry saturated with voice acting to drive plot and story forward, here was a series of games that did not need it. Fans knew the story of Star Wars and Indiana Jones, and even the unique telling of a Batman title was not lost on young fans who understood that bad guys were bad, and good guys were trying to stop them.

LEGO Star Wars

Voiced lines did not add to the complexity of the story.

Eventually, all the mainline LEGO titles inserted voiced lines of dialogue, changing the dynamic of what made those earlier games great. Instead of a pantomime, slap-stick driven version of pop culture movies and stories, there was cinema experiences with LEGO characters acting out all the parts.

The formula was inversed and, I’d argue, for the worse.

Unfortunately, the same propagation of voiced lines has begun to erode on the Mario+Rabbids series. If there are more titles in the future, I imagine that with the influence of the soon-to-be released Super Mario Movie that is monstrously dubbed over by Chris Pratt (yeah, not my Mario either) will do away with all sound effect grunts and “Woo-hoos” for voiced lines.

That is, until huge public outcry reverses the cinematic fantasies of Nintendo and the disillusionment that all characters must speak lines to appear more likeable. Then, things may revert to their original voiceless harmony.

I’ve enjoyed Mario+Rabbids: Sparks of Hope tremendously. The other parts of the game aside from creative voice direction makes for a wonderful world to get lost in. However, this one sticking point of “More is Better” with voiced lines of dialogue is not always the case.

Sometimes it changes the nature of what was charming and unique in the first place.

What do you think? Are voiced lines given to normally voiceless characters making for better gaming/movie experiences? As always, I love to read your thoughts in the comments below!

***

BREADCRUMBS

I haven’t written about my ongoing college experience since it began. It’s wild to think I’ve sat through college lectures for ten weeks already. The last that I wrote, I had a tempestuous relationship with a professor who called me Bertie (and still does). My impression of this professor was that he was a performer, someone who spoke to the class like an actor reaching the nosebleeds at the Kennedy Center. He’s charismatic, melodramatic at times, and peculiar in a way that means his tastes for music and culture has not evolved over the past three decades.

I was critical of this professor because I thought he was a chauvinist.

Ten weeks into the semester, I find my initial reactions were true, but there was something else going on that I was unaware of. Strangely, I’ve found his classes are the ones I try hardest in.

In trying to pinpoint why, I think there are two important causes for this uptick in effort. The first is that this professor isn’t boring. Loud? Sure. Boisterous and erringly peculiar? Absolutely. But boring? Not in the slightest. This professor has hidden depths when it comes to the material, and even if his musings about how the novellas we’re critiquing in class often fall on ears too young to understand the ramifications of age and tragedy, it’s clear that he is trying to open up worlds that would be left unexplored.

So, yes, he is a beloved professor by just about all his students because of this charisma.

Perhaps most impressive about this professor is something he performs very technically during his lectures. Where most professors lecture with an air of superiority over students, this professor often stops his train of thought to ask a trivia-esque question. These questions can range from anything like, “Who was the philosopher who coined ‘I think, therefore I am’?” and, “What’s the name of Voldemort’s snake again?”. By doing this, the professor wakes up the class. Everyone is attentive, more involved, and voices speak up to answer the obtuse.

Why?

Breadcrumbs.

This professor is laying breadcrumbs so that we’ll all follow along. Inserting a batch of trivia questions every class that are loosely related to the lecture is like a quick game of sudoku or a New York Times Crossword—something to dust off those old neural pathways and bring up morale.

Not only is it a refreshing break in the pacing of a lecture (which are often monotonous and droning), but it feels good. He’s empowering his students. He’s allowing them to feel more confident so that they might answer the larger conceptual questions that are being asked.

Like a Pavlovian trained dog, I find myself salivating for these trivia questions every class. They’re fun, I feel like I’m smarter than I likely am by answering them, and everyone feels connected and heard trying to figure them out.

I’ve been pleasantly surprised after ten weeks with this professor. I’ve learned that even if my first impressions have remained correct in sizing him up, those impressions are not the totality of what is happening.

