Normality Restored
Where pop culture meets geek culture and they make out a little.
Where pop culture meets geek culture and they make out a little.
Jul 8th
There has been so much frustration in my life these past few months. Frustration and, oddly enough, a fair amount of enjoyment as well. And then, completely out of the blue, today my family’s life changed dramatically. It is an odd sensation, to sit here and think that just a week ago I felt one way about my life while today, I feel almost completely different.
I don’t want to alarm anyone, though I doubt there is anyone reading this, so I’ll just say this change has been decidedly for the good. Right now, though, I’m just not ready to say anything more.
kilian
May 11th
First track. “Thieves.” It was melancholy, and it was sweet. Bittersweet sometimes. The thought of the follies and pain of inexperience that bring us to take chances with our emotions that almost break us. Words and choices whose effect could have been weighed better. An afternoon with fingers entwined and there would be tickets in an envelope placed carefully in one of our backpacks for a show later on that night. Chasing pigeons and lunch in a small deli in a corner and then dinner afterwards. Look around the wall and Al Pacino used to come here for his favorite sandwich. Then there would be words and choices and no, they cannot be unsaid nor undone.
Then there was the next track, “In The Sun,” which brought back those memories of old high school crushes. Coming off the bus and look around, is that her bus over there and maybe I can catch a chance to smile at her if I wait in that one part of the hallway that she passes by sometimes. Some days I did. Then there were the mornings when I did see her. And she smiled. And there was the pain of a crush that’s not returned but there was also that rush of blood to the cheeks because she smiled and it was sincere and honest. I watched the video for this song later on, watching Deschanel and crew dancing behind an oblivious M. Ward, because how else do you feel inside when a crush passes by and you play it straight until they’ve passed? I hear the opening and I laugh because it makes me want to find a nice girl to skip down a hall with.
Bittersweet. Melancholy. And through the simple sound of Deschanel’s voice and the playful melodies, wonderful as well. Like a salve, you know, succeeding in unifying all of these experiences and their inevitability and saying, perhaps, that it is all ultimately wonderful?
Mar 2nd
Early excitement about the perceived usefulness of my phone in allowing me to post more often has been tinged with some frustration.
Long has it been established that some sort of visual stimuli accompany the textual variety. My assumption that adding images through the phone would work just as well as adding the text has been proven wrong most heinously as evidenced by the previous post’s severe lack of anything resembling an image.
More importantly, this turn of events dampers the high hopes I had for the aforementioned new areas of online inquiry.
Feb 28th
This marks the first in a new era for me and digital style publication. I’ve had an iPhone for awhile now…necessitated by my venturing into the realm of online, university-style instruction. This is the first post, however, that has been written on my phone.
Of course, this the third attempt at getting it to actually post. That, coupled with the strange alchemy that is predictive text, has made this post very annoying to complete.
I do have some ideas percolating for new directions in online time wasting…
Feb 2nd
I can’t even remember the last time I posted here. The standard reasons I have offered in the past can be brought out and beaten (though they are long since dead), yet again: kids, teaching, bookmines, exhaustion.
It remains to be seen how frequent…if at all, updates will come, though my intentions are pure in this regard.
It is also quite likely that none of our other contributors will be back, though at least a couple have claimed a willingness to try…or at least to try to try…
That being the case we’ve (and by that I mean, I) have ditched the weekly update format in lieu of the tried and true “update whenever the fuck you can” method which, honestly, I like better. So if you’re subscribed to the site through a feed you’ll get an update when we update…if not, you can always randomly check in, I guess.
Since there won’t be “themes” there seemed no reason to keep this space devoted to “This Week in Normality” so I’ve renamed it (for now) as “Random Normality.” Although, as I type this it occurs to me that I have to manually update the header somewhere in one of the stylesheets and I’ll be damned if I remember where the fuck that is. As always, I produce the most professional of websites.
I will see (in the internetz way, that is) you all soon.
kilian
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Nov 18th
The original, defacto, theme was “Father’s and Son’s” for reasons I won’t go into now. Suffice it to say, I felt a more inclusive theme was fitting.
