Robert Hyma
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Robert Hyma

Robert Hyma

Just a writer doing writerly things.

| Weekly Post-Eds |

Weekly Post-Ed #8

by Robert Hyma April 28, 2021
written by Robert Hyma

Another New Look

            This one is short notice, but the latest look of the website is based on New Pokémon Snap, which is out this Friday. The Nintendo 64 game was addictively fun when it launched in 1999, and I was just as a surprised as anyone that it took 22 years to get a proper sequel. Not that the Pokémon Company was clamoring for that audience with the success of literally everything they produce (mobile games, main series entries, a hearth of collectibles and memorabilia, Build-a-Bear collaborations, etc), but there was always something special about Pokémon Snap that other games didn’t have. It truly felt like a safari with the creatures you’ve come to know and love.

            I can’t wait to play New Pokémon Snap this weekend.

            Oh, and please check out the art I made for the website below:

***

Mortal Kombat 2021 and Its Criticisms.

            First, a brief summary of how I felt about the film.

            Over the past week, the new Mortal Kombat simul-released in theaters and HBO Max. I watched it this morning, feeling trepidation about how the movie would work apart from the techo-frenzied fight sequences of the original films. Indeed, witnessing all the violent fatalities that were promised didn’t deter from the fun of the film, and I was pleasantly surprised by the end.

            By far, the best addition of the movie was Kano, a character I never thought I’d like. Kano was the humor and heart of the movie, honestly. Every other character felt shallow or played the stereotypical “tough guy” part in a fighting movie. Kano was funny, sociopathic, opportunistic, and hilarious. I wish every character had the depth and charm that he had. When he gets killed (spoiler), the movie deflates a little, which says more about the strength of the story. Outside of a tragedy, if a character dies and so does the energy of the film, it’s not a good sign.

            At least the tease for Johnny Cage at the end might mean a more satisfying sequel. Certainly, if Johnny’s character is as fun as Kano’s, we’re in for another good time. Plus, the new Sonya was perfect, and seeing the love-tension between those two forces could be very fun. I’m very happy with the new Mortal Kombat; it wasn’t a remarkable movie, but for its genre and tone, and for everything it was, the movie went well beyond what everyone was expecting.

            The world needs more movies like this.

**

Criticisms

            The most peculiar part about the aftermath of the movie was listening to some of its criticisms. I’ll write more about how I feel about critics and criticism in depth in another piece, but in short, I don’t see the benefit of the critic. Not only does widely spread criticism warp the expectations and openness of someone who hasn’t seen/read/heard something, but over the years there has been a shift in motive for criticism.

            And criticism for Mortal Kombat 2021 is a prime example.

            Most criticism I heard and read was polarizing, which may be by design (I don’t know, I don’t write criticism nor think like a critic). Either the critic liked the film and thought it worked for its audience or lambasted it as a colossal failure as a film or for blowing its potential. Upon hearing what this film was “supposed to be”, I was left disoriented and, honestly, confused by how these critics think movies are made.

            Criticism often morphed into long dialogues of, “What they should have done was this…” and then a lengthy reworking of the script was discussed and, by committee (because these criticisms are often discussion), there was an agreement about how the movie would be better if X, Y, and Z plot points were inserted instead.

            I stopped listening at this point. The fundamental error in this kind of criticism is a misunderstanding of what it takes to make something. Any change introduced in the story has a ripple effect for everything else. When a critic loftily says, “They should have done this instead; it would have solved ALL their problems,” what they are really saying is, “Here’s a completely different movie that we DID NOT watch.”

            These critics are pitching their own movies, which are similar but NOT the thing they are reviewing. This “better” movie is just another deformity and becomes derivative of the original. And like most derivative things, it won’t work either.

            Again, I can go on at length with my views of what criticism is used for, but here’s the TL;DR of it:

            Mortal Kombat doesn’t have to be the things you wanted it to be. It exists, it did its thing, it was a good try, and it can be better. But goddam, it shouldn’t be the thing someone without a hand in making it suggests.

            If you want to make a Mortal Kombat, then go off and make one. Show us how it’s done. Then, you can say what it should have been.

***

The Falcon and the Winter Soldier

            The other great piece of cinema I watched was the finale of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier. It was a series exploring what it would mean for Sam Wilson (The Falcon) to become the new, black Captain America. I loved how the show depicted black America and the terrible differences between those with power in a room and those who are left to be experimented on or taken advantage of. In the context of the Marvel universe and the repopulation of the planet from the reversal of Thanos’s snap, those issues – which ranged from what to do with immigration to how those with resources look at other races and their actions, militant or not – was a message that needed to be heard. For me, it was another example of how making something can make a difference.

            I’ve always been torn about the purpose of art. Should it try to impact the world in a specific, message-oriented fashion? Does there need to be a moral to the story? My deepest held belief is no, not in the slightest. It isn’t the primary function of art to tell the world how to behave itself. Done in the worst ways, this kind of art deforms into propaganda and is the opposite of the creative spirit—it then becomes a tailored message of a machine (political, corporate) and thereby loses its soul. The purpose of this art is, then, to manipulate, not illuminate.

            Put simply:

Propaganda tells you what to do/believe/say.

Art gives you the freedom to discover what it all means to you.

            In The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, I don’t think its message was propaganda. The final episode has a great deal to say about current issues of immigration and the role of governments to help those in need instead of relegating them to undesirable groups such as terrorists, immigrants, thugs, etc. It was a message aimed at a world that further wishes to partition itself into the haves and have-nots, and it was the right time to say it. In fact, there isn’t a wrong time to relay this message.

            Why this message is not propaganda is because it exists in a world that has foregone human decency and community in favor of greedily snatching up everything for themselves–or at least the idea that these people ought to have things over others. I think this message was particularly powerful because of the way Marvel shepherded it along. The combination of the characters, the villains and their motives, and the interweaving of both heroes and their counterparts, how each could play the role of villain or hero, is what made this show special.

            In other words, just as with this show’s message and the audience, a hero can become a villain, a villain can play a hero, and it is up to us to choose for ourselves.

            I can’t wait to see what Marvel is planning next.

            Well done, Malcom Spellman and company.

***

Hoping everyone is as well as they can be. You’re not alone out there,

April 28, 2021 0 comments
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| Weekly Post-Eds |

Weekly Post-Ed #7

by Robert Hyma April 13, 2021
written by Robert Hyma

New Kombat Koming Soon

             Hey, guess what!

             There’s a new Mortal Kombat movie coming out in a few weeks.

             Did you know?

Did you??

Did you??!

Well, did you?

             So, as a celebration of the new movie and the series as a whole, everything is Mortal Kombat themed for a little while.

             When anyone thinks of Mortal Kombat, they think gratuitous violence. Fatalities, Brutalities, blood splatting across the screen with limbs in tow like confetti. I think this, too, but there’s this strange double standard that exists within this kind of gore and killing: 

             I have no problem watching it. 

             Horror movies and displays of violence on television and movies? I hate it. I cringe and have to turn away because I hate seeing it. When it comes to violent video games, I’ve never had a problem. Maybe it was because my first introduction to overly violent video games (the first MK from 1992, and certainly MK 3 Ultimate) had graphics too displaced from reality, almost cartoony, and the violence didn’t seem real  (like watching the manic violence of an old Tom and Jerry short and laughing instead of being horrified). This was fine, but watching an actor gored or dismembered with a host of special effects in movies or television felt FAR MORE real. I’m an adult in my 30s and still struggle with watching stuff like that, but my excuse is that I never know it’s coming.

             With Mortal Kombat, one expects the over-the-top violence. It’s the sole attraction of the game (other than the bevy of ninjas, superhero-like powers, and scattered lore). And with every new iteration of the game, I’m searching for compilation videos of all the new Fatalities and Brutalities.