The more I attend classes, the more I enjoy seeing the 3-Dimensionality of this place. It’s something I didn’t notice a decade ago when I first took college courses.

***

  1. “666” by Jeremy Messersmith
  2. “F*ck It I Love You” by Oh Wonder
  3. “Smoothie” by corook

***

Wishing everyone as well as you can be. You’re not alone out there,

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| Weekly Post-Eds |

Weekly Post-Ed #47

by Robert Hyma
written by Robert Hyma

Down With Paragraphs

It’s good to see you again, it’s been a while, jibber-jabber, jibber-jabber, it’s good to be back, you look great, obviously! 

But hey, let’s get to the point:

My new stance on paragraphs: I’ve been painstakingly formatting Weekly Post-Eds with indentations since this website began, but I’m slowly coming to understand this is NOT the preferred formatting on the rest of the internet. And, I already knew that before indenting, but I’m doing away with it for the pain-in-the-ass reason that not all browsers/viewing experiences mesh well with indentations. Sometimes indentations appear correctly, like so:

            “Hey, I’m a happy indented line! Don’t I look nice and formatted?”

But other times sentences look like this:

                                                            “What the hell happened here, Robert? Why are you starting in the middle of the page? What in the f*** is wrong with—”

You get the point. So, for the next while I’m joining the ranks of the rest of the internet and nixing paragraph indentations. It’s a test run, but I’m assuming it will stick around.

Ironically, in my personal writings, I never indent paragraphs. Funny how I do the opposite when presenting my writing.

Anyway, onto more indentation-less goodies.

***

She-Hulk Thoughts

The latest experiment from the Disney+ Marvel Cinematic Universe was another attempt to improve the streaming service television formula. She-Hulk: Attorney at Law followed the sagas of Moon Knight, Loki, WandaVision, and Hawkeye, as each carved out a niche with their respective heroes and furthered the debate about what works and what does not within the scope of MCU limited series.

She-Hulk: Attorney at Law used a gimmick that no other show could, something that is inspired from the comic books: breaking the fourth wall. Jennifer Walters often speaks directly to us, the audience, about the state of things (the show, characters, lazy storylines, etc). Whereas breaking the fourth wall isn’t a new invention (especially with the recent duo of movies featuring Deadpool that did it so well), I couldn’t help but notice something was different about this iteration of the theatrical technique. Breaking the fourth wall wasn’t so much about addressing the audience or being socially aware of tropes within the superhero medium in this show; there was something else going on.

That’s why I waited to write anything about She-Hulk until after the show concluded. 

The show featured a refreshingly female take on the world of superheroes and what it means to be marginalized and stereotyped as another “Hulk figure”, something that mirrored the arduous and infinitely frustrating journey of being a woman in modern day America. Jennifer Walters combatted what the world thought of her, warping her own perceptions through a lens of pop-culture, modern gender roles, and exceptionalism (as well as the ugly underbelly of internet message forums that seeks to defame or destroy women entirely). 

The series was 9-episodes long, most of which were frustratingly comical or situational. “Where is this going?” I found myself saying to my computer monitor during the credits of each building storyline. There wasn’t a main villain, no obvious thread that connected to the movie universe, nor was there any discernable urgency for Jennifer Walters to overcome some mounting problem. I felt I was watching “a day in the life” of the protagonist as she assailed issues from all sides of the feminine spectrum.

I was frustrated, but I would come to understand that the seeming monotony and subtlety of the series was playing into the overall message of the show. 

And by the finale, everything would pay off in spades.

The finale of She-Hulk: Attorney at Law is one of the best I’ve ever seen in television. My earlier intuition that fourth wall breaking was leading to something more came true in the most visceral sense. The climax of the finale featured the usual mashup of characters, all combatting one another in a stereotypical and unfulfilling superhero fashion.

Until She-Hulk breaks the fourth wall a final time, literally breaking out of the Disney+ show.

