Not big ends, all small stuff, but the sum of which feels impactful as timing found the ends all lining up to the same day.
It's the end of my work year, with much less accomplished than I'd hoped, and much more gained in terms of responsibility than I'd expected.
I continue to see my job shift from "programmer" to general problem-solver (programming still being the primary tool for this purpose). I see myself struggling in the coming years to stay relevant at programming if my work continues to pull me into higher level discussions and meetings. I fear there will come a time that I'll be so involved discussing problems and solutions that I'll not be able to find time to keep my skills polished enough implement these solutions myself. That time won't be 2023, however, so for now I forge ahead.
I've just reached the end of my most recent Audiobook: "The Lost Metal", which coincidentally is the end of "Era 2" of the Mistborn series. This is a series I've been following for a long time, and while I was initially unsure of the Era 2 cast, I've found Sanderson's writing in this era to feel a bit less "Young Adult" than the first Era of Mistborn.
Sanderson's works are very much comfort food for me, especially when it's Michael Kramer doing the reading -- I've been listening to him voicing fantasy novels back to the very first audiobooks I ever listened to (Wheel of Time). I don't have much to say on the book except that I liked it quite a bit, and enjoyed the endings he gave to his characters in this Era.
I've also just finished volume 10 of Sandman, which as a series I simultaneously liked less, and appreciated more than I'd expected. I found a lot of the storylines in the series to be left incomplete, but Neil Gaiman's blurb at the end of volume 10 put the entire series into perspective for me: "In many ways that's what these stories were about: the process of saying goodbye."
With that single sentence everything kind of fit into place, and I was able to put a name to the melancholy running through the entire series. Honestly I don't know how I missed it before, but in that context I feel stories can be left with unsatisfactory resolutions -- many goodbyes are.
The series is very artsy -- that's not a complaint, but it was artsier than I'd expected. The series reads more like literature than most comic books, and can be difficult to follow at times. I wasn't overly fond of the short-story collections that generally comprised every other volume. I found while these helped for a bit of world building, many of them didn't add much to the overall narrative (which I was more interested in).
I've still got volume 11 to read, though volume 10 is the end of the main storyline. I think I'll take volume 11 slowly and continue with what's been a little bit of a tradition and read it in bed as I fall asleep. What better way to read "Sandman" than passing out and letting the story bleed into your dreams?
I've accepted the decision to move next year, which is a kind of end, and something I hate doing. I tend to grow very attached to both places and living patterns. Me and my partner moved to a smaller city during COVID where we could afford a house, but with things opening back up it would be cruel to keep them (who doesn't drive) in place where driving is essentially mandatory to accomplish even the most basic activities.
So it'll be back to the big city, which will require me to live a little less comfortably as I'll need to find a functioning commuting and dog-watching pattern in the new configuration. As much as I dislike the idea, I do appreciate having someone to push me into changing things up semi-regularly, as alone I'd likely stagnate in one place forever.
Bit of a tangential end, but I found out they're retiring Ash and Pikachu, anf the news hit me way harder than expected. I haven't kept up with the animated series in many years, and think it was likely time to move on or let Ash grow up long ago; but the announcement that "this will be their final journey" really choked me up.
As a kid I was religiously into the Pokemon TV show, and to this day one scene is stuck in my head at the very end of the first season. In my head the scene is ash standing there after losing in championship as the full version of the "Gotta Catch 'em All" song plays out -- but I went and re-watched it and it was definitely more of a montage-of-the-journey-so-far scene. The effect was the same; at 9 or 10 years old I was devastated by the idea that Ash lost at the end of the series. It was incomprehensible to end my favorite show this way! In the end, however, he was ready to get back up and train harder and try again, which was a super foundational storyline for young me.
Anyways, they're retiring Ash and something in my brain is sad about it, even though I haven't cared about Ash for over a decade.