             The new movie is bound to be just as violent and crazy, but I’m expecting that. So, for once, I won’t hide away when Fatalities smear blood across the screen. I’ll invite it.

             As contradictory as that sounds.

             And here’s the new website logo if you haven’t seen it (which, how did you get this far without noticing?):

***

“Cairo” by San Fermin

             I don’t like country music. It isn’t a debate. Sometimes when I tell people that I don’t like country music, they tell me, “Well, you just haven’t heard the good stuff yet.”

             Which, to me, is like saying, “Well, you just haven’t had a good STD yet.”

             “Cairo” by San Fermin is as close to country music as it gets for me. If it was a country song, I might have been a convert, but it isn’t one, so that settles that. The singer has that deep country voice and rhythm, but it isn’t country. It even sounds like country music, but it isn’t.

             How do I know that? 

             Because I don’t like country music, but I like this song.

             Sound logic, I know.

            Anyway, it was a close call for actually liking country music. I like this song, though. Have a listen, it’s a good one.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b2BgX-gaD_w

***

An Awful Joke

             I don’t have much to write about this week (obviously). So, to finish things off, here’s a terrible joke I heard.

“To the person who stole my anti-depressants, I hope you’re happy.”

Hoping everyone is doing as well as they can be. You’re not alone out there,

April 13, 2021 0 comments
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Graphics and Logos

History of Graphics and Logos

by Robert Hyma April 3, 2021
written by Robert Hyma

This page is a history of graphics and logos I’ve both made and used on the website since it began. Most everything has been in reference to something I either love or am looking forward to. Since the look of this website changes often, I’ve posted galleries of previous iterations below. This is sure to be updated with every new overhaul, so feel free to come back again and see what’s new!

First Logos

Pretty simple look, but creating the R was hard to decide on. Eventually, I made some swoops and the R turned out by accident. I was never wild about the Header design because it looks more like signage for a bistro instead of a writer’s website. Still, it was a solid first attempt and I’ve kept some remnants of what I first made that are still in use (like the footer of the site).

I also didn’t quite understand pixel and resolution sizes, as you can tell with the header image.

***

Final Fantasy VII

This was a first attempt at a homage to Final Fantasy VII, and figuring out what this website was going to become. Why make a personal logo as a homage to something else? Because this website represents what I’m into and Final Fantasy VII is one of my favorite games. Ever. And it was a ton of fun to find the font and illustrate.

And…I still struggled with resolution sizes, so it looks MIGHTY blurry.

This one felt right. After this, the website felt ready.

And what better background graphic than the green glow of the Lifestream flowing across the screen?

***

Monster Hunter Rise

The art style of Monster Hunter Rise’s logo was half calligraphy, half font magic. All the layering that went into making the font (including hand-drawing the letters) was complex but very fun to make. Monster Hunter World was a big deal for me when it launched back in 2018 and I was looking forward to the Nintendo Switch sequel. It did not disappoint! Such a great game.

Oh, and the extra graphics were inspired by the Monster Hunter Rise edition of the Nintendo Switch. The Kamura pinwheel was a new addition after the game launched, but I thought it worth adding here.

***

Mortal Kombat

With a new Mortal Kombat movie being released in 2021, and the franchise being one of my favorites since I was a kid, the MK logo was the next to be showcased on the site. Making the MK Dragon into the swoop and tail of the R of the logo was easy enough, but it resulted in the dragon losing some of its ferocity. I can’t stop seeing a seahorse in place of where the iconic dragon once flared its tongue before.

In spirit of the new movie poster, I also attempted a bronze dragon, but had no idea how to replicate metal or 3D textures at the time. So, the result was a very chocolatey looking MK Seadragon Dragon.

Looks tasty, don’t you think? And it was a neat take on the logo in its own way. Reminds me of 90’s pallet cartoons, especially Mortal Kombat: Defenders of the Realm.

The top graphic was a cartoony take on the promotional posters of Sub-Zero and Scorpion from the 2021 movie. The bottom graphic was an added easter egg if anyone opened up the website on a larger monitor. It was just something simple, a torn banner featuring the new and old MK Dragon logos.

***

New Pokémon Snap

One of the most iconic games from Nintendo 64 was Pokémon Snap. With the release of New Pokémon Snap in 2021, it was time for a new overhaul based on one of my favorite game series. Turns out, designing the traditional Pokémon logo with the lettering from one’s name is harder to arrange than it looks. After a few attempts, I landed on something resembling a proper homage. The rest of the logo was quite the challenge. The chalk-like outline of ‘Writes’ was hand-drawn, while the wooden plate background was a lesson in color pigment. Overall, the logo felt chunkier than New Pokémon Snap, but sometimes that’s the nature of having too many letters and spacing it out properly.

The background pattern was hand-made from the faded orange triangle design inside the ‘Writes’ lettering. Adding some navy coloring made the whole thing pop.

The top illustration was inspired by the Nintendo 64 box art from the original Pokémon Snap (The font, the lens, the film strip), while the photos of Pokémon were inserted in the style of New Pokémon Snap‘s box art. So, combining a bit of old with the new.

Fun fact: the Pokémon pictures are cut-outs of my own illustrations, which you can find posted on my Instagram here.

The second illustration was another Easter egg graphic if anyone opened up the website on a larger monitor. The film strip cutouts feature my personal illustrations as well, and a bubble lighting effect just for fun.

***

Guilty Gear Strive

Guilty Gear Strive was the fighting game to play in 2021. The hand-drawn animations, frantic combat system, and a bevy of characters with unique personalities makes it one of the most notable fighters ever. I loved the art style of the newest iteration and overhauled the website to celebrate the game’s launch.

The font is just ‘Impact’ with some triangle additions and hard-erased lines throughout. The original logo for Strive doesn’t have the greyed icon in the background, but I thought adding more flare would make the header pop. And, replacing my R in place of the G in the title was fun to reproduce.

The background image with the symmetrical gears was a decorative take on the art style from the game.

The About Author graphic was a reproduction of the countdown fight screen. Guilty Gear Strive has a hard rock influence behind its art style and trying my hand at making graphics like it was challenging. There are lots of speckled effects throughout and finding the balance of a weather gear that appears calligraphic was fun.

***

Phantasy Star Online 2

As I mentioned in a Weekly Post-Ed, I can’t tell you how many hours I poured into Phantasy Star Online Ep. I and II. It was my first exposure to loot-grinding and there was no better game than Sega’s mega hit back in 2002. Searching for Red Boxes dropped from enemies in tight corridor levels was the thrill, but so was this strange, futuristic world that needed saving from every subclass. The combat was repetitive but fulfilling once levels were gained and new abilities unlocked. Maybe some would have considered playing hundreds of hours of a video game a waste of precious time, but I am still in love with the series all these years later.

The logo for Phantasy Star Online 2 has always been a favorite of mine, and with the release of Phantasy Star Online 2: New Genesis in 2021, it was an obvious choice to redesign my website. The main logo is directly from PSO2. This was one of my earliest logo attempts, so I wasn’t aware of the font, so I hand-drew everything you see. Replacing the red and opaque 2 with my signature R was a nod to the series, and in all I think the logo looks sharp.

The graphic behind my Author Photo was the original background remade from PSO2, while the background to the website was a chart of the colorful array of spells and status effects to cast as each character in the game. The colorful yellow, orange, and light blue symbols cast magic, while the green symbols are healing items/spells. The imagery is distinctive and made for a colorful background. In all, one of my favorite sets of graphics made to date!

***

Metroid Prime

With the launch of Metroid Dread, I thought it prudent to use one of my first successful 3D ventures into logo making, a take on the original Metroid Prime for the Gamecube. Not only was it the first game where Samus roamed the terrain of a planet in three dimensions, but it was also one of my favorite video game logos of all time. It opened up the series in a way that breathed life into the lore of Metroid and who Samus was to a new adience. Along with the original Super Smash Bros. series, the game helped cement the Metroid series as a staple in the Nintendo catalogue.