Jennifer Walters was finished with the restraints that every other MCU streaming show has encountered until this point. It was a proverbial rite of passage to break free of formula and superhero tropes. The screen froze, She-Hulk surveyed the Disney+ desktop main menu, and enters another show to demand answers for why her show has been so directionless and kische.

I won’t spoil the rest. It’s a wonderful half-hour of television. Most importantly, I found that the monotony I was experiencing was purposeful, a slow realization that the subtle irritations Jennifer Walters faced on her journey were the public expectations of comic book fans from the internet, and also men with patriarchal views about outdated gender roles, and the total absurdity of finding true belonging in a world that wishes to pull a person a million different directions for the sake of fitting into an outdated and worn paradigm—even the superhero cliché. 

Ultimately, the show was asking how anyone (primarily women) can find their place in the world, one that makes sense and is liberating?

It’s a question that women face in nearly every facet of life, something that She-Hulk: Attorney at Law showed a glimpse of through the guise of a superpowered Hulk lady.

This was the best television show yet from Marvel Studios. I enjoyed the risk-taking and breaking of old formulas. It’s an exciting place to find the MCU exploring, and I can’t wait to see what other issues can be worked into the fabric of new characters. 

I’ll be rewatching She-Hulk: Attorney at Law. It’s the first time I felt that way about a Marvel Disney+ show thus far. Well done!

***

The Merry Blokes of Merry Wives

“The Merry Wives of Windsor” @ Grand Valley State University

Theater departments are doing the best they can. That’s the first thing to understand when attending student productions at any university. Some are better than others, but I often find that the ones that present student struggles give the most to talk about.

Before it appears that I’m a total duschbag to the handful of Grand Valley State University theater students that are polishing their acting chops on the stage, this is not my intention. I was a horrible actor in college (let’s be honest, things haven’t exactly improved with age in that department) and I understand it takes many at-bats to figure out what the hell to do with any character. I’m not criticizing the students…

But the Director on the other hand? Oh, let’s talk about those creative choices.

The play I saw last weekend was “The Merry Wives of Windsor”, a Shakespearean comedy about the sneaky exploits of the wives of the male protagonists too enmeshed in their own egos to see they are being easily manipulated. It’s a wonderful play and I enjoyed this viewing thoroughly enough.

Except for two reasons characters.

Shallow (a character given the modern makeover as leather-jacketed preacher) carries an entirely INCOMPREHENSIBLE Scottish accent. My date and I ratioed that we understood 1 in 5 words. Secondly, Doctor Caius is often portrayed as a bumbling Frenchman. This rendition, however, featured a French accent that often slipped into German pronunciations, then trailing into potentially Swedish accents. Needless to say, Doctor Caius had just as poor delivery as Shallow.

When the inevitable occurred and the two characters vomited lines of Shakespearean dialogue at one another in a scene featuring only those two cantankerous actors, it was pure drivel.

I don’t blame the students donning their roles. I blame the decision to give these actors the direction of being incomprehensible in a play by William Shakespeare, perhaps the greatest wordsmith in the English language! It was like the Louvre opting to paint lines over the Mona Lisa, or playing a laugh track over Beethoven’s “9thSymphony”.

Just…why?

After a few days of pondering, I think I know why these incomprehensible characters were allowed to gallivant the stage in this fashion.

And I think it gives a modern lesson: sometimes a car wreck is the most effective entertainment.

It was certainly that on a cold fall evening on GVSU’s Allendale campus.

As Shakespeare once commented on his own works: “Suck on that, Bard. I’ll say it how I want.”

(No, he did not say this.)

***

I’ve been listening to an entire album by Sure Sure called the “Lonely One” EP. It’s another solid release by a band that generates danceable hits and deep digs and themes with their music. Below is the track listing. Be sure to check out “Facc” “This Time” and “Funky Galileo”, some new favorites of mine.

