Karl woke up with a headache. The light was way too bright, and he still smelled, not having showered in a while. What the hell had he got himself into? Slowly things started to click. He was in Virginia, he was in the process of shaping a life around a computer game. His new friends were possibly the weirdest people he'd ever met. Gord, a middle-aged ex-military carpenter. Ben and his mom, 2 random Jews living in the Old South. Strangest of all were the 2 Asians, one which didn't even speak english.
He decided to check his emails. Overwhelming fear. There was an email from his boss. The email explained that he had been fired (Karl remembered he had put his address on his resume).
Breakfast was interesting. Dewey and the Asian girl were up and looked like they could've been going into a job interview. Suits and propriety. Karl's stereotypes of Asians were definately being reinforced by this experience. It was the three of them. No one knew where everyone else was, Gord's truck was gone. Trying to make things less odd, Karl tried to strike up a conversation with the serious businessman sitting across from him.
Apparently they were both from Vietnam and had worked in Japan for Sony. They were contacted by Ben through a forum. (how else do gamers communicate?) D thought that it would take less than a week for them to get things up and running.
Karl asked some questions about Vietnam and let them know that he was from Canada and thus didn't take part in the "war of American aggression" as they called it (or so he'd read on Wikipedia the night before).
More interesting news: the girl was something van something, which meant she was the French Catholic minority in the country, many of them left after the war, hence the Japan thing. It was all starting to make more sense now. Karl tried a bit of his high school French. It worked. She began speaking way too fast for him, using a very different accent. "je n'ai pas vite avec ce langue, je suis tres ugh.. ma francais est terrible" she got the general message. Her face turned back to the cereal, clearly disappointed.
Karl decided to have a shower after breakfast, it was akward being in someone's house who he barely knew, eating their food and using their bathroom. It was like a strange version of Goldilocks.
While Karl was getting out of the shower the door opened a bit. It was Ben telling him that they were back from somewhere Karl hadn't heard of and had bought groceries and some electronic stuff. Not knowing what to do really, Karl just said 'great' and was shocked at both the etiquette and the excitement of this kid. He really wanted to get this game up and running. Hosting them was like a game to Ben, all of his dreams had come true, without any of the crap beforehand that most of them had endured before making the decision to come States-side.
As Karl walked into the living room he was greeted by Anna (ben's mom) and was surprised to see and hear another guild member. Ben was on skype talking to their Scottish off-tank. She was as amazed as everyone else seemed to be that this was really happening.
Gord was calling from the yard for Karl to come out and help him.
*** 1 hour later ***
While Ben and Dewey were trying to set up the server, with the occassional help of Van (which Karl now called the Asian girl, as he hadn't been able to ask her name) who seemed to drift between the two camps.
Anna, Karl, and Gord were outside in jeans and fitted with leather gardening gloves. Gord was giving them all the battle plan as they attempted to clear out the barn. Karl was glad to have something concrete to do. People might think he was lazy for being fired and skipping work, but really it was meaningful work he sought. In this case, there was a clear goal in mind.
They went to work fairly quickly, and were making good time. The place had been useless for a long time, and Anna was glad to have it cleaned up. The thing Karl loved about the work was that they were doing it the easy-stupid way. Instead of slow and careful planning, they just shop-vacced the floor, put a giant cheap carpet on the floor, and begun placing bunk-beds inside. The place had electricity and by night time, they had beds, a freezer, a table with their laptops, and of course, an important selection of posters up inside. It was the coolest fusion of dorm-room, camp cabin, and internet cafe that Karl had ever been in. They had a digital project to watch movies on the wall, an old tv and some consoles Gord had brought, as well as various other utilitarian features. To most adults, or to the cast of those designer make-over shows, this place was an utter failure.
It was a scene that didn't belong. A somewhat ugly rag-tag room, with occupants to match. They didn't care, Karl enjoyed not belonging together with these people.
The final touches were put in place when the guild assembled inside and decided on a name (Dewey translated for Van, who was in quite good spirits as well). In the end, they had quite a selection of possibilities, ranging from the boring HQ and Base Camp, to the nerdier "New Norrath" (The name of the land in Everquest) and "East Virginia Common Lands" (East Commonlands is a popular EQ hangout). Finally, they agreed on a Tolkien reference: New Valinor.
After attempting to make popcorn on the wood stove in the barn and failing miserably, they used a microwave. Very appropriately, for the first night in their new home, they watched Lord of the Rings (with French subtitles for Van).
Karl kept having the same feeling over and over again. Disbelief. What a peculiar place he had arrived at. If it had been any other day, he would've just gone home, but now, less than a week since that fateful missed day, and Karl had found a new home. It was all too much to keep thinking about, and he eventually drifted off to sleep.
Showing posts with label Story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Story. Show all posts
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Story (6) - Contact
After the door opened and Karl began hearing their voices things were much better. He found out that his host Zee's real name was Ben. Everyone also began calling him Karl, which was close enough to his avatar (Kast) that it proved easy to remember.
Ben lived in what Karl would've described as Jewtopia. The inside of the outwardly run-down home was immaculate. Clean carpets, giant landscape pictures of Jerusalem and scenes from all over Israel, a minora, and a nice selection of books on Yiddish, to Zen-Judaism to Israeli history to books with Hebrew titles. As for Ben himself, he was perfectly average, brown curly hair, glasses, probably 17-18, and a Ramones t-shirt. Ben was the most normal of the crowd though, and wasn't alone in this Hebrew home, three others had already arrived.
The second person whose hand Karl shook was that of Gord, 'Corporal Gordon James'. Looking at him Karl didn't think he belonged in the scene, but after a little while, Karl began to imagine that there never was a place on Earth where Gord would seem to fit in. Immediately he recognized the voice of the group's Ogre Shaman, always very easily excitable and optimistic, but Karl probably imagined he was a 20-something who lived in his parents basement like most of his other online friends. On the contrary, Gord was a unique character. He found out that day over their initial ice-breaking group beers that Gord had been a soldier specializing in communications during Desert Storm. Though the closest he actually came to the action was when a bomb went off beside the office he was working in. He was the first to call in the medical team and secured the area - which is where he got his rank of Corporal. Karl thought it was kind of silly that he took so much pride in such an arbitrary event, but realized he shouldn't say anything. More interesting than this pseudo-glory story, Karl found what Gord left out to be more informative. It seems that after Gord saw the civilian who died from the bomb on the road and did his duty that day, he requested to leave and received an honorable discharge. Since then he had worked in renovations with some friends of his fathers, all the while becoming more and more addicted to EQ - like the rest of them. Gord hardly looked like a 'war hero' at 6 feet, 40 years of age, and some 300 pounds, he looked more like an out of shape, balding, ex-professional wrestler. Aside from this seemingly adult exterior and life, there was something child-like in his excitement and talk about anything from the most trivial aspects of 'the game' to boring details on how long it took him to drive to Fredericksburg from Ohio.
