Growing Up Happens

Don't let anyone fool you: you don't magically become an adult at 18.  Anyone who's 19 understands that, anyone who's 24 laughs at that, and anyone who's 17 distinctly hopes it's not true.  But if you're 18 around a bunch of 21 year-olds, you feel the same as you did at 15.  And when you're a 21 year old on just any normal day, it feels an awful lot similar to 20, which in turn always feels like 19, but with added amounts of confusion.

Your friends will be getting married while your other friends talk about how ridiculous it is to get married at this age and while other friends talk about never wanting to get married at all.  In fact, you'll probably never heard a friend of yours say, “I want to get married” when they weren't already engaged.  And then these people who previously never mentioned marriage all of a sudden come back from a vacation saying they proposed and the other said yes and they're either setting a date or just going to wait until graduation but they'll still be engaged.

And these things won't make sense because you don't really want to think about the fact that you're an adult, because you never felt like an adult and nobody ever walked up to you on your 18th birthday and handed you your Adult League Membership Card. Maybe you expected it would come with confirmation of your Selective Service registry.  Be glad it didn't.

But if and when it does happen that you find yourself to be considered an adult in the eyes of the law, the change is subtle.  Of course you'll start getting credit card offers and bills and things that are responsibilities and all.  But those won't feel like tickets into adulthood.  Those will feel like things they threw at you when you weren't looking and they expect you to deal with them even though you're still pretty sure you've only been alive a little more than a decade.

No, the clues to adulthood are different.  Like meeting friends to hang out and ending up talking rather than seeing a movie or playing video games.  Not that you'll stop seeing movies or playing video games – adult life without movies or games is no life at all.  But you'll realize that the people you know are suddenly so much more interesting than they used to be.  They'll have things to say.  They'll listen to things you'll have to say.  You'll stop just talking at people and start conversing with people.

And you'll love it, hopefully.  You'll find that people are, as a whole, so much more interesting and so much less of a waste than you thought they were when you were a kid.  You'll stop saying that everyone sucks and start noticing that there are some people that genuinely interest you.  And you'll find out that you can surround yourself with these people.  Yes, you can be around people you want to be around.  And anyone over 30 will tell you this isn't news and that that's not really a revelation, but you'll know that it's groundbreaking, and it was probably groundbreaking for them when they first figured it out.

That's not to say you'll like everybody.  There will always be jerks.  That's not to say everybody will be interesting.  There will always be genuine bores.  But you'll find that most people generally are less awful than you assumed they were as a teenager.  And those people will realize it too.  And this won't be accompanied by bells on the hill or a five piece jazz combo playing Come Fly With Me, but it will be no less important.  You'll figure it out in the middle of a five-hour-long conversation that should have ended two hours ago because you are all so unbelievably tired but you won't stop talking because this whole discussion thing is just way too much fun to stop.

Maybe.  I hope.  Because if I just spent the past 600 words completely generalizing a reaction that you'll never have, I'll look like an idiot.  But I honestly do hope this is what happens, because the moment that you realize that being an adult is actually really cool is a spectacular moment.  And someone like you deserves that feeling.

A Valuable Lesson - based on a true false story

“When I was a little boy,” my gravel-throated, slasher-grinning English teacher began one class – another seemingly endless fifty-two minutes regarding a lesser-known work by Cormac McCarthy – in his trademark tone somewhere between Jack Torrance and The Joker, “I used to have seizures.”

An uneasy silence fell upon the room like an upturned pot of chili: in tremendous, unsettling drips.

“I had seizures all the time,” he continued menacingly, none of us having the faintest clue where he was going with this.  “The kids were really mean to me.  They used to call me seizure boy.”

It's not that this had never happened before, because it had.  He would tell stories like this all the time.  About Stewie, his frog, who wouldn't come out from under the rock in his tank to look at him anymore, and how that made him unreasonably sad.  About the years back when the school would burned its garbage and how he would put starter blanks in trash bins so that when the janitor ran the incinerator, they would go off and he would think someone was shooting at him.  About his wife or his colleagues or his cross country team, really about anything.  Whether or not we liked it, we were very familiar with the man's tangents.  The problem was that we just never knew what they would be, how insane they would get, or if they even had a point relevant to class.