“Lonely” EP by Sure Sure
  1. “Lonely One”
  2. “123”
  3. “Facc”
  4. “This Time”
  5. “Peaceful In My Mind”
  6. “Funky Galileo”
  7. “Receive”

***

Wishing everyone as well as you can be. You’re not alone out there,

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| Playlists |

Q3 – 2022 Playlist

by Robert Hyma
written by Robert Hyma

Can you believe it has been 3/4 of 2022 already? That question can be taken in two ways: either it is shocking how fast time is moving, or (in this case) it can’t move FAST ENOUGH because:

Guess what?

It’s time for another playlist!

For the Q3 2022 playlist, I was between a rock and hard place in terms of variety. There were great new artists like gglum, Lizzo, The Wrecks, and Lights. There were also amazing releases from established favorites like Strabe, Anna of the North, Rubblebucket, Sure Sure, and Young the Giant.

But there are times when you find a new artist you can’t get enough of. All I wanted to do was cram as many amazing tracks as possible into this playlist from this new artist: corook.

Often, I’ll find a new artist and listen in disbelief that an entire collection of songs can be so good and, yet, remains relatively unknown (at least by viewer count). Corook needs more plays, simple as that. Particularly, I fell in love with “Snakes” and “hell yeah”, as well as the emotionally/politically charged “it’s ok!”. Anyone who has ever been in a longterm relationship has felt like the track “BDSM”. Just an amazingly relatable artist with incredible sound and lyrics.

Below is the track listing for the Q3 -2022 Playlist. There’s bound to be something in here for everyone!

And as always: Spotify and Apple Music links are available at the bottom of the page. Let me know in the comments what songs you liked, didn’t like, found surprising (please say corook *smiles*). Enjoy these hot new tracks!

  1. “Paths in the Sky” by Metric
  2. “Brass Band” by Jukebox the Ghost
  3. “W.I.F.I.” by Wildermiss
  4. “Hang Around” by Echosmith
  5. “Ramona” by Jukebox the Ghost
  6. “Symphony” by Imagine Dragons
  7. “Weak Teeth” by gglum
  8. “Tomorrow” by Young the Giant
  9. “Too Dramatic” by Ra Ra Riot
  10. “About Damn Time” by Lizzo
  11. “it’s ok!” by corook
  12. “Breathe Me In” by Strabe
  13. “Wonderful Life” by Two Door Cinema Club
  14. “Teletype” by Everything Everything
  15. “BDSM” by corook
  16. “No Place I’d Rather Be” by The Wrecks
  17. “The Walk Home” by Young the Giant
  18. “Earth Worship” by Rubblebucket
  19. “Seize the Power” by Yonaka
  20. “Reality Dreaming” by Strabe
  21. “Bird Sing” by Anna of the North
  22. “Okay Okay” by Lights
  23. “hell yeah” by corook
  24. “Snakes” by corook
  25. “Facc” by Sure Sure
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| Weekly Post-Eds |

Weekly Post-Ed #46

by Robert Hyma
written by Robert Hyma

DICAPRIO TAKES NO S***

I’m terrible at saying Thank You. All my life I’ve struggled to say it. I know what you’re thinking: wow, what an ungrateful and selfish human being. Robert Hyma can’t say thank you? Suppose a surgeon finished removing a tumor the size of a Jeep Cherokee headlight from his leg, would he puff up his chest, grin like a 40’s gangster, and say, “What? That’s what they pay you for, Doc! I’m outta here…”?

            In another life, one in which I’m terribly cruel to other human beings (and perhaps introducing the torture of impalement), that’s exactly what I’d say. However, my real response would be just the opposite: 

            I would track down the surgeon, ascertain his address, type up a heartfelt letter (that probably reveals a childhood traumatic event that he had also helped clear up), and hope that – along with the many thousands of dollars I owe with my insurance co-pay – that I wish there was some other way I could show my appreciation for his having saved my life.

            That’s because I have the exact opposite of a Thank You problem.

            I have a “can’t say Thank You good enough” problem.