The two other people were Asian and very quiet. When they didn't say anything beyond 'hi' Karl wondered if there was issues. As it turns out, they weren't members of the guild and when Ben looked at them it he appeared to be quite pleased with himself. The girl was probably 20ish and the boy looked like he was 18. Ben explained that they worked for Sony in Japan and had since been fired from their jobs as GMs and game programmers. They saw our guild's messageboard online and that we were planning on starting a new server, and they thought that they could possibly rebuild some form of the game with their knowledge and maybe make some money charging the other near-suicidal EQ addicts who had been desperate for any return to Norrath possible.
While Ben seemed to think this was perfect and that it would save him alot of time programming, Karl felt uneasy about it (as did Gord), there just seemed something wrong with the guy. There was no way, Karl thought, that he could have been a GM, he was still a kid.
Aside from the awkward vibe that "Duong" gave him (Karl desperately held back laughter after hearing his name, and Ben suggested they just call him Dewey), there was a much more real problem they had to deal with. Dewey spoke a bit of broken English, but the girl spoke none. She sat very quietly on the couch drinking some tea and looking suspiciously from one face to the next.
It all seemed very odd to Karl. It wasn't like he expected. So far, no work had gone into rebuilding the game, as Ben had his SATs to write and very little time as it was approaching the end of the school year. Gord had been staying in his truck like Karl and been planning a way to turn Ben's barn into 'HQ' (headquarters) for them. This all seemed much more normal and easier to understand than the Asian couple sitting together speaking in a hushed language as Dewey probably informed her of who the newcomer was.
There were so many questions left, but Karl felt peaceful as they sat down for dinner that Anna had made them. He wondered what Ben's (fairly young) Mom thought about all these weird visitors. Obviously she was ok with it, and she seemed to enjoy cooking for them and cleaning. Anna seemed very interested in Karl and asked him questions all about himself and his family. She even talked to him about Spinoza a bit, after finding out he himself was a budding philosophe. Apparently she was a writer of some sort, and her husband had been a photographer from Israel. Once she had referred to her husband using the perfect tense Karl realized he must have died and began imagining all the middle eastern violence he'd seen on TV (only to find out later that it was a car accident).
As the 4 north americans chatted away and the 2 asians sat silently (at least they were smiling now) Karl was in for the last surprise of the day. Before they got up from Dinner, Anna raised her hands and extended them towards Ben and Gord on either side of her. Ben took one and after much hesitation Gord took the other. Eventually they were all holding hands, and Anna closed her eyes and said a prayer. It seemed fairly normal to Karl, excepting the few references to 'Adonai' and 'Shalom' for the strangers at the table. When they finished Karl out of instinct crossed himself as did the asian girl. Karl, ever the Canadian, worried that he might've often Anna and Ben, but they didn't seem bothered or even to notice at all. But intrigued by this connection both Karl and the girl now were staring at each other in wonder. It was as if suddenly they had discovered they were long lost relatives, that indeed they might've spoken the same language after all, in at least some way.
***
Gord lit a cigar outside as he and Karl sat on lawnchairs and looked at the stars. After a few minutes Ben's vicious dalmation stopped barking long enough for Gord and Karl to have a great chat about Winston Churchill, and then a long and serious discussion about how long it would be till they could log on again. Gord had some great plans for the barn, and indeed had already bought a bunch of supplies for the job. They agreed to join financial forces (Karl was oddly glad that Gord didn't have much more than he did) and Anna said if they fixed up the old barn, they could stay there as long as they wanted.
Once again as night set in, Karl crawled into his truck and turned on some music on his laptop. As Schubert played him to sleep Karl decidedly put out of his mind all the strange people he had met in the day and all the strange things he'd learned. Eventually he drifted off to sleep.
Ben lived in what Karl would've described as Jewtopia. The inside of the outwardly run-down home was immaculate. Clean carpets, giant landscape pictures of Jerusalem and scenes from all over Israel, a minora, and a nice selection of books on Yiddish, to Zen-Judaism to Israeli history to books with Hebrew titles. As for Ben himself, he was perfectly average, brown curly hair, glasses, probably 17-18, and a Ramones t-shirt. Ben was the most normal of the crowd though, and wasn't alone in this Hebrew home, three others had already arrived.
The second person whose hand Karl shook was that of Gord, 'Corporal Gordon James'. Looking at him Karl didn't think he belonged in the scene, but after a little while, Karl began to imagine that there never was a place on Earth where Gord would seem to fit in. Immediately he recognized the voice of the group's Ogre Shaman, always very easily excitable and optimistic, but Karl probably imagined he was a 20-something who lived in his parents basement like most of his other online friends. On the contrary, Gord was a unique character. He found out that day over their initial ice-breaking group beers that Gord had been a soldier specializing in communications during Desert Storm. Though the closest he actually came to the action was when a bomb went off beside the office he was working in. He was the first to call in the medical team and secured the area - which is where he got his rank of Corporal. Karl thought it was kind of silly that he took so much pride in such an arbitrary event, but realized he shouldn't say anything. More interesting than this pseudo-glory story, Karl found what Gord left out to be more informative. It seems that after Gord saw the civilian who died from the bomb on the road and did his duty that day, he requested to leave and received an honorable discharge. Since then he had worked in renovations with some friends of his fathers, all the while becoming more and more addicted to EQ - like the rest of them. Gord hardly looked like a 'war hero' at 6 feet, 40 years of age, and some 300 pounds, he looked more like an out of shape, balding, ex-professional wrestler. Aside from this seemingly adult exterior and life, there was something child-like in his excitement and talk about anything from the most trivial aspects of 'the game' to boring details on how long it took him to drive to Fredericksburg from Ohio.
The two other people were Asian and very quiet. When they didn't say anything beyond 'hi' Karl wondered if there was issues. As it turns out, they weren't members of the guild and when Ben looked at them it he appeared to be quite pleased with himself. The girl was probably 20ish and the boy looked like he was 18. Ben explained that they worked for Sony in Japan and had since been fired from their jobs as GMs and game programmers. They saw our guild's messageboard online and that we were planning on starting a new server, and they thought that they could possibly rebuild some form of the game with their knowledge and maybe make some money charging the other near-suicidal EQ addicts who had been desperate for any return to Norrath possible.
While Ben seemed to think this was perfect and that it would save him alot of time programming, Karl felt uneasy about it (as did Gord), there just seemed something wrong with the guy. There was no way, Karl thought, that he could have been a GM, he was still a kid.
Aside from the awkward vibe that "Duong" gave him (Karl desperately held back laughter after hearing his name, and Ben suggested they just call him Dewey), there was a much more real problem they had to deal with. Dewey spoke a bit of broken English, but the girl spoke none. She sat very quietly on the couch drinking some tea and looking suspiciously from one face to the next.
It all seemed very odd to Karl. It wasn't like he expected. So far, no work had gone into rebuilding the game, as Ben had his SATs to write and very little time as it was approaching the end of the school year. Gord had been staying in his truck like Karl and been planning a way to turn Ben's barn into 'HQ' (headquarters) for them. This all seemed much more normal and easier to understand than the Asian couple sitting together speaking in a hushed language as Dewey probably informed her of who the newcomer was.
