Blog - petrostudio LLC
I’m fascinated by people that don’t know anything. Ok, perhaps not anything, but simple things. Like, “How do you get there?” I don’t know about you, but there’s this nifty new invention they call a map. “Where do I get one?”
Diablo III was released in May of 2012. I played it a bit after launch, but lost interest. Reaper of Souls, the expansion, was released nearly two years later. It vastly improved the game, and I played a bunch more, including the Crusader class. But I fell out with it – it just didn’t hold my interest. Then I didn’t play it again for 3 years. I’m playing in again, now. Why?
A colleague had a child just last year. He’s an older guy, younger girlfriend, and has always been a very laid-back, surfer-type. We had been ribbing him for months about the drastic change in lifestyle that was about to occur. I think he took it in good fun, and maybe listened a bit, but you are never prepared for the change that a child brings. You could see it in his face in the months afterward – he was tired. Tired, but happy.
I have a love of historical fiction borne, I believe, of my affinity for Conan Doyle’s tales of Sherlock Holmes. I have read the anthology several times over, and sought out the various “estate-approved” modern tales, though some pale vastly in comparison to that which they are tying to emulate.
I remember using a typewriter. A lot of people don’t. Actually, I think a lot of people that used a typewriter don’t remember using one, either. I also remember writing letters. By hand. With a pen. In cursive. What happened? Not to the methods – but to the writing.
Facebook is great for some things – keeping up with family, friends and colleagues, seeing families and lives of people you otherwise would not, ignoring “friends” instead of de-friending because their political/food/OMGFML posts are too annoying for words, that kind of thing.
What it is not so great for is seeing how much other parents have different lives than you do.
I thought of this the other day and felt like I wanted to put it down. The memory came to me after my youngest smiled at me. It was that particular type of smile – not just happy, but happy to see you, happy to be doing whatever he was doing, just happy to be.
And when I saw this smile I felt something only a parent can feel, and every parent would have difficulty describing. It’s just a pure feeling, made entirely of love, affection and, as strange as it might sound, a desire to impress – impress Daddy with his nothing more than his happiness. Read more…
Apropos to my last post, I just today spoke via Facebook with an old friend, Arvi. He had posted a picture of himself and Ije Nwokorie, and then that sent us down an 18 year-old rabbit hole with other friends who all worked together in New York.
Mind blown. This is how social media is supposed to work.
I pride myself on my memory. On my brain. My recollection. But it fails me in one spectacular way.
I don’t remember much of my childhood, or even early adulthood. Everything before about 1998-1999 just sort of slips away from me. I know why, because that was the time of my life where I starting doing different things, and changed my outlook and path considerably.