For the last week or so I’ve been picking my way through Manhood for Amateurs (Michael Chabon’s first work of non-fiction). Even though the HarperCollins website claims that the essays are “slyly interlinked” I’ve always enjoyed reading collected essays out of order. Perhaps I’m borderline ADD, but I’ve always held to the belief that reading such a work out of order leads me to discoveries I would have missed had my path been more linear.
Just today I stumbled across what will undoubtedly be my favorite passage from the entire book:
This may be the fundamental truth of parenthood: No matter how enlightened or well prepared you are by theory, principle, and the imperative not to repeat the mistakes of your own parents, you are no better a father or mother than the set of your own limitations permits you to be. And that set is your heritage, the pinched and helpless legacy of all the limited mothers and fathers whose fumblings, evasions, and shortcomings led, by some dubious accidental magic, to the production of you.”
It comes from an essay in which Chabon witnesses, in a real world exchange, the actualization of his eldest daughter’s burgeoning sexuality, and then must come to terms with his subsequent knee jerk reaction, even against the logical, objective view he holds of “sexuality” in his own mind.
It is cliched, or course, for a father to want to, as Chabon puts it, hit some boys in the face with “a mallet” for simply staring at his daughter. And while my own daughter isn’t even in kindergarten, I have a deepening sense that my own experience will turn out very much like Chabon’s.
Another cliche, though, is in telling someone “unless you have kids, you don’t understand.” More than once, someone has said to me “I can’t believe you have a kid” or, more recently, “I can’t believe you have two kids.” I’ve also been asked “what is it like to be a parent?” Or, “what advice can you give me for when I have kids?” My responses to questions like this are usually along the lines of…
In case you couldn’t tell, I have very little of use to say in regards to what it is like being a parent or what is required to be a “good” parent. When it comes to all things parent, “unless you have kids, you wouldn’t understand” which also means, if you already have kids, you don’t need it explained. Sort of a catch 22, really, but it is true.
One thing can convey, something I’ve slowly come to realize over the last 3 1/2 years (and has been reinforced in last year that I’ve had two kids) is that parents are just making it up as they go along. I might not know, precisely, what a good parent should do, but I can fake it well enough to fool a couple of toddlers. The other day my daughter asked mommy for something, mommy replied that said “thing” was broken and that daddy would have to fix it when they got home. My daughter, I’m told, said “daddy can fix anything.” That statement is heartbreaking for two reasons:
I’m not saying that I feel as if I’m a terrible father. While I can’t say for certain, my guess is most people who make an honest attempt at raising their children (read: don’t want their children to have the same fucking problems as themselves) are really just trying to find their way through a dark hallway without a flashlight. On some level, what counts most is the effort. At the end of the day, I will inevitably fuck up my kids in ways I had never intended, or could have foreseen, but hopefully they understand that I tried my best.
Until then, though, I get to read stories to my kids every night before they go to bed.
Finally, for your edification this time around, D. Composition brings us the Top 10 Most Awesome Parents in Film…enjoy.

Nov 18th
I’m not a parent and don’t really have any amazing stories about my parents. So, my friends, I have chosen to compile a top ten list of the most awesome parents in film. The list is by no means inclusive of all of film, as there are still many classics I’d like to see, and because I basically used my movie collection as reference. So here are the best parents (in my film collection). Also, HERE THERE BE SPOILERS!
Best Parents
10. Last House On the Left – John and Estelle Collingwood would be a lot higher on the list if their daughter hadn’t been killed. Not that the average parent knows their daughter is going to run into a gang of rapists and killers, but there are other parents on this list that would never have let her go out that night, or at least taught her to better look after herself. Aside from all that though, of course, is the reason they are on the list. It takes a passionate heart and a keen mind to outwit and take revenge on a group of killers, and the Collingwoods manage it in fine style.–
09. National Lampoon’s Vacation – Come on. Who wouldn’t want Ellen and Clark Griswold as parents? Despite the horrible outcomes to so many of the family vacations, they prove that their heart is always in it, and they’re always thinking about the family.–

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07. Little Miss Sunshine – Richard and Cheryl Hoover don’t seem like the greatest parents right away, but their time together with the family helps them learn a few things about life, and in the end, they understand which things matter the most in their lives. There aren’t a whole lot of things in recent memory that are much more awesome than what the Hoover family manages at the end of the movie.