There were so many questions left, but Karl felt peaceful as they sat down for dinner that Anna had made them. He wondered what Ben's (fairly young) Mom thought about all these weird visitors. Obviously she was ok with it, and she seemed to enjoy cooking for them and cleaning. Anna seemed very interested in Karl and asked him questions all about himself and his family. She even talked to him about Spinoza a bit, after finding out he himself was a budding philosophe. Apparently she was a writer of some sort, and her husband had been a photographer from Israel. Once she had referred to her husband using the perfect tense Karl realized he must have died and began imagining all the middle eastern violence he'd seen on TV (only to find out later that it was a car accident).
As the 4 north americans chatted away and the 2 asians sat silently (at least they were smiling now) Karl was in for the last surprise of the day. Before they got up from Dinner, Anna raised her hands and extended them towards Ben and Gord on either side of her. Ben took one and after much hesitation Gord took the other. Eventually they were all holding hands, and Anna closed her eyes and said a prayer. It seemed fairly normal to Karl, excepting the few references to 'Adonai' and 'Shalom' for the strangers at the table. When they finished Karl out of instinct crossed himself as did the asian girl. Karl, ever the Canadian, worried that he might've often Anna and Ben, but they didn't seem bothered or even to notice at all. But intrigued by this connection both Karl and the girl now were staring at each other in wonder. It was as if suddenly they had discovered they were long lost relatives, that indeed they might've spoken the same language after all, in at least some way.
***
Gord lit a cigar outside as he and Karl sat on lawnchairs and looked at the stars. After a few minutes Ben's vicious dalmation stopped barking long enough for Gord and Karl to have a great chat about Winston Churchill, and then a long and serious discussion about how long it would be till they could log on again. Gord had some great plans for the barn, and indeed had already bought a bunch of supplies for the job. They agreed to join financial forces (Karl was oddly glad that Gord didn't have much more than he did) and Anna said if they fixed up the old barn, they could stay there as long as they wanted.
Once again as night set in, Karl crawled into his truck and turned on some music on his laptop. As Schubert played him to sleep Karl decidedly put out of his mind all the strange people he had met in the day and all the strange things he'd learned. Eventually he drifted off to sleep.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Story (5) The Arrival
Karl was amazed by how immediate and seemingly uncaused it came. Like morning wood Karl suddenly was overwhelmed by the desire for 'the game'. It was completely irrational, he hadn't played for a while and he'd been fine. Actually, embarrassingly enough, he'd thought partway through Pennsylvannia, it would be awkward if his guildies had it up and running and he didn't even want to play it. It urged him to play, reminded him of the problems of real life he would shortly encounter. There were parents to be talked to, apologies to be made, savings accounts to run out, eventually the problems Karl had run from would come crushing down and without the game, he'd have no shelter. Ironically Karl turned up the Rage song "No Shelter" which was playing as he drove towards the goal.
The self-talk began: 'Don't worry about it man, you'll get there and they'll have it all set up and everything will be back to normal. The guild is waiting for you, just get to Fredericksburg and we'll be fine.' Karl thought to himself. A quotation from a more popular Karl was floating around in his head: "The proletarians have nothing to lose but their chains. They have a world to win." Ever the philosopher, Karl began to think it over, Marx had been wrong in a classically modern sense, which left the postmoderns of today feeling distant. It was the problem Karl himself was now facing. 'what if I don't want the world? what if - to cite James Bond - the world is not enough? what if a man finally freed of his chains finds the chains more comfortable than the scary world around him?'. Karl didn't want the 'real world' - like great philosophers before him, he was seeking a world beyond this one. For Plato it was the real of the Forms, for Karl, it was 'the game'. It seemed more real to him as he began to shake with craving for the game, more real than his 3 wolf t-shirt or the interstate flying by, or the Rage music now blaring.
Slowing down and pulling off the highway for some coffee would be the safest thing to do. As he arrived in a random Virginia starbucks he was overwhelmed with how this place too felt like a gateway to escape. Marx would've decried it as the height of Capitalist decadence, and Karl had to agree, that there was something about this place. The ultra-clean environment, the soft jazz, the businessmen and metrosexuals, and the blonde baristas all gave the place the look of a refuge. If Hitler dreamt of a coffee shop this would've been it. Again Karl's thoughts had interrupted the task at hand. Finally, remembering what he was to do, he called the number his GM (guildmaster) put on their forum. As the other line began to ring, Karl realized he only knew the character name his friend used, which was always the same, but was worried it would sound weird to use IRL.
"Hello" said the familiar voice of Karl's Tank 'Xzynog' (pronounced Zee-nog) sounded.
"Hi.. it's Kast, I'm looking for Zee... ?"
To his relief the awkwardness ended and immediately the conversation began rolling. Karl received final directions from Z which he pretended to understand -he'd just follow mapquest- and then finished his Carmel Macchiato.
The only thing Karl was worried about was the smell. He hadn't showered in days and it was noticable, luckily driving cross-country to see friends from an MMORPG is one of the few occasions where stinking is normal.
Within three hours, Karl had arrived. It did not look anything like he'd imagined. Though in fairness, Karl had imagined an antebellum plantation complete with porches on both stories and for some reason a confederate flag. In reality, it was a small house just outside town, and past a few fruit stands/markets that looked operated and lived in by Mexicans. The old white paint was peeling off the wooden siding, and there was a step missing from the front door that made it kind of a leap. As well an angry looking dalmation was tied to the dilapitaded barn-like structure near the back, and it barked as if it would eat Karl at first glance. Aside from that and some flies, it looked a bit deserted. While he began philosophizing on the situation Karl decided he had to disagree with the great Scottish poet who wrote "Suspense is worse than disappointment.". Evidently, Robert Burns had never seen this place before.
The self-talk began: 'Don't worry about it man, you'll get there and they'll have it all set up and everything will be back to normal. The guild is waiting for you, just get to Fredericksburg and we'll be fine.' Karl thought to himself. A quotation from a more popular Karl was floating around in his head: "The proletarians have nothing to lose but their chains. They have a world to win." Ever the philosopher, Karl began to think it over, Marx had been wrong in a classically modern sense, which left the postmoderns of today feeling distant. It was the problem Karl himself was now facing. 'what if I don't want the world? what if - to cite James Bond - the world is not enough? what if a man finally freed of his chains finds the chains more comfortable than the scary world around him?'. Karl didn't want the 'real world' - like great philosophers before him, he was seeking a world beyond this one. For Plato it was the real of the Forms, for Karl, it was 'the game'. It seemed more real to him as he began to shake with craving for the game, more real than his 3 wolf t-shirt or the interstate flying by, or the Rage music now blaring.