The logo itself was interesting to recreate. The original used much sharper colors, so I opted for a more weathered Morph Ball-look, complete with textures, something I hadn’t attempted before. Since this was one of the first logos I made, I can see some sloppy work on the font, but it doesn’t detract from the logo in the background, which included a reconfiguring of the famous Screw Attack icon into the trademark R logo of my website. In all, this is still one of my favorite finished logos despite being in the early processes of figuring out how to make them.

The About Author illustration paid homage to Metroid Dread with a nefarious E.M.M.I. robot ready to strike my picture, just as in the box art for the game. It was drawn with a 2D-flat look, which I think made the whole thing pop. It’s also missing a left leg, which was sloppy, and in hindsight I should have finished the illustration, but I also liked the mystery of why an entire leg was missing; perhaps it was rising up to attack after Samus had dismantled it?

The Background Image consists of two Morph Ball designs with more flat coloring, including the original on the right (from Super Metroid) and one of the new designs on the left (from Metroid Fusion).

***

Saturday Night Live

This was the first non-video game theme design for the website. It came at a time when a new Covid (omicron) was discovered and spreading quickly and the season was transitioning to winter, the world a little grayer and colder. It felt like a time to laugh and there is not better source of laughter on a weekly basis than Saturday Night Live. The 2021-2022 season has been very strong (especially with the addition of the comedy trio Do Not Destroy featured every week) and worth the watch.

The logo was a variation on the modern blue/black/white look complete with scuffed paint lines throughout the font. SNL often uses photographs of New York City as backdrops, which are lovely, but not very functional in a logo, so I incorporated a flat-style look to the Chrysler Building to match the font, which worked out pretty well.

The background graphics used older SNL stylings from the mid-2000 run and older, and I kept the color scheme of blue/black/white throughout. This theming felt like winter, albeit a bright and warm one, and it was a perfect addition for the holiday season.

***

Mario Galaxy 2

I chose Mario Galaxy 2 as the theme to start the New Year in 2022. It was around the launch of the James Webb Telescope (that successfully opened its arrays and is being calibrated as this is written) and I kept thinking about the universe and how wondrous it is. Funny enough, that’s how I felt playing the Mario Galaxy Series, a game that took the sandbox model of 3D Mario titles and introduced the gravity-induced planetoids set in space. If the concept wasn’t wild enough, the game delivered on its score, which is what I based the other graphics on while making them.

I’m amazed by how much detail goes into 3D logos. Truly, video game logos have the most character and thought behind them. Since Mario logos use the same font for each title (besides the Mario sports titles), finding new variations to put together the lettering is much like developing a new Mario game: to take a character that’s familiar and that everyone loves, but find a new way of presenting him.

My variation of the main logo was arduous at times (I was lost with the layering and shading effects). Making the ‘R‘ 3D with ridges and shadow effects was a test in visualizing how light produces edges in 3D objects. In all, the logo turned out great and I enjoyed making it (yes, for nearly 10 straight hours). The Luma at the top appears to be a little sunburnt compared to the original, but I think it gives my rendition a little backstory–my Luma tried tanning and it didn’t go well!

The Mario Galaxy Soundtrack that was released alongside the first game and had some of the best art from the series. I chose this as the background to my Author Image. The above image is my rendition of the printed art on the physical CD that was available to Club Nintendo members in Europe and Japan, and I’ve always loved how simple and colorful it is.

This mirrored graphic, which was the background of my website, was the silhouetted cover of Mario and Yoshi from the Mario Galaxy 2 Soundtrack. I added some tiny effects, made the stars and galaxies a bit more pronounced, and so illustrated a faithful rendition of the original artwork. In all, this was the most detailed my website ever looked and set a precedent going forward!

***

Kirby Star Allies

Has there ever been a more satisfying Kirby beat ’em up game than Kirby Star Allies? The game is beautiful, packed with a roster of all-star allies from previous Kirby games, and the music is so damn good. It was so good that I make it a yearly play-through just to experiment with different combinations of characters and combo systems. Kirby Star Allies is one of those games that was, perhaps, unintentionally deep in terms of gameplay potential. Plus, it was packed with so much content after launch that it became the seminal game to own on Nintendo Switch for a while (Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild and Super Smash Bros. Ultimate notwithstanding).

If not for the gameplay, then the graphics and imagery of Kirby Star Allies sticks out as something eye-popping and catchy. Menus are filled with 2D backgrounds with psychedelic color pallets, while the main logo for the game has a shimmering 3D effect that you can’t help but want to check out what Kirby Star Allies is all about.

I think my rendition of the logo was pretty faithful, even if having to customize the font because I never discovered what was being used as a stencil. This was also a great lesson in how shading gives 3D objects depth and roundness (such as letters and even the crystal flourishes in the background of the logo)–much like the pink balloon itself. And no logo is complete without the hidden R of this website conspicuously placed in one of the stars, just a small marker for fun.

This header background was the most fun I’ve had illustrating for the website. I had this idea to have all the icons for Kirby’s power-ups trail behind the Warp Star as he zipped across the cosmos. The stars and particle effects made it all shine and this is still one of my favorite things I’ve made for the website to date.

This illustration was a 2D remake of the poster art that showcased all the Dream Friends from the game. Sadly, I never used it as intended since I went through a redesign of my website at the time, but this image would have slotted behind the About Author section with my headshot square in the middle. I ended up using the Dream Friends as a background to the website, but it never felt as front-and-center as it should have been. It lives on in this collection, so I suppose that’s something!

***

Bioshock Infinite

Bioshock Infinite was the game that epitomized great video game storytelling when it launched in 2013. The dystopian world that had existed under the sea in the previous two Bioshock titles was taken to a city in the skies, Columbia. A city stuck in time – in metaphysical ways, too – the setting was riddled in classical American propaganda–a vessel (quite literally) of American ingenuity and tradition. The patrons of the city idolized the inventor of the flying engines propelling the city above the sludge of the surface world. This founder was their God, now, and he would be the savior and ultimate demise of our hero answering a mysterious message to “save the girl”.

Could there have been a better website redesign in time for the summer holidays when American exceptionalism runs rampant with the 4th of the July? The game is a sprawling epic of what it means to truly take hold of the American dream and the diverging paths of our destiny. Plus, the logo is one of the most memorable and haunting emblems in gaming history, which was impossible to resist making my own version of. The metal plate was an exercise in texturing, while the small grooved teeth of the border presented shadowing conundrums that turned out fine for a first try. What proved most difficult was the blending of paints on the face of the main plate which had to appear layered and weathered. It’s simple in theory, but matching the colors proved difficult to find gradients for should one layer rub away.

An American patriotic theme ought to have an American flag. Naturally, in the world of Bioshock Infinite, that flag should be in tatters in front of the menacing eye of the Songbird. The image on top was the background image, and below is the background without the flag. As an Easter egg, the Songbird is watching the falling Elizabeth and Booker Dewitt from afar.

***

More To Come!

April 3, 2021 0 comments
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| Weekly Post-Eds |

Weekly Post-Ed #6

by Robert Hyma March 30, 2021
written by Robert Hyma

Down with a Sickness

            I caught a cold this past weekend, which I don’t prefer, but there are also benefits to being sick that I’ve found. For an overthinker (such as Muah), having a head cold is a kind of performance enhancing drug. There’s less indecision because of the desperation to get something done and get to more rest.

[There are no survivors between being irritably sick and the pillow at the end of the day.]