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Nov 12th
This week’s (shortened) theme was inspired by the following story:
Driving home from Yankee Stadium last night, drunk with power (and champagne!), Girardi stopped to help an accident victim, even though each World Series winner is specifically granted the right to run over one pedestrian, no questions asked.
So here’s what happened. The Yankees, you may or may not have heard, recently won the world series. Joe Girardi is the manager of said Yankees, on his way home from the stadium (after the actual winning of the world series), Girardi drove past a car that had wrecked on the side of the road. He pulled over (keep in mind, this is at 2 in the morning after attaining of the the biggest accomplishments in all of sports) to help the victim.
I’m not sure Deadspin got that last part, about running over a pedestrian, correct but what I can tell you is that, were I someone who had just managed a major league team to a world series victory, I doubt I would have stopped to help an accident victim just hours after my triumph. Likely, I would have laughed at the victim for not being as awesome as me.
My self-serving nature notwithstanding, I thought it would be a nice change of pace to at least offer this small bit of karmic goodness to the universe.
Surprisingly…or not surprisingly…the “submissions” from the other NR staff for this particular theme were particularly lean. So lean, in fact, that we have all of one…even after I allowed for an extended time in which submissions could be, er, submitted.
I don’t know if that speaks poorly about the NR staff, in that we could find almost nothing worth writing about when told to write about Heroism…or if that is a reflection of the greater world, and its lack of heroism. Perhaps it is simply a matter of the topic being too serious minded for us. Or, more likely, everyone (save one contributor) has chosen to abandon me to face the grueling mistress of (quasi)weekly interwebz puclication on my own.
Is not, I ask you, soldiering forth, in the face of overwhelming evidence that you should give up, not heroic in and of itself?
Am I just trying to make myself feel better?
Probably.

Nov 12th
“A hero is a man who does what he can” – Romain Rolland
I’ll take the opportunity to use this week’s theme as a means to write about a great classic that I recently read for the first time.
“The Incredible Shrinking Man” is the best horror story I’ve ever read. I suppose that’s not saying a whole lot since I haven’t been very heavily through the genre, but when you read it, you can feel its potency. I saw the old film adaptation (1957) a few years ago. It was good in the way a lot of old black and white sci-fi movies are, but was also lacking in a way those movies tend to. I also noticed something online that said there’s going to be another version being made with Eddie Murphy *shudder*.
Scott Carey, by way of extremely unfortunate chance, is exposed to elements that make him begin to shrink 1/7th of an inch, daily. Seems like a fairly straightforward sci-fi theme, right? I thought so for a long time too. You add the infamous black widow to the mix and maybe the family cat (giants now), and you’ve got two monsters that push the story into the realm of horror. This is what the story is like when you watch the movie. It’s all (more or less) left this way. The book gets into Scott’s mind, body, and soul.
The chapters in the book jump back and forth between tiny Scott’s survival tactics in the basement and the events (starting with the beginning of his shrinking) leading up to them.
The more Scott shrinks, the more self-conscious, paranoid, and defensive he becomes. On top of that, everything becomes a life or death situation. In all his frustration, he can’t even safely take a walk down the street. Soon after, he can’t go outside at all. Sexual frustrations also take their toll, making for a couple of rather uncomfortable, yet plausible scenes. Scott’s alienation from the world he once knew is so sudden and horrifying and written so thoroughly and convincingly that it almost seems a relief for him to spend his time doing something as simple as hiding from a spider that wants to eat him.
Scott has the problems with his wife, money, and people wanting to treat him like a sideshow replaced by things like becoming deafened by the water heater kicking on, being eaten by a giant black widow, and starving to death (amongst tons of other horrifying possibilities). Scott keeps things in order though. He creates makeshift clothing and a place for sleep and shelter. He marks his height on the wall daily, knowing the day will come that he will shrink that last 7th of an inch into nothing, and thinking about what he needs to accomplish before he becomes too small to accomplish it (and if it’s worth the effort at all). It becomes such an immense strain for him though, that he continually asks himself why he doesn’t just give up and die. Even when he convinces himself that he has had enough horrible luck and he doesn’t care about anything anymore, he continues to try to survive. All he has left in life becomes about what he can do…what he must do for survival.