So here I am -- between books and audiobooks and games. The end of my year came 2 weeks early and now I'm in a bit of a limbo -- but I kinda dig it. I've got 2 weeks of limbo where I'm going to just futz with projects and play some undemanding roguelikes and read short stories. Not get into anything too heavy. Start the new year with a clean slate, and try to find a good balance next year between entertainment and education in my selected readings and playings.
A day of small endings, but all good endings. I feel very inspired to start new things in the new year.
I've realized today that I've been using my purchase-oriented hobbies (retro games, fountain pens) as a bandage to cover up my lack of progress in my effort-oriented hobbies (learning stuff, making stuff, working out).
The dopamine hit of dropping hundreds of dollars on super fancy new stationary or a rare retro game is very similar, and while the satisfaction doesn't last nearly as long, it's a helluva lot easier to get.
I'm going to cut back on my purchase hobbies in the new year. I know a new year's resolution sounds cliche and tacky, but I generally find orienting lifestyle changes around large events (new year, birthday, vacation) works for me as I feel very rejuvenated after them.
I've been playing the mainline Pokemon games for almost 25 years now, and beaten at least one version of each generation. I defeated each rendition of the Elite Four and completed most generations' post-game content.
In Pokemon Violet, however, for the first time in all these years... I completed the regional pokedex!
For those not familiar with the series, this entails having caught (or obtained through evolution or trading) every species of Pokemon "native" to the game's region. For the newest game that's 400 Pokemon!
The core gameplay loop in Pokemon Scarlet and Violet is excellent. This generation unlocked something through the simple act of entirely removing random battles from the equation, allowing players to freely roam around and see the Pokemon they're about to fight. That's all it took to make this the most fun game in the mainline series.
And honestly it's saying a lot about this core loop that the game manages to stay fun so long, because a lot of the game kinda objectively sucks. The environmental graphics are garbage, the geography is uninspired (with the exception of maybe 2-3 areas), and while the supporting cast is well designed, all three "stories" in the game essentially just amount to three different series of the "gym battle" formula.
Also, as usual the different "versions" of the game were just the same game with a couple of different Pokemon. I had hoped for a Ruby/Sapphire setup with the whole Future / Past thing, but the story (and locations) were basically identical with the dialog going through a s/future/past/g. I don't know why I expected more from Game Freak in this aspect, but I did. (Maybe because there were 2 professors advertised in the promotional content.)
Hot damn was the Pokemon part good, though. The gyms and story may have just been flat excuses to catch and train more Pokemon, but that's all they really needed to be for a good time. Climbing up the side of a mountain to see the final evolved form of a fairly rare Pokemon wandering around was a dopamine hit. Evolving some of the old returning Pokemon into new forms was super exciting. I spent a lot of time in this game smiling or yelling for my partner to "look at what I caught!" (they have been similarly engrossed in the Scarlet version of the game)
With my pokedex filled I can now put this game away. I don't feel any need to compete online or do these awful level 5/6 raids, so there's not much left for me in Paldea.
When that DLC drops, though, with more Pokemon to catch? Well, my party is waiting.
I managed to wrestle myself away from playing Pokemon long enough to download the TIC-80 fantasy console and give it a go today.
Like the Pico-8, the TIC-80 is an all-in-one lowfi game-dev system with a built-in text editor, sprite editor, SFX and music editor all in one. They're both neat, but TIC-80 is open source and supports Javascript. I know Javascript.
Because I know javascript I had a super easy time getting a basic game working within an hour of downloading. There was next to no friction in getting the little engine to do what I wanted (not that I asked much of it). It was a real breath of fresh air; my usual game-dev attempts are several-hour long slogs through coding patterns or Godot tutorials without much to show by the end.
I realized that part of the friction I'm getting from Godot is that I'm just not used to UI in my workflow. I spend my days in text editors and terminals; Godot's dropdowns and nested menus and mouse-driven interfaces are wildly alien to how my brain chews on programmey tasks. These system are obviously super powerful and valuable in large projects, but the TIC-80 let me make a tiny project that was almost entirely code and got out of my way. (The little music editor was neat, too)
The experience also really highlighted how much easier gamedev is in a language you already know. Every serious attempt I've made into game development I've self-imposed a significant language-learning component.