            Sports can be easier to play. For example, I play goalie in ice hockey and there’s a constant mental battle of not thinking versus “reading the play” (or recognizing patterns during play to make the best decision for being in position to make a save). When sober (not sick), sometimes the internal debate leads to pucks going in the net because you were too busy figuring out what you should be doing. When sick, all that thinking goes away because your thoughts follow this specific inner monologue: “I’m sick and this sucks. I’m sick and this sucks. I’m sick and…”

            And there’s less thinking about what to do. In my experience, I play better like this.

            However, if it’s somebody’s birthday weekend (such as Muah) and there were plans to leave town and celebrate, there’s no real benefit to being sick. I had to cancel plans and stay home to rest. Luckily, on this particular weekend, there were other things to celebrate.

Like this:

***

Monster Hunter Rise Launch:

            I can’t express how great it feels to play this game. Everything in this game feels so good: the gameplay, the world, the little nuanced charm and humor. To be more specific, this game feels like what a video game ought to feel like. You want to keep playing, the world is vibrant and engrossing, and there’s something to find on every quest. It’s a delight that’s made with such care and love.

            I don’t write reviews of games. I just want people to play good stuff. I modeled my website after this game for a reason and that’s because I knew it was going to be special.

            Great stuff Capcom.

***

Mike Birbiglia’s Worldwide Pizza Party

            I attended a virtual comedy show on Saturday night. It was hosted by Mike Birbiglia, one of my favorite comics, and featured guest appearances by Aisling Bea and Nish Kumar. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but the format was so charming and cozy that I wondered why comedy wasn’t delivered this way before. Being on a Zoom call, the show lacked the energy of a live performance (the sound of a mic and sound system, the collective mood and energy of the audience), but it was funny and fulfilling in a way that was both different and needed during a pandemic.

            The show was called “The Worldwide Comedy Pizza Party”, and Mike’s entire act was devoted to bits about pizza. Truly. And it still played well! Mike began the show with some banter with the audience, which consisted of couples and singles perched on a couch or computer chair facing a webcam. He introduced his guest comedian host, Aisling Bea, who attempted to make a homemade pizza while the show went on. It was very much a “Late Night Talk Show” type of bit, but it was charming and funny all the same.

            Mike’s style of delivering jokes through a virtual show is by flipping through notecards at a large corkboard. He recites the bit, which is still a work in progress, and depending on the levels laughter through the Zoom audience’s reduced mic volume, he moves on to the next joke.

            Mike brought up that he’d like to perhaps film a comedy special as a virtual show. I think it works for how he was delivering his jokes; some worked, some did not, but he would always show the camera the title of the joke he just performed on his many notecards, which always made the crowd laugh from recognition. Obviously, you can’t show a large crowd at a club a handwritten notecard for a laugh, but it worked on a webcam setup.

            Which, to me, was interesting because it showed how standup comedy can evolve depending on the medium.

            The show was roughly an hour and half and worth the price of admission ($25). Perhaps the most cathartic part was the preshow and reading the Zoom chat. Everyone was happy to be there, happy to share where they were watching from (Sweden, Argentina, Toronto, Maryland, California, Michigan, etc) and what local pizza they had bought for the pizza party.

            For me, who was sick and couldn’t watch this show with a friend, it was further proof that there are better things in this world if you look for them.

            Plus, Mike Birbiglia is one of the big reasons this website exists at all. Mike writes about why he makes the things he does on his website:

“You’re doing it for the people who might feel better about something in their lives because of something you’re willing to admit about yours.”

            After reading that, it was time to share.

***

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

March 30, 2021 1 comment
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| Weekly Post-Eds |

Weekly Post-Ed #5

by Robert Hyma March 24, 2021
written by Robert Hyma

Like Straightening Trumpets Out Now!

            Like Straightening Trumpets is out today, which you can click on below:

            I wish I had better commentary on this story other than to say I sat down, wrote a title, and this is what came out. I enjoyed writing it even though I’m no trumpeter, nor have any insights into military life. This story does make me feel things, though, which is what I go with as a writer.

            As one of my favorite authors, Salman Rushdie, once said, “If you’re lucky, you can imagine the truth.”

***

My Good Cop, Bad Cop of Sleeplessness

            I haven’t slept well for the past seven days. This has been a recurrent thing in my life; I can go a month straight sleeping 8-hours per night, and then comes a week where I cannot get to sleep whatsoever.

            And when I can’t sleep, there’s a space between being fully awake and trying to slip off into REM where I lose control over my thoughts and they won’t shut up. Sometimes they are humorous, other times pondering story ideas…

            But most of the time, I’m the key suspect being interrogated by my own past.

            “Where were you the night of 28th, three years ago!”

(This voice doesn’t have a face, but I imagine he’s the BAD COP with one foot planted on a steel folding chair, a pistol sling harnessed a little too tightly, and wearing a pair of aviator sunglasses. He also has a thick, rugged mustache that somehow works outside of the 90’s.

BAD COP: “Let’s get this straight. You went to Brooklyn Bagels yesterday, ordered a Bomber with sauce on the side, and added the corporate lunch combo. Is that all?”

ME [Sheepishly, unsure]: “Yes?”

BAD COP: “Well why didn’t you fill the silence after you were done giving your order and the cashier was punching it in? Why didn’t you ask about how her day was going?”

ME: [a shrug, helpless] “It just didn’t come up.”

BAD COP [Taking his foot off the folding chair, disgusted]: “Of course it didn’t. Because you’re only focused on yourself. What are you, some kind of Solipsist? Nothing else exists because it’s an extension of yourself?”

ME: [Scrambling to account for any of this]

GOOD COP: “Hey, hey, take it easy. It’s not like this cashier struck up a conversation with him, either.”

[I sigh in relief, but only sort of. The GOOD COP has always been on my side, but I don’t like him as much. His long beard and ponytail, combined with overtly soft speaking voice, makes him gentle in a way that’s somehow more demeaning, like I’m a fluffball that needs to be coddled.]

GOOD COP: [cont’d]: Maybe this cashier should notice other people having a hard day. Isn’t she in the service industry? She should be of service, right guys?”

BAD COP: [disgusted]: “Of course you’re blaming the cashier, giving him an out. Well the world isn’t butterflies and rainbows, and if you want to make a positive difference in people’s lives, you have to step up and be a beacon! But I don’t see that with this punk. I just see a laundry list of missed opportunities and a lack of effort.”

ME: [confused by BAD COP’s vernacular] “Butterflies and rainbows?”

BAD COP: [Slams the table with a heavy fist] “Don’t try to write your way out of this bit! If you want to be a good person in this world, you have to show it! You can’t expect other people to be empathetic and observant like you are!”

ME: “Sorry.”

GOOD COP: “What my colleague is trying to say is that you’re doing just fine. We hope you enjoyed the sandwich.”

BAD COP: [a scoff] “That’s not what I’m saying at all, but a Bomber is a great sandwich.”

ME: “Yeah, it really is. Can I go to sleep now?”

BAD COP/GOOD COP: “No!” “We’re just getting started with your case file!”

**

            And that was over a sandwich. Imagine what happens when ruminating over more serious problems.

            Justice never sleeps, I suppose.

***

Sony Buys EVO

            The biggest fighting game tournament in the world is the Evolution series. Held in Las Vegas every summer, players from all over the world compete to be crowned the world’s best at their favorite fighting games: Tekken, Guilty Gear, Street Fighter, Killer Instinct, and so much more. With COVID on the rise last summer, the yearly tournament was canceled and was to re-introduced as an Online only event until players could meet in person again in the coming years.

            This was hard enough for tournament organizers until an even bigger scandal hit. One of the founders of Evolution had been outed with a series of hazing incidents that eventually shut down all EVO’s online events. Top rank players said they would not compete if this individual was still part of the organization’s team. Because of the outrage (justifiably) the tournament was shut down.

