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Weekly Post-Ed #19

by Robert Hyma
written by Robert Hyma

HERE’S TO YOU, STEPHEN SONDHEIM

            Like a Greek hero, a ceremony ought to take place upon the death of one of the greats. Upon hearing Stephen Sondheim died this past week, I scrolled through Twitter to read the glowing tributes and memories about the man. Lin-Manuel Miranda, the creator of Hamilton, shared an email chain between the two, thanking him for his wisdom and guidance while piecing together that recent Broadway masterpiece. Former actors in his plays, the great playwrights, everyone from around the world that was touched by his music and lyrics shared something about the influences of his work.

            “He was the reason I started writing music.”

            “I saw West Side Story when I was eight and it changed my life.”

            I’d consider myself changed by Stephen Sondheim’s work. The greatest of his works (for me personally) was Into the Woods. It’s a play of interweaving fairy tales set in the midst of a thick wood where the lives of the multiple protagonists are changed for better or worse. It’s a play about the consequences of our lives, that happily-ever-after doesn’t follow when the first act of our lives is finished. There’s always more and we must face who we’ve become whilst in the woods. It’s a beautiful story and I wanted to give tribute to what’s it meant for me.

            Except, I’m a far-away observer. I’ll raise my glass, but who am I in the context of sharing Stephen Sondheim’s joyous works?

            I’ll tell you what I did. I did as most mere mortals do: I watched my favorite of his works—the Disney version of Into the Woods in honor of his memory.

            Not that this watch was different than the previous four times I’ve seen the film, but I made sure to really hear the lyrics this time, appreciating the magical wordplay Stephen Sondheim wrote. “The Prologue” might be the greatest musical introduction in the history of musical theater, weaving the stories and origins of all the protagonists, all the while setting the stage for what changes their lives forever. I was moved by all of it, even Milky White, the cow that was Jack’s best friend to be sold to market.

            And I made it 38 Minutes into the movie, just in time to hear the beginning of “Giants in the Sky,” sung by Daniel Huddlestone.

            “There are giants in the…”

            PAUSE.

            “Chocolate milk,” I thought. “I should make myself some chocolate milk.”

            So, I hopped off my bed and headed towards the kitchen to mix some Nesquik into a tall glass of milk, the perfect compliment to watching the show. With the Nesquik made, I sat back down on my bed, ready to press PLAY on my keyboard, and then I stopped: did I really just pause this masterpiece of musical theater so I could make a glass of Nesquik? 

            This bothered me greatly. I mean, I hadn’t even planned on making the chocolate milk before the movie started; it was a spontaneous idea, something that sounded good on a whim. This was supposed to be my small way of honoring a great lyricist and composer who’s death was tragic for the entire creative world. And during the movie, something I set aside special to watch in his honor, I paused in the middle of a song to make a glass of chocolate milk?

            Why would I do that? If I were at the theater watching Into the Woods, I would never get up in the middle of the first act and head to the concession stand and say, “Weird request, but do you happen to serve chocolate milk here?”

            No, I would never dream of interrupting the show. So, why did I get up?

            With this guilt weighing me down, I placed the tall glass of chocolate milk on a coaster beside me, and pressed:

            PLAY.

            “..sky! / There are big, tall, terrible giants in the…”

            Chocolate milk. I really want that chocolate milk…

            “…sky! / When you’re way up high / and you look below / at the world you’ve left / and the things you know / little more than a glance / is enough to show / you just how small you are!”

            I mean, it doesn’t hurt to sip it, right?

            “When you’re way up high / And you’re on your own / In a world like none / That you’ve ever known / Where the sky is lead / And the earth is stone / You’re free to do / Whatever pleases you / Exploring things you’d never dare / ‘Cause you don’t care / When suddenly theres…”

            Chocolate Milk. Look, it’s starting to cake over on top. Just drink it.

            “A big, tall, terrible giant at the door / (A giant?) / A big, tall, terrible, lady giant sweepin’ the floor / And she gives you food…”

            Like chocolate milk. Just drink it.

            “…And she gives you rest / And draws you close / To her giant breast…”

            Which is like an utter, where milk comes from. As in chocolate milk.

            “…And you know things now / That you never knew before / Not ‘til the sky.”

            Goddam it.

            PAUSE.

            I drank the chocolate milk, in nearly one gulp. The shame coursed through me just as easily as the cold liquid poured down my throat. I felt terrible; I couldn’t even properly watch a movie that I cherished, that was penned by a man who recently departed this world. I looked to my empty glass, the last grains of Nesquik waterfalling down the side to a muddy soup at the bottom, and I meekly raised it up. “To Stephen,” I said aloud.

            Even if I couldn’t properly honor his contribution, I decided, at least I can claim that I tried.