Slowing down and pulling off the highway for some coffee would be the safest thing to do. As he arrived in a random Virginia starbucks he was overwhelmed with how this place too felt like a gateway to escape. Marx would've decried it as the height of Capitalist decadence, and Karl had to agree, that there was something about this place. The ultra-clean environment, the soft jazz, the businessmen and metrosexuals, and the blonde baristas all gave the place the look of a refuge. If Hitler dreamt of a coffee shop this would've been it. Again Karl's thoughts had interrupted the task at hand. Finally, remembering what he was to do, he called the number his GM (guildmaster) put on their forum. As the other line began to ring, Karl realized he only knew the character name his friend used, which was always the same, but was worried it would sound weird to use IRL.
"Hello" said the familiar voice of Karl's Tank 'Xzynog' (pronounced Zee-nog) sounded.
"Hi.. it's Kast, I'm looking for Zee... ?"
To his relief the awkwardness ended and immediately the conversation began rolling. Karl received final directions from Z which he pretended to understand -he'd just follow mapquest- and then finished his Carmel Macchiato.
The only thing Karl was worried about was the smell. He hadn't showered in days and it was noticable, luckily driving cross-country to see friends from an MMORPG is one of the few occasions where stinking is normal.
Within three hours, Karl had arrived. It did not look anything like he'd imagined. Though in fairness, Karl had imagined an antebellum plantation complete with porches on both stories and for some reason a confederate flag. In reality, it was a small house just outside town, and past a few fruit stands/markets that looked operated and lived in by Mexicans. The old white paint was peeling off the wooden siding, and there was a step missing from the front door that made it kind of a leap. As well an angry looking dalmation was tied to the dilapitaded barn-like structure near the back, and it barked as if it would eat Karl at first glance. Aside from that and some flies, it looked a bit deserted. While he began philosophizing on the situation Karl decided he had to disagree with the great Scottish poet who wrote "Suspense is worse than disappointment.". Evidently, Robert Burns had never seen this place before.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Story (4) Morning Bath & Diet Root Beer
Bath. The picture that word gave to Karl was a Roman city in England followed by that movie with Jack Nicholson and Kathy Bates. After the picture of the word Kathy Bates arrived in Karl's minds' eye, he promptly returned to looking around at this small town in New York state. He'd never even heard of it yesterday and today here he was. 'Lewis and Clarke would be ashamed of me' Karl thought.
Sleeping in the truck had worked out fine. Karl took pride in his truck, a 95 GM pickup he'd bought off a guy who just retired from the warehouse. It had character and Karl like it because it was so unlike everything he stood for. He was not a working man, did not move large tools or steel, and yet every time he saw it and realized it was his, he felt a small swelling in his chest and had a remade self-image. It was what Karl could potentially be, not what he was. Everyone else just thought it an ugly waste of gas and money.
After trying his idealistic plan of going wherever the wind may take him, Karl realized that there are alot of dead end streets, and that drivin in circles takes alot more time than he was prepared to spend on such an endeavour. Thus with a heavy heart, he yielded to mapquest at 8:33 AM on the first morning of the journey. (http://www.mapquest.com/maps?1c=Bath&1s=NY&1y=US&1l=42.336899&1g=-77.3181&1v=CITY&2c=Fredericksburg&2s=VA&2y=US&2l=38.303101&2g=-77.4608&2v=CITY)
6 and a half hours. The first emotion Karl felt was anger. It seemed like such a short journey. Any normal person could make the distance in one day. 'bet Dad could make it there and back to Scarborough if some diplomat was trapped there' Karl pondered angrily. This was his quest, it was supposed to be epic, and now looking that all he had to do was head south for a while, it seemed to make it appear trite. Originally he was worried his family and acquaintances would be overwhelmed with fear at his bold escape, now he worried they'd not worry at all.
In any case, Karl got onto another highway and headed south. As he merged into the left lane still deep in thought the overweight orphaned philosophe laughed to himelf. Knowing how easy he could get lost, it would probably take Karl a week to arrive anyway. Turning on the CD player and singing along to his embarrassing mix of 'guilty pleasures' (Avril Lavigne, Blink 182, and Weird Al) Karl faded away into the world of music and remembered a line from an equally embarrassing book: "a music...a magic beyond all" (Dumbledore in Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone). But gay wizards aside, music really did bring calm, it reminded Karl of the most revolutionary action of all in life - when there is nothing left to look forward to - gratitude. To sing along happily to every sad moment in life had been a goal of Karl's. If we're all on this great Titanic, better to go down playing music with the band than give in to fear and despair.
At Williamsport, Pennsylvannia Karl stopped for food, fuel, and nature's call. Inside the gas stations' mini-mart, while the attendant pumped his gas he looked at the great assortment of choices. Mountain Dew, Doritos, Hostess cupcakes. It was practically the ingredients for a LAN. Then as a beautiful red-haired girl stepped into the store with her stoner boyfriend Karl embarrassingly replaced all these items with their 'healthy alternatives'. Diet root beer, cheese flavoured rice cake chips, and sugar free gum. Ultimately these others didn't notice - and neither did the cashier, busy watching a sporting event of some kind on TV.
As Karl drove off he was ashamed of himself. Not that he saved himself from a potential heart-attack and/or bad breath (doritos do that), but because he gave in to the will of the herd, he sacrificed his own choice for the arbitrary judgment of others. This was the mortal sin of philosophers, Nietzsche would be ashamed.
Knowing that this line of thinking would lead to despair Karl began to think about 'the good ol' days'. He remembered LAN parties with all his nerd friends. The chief topics of conversation being: would you rather have force powers, or a time machine, and similar existential quandries.
From St. Genevieve high to undergrad days in TO, Karl had a solid group of guys. Once a month they'd all assemble at someone's place for their communion of nerdiness. Of late the group seemed to disappear, and Karl's guild had to pick up the interpersonal slack that he craved. But when the old gang got together, they still drew pictures of their school teachers to throw darts at, discussed the fates of the popular kids, and took solace in the past, that indestructible record, always available for the one with the strength of heart to look back on better days.
As the son set, Karl pulled into Hagerstown, VA. He had crossed the state line. After eating dinner at Applebees and receiving many confused and derisive glares from servers and fellow diners alike, Karl found another dead end road. It was surrounded by trees, and Karl parked his truck and set things up. The back seat was leveled off from the many blankets he had shoved ontop of his suitcases on the floor. Getting comfortable he opened his laptop, emailed his guildies to let them know of his impending arrival, and began to watch the fifth element. 'Time doesn't matter, only life' Fr. Vito Cornelius reminded him (and Bruce Willis) and Karl didn't feel embarrassed that he was 27 years old and sleeping in a pickup truck in a town he'd never heard of, heading to the 'great LAN in the sky' to meet his friends of 5 years for the first time.
Karl was enjoying Nostalgia, he was enjoying a life with only the vaguest of self-determined goals, no impositions or obligations, the joys of the past, and the bright promise of tomorrow.