"Oh, I'll make a CHIP-8 game... by learning enough Rust to build a CHIP-8 emulator from scratch!"
"I'm going to make a small proof-of-concept RPG!.. but in Zig and I'll cross-compile ImGUI and GL and compile it to WASM!"
It's kind of like trying to write a novel in a language I don't know. I should probably get some experience novel writing in my native tongue first.
All that said, I'm not going to give up on the Godot and GDScript. I am, however, going to try to take more detours into things like TIC-80, and perhaps do some more tiny games in python / JS. Learning game development isn't going to be a quick process, and I need the occasional quick win to keep my motivation up.
On that note, here's a clip of my TIC-80 game. I feel like a child holding up a shitty drawing and beaming with pride -- it isn't good or unique or impressive in any way, but I made it myself so it goes on the fridge.
I finished the Nona the Ninth audiobook this morning. It's the 3rd book in the Locked Tomb series by Tamsyn Muir.
The first book in the series was a riot, and the second was a thorough exercise in "what the fuck is even going on". This third book is essentially filler plus a whole lot of world building with a much smaller dash of "what the fuck is even going on".
It wasn't the bad kind of filler, though. More like custard in a doughnut -- good, fattening filler.
I got terribly attached to the characters, and the author continued to deliver hard with their brand of humour and writing. The entire series premise of necromancers in space is a wild ride, and reader (Moira Quirk) sells every line from every character perfectly. She and this series were seriously made for each other.
Between The Locked Tomb and The Murderbot Diaries I've been absolutely spoiled with high-caliber comedy Scifi audiobooks this year.
I went to a "celebration of life" for someone I grew up with this weekend. I wasn't terribly close with them, but
I was close to their friend groups in the past.
It was a really nice event -- even those grieving the hardest put on a smile and had fun
in honour of the deceased. Though they died far too young and I knew them only in highschool, it was warming
to see how much they had flourished into adulthood and hear how they had become such an important
figure in so many circles.
This person had been wise even in their youth. One of the few memories I recall of them is as a teenager, perhaps
of 14 or 15, when I found out that they "didn't like" me. At the time this was a shock -- as a confident teenager I was
convinced I was loved by all; if you've ever seen the cartoon "Recess", imagine the episode where TJ finds out
there's one student who doesn't like him and his distress about it.
Full of myself I eventually confronted them and demanded to know their reasoning. "You think you're better than everyone, and you're not" was
their answer, calm and clear and naked truth that I've recalled multiple times in my life even before their death. At 14 they were grounded
and wise as an owl. From the stories I heard, they never lost that. (We did reconcile our differences at some point and got along
very well in our remaining highschool years!)
In East of Eden, the author stated that the measure of a person's life is how people react to their death; if you die and nobody's happy about it,
you probably lived a decent life. If people are sad, it was probably a great one.
While the celebration was filled with laughter and smiles to honour the dead, everyone was sad -- even those of us who weren't close.
I accidentally purchased Cyberpunk 2077 and lost 35 hours of my life.
I'm honestly really impressed with the characters and stories in the game (and the graphics are neat!). I never finish sprawling ten-million-quest open-world games and don't expect to finish this one, but I've been having fun with it!
I've been playing as my new favorite RPG class: the One Punch Mage. A fists-only brawler that's subclassed in magic for the sole purpose of using disarm / disorient spells (or "quickhacks") to make punching people easier.
I watched The Banshees of Inisherin today and thoroughly enjoyed it. Not the most uplifting film, but a very well put-together dark slice-of-life with a vein of humour running through it.
It's about an irish man on a tiny island and his older best friend who suddenly and brutally ends the friendship to spend his remaining time on loftier goals (music) than talking to a "local dullard". Things naturally escalate from there.
Not the most riveting concept, but the movie does an excellent job with its storytelling and literary devices and filmography, as well as a good job capturing the pettiness and childishness than can poison relationships. It touches on a lot of other smaller topics but this was the big one for me.