Despite overwhelming heartbreak, terror, and misfortune, Scott Carey does not give up. That’s what makes him a hero.

5/5 - Punched in the face by AWESOME!
Nov 3rd
Greetings Faithful Normalinauts,
Consider this week an unofficial/official/unofficial again reboot…sort of. Some time ago we (read: I) decided to start posting content at the beginning of the week to afford the weekend time to write stuff and, theoretically, allow for us (read: me) to write more for the site. Most of my weekday hours are devoted to bookmines duty, teaching, grading, bathing and feeding the kids, etc. After all that, I don’t have the time and/or energy to write anything else. As it is, I’m lucky to get more than 3 hours of sleep a night during the week.
So what the hell does this have to do with this?
This week’s theme, “Things Change, Things Remain the Same…,” is a fairly esoteric one and can be molded to fit any topic, I think, but is particularly appropriate when considering the history of this site. By that I mean, we’ve always gone through stretches of relative silence and stretches of frenzied activity. No doubt this state of affairs will continue until I win the lottery or in some other way become independently wealthy. So while we’ve undergone a lot of changes in the last six months, as always, we remain Normality Restored.
There are some more changes up ahead, not the least of which will involve a lot of begging on my part…but more on that later… Regardless of the changes, or the down time, I want to assure the few of you that have been consistent visitors to this site that it remains a priority for me…even if the kids and jobs must take precedence at times. I ask all Normalinauts out there in cyberspace not to lose hope, for as long as I have breath in my lungs (and the ability to pay the hosting fees) you will always have this little corner of the interwebz to call your own.
Now, I’d like to say that the above impassioned plea/apology/rant was the actual inspiration for this week’s theme, but it was not. In fact, this theme came to me as I pondered, some months ago, the release of The Gathering Storm, the most recent release in The Wheel of Time series that has now been taken over by Brandon Sanderson.
I would go into it in more detail here but that’s actually the focus of one of my articles.
D. Composition illuminates for us a re-discovery from our collective childhoods and a story from his past that was particularly special to him.
Lastly, I consider what it means to re-imagine both a foundation of fantasy literature as we know it…and the most popular contemporary fantasy story…all in the same book.

Nov 3rd
I have long been aware of who Lev Grossman was, author of the bestselling novel The Codex, and general “nerd” blogger for Time, he seems to have, essentially, the life I desire.
That said, I had not read any of his fiction until a promo copy of his newest novel The Magicians came my way (thank you, again, gods of the bookmines). I glanced at the back and my interest was piqued by the odd Harry Potter comparison made by George RR Martin. Opening the book to a random page, as is my custom when considering if I will take a book home or not, I came across both the words “prefect” and “4th year” in the same paragraph. The Potter comparison, then, was not overblown.
Well, I like books about magic, and schools, and magic schools. While I didn’t think there was much to be done with the subject, in a post Potter world, I still took it home. My book hoarding instincts often trump all other considerations.
I did begin to read it, though. Grossman has an unassuming style; almost conversational without being annoying or overly stupid. The main character, Quentin, an over achiever with no discernible confidence, sense of self worth, or familial relationships of note was fairly relatable…to me at least. Now I’ve never been recruited to go to a secret test session for a remote and highly selective magical college but I sure did understand the psyche of Quentin.
So, again, the Potter comparisons begin. Harry gets into Hogwarts, essentially, because of genetics. He is a wizard because he is a wizard. Well, Brakebills (the college in The Magicians) doesn’t work that way. You might have the potential, but unless you can pass the entrance exam, you don’t get in…or even remember that you took the exam in the first place. And there begins the differences that are dramatic between Potter and The Magicians. It would be easy to say that this novel is like Potter, but American, and since the characters are in college, there’s a lot more sex, alcohol, drugs, and nihilism. But that description short changes the true depth that Grossman understands the depression that can affect the highly gifted. Imagine, you dream your whole life that you can achieve something more than is “planned” out for you. You find out that, in fact, you can learn to use real magic…really could walk naked through the antarctic for days and survive, for instance…but then you realize that your life is still meaningless. How much worse would you feel, knowing you have such power but it doesn’t change the fact that your life means nothing? The understanding Grossman demonstrates of human consciousness coming to terms with the apparent arbitrary nature of the universe is both deep and disturbing. Probably more disturbing, in fact, in light of the fact that these characters really could fly to the moon if they so wished.