Sleeping in the truck had worked out fine. Karl took pride in his truck, a 95 GM pickup he'd bought off a guy who just retired from the warehouse. It had character and Karl like it because it was so unlike everything he stood for. He was not a working man, did not move large tools or steel, and yet every time he saw it and realized it was his, he felt a small swelling in his chest and had a remade self-image. It was what Karl could potentially be, not what he was. Everyone else just thought it an ugly waste of gas and money.
After trying his idealistic plan of going wherever the wind may take him, Karl realized that there are alot of dead end streets, and that drivin in circles takes alot more time than he was prepared to spend on such an endeavour. Thus with a heavy heart, he yielded to mapquest at 8:33 AM on the first morning of the journey. (http://www.mapquest.com/maps?1c=Bath&1s=NY&1y=US&1l=42.336899&1g=-77.3181&1v=CITY&2c=Fredericksburg&2s=VA&2y=US&2l=38.303101&2g=-77.4608&2v=CITY)
6 and a half hours. The first emotion Karl felt was anger. It seemed like such a short journey. Any normal person could make the distance in one day. 'bet Dad could make it there and back to Scarborough if some diplomat was trapped there' Karl pondered angrily. This was his quest, it was supposed to be epic, and now looking that all he had to do was head south for a while, it seemed to make it appear trite. Originally he was worried his family and acquaintances would be overwhelmed with fear at his bold escape, now he worried they'd not worry at all.
In any case, Karl got onto another highway and headed south. As he merged into the left lane still deep in thought the overweight orphaned philosophe laughed to himelf. Knowing how easy he could get lost, it would probably take Karl a week to arrive anyway. Turning on the CD player and singing along to his embarrassing mix of 'guilty pleasures' (Avril Lavigne, Blink 182, and Weird Al) Karl faded away into the world of music and remembered a line from an equally embarrassing book: "a music...a magic beyond all" (Dumbledore in Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone). But gay wizards aside, music really did bring calm, it reminded Karl of the most revolutionary action of all in life - when there is nothing left to look forward to - gratitude. To sing along happily to every sad moment in life had been a goal of Karl's. If we're all on this great Titanic, better to go down playing music with the band than give in to fear and despair.
At Williamsport, Pennsylvannia Karl stopped for food, fuel, and nature's call. Inside the gas stations' mini-mart, while the attendant pumped his gas he looked at the great assortment of choices. Mountain Dew, Doritos, Hostess cupcakes. It was practically the ingredients for a LAN. Then as a beautiful red-haired girl stepped into the store with her stoner boyfriend Karl embarrassingly replaced all these items with their 'healthy alternatives'. Diet root beer, cheese flavoured rice cake chips, and sugar free gum. Ultimately these others didn't notice - and neither did the cashier, busy watching a sporting event of some kind on TV.
As Karl drove off he was ashamed of himself. Not that he saved himself from a potential heart-attack and/or bad breath (doritos do that), but because he gave in to the will of the herd, he sacrificed his own choice for the arbitrary judgment of others. This was the mortal sin of philosophers, Nietzsche would be ashamed.
Knowing that this line of thinking would lead to despair Karl began to think about 'the good ol' days'. He remembered LAN parties with all his nerd friends. The chief topics of conversation being: would you rather have force powers, or a time machine, and similar existential quandries.
From St. Genevieve high to undergrad days in TO, Karl had a solid group of guys. Once a month they'd all assemble at someone's place for their communion of nerdiness. Of late the group seemed to disappear, and Karl's guild had to pick up the interpersonal slack that he craved. But when the old gang got together, they still drew pictures of their school teachers to throw darts at, discussed the fates of the popular kids, and took solace in the past, that indestructible record, always available for the one with the strength of heart to look back on better days.
As the son set, Karl pulled into Hagerstown, VA. He had crossed the state line. After eating dinner at Applebees and receiving many confused and derisive glares from servers and fellow diners alike, Karl found another dead end road. It was surrounded by trees, and Karl parked his truck and set things up. The back seat was leveled off from the many blankets he had shoved ontop of his suitcases on the floor. Getting comfortable he opened his laptop, emailed his guildies to let them know of his impending arrival, and began to watch the fifth element. 'Time doesn't matter, only life' Fr. Vito Cornelius reminded him (and Bruce Willis) and Karl didn't feel embarrassed that he was 27 years old and sleeping in a pickup truck in a town he'd never heard of, heading to the 'great LAN in the sky' to meet his friends of 5 years for the first time.
Karl was enjoying Nostalgia, he was enjoying a life with only the vaguest of self-determined goals, no impositions or obligations, the joys of the past, and the bright promise of tomorrow.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Story (3) The Border
Karl had a map of every state saved on his laptop, only 5 minutes and he could use his mobile internet hookup to connect anywhere for mapquest, googlemaps, or any other tool created for geographically-challenged folks like himself. Paradoxically, he also promised himself that they would not be used unless in most dire necessity.
The State. That sounded wrong to Karl. He had been instilled with the proper respect for legitimate authorities, and he never committed any grossly illegal crimes, but one thing Karl hated was government. As a philosopher he got some of Locke's theories about 'sacred property rights' and as an R.C. he got "Rerum Novarum" and the warnings against 'godless communism', but at a soul-level, he didn't believe in State authority. Not a violent one, nor a revolutionary one, but an anarchist nonetheless Karl was; like the Amish really.
It was with this intellectual frustration, coupled with the natural fear of force that had Karl worried as he approached the border. In these moments of life where one feels stress, it's to Tradition that a man flees, what their father taught them, what they've learned in life right or wrong. So from previous Authorities based on seemingly ridiculous claims, Karl began to worry/pray: 'Please don't be a woman, women are always tougher, trying to assert their power, please let the guard be right about to leave the shift, please let me say something funny that will put them at ease, mention religion and they'll leave you alone...' and in this manner Karl continued to hope.
However, as it always seems to, the Dark Providence of Fate ordained that Karl should get a young female border guard, on the first day of her job, with a supervisor, and little traffic behind him. Perfect. Now there was nothing left for Karl to do, he didn't even have a real story planned out.
---
"Passport or valid photo identification please" ordered the faux-bold young lady
Karl handed his passport over.
"Citizenship...?" - the girl mumbled and immediately looked to her supervisor who informed her that this was the first question and that she was supposed to ask it before. Karl didn't know what he was supposed to do, as she now had his passport and could clearly tell his citizenship as well as all the 'important' facts of his life. The awkward silence could be cut with a knife, the young guard was flustered, and the supervisor was called away from the booth to deal with some other more pressing issue for the moment.
Against all his will, knowing he should focus, Karl began to silently ponder the idea of the passport, 'Kierkegaard said "if you label me, you negate me" , and what is a passport but a series of labels, the tightest definative box of all the data the world at large thinks is worth knowing about you, and-' his thought was cut off by the realization that she had asked another question ('purpose of your trip?'), trying to sound professional and stall as she looked for a script, or some list of protocol to save her from real human interaction.
Idiotically Karl said "Did you know what Kierkegaard said about labels?"