            And it would be rebranded going forward.

            Enter Sony this week who announced that they had just bought EVO.

            Some feel this means many games not part of Sony’s library won’t receive prime-time treatment (like Microsoft and Nintendo) and won’t be featured at EVO. I’m not so sure; I think Sony will play ball with whomever wants to show up to showcase their games.

            Where I think this deal is effective is the backend of things in terms of marketing and putting together an internal team with more resources and a renewed identity that is about the future of competitive gaming. I think Sony could be a big help, but I just want to see a day when the world’s best are brought together again.

            With decent netcode in the meantime.

*Icy stares at Tekken, Super Smash Bros. Ultimate, and other Bandai Namco games*.

***

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

March 24, 2021 0 comments
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| Short Stories |

Like Straightening Trumpets

by Robert Hyma March 23, 2021
written by Robert Hyma

            I always wanted to handle the horn like Louis Armstrong, with lips so swollen and flush against the mouthpiece, girls wouldn’t know if I was making music or making love. But most of us don’t turn out to be Louis Armstrong. I ended up uninteresting, a trumpeter called on to perform at funerals, kind of a musical pallbearer. If anyone is seeking to get into this line of work, I’d suggest starting the trumpet at fifteen, having a military uncle that dies, and a father who encourages you to play “Taps” at the funeral.

            I couldn’t play it well, but people cried anyway. That’s the nice thing about playing “Taps”, it’s beautiful to some, no matter how badly it’s played.

            Outside of funerals, I’m no one. I could never stick in a band, play anything worthwhile, or find work that was the least bit related to my trade other than appearing as a local bartender-slash-holiday-trumpeter double threat. So, if you’re me, every time you play a funeral, there isn’t much else to do but stare down at the decorated coffin about to be lowered into the ground and wonder what it was all for.

            That’s thinking inside the box; a little funeral humor. You learn these things if you go to enough funerals.

            Like this last one I played.

            It was a cold day, cloudy, gray as the reaper might like it, and the funeral proceedings came to a close. I was left with the priest, packing my trumpet back into its case as we exchanged the usual dry and morbid joke that a veteran pair of funeral goers knows: “See you next time,” I said. “Hopefully not in the ground, aye?” said the priest, and we went our separate ways, a blast of frigid wind the only applause for our vaudevillian show.

            “Excuse me,” came a woman’s voice behind me. “Could I ask you a question?”

            I knew who she was. At military funerals, there’s always a growing collective of widows to support whomever the newest addition to the sad sorority was. Cassidy, was her name. No one had told me who she was, but I was interested from afar, so I knew it anyway. She was younger than I was, thin in a way that complimented how tightly a funeral shawl wrapped around her to scantly protect from the cold, and she had a pair of dark eyes that seemed permanently stained from mascara that no longer streaked across her face from tears.

            She had cried her share of those, having lost two military husbands before the age of twenty-five.

            “Is it hard playing at funerals?”  she said when I stared blanky in reply.

            “Can be, if it’s cold” I said, wondering why she asked. We watched the gravedigger pat the final plot of dirt on the gravesite. “Why, do you want lessons or something?”

            She smiled meekly, as though it took great effort. “Do you want to get a drink?”

            Something about meeting a hardened woman suits a trumpeter, I think. We found a nearby bar and sat down. Cassidy had such silky hair. I always thought widows didn’t care much for dressing up anymore, especially someone who had lost a pair of husbands so young in life. But there was something in her eyes. They were crystalized things of marble, able to withstand the rays of the sun without dilation or intention to blink. I’ve seen soldiers with the same look. It comes from experience, not character. I felt I was talking to someone twice my age, not ten years younger.

            “I’m going to need more than two of these,” she said, indicating her nearly finished glass of whisky. I flagged the bartender, signaling another round. She sighed and said, “I think there are times when you’ve felt you’ve died more than other people.”

            “Your husbands?”

            She nodded, unsurprised that I knew about them without knowing her. “The worst part is never getting to see them die.”

            “I don’t think it helps.”

            She shook her head. “Not when you need closure. No matter how something ends, it’s better to see the blood and guts of how it ended.”

            I disagreed but kept silent. She was talking another language, the soldier one, and I was playing the part of trumpeter waiting for his cue to play “Taps”.

            She touched my hand. “Have you ever seen someone die?” she asked. I shook my head. “Me neither. I hate it. I feel disconnected from those that do, like they’ve seen something in life you are supposed to see. You know what it’s like to have lost two husbands overseas? It’s like having something taken from you and never getting to see it; kind of like a soul. You can feel it there, by your side, it’s warm, but one day it’s gone and there’s nothing to be done about it.”

            “I don’t know,” I replied stupidly, automatically. “Losing something feels bad no matter how you look at it.”

            “You’re wrong,” she said, drinking the whisky. “There are people out there who think they know what it’s like to be without, but they just think they know. Like yourself.”

            I cleared my throat. “Me?”

            “You never served.”

            “No,” I said, feeling exposed. Was this the point? To be shamed? I felt I should leave.

            She touched my hand again, keeping me in place. “No, it’s not that. You’re still part of it.”

            I smirked. “I just play the trumpet.”

            “You don’t believe that. You’re needed.”

            “A recording would do the same thing. And sound better, honestly. I’m not very good.”

            “It’s not about how good you were.”

            “Were? Are we talking about you or me now?” I couldn’t tell anymore.

            “It’s like being a military wife,” she said. “You’re the plus-one to the party, one you would never get in the front door to if you didn’t know someone. So, you feel you shouldn’t be there, but there you are, doing your best to make friends, appear happy, and be good company. It’s just that no one tells you how perfect you have to be because of what they’ll go through.”

            I finished my drink. “Yeah, but it’s their choice to go through it.”

            The hardened stare returned. I said something I shouldn’t have, and I slumped in the bar stool, appearing ten inches shorter. I was ready for my corporeal reprimand.

            “You’re right,” she said at last, finishing her drink.

            “I am?” my voice squeaked, a sharp note.

            “My husbands died because they chose to,” she said.

            “Well, that’s not what I—”

            “No, it’s true! I know what you’re saying. Why should I be stuck in their shadows? I don’t have to wear black, to be a war widow, some sappy girl that cries in the middle of the night because my dreams died with some dumb war hero overseas. We get to choose what our life is about, don’t we?”

            “Yes,” I said, feeling better about all of this. “Yes, we do.”

            “What are you doing right now? Are you free?”

            She had turned to me, naked knees touching mine, her black dress hiking up from the swivel of the stool, which wasn’t insignificant. “Nothing at all,” I said.

            “Pay up. Let’s go to my place. Let’s leave it all behind.”

            “Ok,” I said, a feeling in my stomach I hadn’t felt in too long.

            I grabbed my trumpet case atop the bar.

            She stopped me. “What are you doing?”

            “Grabbing my horn, why?”

            “Oh, no,” she said and put it down on the bar. She unclasped the locks. “We’re leaving all this behind, aren’t we?”

            I was horrified. Her hand was on my horn and I was horrified. “Yes…?”

            She banged the bell of my trumpet over the wooden bar top. It clanged, crying out for mercy. “Hey,” I protested, but she was on the move with it, heading towards the back restrooms.

            “No turning back now,” she said.

            Satirically, I chased her. She locked herself in the women’s stall. I knocked feverishly. “Cassidy! What are you doing?” I heard a stall door open/close, open/close, clamping something into place. Then, a gruff of effort and mangled creak of brass. “Open up!” I shouted, horrified at what I knew was unfolding inside. “Unlock the damned door, Cassidy!”