“And the doctor told my parents that unless the seizures would stop, I would die.”

I suppressed a shudder as the story went on in that voice that would make the Black Tongue of Mordor sound like a concert aria in comparison.

“This of course was bad news, but the doctor said he had a solution,” he said, getting to what we assumed, or at least hoped, would be the crux of the story.  “He said that there was a pill I could take.  And it would stop my seizures and save my life.  But there was a problem.”

Ah, now this must be the point.  A story about a choice where neither option presents a victory.  This would be a perfect way to discuss the unfortunate choices that John Grady, our book's code hero, would have to make.  A few of us straightened up, sensing the importance of what was to come.

“If I took the pill,” he said, looking us dead in the eyes, “it could have the side effect of rotting the bones in my jaw off.”

Macabre? Of course it was.  But anyone would come to expect that sort of thing from a teacher who decorated his desk with a replica of the possessed doll from Child's Play.  We knew that wasn't the point of the story.

“So I could either lose my jaw, or I could die.  Obviously, I didn't want to die.  But I was a teenager.  I wanted to suck face.”

By this point, another teacher appeared in the door, listening, not speaking, and carrying a sizable roll of CAUTION-printed Police line.

“So I didn't take the pill.”

We waited.

“And I died.”

There wasn't a sound in the room.  None of us knew what to think, much less what to say.  We wondered if we should have seen that ending coming.

“Hey Dom,” he said, looking up as the other teacher laughed and started adhering the caution tape to the door frame for unknown reasons.  “You'll never guess what I got these kids to believe.”

A small review of Bastion

Recently I came upon a rather impressive surprise in the form of a video game named Bastion.  It's a game I probably would never have discovered on my own: I became aware of it with the release of the most recent Humble Indie Bundle, a special offer name-your-own-price bundle of independently developed video games that is offered every now and then and is absolutely worth keeping an eye on.  I myself knew nothing about Bastion, but I had heard from a handful of blogs that it had a killer soundtrack and deserved paying attention to.  So when I bought the Humble Bundle, I decided to start with that game.

It of course had a lot of what I expected from the hype.  It had fantastic music, striking art, and a great deal of fun gameplay.  But in spite of it all, not everything I had come to expect would prove good.  I had assumed that it would be one of those games that was just too cool for its own good, too wrapped up in being impressive to actually deliver on anything substantial.

It's an easy assumption to make, because if one thing drives this game, it clearly is the concept of cool.  A soundtrack made from a damn good blend of blues, folk, electronic, post rock, country, sitar and atmospheric accompaniment.  A sole narrator describing your every movement with a voice like a blend of Keith David, Morgan Freeman and Barry White all sitting around a campfire, passing around a fifth of bourbon and trading tales of the Wild West.  A setting filled with an unexplained blend of fantasy, science fiction and steampunk elements.  Weapons like an automatic crossbow made out of a small reptile skeleton, a machete that can be thrown and split into three blades, and a bellows that spits flames.  A setting consisting of ground that flies up to meet your feet rather than staying in place.  It's easy to think that with this sort of disregard for logic in the face of greater awesomeness that things like story and character would take a back seat for smashing up “Gasfellas” and “Anklegators” with a hammer the size of the protagonist.  Which is why it came as a great surprise to me when the ending had me almost in tears.

The whole game has a shocking subtlety to it, and it develops the characters actually fairly well that they become worth saving, the efforts you put into building the eponymous Bastion seem hugely important, and your actions all feel like they have consequences.  For example, throughout most of the game, you're beating up outlandish creatures and plants that have it in for you and disappear as soon as they're defeated, like enemies do in most games.  But then, as you start to realize that the creatures have similar goals to you, the game hits you with a curve ball.  Without spoiling too much, the game eventually puts you against other humans.  And unlike the Windbags and Peckers and Pincushions that you battle most of the game, the humans don't disappear when they're killed.  It's subtle.  It's never mentioned.  It's possible to miss it completely.  But when you deliver a final blow on someone who's attacking you, and instead of flashing red and vanishing, they just fall to the ground dead, the gravity of what you've done hits you like a meteor hammer.   But you don't get to stay and contemplate it right away, because the next attacker is coming for you.