Utterly baffled she looked back at him scowling with disbelief.
"sorry, nevermind, not important.. um pleasure - that's the purpose of my trip - I'm just going to meet some friends" Karl stuttered.
"He said 'if you label me, you negate me'... it's in Wayne's World" She replied, almost trying to hide the fact that she knew, and yet still confused as to why he asked.
Further awkward silence. Cars had begun to line up behind Karl, stress built. The supervisor hurriedly returned and inquired as to her success and she straightened up and affirmed her work. He absent-mindedly handed Karl the passport and they began talking.
Miraculous. Miraculous was the only word Karl could think of as he drove away. They didn't ask him why he was going (shamefully, and ridiculously: To play a video game), how long he was staying (potentiallly: indefinately, which would've insured his swift return home), or who he was staying with (truthfully: an ogre shaman known as "Kastinkillz" who he had called 'Kast' for 5 years now). Things were looking up in an extraordinary way.
Out of respect and reverence Karl went to the only place he could think of right now to celebrate his successful transition from the lands of Queen Elizabeth II to the American Rebels, a nearby shrine he had been to with his on campus Catholic group.
It was 4:14 PM and as he pulled in, everyone seemed to be leaving Fatima shrine. He greeted the priest, was shriven, and lit a candle and said a prayer for his safe journey beneath an image of Papa JP II, the great philosopher-pope.
To many, Karl's behaviour would seem indescribably odd, insane, or just contradictory, but alongside "The Game" (as he liked to call Everquest), there were two things that always made him feel whole: Catholicism, and Philosophy.
Karl came from a background that always seemed normal enough in multi-cultural Scarborough where he grew up. He was adopted as an infant, and would never have known except for the clear racial difference. His father was an Indian Diplomat with a wonderful English accent and a classical education, he taught Karl to read younger than all of the other children at school and would quote political theorists from Aristotle and Hobbes and Rawls on any occasion. That is when he actually was in the country, which was rare as he was always travelling somewhere.
Karl's mother was the complete opposite, she seemed to lack a passion for anything. She had a long German lineage to which Karl owed his name (after his mother's grandfather who had been some kind of Army official in the Weimar republic). Though her marrying an Indian man, and his father's marrying of a Saxon woman, meant virtual exile from most of their respective families. All of them except Karl's maternal grandparents with whom he lived, scorned them for their 'unnatural' union. Karl could never understand how his mother, this passive and silent woman, who seemed so much a stranger to him even after all these years, had at one point possessed enough passion to defiantly act in love. It was a mystery.
And then there was Karl, with no shared genetics or heritage, physically and linguistically an Anglo, adopted into these two confused cultures and lives. Perhaps this confusion was why he felt at home in the racial hodgepodge of Catholicism. Certainly, it was why he fell in love with Philosophy. Karl thought of himself as Socrates had once, "neither Athenian nor Greek, but a citizen of the world". And like Socrates, he had spent his life trying to fulfill that ancient command inscribed on the temple of the oracle of Apollo at Delphi: "KNOW THYSELF"
As the sun set and he pulled into a rest stop - not even halfway through New York State yet - Karl was joyful. Anticipating for the first time in a long time, a new beginning, and in typical nerd-tradition he hummed the Star Wars theme and pretended he was on Tatooine as he stretched and watched the sun go down. That is, until some cute girls pulled up in a car next to him and he abruptly finished it.
The State. That sounded wrong to Karl. He had been instilled with the proper respect for legitimate authorities, and he never committed any grossly illegal crimes, but one thing Karl hated was government. As a philosopher he got some of Locke's theories about 'sacred property rights' and as an R.C. he got "Rerum Novarum" and the warnings against 'godless communism', but at a soul-level, he didn't believe in State authority. Not a violent one, nor a revolutionary one, but an anarchist nonetheless Karl was; like the Amish really.
It was with this intellectual frustration, coupled with the natural fear of force that had Karl worried as he approached the border. In these moments of life where one feels stress, it's to Tradition that a man flees, what their father taught them, what they've learned in life right or wrong. So from previous Authorities based on seemingly ridiculous claims, Karl began to worry/pray: 'Please don't be a woman, women are always tougher, trying to assert their power, please let the guard be right about to leave the shift, please let me say something funny that will put them at ease, mention religion and they'll leave you alone...' and in this manner Karl continued to hope.
However, as it always seems to, the Dark Providence of Fate ordained that Karl should get a young female border guard, on the first day of her job, with a supervisor, and little traffic behind him. Perfect. Now there was nothing left for Karl to do, he didn't even have a real story planned out.
---
"Passport or valid photo identification please" ordered the faux-bold young lady
Karl handed his passport over.
"Citizenship...?" - the girl mumbled and immediately looked to her supervisor who informed her that this was the first question and that she was supposed to ask it before. Karl didn't know what he was supposed to do, as she now had his passport and could clearly tell his citizenship as well as all the 'important' facts of his life. The awkward silence could be cut with a knife, the young guard was flustered, and the supervisor was called away from the booth to deal with some other more pressing issue for the moment.
Against all his will, knowing he should focus, Karl began to silently ponder the idea of the passport, 'Kierkegaard said "if you label me, you negate me" , and what is a passport but a series of labels, the tightest definative box of all the data the world at large thinks is worth knowing about you, and-' his thought was cut off by the realization that she had asked another question ('purpose of your trip?'), trying to sound professional and stall as she looked for a script, or some list of protocol to save her from real human interaction.
Idiotically Karl said "Did you know what Kierkegaard said about labels?"
Utterly baffled she looked back at him scowling with disbelief.
"sorry, nevermind, not important.. um pleasure - that's the purpose of my trip - I'm just going to meet some friends" Karl stuttered.
"He said 'if you label me, you negate me'... it's in Wayne's World" She replied, almost trying to hide the fact that she knew, and yet still confused as to why he asked.
Further awkward silence. Cars had begun to line up behind Karl, stress built. The supervisor hurriedly returned and inquired as to her success and she straightened up and affirmed her work. He absent-mindedly handed Karl the passport and they began talking.
Miraculous. Miraculous was the only word Karl could think of as he drove away. They didn't ask him why he was going (shamefully, and ridiculously: To play a video game), how long he was staying (potentiallly: indefinately, which would've insured his swift return home), or who he was staying with (truthfully: an ogre shaman known as "Kastinkillz" who he had called 'Kast' for 5 years now). Things were looking up in an extraordinary way.
Out of respect and reverence Karl went to the only place he could think of right now to celebrate his successful transition from the lands of Queen Elizabeth II to the American Rebels, a nearby shrine he had been to with his on campus Catholic group.
It was 4:14 PM and as he pulled in, everyone seemed to be leaving Fatima shrine. He greeted the priest, was shriven, and lit a candle and said a prayer for his safe journey beneath an image of Papa JP II, the great philosopher-pope.
To many, Karl's behaviour would seem indescribably odd, insane, or just contradictory, but alongside "The Game" (as he liked to call Everquest), there were two things that always made him feel whole: Catholicism, and Philosophy.
