Play the game

Firstly, I'm sorry.

Secondly, I lost the game. This thrice accursed bane upon humanity as we know it.

The only rules to the game:

Once you hear about the game, you're playing the game.
Once you think about the game, you lose the game.

Once you lose the game, you announce loudly that you've lost the game.

How do you escape it? Well, there are some people *coughcough my sister coughcough* who merely refuse to play and refuse to partake in anything to do with the game. I am not one of those lucky people. I feel as though I would be lying to both myself and to society as a whole by not playing. It all started harmlessly enough when one of my sister's friends said "I lost the game" and everyone around groaned and repeated the sentiment. Unknowingly, I asked, "what game?"

I have been cursed ever since. There are certain triggers which cause me to lose the game with no warning. Some triggers make sense, like hearing people talking about games repeatedly. Other triggers make no sense. For instance, every time I see the window of the door to the music loge in my old school, I lose the game. I suppose I could trace the origins of this loss back to its roots. There was a while, when she was a senior and I a lowly sophomore, that a particularly evil friend of my sister's sought me out and tried to force me into losing the game. After about a week, every time we saw one another, we would race to see who could get the words out fast enough. One fateful day, I was walking down the first floor hallway. She stood behind the door, gesturing and mouthing something. I came closer, curious. When I came close enough to see, I could tell by the smirk in her eyes that I shouldn't have been looking. Indeed, she mouthed "I lost the game." I have been haunted by her memory ever since.

For some reason completely unbeknownst to me, seeing people drink vanilla coke also makes me lose the game. I still play, but with a lightened heart, due to the website that finally freed me. I can only hope that you'll accept my apologies for making you lose the game by clicking here and freeing yourself as well. Please, let the world know. YOU ARE FREE!

Cheers,

-T.A.D.

I am not an addict

I swear. Obsessed? Perhaps. Addicted? Nah.

My obsession/addiction? Pixel Knight 2. What is it about these odd games that entrances me. Forcing my tiny character to kill again and again. It's a dog-eat-dog world out there. Flying eyeballs, zombies that throw fireballs at you. All in the name of evil. And it's my job to protect the world from these evils. I don't care what weapon I have, boomerang or sword, axe or orb.

I wouldn't say that I'm generally a video game addict. I'm a fan of some, but I don't claim any knowledge of what's hot in the gaming world. I enjoy games, but I don't seek them out or spend tons of money on them. I leech off of my sister's love and play Fable, or games on the PS2 that she asked for many birthdays ago. More often I find myself turning to Mindjolt games on Facebook or the versions of solitaire that are built into PCs. The only downside of the wonderful MacBook Pro I use now is the lack of said games.

Ah, of course there is my love for the traditional Pokemon games. But I don't consider those games in the same way that most other games are. There's something very different about being a trainer than there is about being the man doing the action. If it were available for Mac, I would probably buy the game Oblivion, since I've played it on some friends computers.

There are a small number of games that I truly enjoy and find myself struggling on the edge of obsession with, and I guess that's best. After all, being too easily obsessed would only lead to another addiction, which would lead to even more time spent in virtual realities and less in my own.

Speaking of my own reality, I have a dog to feed and walk.

Cheers,

-T.A.D.

I believe in love

I believe that love defies all boundaries. I believe in love that overcomes all differences. Love is beautiful in all shapes, sizes, sexes, races, religions, and forms. I am a romantic, though you might not think it when you first meet me. A classic romantic.

Ferry rides into the sunset. Holding hands and gazing at the stars. All the sappy stuff that never happens in real life, that's what I want. A single red rose.

I'm a bit of a sucker for love, and I've never really found a reason for it. I wouldn't say that any of my parents are classic romantics. My romanticism surprises me. I suppose you could say that while my outside surface is pessimistic, under the initial crunch there lies a big sappy gooey center of hearts and roses and sunsets. I believe in poetry and words and music. I think a classic tux is best, and a classic dress. Sometimes I wonder if my romantic side even belongs in this day and age. I think of clandestine messages passed by hand and think of how superior those methods were to our ability to text or email.

Romantics are a dying breed. We are being slowly weeded out by pop culture. I think about my ideal date and all I can ponder is how old fashioned I must seem, especially seeing as I was never a part of that old fashion.

All I can hope for then, is someone either as romantic as I am, in which case we would become a cesspool of gooey emotion, or someone willing to put up with my romantic tendencies.

I just don't know if they'll be lucky or annoyed.

Cheers,

-T.A.D.