            Unlike most of my adulthood issues, I know where this problem started. On Christmas Day when I was about 10 years old, my mother (or Santa, depending) gifted me what I had been asking for all summer: a CD case for my growing collection of comedy albums. I had imagined a sleek, faux-leather double-sleeved case with a rain-proof zipper, the kind you took along for long road trips just as importantly as one of those hygiene travel bags stuffed with a toothbrush, facial cleanser, and deodorant. 

            When I opened my present that Christmas, instead of the premium CD case of my dreams, it turned out to be a rough-fabric, camouflage, single slot CD case—just the opposite of the sleek, trendy one I had wanted.

            My mother waited eagerly for my response to hear how pleased I was. “Do you like it?” she asked.

            I might as well have been Leo DiCaprio from The Wolf of Wallstreet. “This?” I said, turning over the camouflage aberration in my hands. “Look, this isn’t what I wanted. I mean, I wanted a CD case – you got that part right – but what is this? Camouflage? Really?”

            I gave my mother a “you know that I know that this ain’t it” look.

Steve Martin’s “Let’s Get Small” album

            Except she didn’t know. In fact, she silently moved away from me, like an extra on a movie set being directed off-camera because her part in the scene was over.

            Meanwhile, I thought I was objectionably correct. It was a shabby CD case. And who was it for? It was camouflage: supposing I was going to take up hunting, I imagined a herd of deer in the woods might race past my collection of CDs and would not be tempted to steal them (as we all know herds of deer are wont to do). In hindsight, this thought made much more sense since my most coveted CD at the time was Steve Martin’s “Let’s Get Small” album, which was damn near impossible to find in West Michigan at the time.

            With a shrug, I watched my family finish opening their presents, loosely aware that my mother’s stare into the middle distance—a despondent look that usually accompanied shame and embarrassment.

            What I didn’t notice, however, was my father’s vengeful glare from across the room. Shortly after opening presents, he pulled me aside with a swift wrench of the arm.

            “Why did you say that to your mother?” he growled.

            Hey, DiCaprio takes no shit, so I showed him the CD case. “Have you seen this?”

            He swatted the CD case out of my hand, and it landed on a nearby armchair. “It doesn’t matter what it is; your mother gave that to you because she loves you. Now go say ‘Thank You’ and really mean it.”

            He didn’t yell, just growled like the inner Grizzley bear that seldom came out whenever my sister and I did something insensitive. We never saw the bear paws, but we always saw the tracks on the ground.

            I sighed. He was right. I was a jerky jerkwad. So, I sheepishly went up to my mother. “Hey, Thank You for the CD case.”

            “You’re welcome,” she smiled. “I’m glad you like it.” And she gave me a hug.

            That next Christmas, I said Thank You to her again for the gifts. I don’t remember what they were, but I made sure to say it regardless.

            I had seen the Grizzley tracks nearby.

***

THANKS FOR THE PIZZA

            23 years later and I still haven’t forgotten the lessons of saying Thank You to those who do something thoughtful. It so happens that I felt the same obligation to give another satisfying Thank You this past week, this time to the gift of a pizza party following Thursday Night Hockey.

            I seldom write about this part of my life that has been with me for well over a decade now. Once a week, I play hockey with the same group of guys in something affectionally called Thursday Night Hockey. It’s a weekly gathering of the relieved; twenty of us working up a sweat on the ice and then clambering to a dank locker room to guzzle cans of beer afterwards. We gather at an ice rink, an oasis located just off the highway, with brick walls and painted black ceilings that likely hide the real killer among us: a steady trickle of asbestos falling like invisible snowflakes.

            It doesn’t matter.

            No one minds the late-night skate time in the middle of a workweek or traveling far to play (many coming from 20 or more minutes away). That’s because Thursday Night Hockey is about camaraderie. And despite the mindboggling averageness of our hockey skills over the past decade (yes, mine included), we gather like a tribe, celebrating that we’re together in the first place.

            Of course, you would never say this out loud (you would much rather write it on a personal website and assume it is true).