Karl came from a background that always seemed normal enough in multi-cultural Scarborough where he grew up. He was adopted as an infant, and would never have known except for the clear racial difference. His father was an Indian Diplomat with a wonderful English accent and a classical education, he taught Karl to read younger than all of the other children at school and would quote political theorists from Aristotle and Hobbes and Rawls on any occasion. That is when he actually was in the country, which was rare as he was always travelling somewhere.
Karl's mother was the complete opposite, she seemed to lack a passion for anything. She had a long German lineage to which Karl owed his name (after his mother's grandfather who had been some kind of Army official in the Weimar republic). Though her marrying an Indian man, and his father's marrying of a Saxon woman, meant virtual exile from most of their respective families. All of them except Karl's maternal grandparents with whom he lived, scorned them for their 'unnatural' union. Karl could never understand how his mother, this passive and silent woman, who seemed so much a stranger to him even after all these years, had at one point possessed enough passion to defiantly act in love. It was a mystery.
And then there was Karl, with no shared genetics or heritage, physically and linguistically an Anglo, adopted into these two confused cultures and lives. Perhaps this confusion was why he felt at home in the racial hodgepodge of Catholicism. Certainly, it was why he fell in love with Philosophy. Karl thought of himself as Socrates had once, "neither Athenian nor Greek, but a citizen of the world". And like Socrates, he had spent his life trying to fulfill that ancient command inscribed on the temple of the oracle of Apollo at Delphi: "KNOW THYSELF"
As the sun set and he pulled into a rest stop - not even halfway through New York State yet - Karl was joyful. Anticipating for the first time in a long time, a new beginning, and in typical nerd-tradition he hummed the Star Wars theme and pretended he was on Tatooine as he stretched and watched the sun go down. That is, until some cute girls pulled up in a car next to him and he abruptly finished it.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Story (2): Life and Work
Karl hated driving, normally. There was always pressure to get somewhere on time, always the fear of driving down the wrong road. always. He knew that if he could just drive, using only a compass, with no particular route in mind, and if he could master his fear, then another nail could be removed from his coffin.
***
Ever day since graduation, he'd felt the nails being driven in. Masters in Philosophy, summa cum laude from University of Toronto. When you live in Scarborough, it's not much of a commute. Most of the people Karl knew lived within 30 minutes of his house. His life was there. A teaching assistant, living in his grandparents basement. Mom and Dad travelled so often they decided to just sell their house altogether. They'd come back every once and a while, for the holidays. But otherwise... it was Karl, and Grandma (Grandpa was on a respirator, and senile as well).
This life Karl had come to know consisted of minute intellectual scraps he had with his self-proclaimed Buddhist, and newly liberated atheist undergrads. A few papers to mark, a few classes to prepare for, and such life went... for a while.
After cut-backs and staff changes, one day the budding would-be professor found himself without a job in academia.
***
It's amazing how quickly things slip through your fingers sometimes, and sure enough Karl was working at a Warehouse job packing skids of industrial cleaning supplies. He was told that he should be grateful in this economy for a job at all, his father reminded him, and according to mom some 'real' work would do him good.
As a metaphysician Karl knew only too well the dichotemy between every day life and the 'real world'. Moreover as a philosopher he also found the maxim of Aristotle -that physical labour degrades the mind- to be the reality of his life.
The more cleaner he packed, the more his anticipation grew for the mind numbing recreation he planned after each shift in the trenches. From 5pm to midnight he worked 4 days a week. As soon as he scrubbed his hands clean with the grainy orange soap at the end of his shift he would look in the mirror, and even though nothing had noticably changed, somehow it seemed like he had earned another day's work of value in the eyes of family and the world at large.
After he journeyed home and cleaned up, Karl would enter his 'real world'. If Plato was said to have his head stuck in the clouds, Karl could be said to have his in the computer.
Everquest had a reputation for being addictive, ever since he was 13 Karl had played this game. A massive multiplayer online role-playing game where (previously) thousands would play online together, it was the original, though popularity had waned of late. It had become such an important part of life, sometimes the everyday world of experience with it's fake smiles and formalities seemed to Karl like the game.
Comfort. The massive cushioned chair called to him amidst the immaculately cleaned game space. This corner of Karl's room was holy to him in the proper sense of the word. It was 'set apart' , it was the last safe place on earth, the balance that kept life all together. Once Karl even noticed that occasionally he would silently shed a tear of joy as he sat down and deeply exhaled all of the day's issues. He had a mini zen garden and everything for loading times and logins.
As he logged on at quarter to one, he was reunited to his friends. From Seattle to Memphis to Glasgow, Karl had his online fellow raiders. It didn't matter that they had everything they wanted in-game. It didn't matter that hardly anyone played anymore, nothing mattered but their companionship. The voices of these people, the jokes and personalities, the community they had was real. Even if their characters weren't.
After the hours of laughter, sometimes serious conversation, and alot of silent space filled only with the occasional sound effect or sigh of a friend, Karl would log off. Stumbling next to his bedside shrine, he would mumble through the Rosary in Latin, make the signum crucis (Sign of the Cross), and gaze one last time at the icon of Mary before blowing out the candle and passing out in bed.
In lecture once Karl had heard that Bishop Berkeley said that it was more important for Heaven to exist, than for us to be there. Thinking back on it later, he felt his online home was much the same as Berkeley's Heaven. As long as it remained, the foundation of life could not be moved. Even in the darkest hours of work, or the lonely dinners with his elderly warden.
***
But obviously since Karl found himself with 2 packed suitcases and a passport in his trembling hands, the foundation had moved.
Twelve days before the incident in the parking lot, the proverbial Krakatoa occurred for Karl. Sony had declared that they had gone bankrupt, and as a result their games would be offline - possibly indefinately. There were many tears and angry complaints among the guild. Genuine fear gripped these people. After all, their particular gaming group or guild (cleverly called 'zeno's zealots' - it was a philosophy joke Karl had made up) had been around for almost 5 years, and many had been playing -like Karl- for over a decade.
One of the guys in the group had a large house in Virginia, and he promised he'd be able to make his own private local server. If we could all get to his place, we could all play together and things would be just like old times. The strange thing was, none of them knew each other 'irl' (in real life), but the offer still stood, for any willing to brave the trek.
It only took 5 days for Karl to finally crack, it was decided, he would go to meet his guild. When your life falls apart, you have to begin to piece it together somewhere. Karl didn't know about philosophy, or family, but he did know one thing he couldn't live without, his community.
"We are all travelers in the wilderness of this world, and the best we can find in our travels is an honest friend." - Robert Louis Stevenson
***
Ever day since graduation, he'd felt the nails being driven in. Masters in Philosophy, summa cum laude from University of Toronto. When you live in Scarborough, it's not much of a commute. Most of the people Karl knew lived within 30 minutes of his house. His life was there. A teaching assistant, living in his grandparents basement. Mom and Dad travelled so often they decided to just sell their house altogether. They'd come back every once and a while, for the holidays. But otherwise... it was Karl, and Grandma (Grandpa was on a respirator, and senile as well).