This game could have so easily been an excuse to destroy exotic enemies and customize ridiculous weapons like in Borderlands or the early stages of some Final Fantasy games.  But somehow, Bastion makes an enormous impression.  A phenomenal soundtrack, incredible voice acting, a unique visual style, and challenging and enjoyable gameplay all make this a game worth playing.  But its careful use of storytelling and consequence of action make this a game worth talking about.  And that, more than anything else, is what we need right now.

Nocturne

I miss the nights. I miss the nights as they used to be. Night was my time. There was nothing quite like it. Ever go outside at night? No, no no no, I don't mean like this. I know we're outside, but this? This? This isn't night. As long as there's still cars driving and crowds out, this isn't night. There's no real night in the city.

Though I guess it has its own beauty too. The signals flashing. The soft rush of the occasional car. I suppose that under the city lights, in this pale yellow light, everything seems... crisp. Dramatic. Highly defined. When there's not a soul around. When you can look down the street and not see a single car anywhere, that's nice, I guess. It has its moments. But it's so empty. You look at the sky and see nothing. Absolutely nothing. Here in the city, you can't see a goddamn thing. The sky is just this dull, hazy gray.

It wasn't like this when I was a kid. Away from the city? Out in the hills where I lived? Oh man, going outside at night, that was something special. You could leave the house, wander wherever you wanted, and just lie down and look at the sky. And it was nothing like it is here. There's nothing like it anywhere. Stars. Millions of stars. Bright ones, small ones, stars, planets, galaxies, stretching on forever in every conceivable direction. It was so incredible.

And the moon. Oh my God, the moon. That was the best part, because no matter what, it was always gorgeous. On nights when there wasn't a cloud in the sky, it was so bright, so clear, so... striking. You couldn't look away from the thing. When it was full, you could see every detail on its surface. Just this bright, solid circle, so intricate in its design and yet so simple. When I was a kid, I would spend ages staring at it, memorizing its features. I stared at it like some kids stared at their girlfriends' pictures in the yearbooks. Even on cloudy nights, when its light would outline the clouds, it was the greatest thing.

It didn't matter if it was summer or winter, the nights were my favorite part. And a couple nights even, I was so lucky, I saw those lights in the sky. The... whattaya call 'em, the Aurora... the Aurora something. Those nights, I was so enthralled, I was speechless for days. I stared at them entranced, just stare at the shifting colors in the air. Borealis. Aurora Borealis, that was it. Man, I bet you've never seen those in your life. I mean there are no words to describe what I would feel when I saw those. You know how some people say looking at the night sky makes them feel small, insignificant? Not me. It always made me feel amazing. Like... like I was swelling up inside. You wouldn't believe how amazing it was, but my God... it was such an experience. 

You know, someday I'd like to get out of this city, away from the lights that never stop and the people who never leave. Get out by myself again, me on my own with the solitude of the night sky, be underneath that transparent canopy... I would love that. Maybe that's what I really need. I haven't felt right in years. I think it's about time I did.

From the larger work Life, Love and the Fourth Wall by David M. Briggs, 2011.  Based on an earlier draft published in The Catalyst Online Vol. 2 (The Catalyst Literary Magazine Vol. 32 Issue 2)

Brazen Silver Memories

Did I ever tell you I used to play the trumpet?

I did, it's true.

Now you might not think the trumpet is

a very cool instrument,

but I assure you, back in the day,

I was quite good.

I played for years, you know.

I played all sorts of music

for all sorts of people.

I screamed on high B's

when the music would burn.

I tore through the scales

and I shouted for more.

I pondered the blues

when my heart was in tune.

I brooded and crafted

and sang through the brass

like a lovelorn vagrant.

I wrote in the air

with invisible ink

that could be seen for miles

if you cared to listen for it.

I played galas and galleries,

dances and dinners,

basements and theaters,

ballparks and bars.

Life was my music

and music was life

and one could not exist on its own.

To me,

those times are the fondest of memories,

though I frequently wish they were not.

For who can give up their life and soul

and not feel a little wistful at its passing?