Dr. Suess’s “The Sneetches”

            Over the summer, our weekly gatherings morphed from a late-night happy hour to something that resembled an open house or campfire cookout. Where there was beer in coolers and idle conversation at the start, there was soon JBL speakers pulsing with 80s rock ballads and a Sam’s Club sized pretzel mix container being passed around. Most brought canvas chairs, others preferred to stand, which invariably created a “Sneetches on the Beaches” scenario of those who sat versus those who remained standing.

            The comforts kept growing, and I wondered if the summer had lasted another two months that we might had had portable firepits, pavilion tents, assorted cheeses and meats on a charcuterie board, and maybe hire a caricature artist for an evening.

            Ok, I’m exaggerating: the caricature artist would only be invited if they brought the beer.

            So, for the first time in our history, we decided to celebrate the final skate of the summer with boxes of pizza.

            If you’ve never woofed down pizza at 11:30 at night, there are consequences. Not only does one mentally note if a bottle of Tums is stocked at home for afterwards, but there’s also concern for how the pizza arrives.

            The pizza was delivered from Dominos by a driver with questionable delivery skills. With thick-framed glasses and a beard of a man who likely dwells in the mountains, the delivery guy turned into the ice rink parking lot with his brights on, needing the light of a medium-sized star to see twenty feet ahead of the front bumper. He then stopped the car in front of our group and pulled a 36-point turn to aim his car towards the exit of the parking lot. We all watched in amazement at this five-minute-long process. Maybe this driver had a former life as a bank heist driver, sitting out front with the engine running, waiting for a trio of guys with stuffed duffle bags and ski masks to shout, “Go! Go! Go!” before stomping the gas pedal.

            We all looked to one another, skeptical about how great a condition the pizza was going to be from this guy.

            Luckily, after the private stunt show, the delivery driver peeled away, the pizza safely delivered on a folding table. Twenty of us flocked to paper plates, steaming slices of pizza, and another beer in tow. No one cared about the consequences of eating heavy pizza late at night; we reveled as this group knew how: talking about anything else but hockey, drinking beer, and laughter, lots of laughter.

            We were all having a great time.

            Until I looked down and saw the Grizzley bear tracks at my feet. 

            I realized I was going to have to say Thank You to the guy that provided the pizza, the organizer of our weekly gathering, Jonny.

            I was one of the last to leave, mostly because I watched with envy how the others said Thank You, as though they never received a camouflage CD case at Christmastime, and have never lived with a guilty obligation to over-stress a Thank You. “Thanks again, Jonny,” they would say and walk away, not even looking back for affirmation they were heard or not.

            “Oh,” I thought. “That’s easy. I can do that.”

            I blew it immediately. I approached Jonny like I had two royal trumpeters finishing their introductions before I could speak—I just hovered awkwardly, waiting for an opening. I imagined my herald introducing me: “May I present to you, Sir Robert the Dumb, of Making-This-Harder-Than-This-Needs-To-Be”.

            Finally, I took my opening. “Thanks again for the pizza, Jonny. That was very thoughtful, and I appreciate it.”

            I heard the record skip. It was very thoughtful? AND I appreciate it? Was I talking to a girlfriend over our first Christmas together, and I was reassuring her that it was the effort that counted the most? No! I was talking to middle-aged hockey players: guys with 401Ks and bustling family lives—you know, normal people who don’t need validation for providing boxes of pizza.

            “Yeah, no problem,” said Jonny.

            Of course, to my Thank You impaired brain, this wasn’t enough. I felt I needed to keep getting through. Best not leave now, I figured. I should find another opportunity to fit in a joke, stick around for a while longer—just something to show an indication that I was REALLY thankful.

            I said a joke.

            A polite laugh from Jonny. Grizzley bear tracks all around.

            Obviously, I had to keep trying harder; can’t leave after a so-so joke.  Maybe I could offer to help clean up, take care of the folding table, make sure—

            “Do you want to take the pizzas home?” Jonny asked suddenly. “I’m just going to throw them away. Better take them if you want.”

            Relief. Exoneration. Something I could do to show appreciation. I hid my glee. “You’re sure?”