            She did, at last, and something slid to the floor. I entered. She was on the filthy tiling beside my trumpet, which had been wrenched into an awful angle, like a crooked V. She wept there against the wall, head against the sink, mascara running down her cheek. I gave her a look, that I wanted to say something directly, but I couldn’t. I didn’t know what to say. I picked up my deformed trumpet and held onto the bent brass, massaging it. “I’m not sure where I can get this fixed.”

            She stood up, in a fury, racing past me, “Well, who do I see about fixing me?” She stormed out of the bathroom, slamming the door closed on her way out.

            I packed the trumpet as well as I could into its case, which no longer closed, and looked more like a hotdog bun made of hard plastic carry-on. Clamping it together in my arms, I walked past the bartender and all the patrons who had watched the spectacle. They stared, quiet as a funeral procession. And it was one, I think, because something had been taken from me.

            That next week, I was called to play another funeral. I hadn’t repaired my trumpet and told the sergeant that requested my playing I was unavailable. “Son, I need you to show up,” he said, and there wasn’t a way around it, even if I didn’t have a trumpet. So, I arrived at the graveyard with nothing in hand, standing around, foolishly, wondering why I had chosen to come at all.

            To punish myself, I guess.

            The Sargent directed that all military men form two rows around the coffin. I tried to sneak away, then, seeing that I had no purpose, but the Sargent came over, cupped my arm in his large, weathered hands, and placed me sternly at the head of the line. “Son, you lead us off. We need you now.”

            “You want me to sing? I can’t sing.”

            “It’s not just you,” said the Sergeant, looking around to all the other men of his apparent platoon. And, foolishly, farcically, I cleared my throat and recited the first note of “Taps” in voice-cracking acapella in an embarrassed hush, “Da, da daaa. Da, da daaaa. Da, da daaa, da, da, daaa, da, da daaa!”

            And after the first verse, the ten soldiers at my side joined in.

            “Da, da daaaa, da, da, da. Da, da daaaa!…”

            Afterwards, the gathered audience applauded our efforts. And there, on the end, Cassidy smiled at me before turning away with rest of the funeral party, one arm hooked around the newest widow, helping her along.

            I was greeted with stern handshakes from war-weathered men with far firmer grips, and they thanked me for the song. It wasn’t until then that I heard the music the way it was supposed to be played, I think, and I wondered why I never knew it before.

            Just how damned beautiful that song was.

March 23, 2021 0 comments
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Weekly Post-Ed #4

by Robert Hyma March 15, 2021
written by Robert Hyma

Like Straightening Trumpets Delayed

            I’ve delayed posting a new short story that I promised last week. I hope you’ll understand. It was one of those, “I didn’t get what I was doing until last minute!” kind of situations.

            So, another draft is needed.

            No new release date, yet, but it’s coming. Just needs some more time.

***

Shake, Shake, Shake It Off

            Here’s a weird memory:

            When I was six or seven, I noticed something unusual when I urinated. Sometimes, for no particular reason, alongside the yellowed stream that splashed into the toilet bowl, a few droplets would trickle onto my hands as well. I was sharp as a six-year-old, so there was only one logical conclusion: there was a miniature hole on the underside of my urethra and some of the pee escaped through it onto my hands.

            Oh, don’t worry—this was disgusting to me, too, and I wanted answers.

            This happened frequently enough that I sought a second opinion. I told my parents about this seepage, this invisible aberration that caused warm liquid to splash over my hands and pantlegs every so often—quite the inconvenience. I don’t remember their initial reactions (I’m an adult now, so I can’t imagine it was some degree of skepticism), but they eventually said to me, lovingly, “Well, tell us if it happens again and we’ll take a look.”

            Flashforward a week later and I sounded the alarm that it was happening again. My dad knocked on the door, entered the bathroom, and observed (somewhere along the spectrum of chagrin) that, indeed, a small trickle of urine escaped onto my hands, but ONLY towards the conclusion of my urination.

            The diagnosis:

“Do you shake it off when you’re done?”

“Why would I do that?”

            Twenty-five years later and there hasn’t been a similar recurrence, which leads me to believe the miniature hole in my urethra healed as I grew older.

            Either that, or a Taylor Swift song had far greater ramifications for an anatomically confused 6-year-old boy than I ever realized.

            Anyway, if there was ever a moral to this story, it’s this: if you’re new to the website and this is the first thing you’ve read…

            Welcome! It’s so nice you stopped by!

***

Vulfpeck – Madison Square Garden – September 28, 2019

            I liked this band before, but upon listening to Vulfpeck’s Madison Square Garden performance on YouTube, I’m a much bigger fan. Great live bands do that—outside the recording studio, the energy is tripled, reverberating through the crowd as sound waves do through air molecules, literally creating a vibe (get it: vibration). In my brief two summers of being a stagehand for live bands, being part of many shows and watching crowds come alive, Vulfpeck is among the best.

            Particularly, there’s a section in the video (that I’ll link below) called “Christmas in L.A.” that is manically silly and beautiful. In the way Freddy Mercury belted operatic sing-alongs to stadiums, so, too, did Vulfpack reach a crowd.

            It’s one of those performances that you wished you were there for, like Live AID or the prime-time performances at the Reading Music Festival in the UK.

            More than that, it’s a glimpse into a world that I hope still exists on the other side of COVID, when we can visit again, when the world is ready.

***

Monster Hunter Rise Demo Version 2

            If you haven’t guessed what the aesthetic of this website is referencing, it’s an upcoming Nintendo Switch release: Monster Hunter Rise. An updated demo launched on the Nintendo eShop this past week, complete with a tediously difficult quest to defeat Magnamalo, the main monster of the game. You have 15-minutes to defeat an overly tuned monster that will wipe out nearly all of your 30-credited attempts. I couldn’t beat him, even with multiple weapon types and masterful party members.

            That said, performance on Nintendo Switch is a little rough. The frame rate is a problem, making reactions delayed and all the harder to execute. The game launches for PC in 2022 and I’m hoping many of these issues are resolved once the game is running on better hardware.

            Still, the additions of better and freer movement and new attack loadouts are the most radical and needed changes to the series in over a decade. If this is the direction of the Monster Hunter series going forward, it’s bound to be an exciting hunt when Monster Hunter World 2 is inevitably announced.

***

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

March 15, 2021 0 comments
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| Weekly Post-Eds |

Weekly Post-Ed #3

by Robert Hyma March 8, 2021
written by Robert Hyma

Dolphin Pregnancy Test

            A friend of mine said she went swimming with dolphins in Mexico as a teenager. She was with her parents in the boat and accompanied by a married couple on their honeymoon. My friend frolicked in the water, the dolphins swimming near, playfully prodding her with their noses.

            You know, as dolphins do.

            When the bride dove in the water, the dolphins scattered. She asked why since the dolphins bailed like children in the pool that absolutely KNOW a kid peed in the shallow end. The instructor said, “Are you by chance pregnant?”

            The bride said, “Yes, we just found out before flying out here.”

            “I see. Yeah, the dolphins won’t come near you. They can sense when a human is pregnant and don’t want to harm the child.”

            My teenage friend was stunned.

            I was stunned, too, because there was obviously a great idea borne then: why aren’t dolphins utilized as pregnancy tests?

            Well, it isn’t humane, you might argue. It’s just another Sea Life Labor Dispute, one only eclipsed by the orca whales in that documentary whose title eludes me.

            And, you’re probably right, dolphins in place of pregnancy tests (where available) would be a terrible idea.

            But, in sea world, if there’s any wonder why the dolphins gravitate towards the far end of the pool, it’s probably because there are too many pregnant women there that day.

            Or a kid peed.

            Either/or.

***

Smile, Sisyphus

            I haven’t finished a book in two weeks. Nor watched the new Brian Regan stand up special on Netflix or seen a new movie. I haven’t cooked a new dish, found the means to workout, or start on a children’s book I’d like to illustrate throughout the year.