Written by David Briggs, 2011.  First published in The Catalyst Online Vol. 5 (The Catalyst Literary Magazine Vol. 35 Issue 1)

Eleven O'Clock Penalty Flags

It is eleven o'clock

And I sit in my room

In front of a computer

And wait for a video to load

It is eleven o'clock

And in the football field

Across from my room

(and five stories down)

Groups of people

Throw penalty flags

At no one at all

Three large groups of people

At eleven o'clock

Decided this evening

That they should go down

To the football field

Across from my room

Turn on the lights

And throw penalty flags

There are no footballs

There are no frisbees

No soccer

No lacrosse

No baseball bat swinging

Just three groups of people

At eleven o'clock

Throwing an oddly large number

Of penalty flags

Sometimes to each other

Sometimes in the air

Sometimes they even run as they throw them

But none of this changes

That all they are doing

Is throwing penalty flags

At eleven o'clock

Without any players

To make penalties

And I sit in my room

And look at the field

That is five stories down

And I laugh at them

While my video loads

And I call them weird.

I think maybe my priorities are out of order.

Written by David Briggs, 2012.  Edited from an earlier draft published in The Catalyst Online Vol. 5 (The Catalyst Literary Magazine Vol. 35 Issue 1)

The Freeze Ray that Stopped the World: Dr. Horrible as an Example of Powerful Film

An unsuccessful supervillain, frustrated by his egotistical nemesis constantly thwarting his schemes (which rarely work as planned anyway), runs a video weblog where he talks about his plans and pines over the girl he always sees at the Laundromat but cannot work up the courage to engage in conversation. This unconventional tale is the backbone of Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog, the wildly successful internet musical created by famed writer/director Joss Whedon. And while it may sound like sheer ridiculous comedy, Dr. Horrible is a shining example of writing in a popular culture that still produces great things.

The beginning to Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog can basically be summed up as it is in the introduction. The mad scientist Dr. Horrible, played by Neil Patrick Harris, is a “supervillain” who aspires to enter the Evil League of Evil, the penultimate evil organization, led by a villain known as Bad Horse, the Thoroughbred of Sin, and to take over the world. His reasoning for this, of course, is that, as he says, “The world is a mess and I just need to rule it.” He talks about his life and plans on his internet video journal, from which the musical gets its name. On this blog, he discusses the problems he has with his nemesis, Captain Hammer (played by Nathan Fillion), and a girl named Penny (Felicia Day) to whom he can’t seem to bring himself to talk.

One of his plans involves building a freeze ray, which, as Dr. Horrible is certain to make clear, is “not a death ray or an ice beam” but instead stops time. To build this contraption, he first needs to steal a shipment of “Wonderflonium” that is being moved in a courier van. Thinking that this heist will for sure get him into the Evil League of Evil, he goes undercover in his secret identity (just a normal, timid guy named Billy) and uses a remote controller to carjack the van. When his plan seems to work and he is about to steal the Wonderflonium, suddenly, from out of nowhere, Captain Hammer jumps on top of the van and crushes the device controlling it. This causes the van to swerve out of control and head straight toward Penny, who had only just introduced herself to Billy. Captain Hammer jumps in to push Penny out of the way, just as Dr. Horrible manages to stop the van remotely. This has the unfortunate side effect of Penny falling in love with Captain Hammer, who completely ignores Dr. Horrible as he runs off with the Wonderflonium. This then kicks off the rest of the musical. In the two acts that follow, Billy tries to win over Penny and vows to defeat Captain Hammer as Dr. Horrible.

Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog began during the 2007-2008 Writers Guild of America Strike. Director Joss Whedon, his brothers Zack and Jed, and Jed’s fiancée Maurissa Tancharoen, all screenwriters, had their studio projects shut down because of the strike. So they decided, as Tancharoen relates, to “get together and write something, whether . . . for $100 or whatever it [would turn] into” (quoted in Los Angeles Times). They worked independent of any studios, had a budget in the low hundred thousands, and created a 42-minute short film and released it online for absolutely no profit.