            “Yup, otherwise it’s going in the trash,” he said.

            I repressed a smile. “Cool, I’ll take them if no one wants them.”

            No one else did (401ks, bustling family lives). I scooped up the two remaining pizza boxes with extra slices stuffed inside and headed towards my car. I didn’t want the pizzas, but by taking them I showed how thankful I was for the pizza…ok, I would eat a slice on the road, but still!

            And I did it all without tracking down an address, writing a letter, or revealing a childhood trauma that was also resolved in the process.

            Well…

            Anyway, I drove home with pizza boxes steaming on the passenger seat, unsure of how I’d store the slices in my already crammed refrigerator at home. Oh well, I was confident I could find space for it.

            Just like the camouflage CD case that I still own.

            Hey, DiCaprio takes no shit.

            But he does take home leftovers.

***

  1. “High School in Jakarta” by NIKI
  2. “hell yeah” by corook
  3. “Heat Above” by Greta Van Fleet

***

Wishing everyone as well as you can be. You’re not alone out there,

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| Weekly Post-Eds |

Weekly Post-Ed #44

by Robert Hyma
written by Robert Hyma

HANGMAN

There was a classmate playing a game of Hangman in front of one of my classes and I hated him immediately.

            Which isn’t fair to write about this kid, but I’ll explain my reaction:

            Usually, the professor strolls into class as the bell rings (a metaphorical one—there isn’t a classroom bell on a college campus), which means that the punctual among us sit in silence before he walks through the door. It’s dead silent before class, either because no one is familiar with each other, hesitant to start conversations that would be obviously eavesdropped upon should they start, or that everyone is on a phone perusing social media apps in place of real-life experiences (as we all do). 

            This isn’t uncommon practice. Most of my classes feature this lack of conversational atmosphere. It’s deathly silent in the preceding minutes before class starts.

            Except for when I walked into my class last Friday.

            There, stationed at the whiteboard was a sandy-haired, twig-thin literature type adding the last limb to a stick figure dangling from a crookedly drawn gallows, signifying that he had just won a game of Hangman. I perused the words that had so stumped the two or three other participants that played (the rest of the class had their heads down and didn’t give a shit).

O B F U S C A T I O N

M A L F E A S A N C E

“T O  D R E A M  I S  T O  D I E”

             I made the last quote up, but he had something just as obscure and niche. The point is: where there was silence – despondent, antisocial, un-spirited silence – now there was a game of Hangman hosted by a literature fan showing off his vocabulary and knowledge of little-known quotes.

            And I thought, “Oh, f*** you.”

            Here’s why:

            There’s a difference between enthusiasm and ego. Regarding this game of Hangman, were the words chosen to loosen up the class, to get people talking? No. Did this guy choose words or phrases that might draw a laugh or cue some recognition? No. The words were obnoxiously chosen and the quote was obscure and meant nothing to anyone else. This was a game of vanity, of ego. This guy was showing off how smart he was and to get a little attention by playacting cavalier at the front of the class.

            Not only was the game an eye roll, but then this guy took pride in winning the game! Of f***ing Hangman! I know this is true because he laughed with glee when the two or three other classmates offered up guesses (with the same enthusiasm as an employee reluctantly volunteering to clean out the toilets at a grimy diner, “I guess I’ll do it. Is there an ‘A’?”). This game of Hangman was proof of wit.

            Which incurred another silent, “Oh,  f*** you,” as I took my seat.

            I then felt guilty. How old was this literature enthusiast: 18, 19-years-old? Why was I responding so harshly? Was it because I secretly wanted to rile the class, to spread my influence as a seasoned 33-year-old who understood how to NOT be like a pompous academic? And, honestly, if I had tried ANYTHING like this classmate of mine, it would have backfired anyway. I would have been like a parent that “tries to be cool” and my efforts would have tanked just as hard.

            So, maybe I needed to let up. Let this classmate be pompous and gleeful. He’ll grow out of it. After all, wasn’t he trying to break the ice? He’ll learn how to NOT be a tightwad in the future, I thought.