It got me ruminating on a time I cut someone out of my life unexpectedly (to them). I don't regret removing them from my life, but I feel the way I did it -- unexpectedly and mercilessly with no discourse or recourse -- was unfair and childish on my part. In wanting to avoid difficult confrontation I not only burned the bridge but likely poisoned the water in the process.
In the film, proximity plays a large part in the characters' challenges -- being in a tiny village with a limited population makes it difficult to cut someone off or stay away from one another.
These days the whole world is a village, and I'm sure I'll eventually be forced to interact with this person again and it's going to be terrible and awkward on account of my past actions.
I guess that's the thing about burning bridges: it's only a mechanism to dissuade yourself from going backward. Nothing's preventing the poor bastards on the other side from building a boat and coming after you for messing up the village infrastructure and water supply.
I've just returned from a vacation with my partner and a friend to The East where we hoped to eat lobster and be merry.
While we did eat lobster, it was very expensive, and I came to the realization that lobster, no matter where you get it, is generally fairly fresh on account of being horribly boiled alive... so we probably could have just had lobster back home.
The trip was a bit different than our usual affair, and we relied heavily on serendipity -- we'd throw a marker onto the map for the day and just kinda wing the rest. We'd go to restaurants that looked interesting instead of using someone's blog recommendations, then ask people around us what was interesting or delicious nearby.
It was a fantastic and relaxing experience, with low expectations and high payoff.
At one point we discovered a wonderful bookstore that had excellent books as well as a wealth of stationary. I lost myself (and most of my money) for nearly a whole day just browsing and reading, with nowhere else we needed to be.
An interesting find was the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows, which is a book of made-up words to describe very specific emotions that don't already have a word. The author posits that since emotions are difficult to talk about, we haven't made words for many of them even if many of us have similar experiences -- meanwhile we've got half a thousand ways to describe the color green.
I haven't read through the whole book yet, but an emotion hit me when I was sitting in the airport on the way home that I don't believe yet has a word:
The bittersweet feeling when you leave a loved place for what you expect will be the final time.
This could be the last time you look upon an empty apartment before locking the door and moving away, or driving out of a small town on the East Coast where you had a great time for a few days but nothing would likely compel you to ever return; there's just too much else in the world to see and do.
I could use a word for that. It was a nice vacation.
I finished the East of Eden audiobook today after several months of listening. It is officially the audiobook that has taken me the longest to get through ever -- I've been listening since around May. The book wasn't even that long, it just took a lot of time!
Usually with audiobooks I'll listen to them in the car or while doing household chores, but I found that despite East of Eden's slow pace I needed to pay my full attention or I'd miss the good stuff. That's because the good stuff in the book wasn't the plot, but the words themselves.
As an avid fantasy/scifi reader this is quite the opposite to my frequent experience of somewhat-mediocre-writing with grandiose plots and or world-building.
The words were wonderful. I found myself writing down and reflecting on several quotes and ideas the book examined, especially from the two primary philosophers in the book: Lee and Samuel Hamilton.
These two characters carried the book for me. They were cultivators of the other characters with their love and words. They were deep and complex and just so easy to love. The other characters all rich in detail and life in ways I've seldom seen in other stories. Every character, even minor ones, had love and pain and depth to them in ways that made them feel very human.
And that's what East of Eden is about: what it means to be human. It tells a story of the weaving lives of 3 generations and how their actions propagate through their children. How they're tested and punished and driven. Their joys, their suffering. It plays off of biblical themes unabashedly, and even though you can see each upcoming tragedy from miles away, you feel them when they hit.
I really loved this book. It re-phrased or re-examined many ideas I've seen before, but in new ways and with more empathy. I felt feelings, chuckled, shed tears, and got reminded that it can be good to take things slowly sometimes. Let them sink in and simmer and bask in the tiny unimportant details that make things real.
It was a treat that I hope to re-read at a much older age, when I'm sure I'll have many more sorrows and joys under my belt to resonate with.