            It hasn’t gone according to plan.

            There just isn’t enough time.

            Have you considered the math of how much free time one has? At the beginning of the year, foolishly, I came up with a schedule for writing, posting on this website, and all the side projects I wanted to complete. All my goals were compiled into neat, monthly squares, and I would simply make a little progress here, fit in a little bit there until, inevitably, a Trickle-Down Effect of completed projects would shower over my self-esteem.

            Three months into the year and I’m finding this “Trickling Down Effect” was just as ineffective and stupid as any economic policy it might be based on, and my plans have blown up like Nuremberg instead.

            So, I redid the math on how much time I have.

In a week, there are 168 hours. Here are the basic building blocks:

  • 8 hours per night for sleep.
  • 10-hour workdays, four days a week.

Ok, that accounts for 104 of those hours. That’s the major stuff. Then there’s:

  • One hour per day for showering, brushing teeth, face cleansing, bathroom use, etc…
  • One hour per day for driving (to work, finding food, heading home for the day, etc).

Right, that’s another 14 hours, which adds up to 118 hours. Anything else?

  • 1.5 hours per day for eating dinner with family, making meals, etc.
  • I play hockey, which is twice a week, averaging to 3 hours per session.

Add that up and we’re at 134.5 hours.

            Theoretically, I could devote 33.5 hours per week to anything creative, which is about 4.7 hours per day for all the self-fulfilling things I’ve been missing out on: watching Stand-Up specials, podcasts, SNL sketches on YouTube, reading, etc.

Wait, but there’s more. Here are my secondary responsibilities:

  • I write in a journal for an hour every day.
  • I write and edit short stories, producing several new drafts, which equals (I’d average) about 3 hours per week.
  • Graphics and illustrations, depending on how many, equals 4-5 hours per finished project.
  • Then there’s writing a novel on the side, which feels like an incalculable amount of time spent.
    • However, I’ll put a number on it: an hour per day.

            So, that’s another 22 hours used up. That means the total hours spent on necessary items during the week (for me) amounts to 156.5 out of 168 hours. That’s roughly 11.5 hours per week for anything else, or 1.62 hours per day.

Seems like a luxurious amount, doesn’t it?

Well, supposing you’re not a human being who:

  • Needs time to wind down for the evening,
    • Needs exercise and fresh air,
    • Needs to spend time on a hobby for fun,
    • Needs time away from family and friends and work, to be alone for a while,
    • To do something monotonous and un-meaningful for your own psychological wellbeing,

            1.6 hours per day isn’t a lot to work with. I don’t know about you, but strictly scheduling downtime has never been effective. That’s because I never know much I’ll really need. Some weeks are worse than others, either emotionally or physically—which is really the same thing.

            And think about this (since many of you might have come to this conclusion already about my lifestyle):

            I’m single, in my thirties, without children, and without any responsibilities other than the ones I choose take on for myself. My story isn’t the norm. Most people have kids, have appointments, have therapy and doctor visits, car repairs, baseball practices, weekend excursions, family visits, and million other interruptions to a life already jam packed full of stuff.

            Never mind the emotional toll of trying to keep it all together.

            So, when I start to feel guilty about all the extracurricular and soul-enriching things I’m missing out on (like reading a book, watching a new movie, traveling), I wonder how anyone in this world without the means and power to say ‘No’ actually lives this life.

            It’s an uphill battle; how does anyone expect to do it all?

            I guess like this:

            Smile, Sisyphus.

***

New Short Story Coming Soon

            I’m working on a new short story that should be posted sometime this week. Here’s a preview:

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

March 8, 2021 0 comments
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Weekly Post-Ed #2

by Robert Hyma March 1, 2021
written by Robert Hyma

Penguins with Hand Grenades Out Now!

            A silly little story about a colony of penguins used nefariously by a sinister USSR general. What could go wrong? (Well, besides everything).

            Check it out!

***

T-Rex Arm

            I’m officially vaccinated from COVID-19. *Stadium cheers*

            One of the perks of working in education is being considered a first responder. Some teachers received the Pfizer vaccine and had very little symptoms afterwards. I received the Moderna vaccine. My first dose left me with a bruised shoulder so severe and unmovable that I described it to family and friends as “T-Rex Arm”. I could only move my arm from the elbow, making every grasp and reach look like a T-Rex was trying to grab a cup of coffee, fit a claw through the sleeve of a hoodie, or reach for a package of cookies atop the refrigerator, all in great agony. T-Rex roars and snarls came in tow, which was less a symptom of the pain, but was just the preferred cry of bereavement on my part.

            This second dose of Moderna didn’t leave my injected shoulder so bruised. Instead, my immune system kicked in (which is a sign the vaccine is being taken in by the body) and I felt full-on aches and chills. It lasted only a day, but it was a trial. No “T-Rex Arm” this time around, which is a shame; in the month that passed from my first dose of Moderna, I’ve perfected my T-Rex snarl and roar.

***

See You on the Other Side

            A close friend of the family died this past week. I won’t say much else for privacy’s sake. However, the one detail of this person’s death (which came at the relatively young age of 62) that stuck out to me was that she was given three days to live. She had all her mental faculties and must have sensed a clock ticking down, which is a horrifying thought.

            The closest I’ve come to experiencing anything like this was with a recent hernia surgery. After having an IV punctured into the top of my hand, I was wheeled down the sterile hallways of the surgery center to the operating room, which was cold and blasting country music from the tinny-sounding ceiling speakers. Before the nurse pumped anesthetic through my veins, I had a momentary panic, that grim understanding that should something go wrong, the dull, square-tiled ceiling of the O.R. was the last thing I was going to see.

            I remember the blackness of injected sleep claw across my periphery. I didn’t try to fight it, just shifted my eyes back and forth to watch the oncoming darkness. Then, before it completely covered my vision, I was out. I woke up later as though nothing had happened, the surgery completed.

            When I think of the sleep that befell this family friend, I only hope she awoke somewhere much the same, unaware of what took her there, but that she arrived on the other side of what was once considered her life.

***

FFVII Remake Intergrade and More

            What a big week for FFVII! The PS5 remaster is coming out soon, along with a new Yuffie expansion. A series of mobile games were announced, including the entire FFVII compendium of FFVII, Advent Children, Dirge of Cerberus, and Crisis Core. All games are remastered and to be released episodically on mobile.

            I’m a big fan of Final Fantasy VII, as you can see from my previous website logo here:

            Yeah, I’m extremely excited for all of it!

***

Road Trip for Takeout

            I drive 45 minutes for takeout Chinese food. The restaurant isn’t noteworthy (which is literally titled: China Buffet) other than to say the food is the best around. It sounds counterproductive to drive so far for takeout and then to drive another 45 minutes home, but I don’t think that’s the point. The drive, the food, all of it is an escape.

            This week, I was walking with a colleague of mine in the hallway and said, “I feel exhausted, like I can’t shake it. Do you feel that way, too? Or is it just me?”

            She said, “Oh, sure. I think it’s the weather.”

            I stared for a moment and said, “What about the pandemic we’re in?”

            “Oh yeah,” she said. “Could be that, too.”

            For this, and thousands of other anecdotes like it, driving 45 minutes for takeout that hits the spot is the escape all of us are looking for.

            I sincerely hope you’ve found your escape as well.

***

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

March 1, 2021 0 comments
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| Short Stories |

Penguins with Hand Grenades

by Robert Hyma February 28, 2021
written by Robert Hyma

            The place: Siberia.

            The time: could be any. It’s Siberia.

            The horn blew and Pebby waddled in line with the other captured penguins as they headed back to the Berg. That was the name of their bunk, so called because it was essentially straw and mud caked over another iceberg-looking rock, surrounded by barbed wire at the base. The Siberian winds blasted the encampment, which felt like home, but, still, was technically a prison.