Would a silly, small production released on the internet actually become popular? The answer is a resounding yes. According to the Los Angeles Times blogs, in less than a week of the show’s three-part release, “so many people were clamoring to watch the show that its web site crashed completely, sending the makers scrambling to find more bandwidth” (Los Angeles Times). The demand for this short film was so intense that the people who made it were completely unprepared to handle the web traffic that it drew. Part of the reason for its popularity is, of course, the renown of Joss Whedon, who also created the cult classic television shows Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Firefly. However, Whedon himself attributes the success to another factor, saying, “[There] is a modern societal truth about the kind of guy who needs to tell the world his troubles and show off his talents” (quoted in Los Angeles Times). This is also true. Dr. Horrible, supervillain though he may be, is an extremely relatable character. Who hasn’t wanted to talk to that special someone but just couldn’t, felt like they deserved something they couldn’t get, or aspired for greatness in their field and wanted to share these things with the world?

However, Dr. Horrible is not just popular for the sake of being popular, but actually has a fairly powerful impact. The film starts rather comically, with Dr. Horrible displaying the work he has done on perfecting his maniacal laugh, saying, “A lot of guys ignore the laugh, and that’s about standards.” It remains comical throughout, with slapstick, sight gags, and clever writing. However, at the end of the very last act, things take a very drastic turn. Dr. Horrible manages to trap Captain Hammer in his freeze ray at one of Hammer’s public appearances. Most of the people flee the room, but Penny, who was sitting by Captain Hammer at the time, hides behind some chairs in the room. Dr. Horrible aims his newly constructed death ray at Captain Hammer, but torn between his evil goals and his reluctance to kill, he hesitates, which gives just enough time for the Freeze Ray to lose power and Captain Hammer to punch him in the face. Dr. Horrible is sent careening through the room, and his death ray lands hard on the ground, causing it to malfunction. Captain Hammer picks it up and aims it at Dr. Horrible, who warns him against pulling the trigger. Ignoring the warning, Captain Hammer tries to fire it anyway, and it violently explodes, throwing Captain Hammer through the air and sending shrapnel flying in every direction. This causes Hammer to experience pain for the first time, and he runs screaming from the room. Dr. Horrible gets up from the floor, and looks around, thinking he won, until he sees a sight that makes all color drain from his face: Penny, who was still in the room, had been hit in the torso by some of the shrapnel and was now lying on the floor, dying. Dr. Horrible rushes to her side, where she recognizes him as Billy. In her delusional dying state, she feebly tries to reassure Billy that everything will be all right, her final words being, “Captain Hammer will save us.” These words completely shock Dr. Horrible to the core, and, emotionless, he sings a victory song to the tune of a funeral dirge. When he is given blame for her death and Captain Hammer’s defeat, suddenly everyone respects him and is afraid of him. He finally joins the Evil League of Evil, but at the cost of everything he truly ever wanted.
This tragic twist is what gives the film its power. Jonathan Bignell, in the book Media Semiotics, writes about the concept of film genre and its power to create expectations. Everything in a film – such as the stars, the setting, and the narrative structure – causes the audience to expect it to fit into a certain genre. However, according to Bignell, “it is . . . possible to position the film by raising generic expectations that will not be met, so that the film reacts against generic expectations by raising them in the first place” (Bignell 199). In the case of Dr. Horrible, we are shown for almost the entire film that it is a comedy. The writing, the bouncy musical styles used throughout, the casting (such as comedy star Neil Patrick Harris and notorious ham Nathan Fillion) – all of these create an atmosphere of humor and lightheartedness. We laugh at the ridiculousness of musical numbers popping up, sometimes from completely out of nowhere, we feel empathy for Billy’s hesitation to talk to Penny, and we laugh at the silly things Captain Hammer says. The audience expects this comedy to end the way all comedies do, with a happy ending. However, the moment we see Dr. Horrible’s expression change from cautious optimism from defeating Captain Hammer to absolute horror at seeing Penny lying wounded, we know that this film will not end happily at all. This is not so much a mood shift as it is a mood whiplash. This tragic ending to such a previously funny musical evokes quite an emotional response, one that keeps the viewers coming back for more.