Objects of my affections

I don't classify myself as a materialistic person, but objects hold a lot of significance for me. That's the graceful way to put it at least. The less graceful way to put it is that I'm a packrat. I like to keep things for a long time, and I don't like letting go of them. A prime example is my stuffed animal collection. Between my two houses, I easily have 200 stuffed animals, collected from when I was a baby to now. I'm not a huge collector anymore. Actually I never really was a collector, I was a keeper. I took care of them, named them all, and played with all of them. I sobbed when, in fifth grade, I had lice and so the ones I played with most went into the wash. They didn't come out the same. Their fur got all matted. It was only recently that I was finally able to box some of them. Before that they inhabited my top bunk, several shelves, and, for the ones I was less attached to, a laundry basket at the top of my closet.

I'm not this way with just animals either. I have 4 or 5 shoeboxes full of notes, cards, letters, and the like from the past 17 years and 8 months of my life. If you give me a note or a letter, chances are, it's going to end up in a box. To my own credit, it's not as though I shove them in a box and forget about them. On the contrary, every so often when I'm feeling sentimental, I pull out a box or two or four (depending on what years I want to look back on) and read every word. They contain forgotten hopes and aspirations, friends who got left behind, pictures, and most of all, memories. I'm almost certain that my packrat tendencies can be traced to the fact that I feel as though I can go through all the seemingly meaningless objects scattered around my room, pick them up, and remember all about the time I got or made them.

I suppose keeping all my stuff can be problematic. After a while I simply stop having space, and while I hate to box things up to be forgotten in the garage, I get so claustrophobic from the clutter that things need to go away somewhere. My bookshelves are full and then some, my desk never has a clear spot on it, my walls are decorated with pictures and posters, my closet stuffed, under my bed full of boxes. I find comfort in the fact that I can pick up a book from my shelf and remember the first time I read it, and what I thought of it at the time. Similarly, I love picking up odds and ends and figurines and remembering where I got them, who from, and so much more.

Just the act of feeling something familiar is extremely comforting to me. I like to do things with my hands, so I normally have a rock or two from my collection in a pocket. Feeling something, smooth or rough, hard or soft, is so concrete and real. I run my hands against walls, touch ceilings, feel the floor against my feet. It helps center me sometimes, and other times it just provides a certain infallible comfort. I recently came across my old collection of Magic: The Gathering cards. I got my cousin Thomas into the game, and so I now have a mix of the old and the new. I'm well aware that some of my cards, since they are the very first editions, could be worth lots of money. I'm also aware of the fact that giving them to Thomas would probably make more sense than keeping them for myself.

However, something in me tells me to hang onto them. I feel as though there are so many things that can be taken from us that we need to hang on, literally, to what we have. Good health or fortune can never be guaranteed. People in our circles shift and change, and we change as well. So why not keep things from your childhood?

I suppose that someday I'll have a spouse and a family and I simply won't have space for all of my things. And if it comes down to selling them or putting them into storage where I'd never see them, I'd probably sell them, since I plan on going into the theatre business, where you need every penny you can scrape just to get by.

For now though, I see no reason to let go of the things that make me happy. Even if that makes me a packrat. Some of the most significant events in my life can be tied to certain objects, and that makes them invaluable, not necessarily in monetary worth but in emotional worth. I keep playbills and ticket stubs because I can hold them and look at them and remember.

And remembering is so much infinitely better than forgetting.

Cheers,

-T.A.D.

I dreamed a dream

I know that dreams supposedly all have some meaning hidden in all the nonsense, but sometimes I find that hard to believe. Some messages are very clear. The subconscious realizes that you are thirsty or need to go to the restroom, so you dream about bodies of water until you either wake up or have to change your sheets.

Others, however, are more vague. Exactly what does it mean if you dream about a walking Jello cup chasing you with scissors and toast? What is the significance? Do you need to eat toast? Cut your hair? Buy new sneakers, like the light up ones the Jello has on? Do you have a hidden fear of lime Jello? Or is something else the important part?

There are countless books about dreams and how to interpret them out there, but have you ever noticed how contradictory those are? I think that people are just making that crap up. Sitting around going, "okay, thunder means that someone really needs to buy a new suit." I really don't understand.

I would go on, but I've been working all day and will probably fall asleep with my face on the keyboard.

Tomorrow's post will be less disappointing and longer (hopefully).

Cheers,

-T.A.D.

Oh, and happy birthday to my cousin Patrick. Love ya bud.

Ain't nothing like the real thing

Today's post is going to be about a show that, despite my original predictions, has grown close to my heart. Some people hate it, some people love it, some people feel indifferent towards it... Glee.