            The next thing I knew, the metaphorical bell rang for class and in walked the professor. He examined the whiteboard, which still had the game of Hangman on it for some reason (all the better to have the professor admire your prowess of recalling English words longer than 8 letters, I guess).

            “Obfuscation, malfeasance,” listed off the professor, rubbing his chin and considering the terms. “I’m going to leave this up, today. I’ll write things on the other whiteboard. Looks like a great game of Hangman was had here. Great vocabulary, whoever was playing.”

            All my previous patience and understanding went out the window. “Well, f*** you, too,” I thought.

            Therein was the cause of my classmate’s misplaced enthusiasm: a professor that enabled academic pageantry.

            For the next minute, the professor and twiggy classmate bantered back and forth, pitching even more obnoxious words to stump future players with.

            And I, with a herculean effort to resist groaning, sat in the back of the class, content with my omniscient view of the world, knowing how truly cringy the past five minutes of class had been.

            At least I wouldn’t ever degrade myself like my classmate had, I thought.

            I, after all, had dignity.

            “Alright, let’s take attendance,” said the professor. “Bertie? Where’s Bertie…ah! There you are. How’s it going Bertie?”

            The professor was still calling me Bertie. (Read more about it here.)

            “Good,” I answered the professor with a sigh. I proceeded to draw my own game of Hangman on a fresh sheet of paper. I couldn’t figure out the last letter of my own game, though.

            Maybe you can help me fill it in?

***

WATER WITCHES

            This was irresistible to write about.

            There’s a family neighbor in northern Michigan with a truck drilling a water well that is still in the front yard. The truck has been there several months, the well digging deeper and deeper without any luck. Either water has been undrinkable or there hasn’t been enough to act as a well for an entire household.

            My mother adds to this piece of news, “They should hire a Water Witch.”

            “A what?” I asked.

            “That’s not what they’re called, but that’s who used to find spots to dig wells.”

            “Explain,” I said. I couldn’t wait to hear this.

            “If you were looking to dig a well out by a farm, you’d hire a Water Witch. The Water Witch would look around for a tree branch, shaped like a Y, and when he found a good one, he’d wander around the grounds and wait for the tree branch to start shaking.”

            (It turns out you can use just about anything, but most modern Water Witches – yes, this is still a thing –  prefer using two metal rods.)

            “Go on,” I said, almost drooling with anticipation.

            My mother shrugged. “Once the stick is shaking, that’s the spot you started digging a well.”

            “And this worked? People really dug wells like this?”

            “Oh, sure. They were hired all the time.”

            “These people were hired?!”

            “Well, yes. They were never wrong,” said my mother.

            My father put down his mug of coffee. “Of course they weren’t wrong! It’s Michigan; if you dig deep enough, you’ll find water no matter where the branch starts shaking.”

            “Oh come on,” said my mother, egging him on, “Those tree branches really shook.”

            “Because the guy was shaking it himself!”

            “You don’t believe that do you?” asked my mother with a coy smile.

            And while the merits of the Water Witch were playfully debated by my parents, I had a renewed sense of hope in humanity. If a Water Witch was really a paid position in the history of American farming, then I can see no better future for a people who were creative enough to shake a stick and say, “Dig your well here, Farmer John.”

            Entire neighborhoods had wells dug on such foundations.

            Kind of gives you a tingly feeling of pride in grassroots American history, doesn’t it?

            For your viewing pleasure, I’ve attached an article about Water Witches from Time Magazine. Apparently, they are still sought after during droughts, particularly the dry season in California. I won’t spoil the end of the article; it isn’t a very long read.

https://time.com/11462/california-farmers-are-using-water-witches-to-make-your-two-buck-chuck/

***

  1. “Earth Worship” by Rubblebucket
  2. “Seize The Power” by Yonaka
  3. “Bird Sing” by Anna of the North

***

Wishing everyone as well as you can be. You’re not alone out there,

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