Besides taking a premise that was made popular by another (magic school) and turning it on its head, Grossman also pays homage to one of the foundations of fantasy literature: Narnia. In his book Narnia is replaced by a land known as Fillory. The Fillory books, favorite reading of Quentin even after he starts doing real magic, were written in the 1930’s by a man named Christopher Plover and starred a varying cast of children from the Chatwin family. The books, the reader discovers in time, are more than just childrens reading, though, and play an integral role in Quentin’s life after he leaves Brakebills.
The New York Times review of the book states that, “Perhaps a fantasy novel meant for adults can’t help being a strange mess of effects.” This demonstrates a serious lack of understanding on the reviewer’s part. Either he believes that fantasy must be cut and dry (i.e., good v evil, black v white) or that it can only be for children (and, again, fall into strict categories). The best fantasy, the best fiction, is fuzzy…like the world. If magic were a real force that humans could control (though have little real understanding of, as expressed in the book) then Grossman has given the reader the most true to life rendering of it possible. Of course it is messy because life, and humans, are messy.
In the end, I did not feel overly sympathetic toward Quentin, and I’m not sure I was supposed to. Yes, eventually, he winds up understanding that his story was nothing more than the by-product of another character’s attempt to right a terrible wrong. But even that, as is most often the case, was only the outcome of an even earlier evil… But, sometimes, we are just tools in someone else’s story. Were there moments when I felt sad for Quentin, certainly. Would I have made his choices at the end, maybe. Does that make me want to be him, not necessarily. But isn’t that what adulthood, and humanity, is all about? Whether or not one can perform feats of astonishing power, don’t we all hope to empathize with the pain of others, even if we choose to deal with that pain in a different way?

Nov 3rd

I bought Knife of Dreams the day it came out in 2005. Even though I was in graduate school, and should have been reading my homework, I finished the book in just a few days. I had been waiting for its release, literally, for years. To prepare, I spent dozens of hours, in the weeks leading up to its release, re-introducing the Wheel of Time series to my memory with the help of EWoT (the Encyclopedia Wheel of Time for the unintiated).
When I was done with the book (#11, mind you, in the Wheel of Time series…not counting the one prequel) I realized that almost nothing, save for in the last 50 or so pages, actually happened in that damn book…and it was 800 fucking pages! Even the actual Knife of Dreams, the item for which the BOOK WAS NAMED, only made a minor appearance. I mean, seriously!?
I vowed, then and there, to never again subject myself to pain of reading a Wheel of Time novel.
And then Robert Jordan was diagnosed with a rare disease.
I’ll admit that my first thought wasn’t “oh god, I hope he’s OK” so much as it was “oh god, how will he finish the series.” I’m not exactly proud of that, but you know, I doubt I was the only one to think it. Yes, it is tragic that he died just a year and half after publicly revealing his diagnosis. I like to think, though, that my reaction was in no small part because of how much Jordan’s work had cemented itself in my mind. Yes, I had “sworn” not to finish the series, but when presented with the actual possibility of not being able to finish the series I freaked the fuck out.
I’m not saying there is a causal link between my worship of an author and serious health issues, but I will say that after Douglas Adams, Jordan, and Terry Pratchett, well…Neil Gaiman, Tim Powers, and James P Blaylock should all see the doctor.
By all accounts, Jordan fought the disease hard, but in the end, as these things generally turn out, the disease won.
So this guy Brandon Sanderson was chosen to finish the series.
Jordan, apparently, left very detailed notes on how the story was to finish. His claim that he would finish the series in 12 books, even if he had to write a 2000 page book for installment 12, was not far from the truth and Tor (the publisher) and Sanderson, decided to break the final arch of the story into three average size WoT books.
And so, as I write this, I’m just over 200 pages into the 766 that make up The Gathering Storm.
There was quite a bit of consternation amongst WoT fans over who would finish the series (before Sanderson was chosen). I, too, worried about who would step in to finish a 10,000 page series with 3000+ named characters.