Before you judge me, let me explain something about Glee. Yes, I am fully aware of the sheer ridiculousness of the characters and the situations they find themselves in. Yes, I am also fully aware that most of their covers are not as good as the original songs. I am aware of the fact that these are not characters that exist in real life, and thank whatever god you believe in for that. They are all a bunch of drama queens, and at points, they can be completely irritating due to their unrealistic tendencies.

HOWEVER, there are a number of reasons why I love Glee and its quirky cast. Firstly, while, as I stated last paragraph, I know that the covers are not as good as the original songs, but at least tweens and the like are experiencing the wonderful music of artists like Journey and The Beatles (not enough, however). Secondhand is better than not at all. And for some people, myself included, hearing the covers on Glee has given us inspiration to dig through older CDs to find the originals. Secondly, and probably more importantly, I find that I watch Glee, thinking to myself about how unrealistic the situations are, and then, out of nowhere, they hit me with a moment so real I wonder how they managed to capture it so truly and beautifully. My favorite example of this is the shockingly honest portrayal of Kurt's relationship with his father. However, I've found that they've managed to tackle many real issues with almost brutal honesty, and by finishing every particularly emotional episode with a warm-hearted cast song, they still end the show with a happy note (pardon the pun).

In addition, there are a number of extremely talented singers, dancers, and actors on the show. I am always impressed by Lea Michelle's triple threat, and the fact that her character is so unreal is part of what amazes me most about her. She is playing an exaggerated character, as they all are, but she has moments of emotional honesty that worm their way into your heart. Even Sue Sylvester, who everyone loves to hate, and who is probably the most exaggerated of all the Glee cast, has moments of crushing reality when you see her with her sister.

I think that one of the things that fascinates me about Glee is how the show is able to maintain a balance between the fantastical and the real. In one episode we see characters wearing Lady GaGa outfits (for several days in a row) and we also see a heartbreaking scene in which Kurt's dad rails on Finn for using the word "faggy." It is this balance that captures me.

(okay maybe it's also partially the good singing and theatricality)

Cheers,

-T.A.D.

You feel like flying

I find myself getting caught up in the stress of life very often. I think we all do. That's why we find hobbies and interests; things to do when we're bored or when we want to relax. There are a lot of things I love to do, but I've recently discovered one big new one.

First of all, just to clear any confusion, I'm gonna start by saying something about my life. I have four gay parents. My biological mom and dad were married once, had my sister and then me, and then they separated, divorced, found out they were gay (not necessarily in that order) and are now each happy with a life-long partner. I was very young when all this happened, so I only remember meeting one of my parents, my second father, when I was around 7 years old. However, I would say that I feel equally attached to all my parents.

Anyway, that makes it make a little more sense when I say that my moms recently got interested in getting motorcycles. As of now, my step-mom (for lack of a better term) has a 250 bike and my mom has a 125 scooter. My step-mom and I love to go for rides, and she's the more comfortable of my mothers with riding, so she takes me all around.

There is no feeling like it in the world. I can honestly say it's the closest I've ever felt to flying. The wind inflates my sleeves and goes under my helmet and sunglasses and into my eyes and ears. I can see my face in the reflection of my mom's helmet, and my smile is always huge. I live in a beautiful place, and last night was an amazing ride. I could see the sun setting over the water. I could smell the ocean. I could taste salt on the air. It was like I was feeling everything I was normally feeling, but more of it, if that makes sense. I really wish I could articulate the amazing sensation, but I can't. I close my eyes sometimes and I feel like I'm in the air. Even breathing is amazing. You're inhaling as the air is pushed into you. You can smell when someone is grilling. You can hear the tires against the asphalt and the wind and the buzz of the engine. You can feel every turn and twist in S-curves.

I truly felt free last night. I felt like I was free to be whoever I want to be and do whatever I want to do. These rides make my mind whirl and think about profound things and I love it. I love feeling like I'm not tied down to anything; as though I could just float away. The only other thing I can say about motorcycles is that yes, there is a signal/handshake/thing when you are on a motorcycle and pass someone else on a bike. It's pretty awesome and enhances the feeling of being in a secret club or society of some kind.

The only other experience I can relate to a motorcycle ride is horseback riding. I'm not great, but I'm not awful either, and I've done a fair amount of riding. The horse I ride is pretty stubborn, but she can fly. It's different than a motorcycle, and wonderful in some different ways, but it's the closest I've got.

Cheers,

-T.A.D.