This life Karl had come to know consisted of minute intellectual scraps he had with his self-proclaimed Buddhist, and newly liberated atheist undergrads. A few papers to mark, a few classes to prepare for, and such life went... for a while.
After cut-backs and staff changes, one day the budding would-be professor found himself without a job in academia.
***
It's amazing how quickly things slip through your fingers sometimes, and sure enough Karl was working at a Warehouse job packing skids of industrial cleaning supplies. He was told that he should be grateful in this economy for a job at all, his father reminded him, and according to mom some 'real' work would do him good.
As a metaphysician Karl knew only too well the dichotemy between every day life and the 'real world'. Moreover as a philosopher he also found the maxim of Aristotle -that physical labour degrades the mind- to be the reality of his life.
The more cleaner he packed, the more his anticipation grew for the mind numbing recreation he planned after each shift in the trenches. From 5pm to midnight he worked 4 days a week. As soon as he scrubbed his hands clean with the grainy orange soap at the end of his shift he would look in the mirror, and even though nothing had noticably changed, somehow it seemed like he had earned another day's work of value in the eyes of family and the world at large.
After he journeyed home and cleaned up, Karl would enter his 'real world'. If Plato was said to have his head stuck in the clouds, Karl could be said to have his in the computer.
Everquest had a reputation for being addictive, ever since he was 13 Karl had played this game. A massive multiplayer online role-playing game where (previously) thousands would play online together, it was the original, though popularity had waned of late. It had become such an important part of life, sometimes the everyday world of experience with it's fake smiles and formalities seemed to Karl like the game.
Comfort. The massive cushioned chair called to him amidst the immaculately cleaned game space. This corner of Karl's room was holy to him in the proper sense of the word. It was 'set apart' , it was the last safe place on earth, the balance that kept life all together. Once Karl even noticed that occasionally he would silently shed a tear of joy as he sat down and deeply exhaled all of the day's issues. He had a mini zen garden and everything for loading times and logins.
As he logged on at quarter to one, he was reunited to his friends. From Seattle to Memphis to Glasgow, Karl had his online fellow raiders. It didn't matter that they had everything they wanted in-game. It didn't matter that hardly anyone played anymore, nothing mattered but their companionship. The voices of these people, the jokes and personalities, the community they had was real. Even if their characters weren't.
After the hours of laughter, sometimes serious conversation, and alot of silent space filled only with the occasional sound effect or sigh of a friend, Karl would log off. Stumbling next to his bedside shrine, he would mumble through the Rosary in Latin, make the signum crucis (Sign of the Cross), and gaze one last time at the icon of Mary before blowing out the candle and passing out in bed.
In lecture once Karl had heard that Bishop Berkeley said that it was more important for Heaven to exist, than for us to be there. Thinking back on it later, he felt his online home was much the same as Berkeley's Heaven. As long as it remained, the foundation of life could not be moved. Even in the darkest hours of work, or the lonely dinners with his elderly warden.
***
But obviously since Karl found himself with 2 packed suitcases and a passport in his trembling hands, the foundation had moved.
Twelve days before the incident in the parking lot, the proverbial Krakatoa occurred for Karl. Sony had declared that they had gone bankrupt, and as a result their games would be offline - possibly indefinately. There were many tears and angry complaints among the guild. Genuine fear gripped these people. After all, their particular gaming group or guild (cleverly called 'zeno's zealots' - it was a philosophy joke Karl had made up) had been around for almost 5 years, and many had been playing -like Karl- for over a decade.
One of the guys in the group had a large house in Virginia, and he promised he'd be able to make his own private local server. If we could all get to his place, we could all play together and things would be just like old times. The strange thing was, none of them knew each other 'irl' (in real life), but the offer still stood, for any willing to brave the trek.
It only took 5 days for Karl to finally crack, it was decided, he would go to meet his guild. When your life falls apart, you have to begin to piece it together somewhere. Karl didn't know about philosophy, or family, but he did know one thing he couldn't live without, his community.
"We are all travelers in the wilderness of this world, and the best we can find in our travels is an honest friend." - Robert Louis Stevenson
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Beginning a Story
I've been trying to write a story recently, and I just decided to start writing rather than continue planning and failing to actually do it. Here is the terrible rough draft:
The Empty Parking Space
Karl went to work. That's what everyone thought he did, though he got angry about it and sometimes acted melodramatic over something so simple, so everyday. As he drove by the Chevron station he noticed the gas in his tank dangerously low. 'fuck it, if I'm late for work what does it matter' Karl thought. Taking himself far too seriously Karl filled his tank and drove to the warehouse. He looked at the clock. 5:03. Knowing he had 3 minutes left before he would have to deal with a supervisor in order to begin work he shut off the engine and looked in the mirror.
Dead eyes, dirty baseball cap, 3 chins. Karl didn't recognize himself. Perhaps - he wondered, being the philosophical type - perhaps I'm not myself.
'what doth it profit a man if he gaineth the whole world and yet lose his soul?'
At 5:07 Karl was not on the shop floor, he was gone. No one would notice for 10 more minutes. No one would worry for 20. No phone calls would be made for 30. But it didn't matter. Karl was gone, and no one would've predicted where he was headed or why.
With the window down and his arm out catching the breeze he was free. Life and all it's cramp pettiness and mundanity had prepared to make the killing blow, but something happened which Fate itself could not see. Karl had gotten up, he had survived. The empty parking space was the only difference it seemed, but how great the difference was for a man starting over again. It might've been an empty cell
(to be continued)
The Empty Parking Space
Karl went to work. That's what everyone thought he did, though he got angry about it and sometimes acted melodramatic over something so simple, so everyday. As he drove by the Chevron station he noticed the gas in his tank dangerously low. 'fuck it, if I'm late for work what does it matter' Karl thought. Taking himself far too seriously Karl filled his tank and drove to the warehouse. He looked at the clock. 5:03. Knowing he had 3 minutes left before he would have to deal with a supervisor in order to begin work he shut off the engine and looked in the mirror.
Dead eyes, dirty baseball cap, 3 chins. Karl didn't recognize himself. Perhaps - he wondered, being the philosophical type - perhaps I'm not myself.
'what doth it profit a man if he gaineth the whole world and yet lose his soul?'
At 5:07 Karl was not on the shop floor, he was gone. No one would notice for 10 more minutes. No one would worry for 20. No phone calls would be made for 30. But it didn't matter. Karl was gone, and no one would've predicted where he was headed or why.
With the window down and his arm out catching the breeze he was free. Life and all it's cramp pettiness and mundanity had prepared to make the killing blow, but something happened which Fate itself could not see. Karl had gotten up, he had survived. The empty parking space was the only difference it seemed, but how great the difference was for a man starting over again. It might've been an empty cell
(to be continued)
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