Is Sanderson the equal of Jordan?
Shit, I don’t know. 200 pages in and I’d say the book reads like the rest of the series, all the main characters have, thus far, not done a whole lot and annoyed me with their overly complicated thought processes.
Sometimes I wonder why I kept reading past book 2.
On the one hand, every single character, even my mostest favoritest in the series (Mat, in case you were curious), is his/her own greatest obstacle. No two characters ever seem to have any meaningful communication. Even those who are all working toward the same goal…like defeating the Dark One in the Last Battle…work at cross purposes more often than not. After nearly 10,000 pages it can get really, really, really, fucking annoying.
But then again…isn’t that just how people are? I probably communicate effectively with my wife like 30% of the time and we aren’t on separate ends of the continent, being tortured, running into battles, fighting dark and foul monsters from the north…we just deal with dirty diapers and temper tantrums. The real genius of what Jordan did was take actual people that you might know in real life, the good and the bad, and throw them into some crazy ass fantasy world that is near its end. Even the most well intentioned WoT characters are selfish at times, make mistakes (even when trying to do what is right), and fail. But they also do some drastically heroic things, sacrifice (even their own lives), and fight and scrape. As a complex psychological study of humanity, I doubt I’ve read anything even remotely equal, in fiction, to the Wheel of Time.
It occurred to me, recently, that books are possibly the only form of entertainment where we, as fans, would worry so much when a new author takes over a series. There are, of course, things like D&D and Star Wars that are just written by loads of people by default. But something like WoT, which came from the mind of a single writer, and was shaped by that writer over the course of 10,000 pages, becomes less a series of fictional works and more an extension of that person. Novel writing in general, but long fantasy series writing in particular, is an iconoclastic endeavor the likes of which exists no where else in art.
Would the series be more satisfying if Jordan had finished it himself? I don’t know. At some point I believe works like this belong more to the fans than the creator and so we, the fans, are owed are closure.

Nov 3rd
I’m probably one of many people who got a Nintendo Entertainment System when I was little. That was big. Being able to play Super Mario Brothers whenever I wanted was like some divine dream. Many other games came after that. Some were great and some were not so great. I remember enjoying the hell out of most of them for reasons I didn’t think about. It was just fun. I saw each game as a whole package. It’s like when you’re little and you listen to music and hear it as a whole, then later on you start to differentiate each instrument and appreciate them more.
So then new systems came and went, and I think I always took the same kind of enjoyment out of everything (probably) until games started to have real bands doing the music and there being cut sequences and such. I even had the occasional nostalgia trip with an old console or emulator (still do sometimes). But it wasn’t really until I heard a band called “The Advantage” that I really became impressed with the music of 8 bit video games.
I don’t remember how I first heard The Advantage, but I remember being instantly shocked at their musicianship. The Advantage is a band that only performs video game cover music (NES covers specifically). Somehow I got wind of their first album (self-titled) and was amazed. I had never realized how potent the music was. When it finally dawned on me, I realized that the music for these 8 bit games has to be looped (for one thing). It also has to be catchy and never, ever get old. Didn’t A.D.D. rise to prominence around the same time as video games? Somehow, those Japanese composers created lots of music like this, and it was flying over the heads of kids like me in the late 80’s and early 90’s.
So the change from composer to cover artist was through instrumentation. The Advantage seem to have painstakingly worked to recreate these old songs with guitars and drums rather than 8 bit waves and blips. The music becomes even more potent because of the fullness of the instruments (not to mention the faithful recreation of the original songs). And this is all from guys who really did notice how good the music was. From this, they created their band (which is a side project for each member) to play those songs they loved as kids and to give game fans an awesome nostalgia trip.
I know that I enjoyed the music when I was little. I just didn’t think about it. It was in with everything else. One big ball of silly putty. It just took a few musicians (who did differentiate those things) to create something nostalgic and jarring that would snap me into realizing it. The musicians and instruments changed, but the music (by skills of the band) is as good as it ever was.