            And I think that’s what the entire world tried to do over this past week. If it wasn’t a menial Twitter post, then it was a tall, cold glass of Nesquik during Into the Woods—the Disney version.

            So, raise a glass (a new one, not the one I just gulped chocolate milk from). 

            Here’s to you Stephen, a giant now in the sky.

            PLAY.

***

A MUCH BETTER DEDICATION TO STEPHEN SONDHEIM

            In a much more sincere and heartwarming tribute to Stephen Sondheim, stars and previous cast members of his many shows and the greater Broadway community appeared in Duffy Square in New York City to sing “Sunday” from the play Sundays in the Park with George. Lin Manuel-Miranda read a passage from Sondheim’s book, Look, I Made a Hat, and it was a wonderful prelude to the mission of the man and what he accomplished in his life.

            The video comes curtesy of Playbill, so check out the link below to watch:

***

SURPRISE! A NEW SHORT STORY IS HERE!

            Below is a link to the shortest short story I’ve ever written. I enjoyed writing it, both because of its length and also that so much can be inferred from so few details. My favorite art is that which gives the illusion of greater detail without providing it, like a few paint strokes that somehow, from a distance, look like the varying layers of rock or a mountainside. I won’t compare this short story to something as masterful as those artworks, but I’m curious to see what can be made with even fewer details. 

            Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

***

❤️ by Coldplay

“Thank You” by Bombadil

“Somethinggreater” by Parcels

***

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

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Weekly Post-Ed #10

by Robert Hyma
written by Robert Hyma

It Takes a Village

            I spent this past weekend watching and absorbing the world of Resident Evil Village. While I’m no horror aficionado, I delved into this game expecting jump scares and gruesome murder at every turn—which is the nature of a Resident Evil game. However, over the course of watching a favorite streamer play through the game (Maximillian_dood on Twitch.tv), I realized that the tens of thousands of us watching along weren’t watching Max and the game for voyeuristic reasons. Instead, we were enchanted by the world, by the monstrous villains, and by the communal experience of this game.

            By the end of it, I was left feeling rather cathartic, something I never anticipated.

            My sister loves the show Sons of Anarchy. My family doesn’t watch horror or realistic drama, so whenever she would recap an episode in grisly detail, each of us looked at my sister as though to say, “Why would we ever watch something like that?” 

            “No, you don’t get it,” she would say. “When they cut off his balls…you just have to see it.”

            I didn’t understand it at the time, but she was talking about the communal feel of experiencing the show. She was talking about the equivalent of the “You had to be there,” joke.

Stop me if you’ve ever heard a story sort of like this:

            “So, Tommy gets up on a stage and he grabs the mic and says, ‘Laura, why do you laugh at his jokes and not mine?’ Then he starts making fun of the comic because he wasn’t funny at all. Everyone was laughing, Tommy was drunk, and the doorman had to drag him off stage. And Tommy was WAY funnier than that comic was. It was sooooo funny. You had to be there.”

            Apparently so, because Tommy sounds awful.

            But I know now, if I had been there, Tommy might still be awful, but I’d get it.

            That’s the difference.

            Is Resident Evil Village violent and gory? Unbelievably so. Scary and anxiety inducing? Most assuredly. But what I realized when watching the full game was that the horror, the violence, the decapitation, the ominous tension and anxiety, all of it brings the audience together. This is the beauty of horror. We were all sharing in something, and it didn’t traumatize, it didn’t kill us. Instead, we found ourselves enraptured in ceremony; we were there on the front lines and connecting in a way that felt different from most everything else.

            Horror has the power to do that.

            Something I did not understand until this game.

            Man, video games are something special.

***

Musical Renaissance

            I’m going to tack on a new thing with these Weekly Post-Eds. Music has always been a big deal for me, and since a few summers ago when a friend turned me onto Spotify’s music catering capabilities, I’ve found over 600 new tracks that I now love. Before Spotify, I was a 5-Band guy (Bloc Party, The New Pornographers, Shout Out Louds, The Decemberists, and The Hives), all in regular rotation. Music on the radio was polarizing (mostly because I hate listening to ads), and I just stopped exploring at a certain point.

            Now that I’m finding new music weekly, I’d like to share some notable finds. It’s a small thing, but maybe someone will like these tracks, too. Here’s what I found this past week:

***

New Short Story Coming Soon

            It’s been a while, but a new Short Story will be posted in the next week. I won’t say too much about it, but if you like a more psychological story, this one might be for you.

            Here’s the story art in the meantime:

***

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

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Weekly Post-Ed #5

by Robert Hyma
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.

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Weekly Post-Ed #3

by Robert Hyma
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,

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Weekly Post-Ed #2

by Robert Hyma
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,

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