So I watched Bill Murray being Bill Murray, but in Japan. I enjoyed the movie, and I like the way it ended. Although, I have to say that some of the scenes are probably funnier when you understand even 20% of the Japanese being spoken. Part of the concept is to show how alien everything seems in Japan. Nothing is translated.
One of the scenes features karaoke in private rooms, which I hope against hope looks nothing like us when we go out to karaoke.
I have been waiting for Half Life 2 to come for years. It was scheduled for release this Holiday Season. Now, due to the charity and graciousness of some very dubious characters, the release date has been pushed back to April, 2004.
And it’s not because the game isn’t done. It’s because someone stole a third of the source code. Part of me thinks that this is some sort of stunt that Vivendi Universal is pulling to get more time. Part of me hates the people that stole the code. Yet another part of me thinks that it could be corporate espionage.
Then there’s that other part that just wants a Krispy Kreme.
Mmmm. Krispy Kreme.
“Is that a diary?” He pointed at the little black book that I had dropped on the table. “What’s the point?”
I looked down at the leather bound book. It was black, and held shut by a piece of black elastic attached to the back binding. Although shut, I knew its pages were unlined, and the grey ribbon attached to the spine was marking the third page.
Where I had stopped.
I’ve been asked that question many times. I’ve even asked it of myself. I’ve had plenty of time to think about it. I’ve even written about it–about why I write things down. I gave him the answer that I finally decided on.
“If you don’t write something down,” I say, “you’ve lost a day of your life forever. You can’t remember everything.”
He counters. “What if nothing happens–what if that day wasn’t worth remembering?”
“Something happens every day that is worth remembering.”
“That’s the thing. Those stories are better told when embellished by memory.”
“Who says that the written word is truth? Are historical records truth?”
With that, he smiled and turned to the student scheduling his appointments. “Invite him back. We need to finish our discussion about truth.”
And then he walks off. I turn to her and smile, because to tell the truth, she was the reason I was there in the first place.
Schroedinger’s Bus
The M4 to Sibley Hospital is simultaneously late and on time, up until the point that an outside observer determines that the bus is late.
And as of late, I’ve observed it becoming later and later.
It should not take me 45 minutes to take a bus to work when I can walk to work in 30 minutes. The only good thing about this is that I can catch up with all of my reading.
Last night, I remembered why modern man invented the electric light. I remembered why it was so important for early man to have fire. Connecticut Avenue, being a main thoroughfare, has all of its streetlights powered. The side streets between Connecticut and Nebraska, however, are a different story altogether.
As I started walking towards the metro station to meet a friend, I found that I was facing complete darkness. The route was a familiar one, one that I walk daily. It’s my commute to work. Normally, the walk feels more like a responsibility, and I never had a second thought about my next step, or what was next.
Now, with no light, it had taken an altogether sinister aspect. The trees loomed overhead. I smelled rotting fruit and branches, but I couldn’t see any of them. Empty houses, bereft of light, deserted by their occupants, lingered just outside the tiny cone of light I could muster with my keychain flashlight.
Step by step, over downed branches, avoiding potholes, through spiderwebs, tripping on uneven sidewalks, I rediscovered my fear of the unknown.
Improbabilities fluttered into my head. I was still calm, but I found that without seeing everything, my mind wanted to make things up as I walked along.
After what felt like an eternity, I was upon the station. My anxieties fled as the light revealed familiar surroundings, and I forgot about my walk.
Until I had to go home again.