This, then, is the reason why Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog is such a success. But successful or not, it still is an important work. Some might write it off as silly nonsense. After all, one might reason, it’s a fourty-two-minute-long musical about superheroes that was released on the internet. Surely nothing could be serious about that. Certainly Mark Edmundson would not call it great writing. In his book Why Read?, Edmundson condemns America’s consumer culture and the current generation as “the progeny of two hundred available cable channels and omnipresent Blockbuster outlets. They grew up with their noses pressed against the window of that second spectral world that spins parallel to our own, the World Wide Web” (Edmundson 10). Edmundson goes on to say that in the internet, the current generation “met life at the second or third hand, peering eagerly, taking in the passing show, but staying remote, apparently untouched by it”(Edmundson 10). Edmundson views the internet and the expansion of media as the thing which causes complete and utter disconnect in today’s youth. It would seem to Edmundson that no good can come from the internet, and there is nothing in pop culture that can be held up as an example of important writing.

However, this is absolutely not the case. First off, the argument that nothing in pop culture is worth noticing is completely false. This is even the main point of Steven Johnson’s book Everything Bad is Good for You. In the introduction to this book, Johnson discusses many writers and essayists who have claimed just what Edmundson is claiming: that popular culture is thoughtless, morally bankrupt, and damaging to children and adults alike. However, Johnson argues, “[lost] in that account is the most interesting trend of all: that the popular culture has grown increasingly complex over the past few decades, exercising our minds in powerful new ways” (Johnson 13). Johnson views popular culture as changing in ways it never has before. With television shows with long, sprawling, complex narratives, such as The Sopranos or Lost, popular culture has found a medium of storytelling that allows for far more depth than an episodic sitcom or even a three-hour feature film. A film franchise such as Lord of the Rings told a complex story in a total of about nine hours for the theatrical versions. A television show such as Lost, which ran for six seasons with a total of 121 episodes, can tell a much deeper, fascinating, and intriguing story in the well over 80 hours of screen time it was allowed. But even outside of long sprawling narratives, the importance of popular culture also lies in the worldview it presents. While some may argue that today’s media exposes kids to violence and sex and dishonesty, Johnson would reply that this isn’t necessarily a bad thing. While it’s not the main point of his book, Johnson does go out of his way to point out that he is sympathetic to the argument that “[the] real world doesn’t come in nicely packaged public service announcements, and we’re better off with entertainment that reflects that fallen state with ethical ambiguity” (Johnson 14). And while certainly no one would call a musical about superheroes and supervillains “realistic” on the surface, it does present an interesting moral conundrum. Dr. Horrible seeks to be an evil mastermind, but his heart is not entirely in it. When Dr. Horrible makes the decision to kill Captain Hammer, it is these actions that lead to everything he truly wants being taken away from him. Does he triumph over Captain Hammer? Yes. Does he then fulfill his dream of being a renowned supervillain and joining the Evil League of Evil? Well, yes. But at what cost? Though he did not pull the trigger that caused the explosion that killed Penny, he is very much responsible for the death of the woman he loves. It is this moral quandary that makes the end of Dr. Horrible so poignant.

While the medium may be the Internet, while the budget may be small, and while the finished product may be a pure example of pop culture, Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog, despite its silly name, is a very important work in the millennial age. It may start out light and happy, but with its tragic twist and dark morals, it is a challenging film that at the same time remains one of the most enjoyable movies to watch again and again.

written 2010 by Dave Briggs, (c) 2011 all rights reserved

works cited:

Bignell, Jonathan. "Cinema." Media Semiotics: an Introduction. 2nd ed. Manchester: Manchester UP, 2002. 155-78. Print.

Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog. Dir. Joss Whedon. Perf. Neil Patrick Harris, Nathan Fillion, Felicia Day, and Simon Helberg. Mutant Enemy, Inc., 2008. DVD.

Edmundson, Mark. Why Read?. New York: Bloomsbury, 2004. 10. Print.

Johnson, Steven. "The Sleeper Curve." Everything Bad Is Good for You: How Today's Popular Culture Is Actually Making Us Smarter. New York: Riverhead, 2005. 1-14. Print.

"Joss Whedon's 'Dr. Horrible' Is a Site-crashing Success." Los Angeles Times. Los Angeles Times, 15 July 2008. Web. 14 May 2010.