**The Advantage have released two official albums and a promo cd that was only available at shows (and online in some places). I’ve heard that they are all involved in new bands at the moment. Their myspace account hasn’t had any updates in quite some time and their official website, sadly, is long gone.**
Oct 24th
A person’s memories are powerful things. The naturality of aging and maturing forces us into a constant state of change. I read something once about how close to an illusion all of life (as we know it) is. It stated that since the past and the future are not things we are experiencing, and that the present is not a stationary thing, it is very difficult to grasp things that we perceive as important in our lives. Memories are all we have. Being things of the past, memories seem like landmarks for the people we were at those times. Buoys drifting in a vast ocean of forgotten hours, days, and weeks. Memories alone tend to be rather static though. Physical inputs are what really electrifies memories. Movies, books, photos, and songs are some of the most common and easily accessible of these sensory inputs.
Though I remember events that happened in my childhood, what is difficult to remember is exactly how I felt at any given time. A fragment of it might return though, with the right physical input. A good example is the He-Man theme song. I used to watch that show all the time when I was 4 or 5 years old. One day, the show vanished. I didn’t hear or see anything of the original show for about 20 years. Then one day, I looked it up on Youtube and the opening theme was there. It felt weird to see and hear it (to say the least). Even now, just the “Filmation” sound effect at the beginning is like someone poking around in my brain with a popsicle stick. But above all the weirdness, it reminded me of simpler times.
I am not completely mature. I hope I never will be. And I find it unsettling when I see evidence that other people are. I find kids to be the most interesting, genuine, and creative people that exist. To lose all of that by growing is one of the most depressing things I can imagine, but some people can’t seem to help it. This is not to say that adults cannot be these things, but these are aspects commonly sacrificed to better conform to the adult world. They let their inner children die, or lock them away in the forgotten chambers of their hearts, often times becoming perpetual sourpusses.
I didn’t read much as a kid. I suppose I just wasn’t raised that way. I remember reading being encouraged in elementary school, but in a vague, disconnected way. No one told me about a specific book or why reading was a good thing, they just told me that reading was GOOD and reading a LOT was BETTER. So I mostly watched movies. One of the movies I loved the most as a kid was The NeverEnding Story. My family rented it a ton of times and I never got sick of it. So when I was in high school and had finally taken to reading, it was an obvious choice.
Something about watching the movie when I was little and reading the book when I was in high school really intensified the power of the story for me. Since the end of the movie is only the halfway point of the book, I got the opportunity to pick up where I left off with all of these characters I had already loved for years. It was an opportunity that is rarely afforded. It all reminded me of those nights watching the old vhs tape long before the many stress of high school and growing up. And I enjoyed it. On top of the obvious anti-stress memories attached to the story for me, it was really good. I have such a passion for intensely imaginative things, and the book is definitely of that category.
Bastian is a kid that likes to read and finds himself uncharacteristically swiping a book from an old bookstore owner. You read about Bastian, and as he reads The NeverEnding Story, you do too. Atreyu is the book’s protagonist. He is called upon to find a cure for the Childlike Empress, though he doesn’t know what he’s looking for. All he knows is he is to travel in one direction with no weapons and find the answer for himself. As Bastian reads the story, he realizes that certain characters in the book are aware of him, and eventually call upon him to help their world and become a part of the story. It is stated to Bastian that as he has shared the experiences of the characters in his book, others have shared his experiences in their book, and so on. Hence, “NeverEnding Story”.
In the sequel to the movie, Mr. Coreander (the bookstore owner) suggests something that had intrigued me. When Bastian scoffs and says that he has already read the NeverEnding Story, Mr. Coreander smiles and says “Ah, but have you ever read a book twice? Books change each time you read them” When I first saw this, I figured it was just a plot gimmick. I didn’t think about it much at first. Later on though, I understood that it isn’t the book that changes (like it does in the movie) it’s the reader that has changed. Everything seems different because of the changing way that you understand things. It took me a while to really understand how growing and learning changes your perception. Sometimes this can really kill a good sensory input for nostalgia, but it really depends on the amount you have learned and changed. I’ve found that even though I’m a bit different now, I can still remember how I perceived something when I was little.
As much as I enjoyed the book, I don’t remember a great deal of it now. I did begin to read it again though. I can only hope that reading it will continue to reawaken all the old memories. And so far, it has.