            It was the fifth straight day of pecking stones into slightly smaller ones. Clearly, this was a pointless task meant to break the colony of penguins that worked alongside other human prisoners. The humans dug trenches, the penguins pecked stones, and the Russian guards would fart, secret and silent plumes of poisonous invisible gas that tormented said pecking and digging.

            It was hell.

            Upon the Berg, Pebby sighed in his makeshift nest of trampled tin cans and permafrost straw. Below him was another penguin, Perkins, who had chipped a good portion of his beak earlier. Perkins was gyrating back and forth, chirping on and on about diving into the sea below for a swim. There was no sea below the Berg; just the chipped rocks of hopelessness.

            Pebby bowed his head and nuzzled his beak deep into his blubbery fur. He missed his wife, he missed his child, still a yoke in a speckled egg beneath the blubbery protection of his mother back home.

            He wondered if he would ever see the ice flow again.

            Morning came. The prisoner penguins atop the Berg were marched through a gap in the barbed wire by an armed guard. The penguins held their breath as they waddled by. Only one penguin dared to breath in and subsequently coughed on the toxic air of another USSR silent fart. For his insolence, Perkins was prodded in the back by a rifle barrel.

            There was to be no handful of frozen guppies for breakfast that morning. The penguins were marched past the feeding quarters and towards the ominous mortar building at the center of camp, the one with the smoking chimney. Since their arrival, the penguins had yet to see any of the human prisoners ever return once they entered the mortar building.

            In dignified silence, the penguins marched through the dark doorway.

            They were arranged into rows of four in a dimly lit room. A ceiling light flickered above, giving most of the prisoners headaches—penguins are incredibly light sensitive. Then, a man with a slicing scar down his cheek and decorated with a chest-plate full of medals entered the metal door of the dimly lit room. Two armed guards stood at attention by his side. “There is no doubt that many of you have questions as to why you are here,” said the heavily medaled man, his chin held high with superiority. “I will be brief. I am General Popper, and you are now my penguins.”

            The penguins stared.

            General Popper rolled his eyes. “When I say you are my penguins, I expect all of you to salute. Raise a dorsal to your leader, filthy birds!”

            The guards that surrounded the prisoners aimed their rifles. Each penguin instinctively raised a dorsal and honked their allegiance.

            “Better,” said General Popper. “Any more penguin shenanigans and I will replace your guppy mealtimes with American tuna tins!”

            The cries of mercy amongst the prisoners were deafening in the small room; as all penguins knew, American tuna was the worst.

            “Good, now that I have your attention, we will proceed.” The General stepped to a wooden crate upon a small desk at the front of the room. He withdrew an orb-shaped object from inside, handling it gently. “Do any of you recognize this?”

            Each penguin tilted his head, unsure of what the object was. It was vaguely familiar, appearing like an egg, only green and metal.

            “That’s right, it is a hand grenade, a very special hand grenade. One designed for your penguin sensibilities.” The General nodded to a guard who pulled on a string. A map of the world descended with many red Xs tagged over several cities in North America and Europe. “You certainly recognize the significance of these locations,” sneered the General. “Zoos. All of them packed with American tourists, paying extra to see the penguin exhibits. Americans think your species so cute. ‘Look mommy, watch the baby penguin dive into the water and frolic while I spill my ice cream!’ Foolishness!”

            The General slammed the tabletop, which rattled the wooden crate of hand grenades. Each penguin gulped simultaneously.

            “Our top researchers,” continued General Popper, collecting himself, “have discovered the source of American pride, American snobbery, and, worse of all, American ingenuity.”

            The penguins blinked. Not one knew what the general was talking about.

            “It is a scientific fact that American children develop FOUR TIMES the required brain cells for national superiority after visiting penguin exhibits for the first time. It only follows – and my word is supreme! – that the best way to combat American nationalism is to destroy the source of these enumerated brain cells. That’s why each of you is being primed as a donation for every city zoo marked on this very map.”

            A penguin in front of Pebby raised his dorsal and asked a very smart question, “Honk? Honk, honk?”

            The General was not amused. He nodded to the nearest guard. The inquisitive penguin was dragged from the room by his dorsal fins. The metal door slammed, muffling the penguin honks for help on the other side. A dread silence befell the other prisoner penguins.

            “There will be no more foolish questions!” shouted the General. “Any more interruptions and each of you will be clubbed like baby seals!” He smiled knowingly. “Skeptical that we would ever be so cruel?” The General leaned in closer, as though relaying a secret. “Who do you think invented the practice of clubbing baby seals in the first place, hmm?”

            It isn’t the nature of a penguin to shiver. But in that dimly lit room, every penguin shivered for the first time.

            “You will each be armed with a hand grenade,” instructed the General. “It will be painted white, which will resemble your species’ eggs. So perfectly identical will our hand grenades be to penguin eggs that American zoo caretakers will never know the difference. And when the time is right, you will all be sacrificed in a vast explosion of heroic nature! You will destroy American nationalism at its source!”

            The penguins blinked.

            “And,” admitted the General after several anticlimactic moments of silence, “quite a few American children and their families, I suppose.”

            The penguins looked to one another, certain there were two ways out of this: rebellion or death in a zoo, both equally awful. In solidarity, each penguin made a decision and stretched a fin to one another. Pitted against rifles and Russian farts, they would attack the General, explode the eggs, and sacrifice themselves in a blubbery explosion before any American school children could lose out on the opportunity to take field trips to national zoo aquariums.

            There could be no nobler a cause.

            Pebby nodded to Perkins beside him. They stepped forward, ready to be sacrificed.

            Then, there was a knock at the door.

            “I’ve rented this room for an entire hour,” complained the General, signaling a guard to see who was knocking. “Who in the world is interrupting—”

            The nearest guard turned the knob to the door. The door swung back into the guard’s face, rendering him unconscious. A pair of men in white furry overcoats barreled through the threshold with brass badges stitched to their breasts. The General reached for his firearm, stuck in its holster from disuse, and the two men fired two polar bear-strength tranquilizer darts into his neck. The General slid to the ground unconscious.

            The two men in white radioed into their sleeve. “All clear. We got ‘em.”

            Pebby and the prisoners stared at the men in white coats. Slowly, the men holstered their tranquilizer guns and removed their ski masks. “Sorry we took so long,” said one of the men with a mustache, indicating his brass badge on his furry coat. “Story Police. This story has gotten out of hand. Our alarms went off when we got wind of ‘Russian farts’, no pun intended. It took us a while to figure out the setting of the story and where you were being held prisoner. The setting wasn’t very specific, which should have been a clear sign this story wasn’t going well. But we found you; you’re all safe now.”

            The penguins embraced one another with dorsal fins, awkwardly hugging one another. During the celebration, Pebby stepped forward and asked a question with a series of honks and squeaks.

            The mustachioed man laughed at the penguin’s candor. “Yes, that Russian General sounded more like a Nazi to me, too. Don’t worry, we’ll get your colony home. You deserve to be part of a better story than this.”

            The penguins honked in agreement.

            The mustachioed man looked to you, the reader, and nodded assuredly. “We all do.”

            With a hearty laugh, the two men in puffy coats gathered all the penguins into a close huddle – which was second nature to the colony – and raised a device with one large red button to the sky. Then, with a single press, the two men and colony of penguins disappeared from the story entirely.

            When he awoke, General Popper tore out the tranquilizer dart from his neck and surveyed the empty room. He ground his teeth, cursing the Story Police. “They won’t save you next time, penguins. Next time, Neil Gaiman will write the story, and it will work! My plans will be,” the General slammed his fist on the small table of hand grenades, “realized!”

            BLAM!

            A vast explosion. The General, and this story, finally came to an end.

February 28, 2021 0 comments
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