Tag Archives: rant

For the Nerds

You know, I never really thought I would find “for the nerds” a clever phrase. But placing it in my title I see a little wordplay for the phrase “for the birds” as in “That’s for the birds” referring to something trivial.

I think nerds are into many things trivial. We take the trivial and we expand it so that it DOES matter. Let’s start at a basic concept, Movies. We will even go genre that’s common for nerds, science fiction. Let’s pick an obvious (and my favorite) choice here, Star Wars.

Star Wars released and it was sort of capitalizing on the fun fantasy adventure driven interest of many people. It was a movie, it had revolutionary special effects, but it was more than a medium for a test, it was among other things, a spectacular marketing for merchandise.

Soon people were buying action figures, playsets, posters, costumes, and even comics. What started as a fun movie, exploded into a giant franchise. The merchandising only served to perpetuate future movies and marketing power. Then as children became young adults and later “real” adults, many of them favored moments in those movies, or playing with their toys. They reveled in things that were, even though they were simply fiction. The need for stories and other star wars memorabilia only grew, giving way to a full culture of people who were proud of their collections or analysis or imaginations of the Star Wars universe.

But for every Star Wars like boom of culture, there is thousands of movies and tv shows that become nothing but dust in the wind as only a select few people will carry any thoughts of fondness of these obscure creations.

Something like Star Wars though? It’s grown so big, that people can now divide themselves further. Me? I have to keep track of 2 universes because of how much “Legends” content was moved to non canon. dozens of books I read in a fictional universe only to be told that they no longer were correct and that there would be a series of correct or canon stories to replace them. Some of these stories do contradict each other and my favorite characters do not even have a place in the current Star Wars timeline. Then you have other people who swear only the original trilogy is worth it. Others still arguing the prequel trilogy was a better collection of stories. You have arguments about what was good and isn’t. Whether light whips were effective or just flashy. You have such a large culture that even people who would not identify as nerds know and may even like Star Wars.

That’s thanks to nerds (and great marketing) carrying that forward a few decades. I thought I would write more about this, but I’m far too distracted at the moment. Just know that while some things are just for the nerds, the power (of greyskull) is in our hands.

 

What’s This All About?

When you ask about me, my mind races.  Maybe you ask what I do.  I read, I play games, I’m a student, I do 3 part-time jobs, I think, I sit, I dance (when no one is looking), I push for destigmatization of mental health issue, I go to church, I pray, I draw, I scream, I collapse, I take care of my dog, I dote on my fiance, I code, I break things down, I freak out, I sleep, I dream, I try to sleep but can’t, I don’t watch movies except when I do, and when I decide that my body is betraying me I subject it to overwork in unsafe conditions. I clean. I don’t clean, I buy too many things and regret, I buy not enough things and regret. I do so many things that when you ask me what I do, despite me knowing the question typically addresses working or student interest, my mind fires all these things and sometimes none of them, or some subset between the two.

Nothing is ever really simple for me. When you ask me where I grew up. I remember the apartment we had near the medical center, from before I was three. Not many memories, but enough. I remember nightmares I had, I remember moving towards a slightly better part of town into a duplex and while the people toured us through different duplexes in the area all owned by their company, there was a dog running around the one we ended up at. I think what preschool was like, where I was at when I learned I was “different” or smarter. I remember growing up with the Russian kid whose dad had broken English.  I remember my first best friends and growing into adolescence and how I wanted to keep them all and then remove some and then make new friends altogether. I say “I ‘grew’ up in San Antonio, but moved to Lubbock for high school.” Because the answer they want is I grew up “here” (Lubbock). But I grew up a lot. I still am growing up. I’m not a grown-up even if I get classified as an adult. I think to middle school, I was bullied, witnessed gang violence, was considering gun violence of my own, got in to see a doctor when I was young, had depression, likely due to my father’s accident. I stopped sleeping, I dreamt more and more and remembered so many. There were hallucinations and then we moved to Lubbock and the story goes from there. I can’t simplify things for people in my head, I have to find the response they want because my life story hits me most times when I am asked.

Sometimes I hear the thoughts of artists. I sing to music that doesn’t exist and when I try to write it down, it fades to the void that I’m all too familiar with. Sometimes I see amazing art in my head, and when I take to paper I’m nowhere near adequate to even get remotely close. I write poems but forget the words, I romanticize ideas but forget what they are.  I lose thought mid speech because my thoughts went so far ahead that some buffer limit was hit and I had to reset.

I analyze all the things that are wrong. All the things that are right. All the things I see in other people I would like to see in myself. I get social anxiety, I fake my charisma. I acknowledge a person’s problem as not a problem but when the same circumstance comes to me it is a problem again. I can’t keep quiet or I won’t speak at all, it always, always depends on the day.

Having Bipolar Disorder can be a lot like gambling (even causes people to gamble witlessly). I never know what I will face when I wake up. Who I will be. Maybe I change me midday and forget that problem that was life ending. Maybe I tell myself I will never be who I want. Then I hit it back into my head that it’s just symptoms and remind myself they are better and fewer even if still present. It all depends on the day.

When you ask me who I am. When I’m honest, I tell you I’m bipolar. I tell you that I’m smart and scared and will never compromise my integrity. I speak about my suicide attempt as a fulcrum to a better life. I grab your attention when it hits me because you have to know I’m not ashamed to be bipolar. You need to ask me what it’s like being bipolar so I can arm you with knowledge and encourage you to destigmatize.

I started this post with no intent. I finished it with something resembling one I guess. Today it’s a mixed day. A Grant can’t keep up with Grant day where I’m pulled in a million directions.

What was I doing again?

 

Why 80% of who I am is rant

Hi. I’m Grant. See my name? The latter 4 letters spell a word in their own right. Rant. You got it. And if you know me, you’ve probably heard this phrase or comparison before. But I’m also bipolar. I feel like that makes me prone to rants of sort in general.

Oh yeah, that show, Supernatural? I still have rant on that impeding my watching it. Stopped in the middle of season 7. Or government? Yeesh, don’t get me started.

More and more I start gaining real interest in the discussion of perception and philosophy. I want people to consider what motivates them. What they think motivates others. What they think is right and wrong with the world. No body is wrong, I wouldn’t argue everyone is right though. Too many variables in that.

The 40 minute rant tonight? What is communism? Heh. A good rant. I actually brought out my copy of “The Communist Manifesto” to back me up. I’ll give you the short version. “Communists”? Like the governments in China or Russia for example. Those aren’t communists. They are more or less, in my opinion, despotic rules performed under the guise of communism. This might be left over from some of the attempts at revolutions in the 1800s. Communism was meant to be a good movement. One away from militarized force and absolute rule. One where everyone contributed what they could and received just as much from the sovereign. In essence, communism is an entirely naive idea, one that could never be brought in true fidelity in this world. As a friend of mine said, “communism looks good on paper”.

But enough of that, I spent 40 minutes shouting about it. Pretty glad my girlfriend didn’t have to endure it. Just to be clear, I do not sympathize with the governments that identify themselves as communist. I just believe that to be a complete perversion of the idea. I go on to criticize current global economies and our role in them. In the end, it means nothing. I’m just getting from one angry place to another, with some strange sense of “this is just”. But again, I make no decisions, and I have no control in that regard.

I’ve been like that a little bit lately. I think it’s just an “episode” of sorts, still mostly mild, but still here. I don’t hurt people. I don’t like people that do anything that does. I don’t judge people either. And things I once thought I was above, are merely things I don’t like. I don’t need to be on a moral ladder or any position over another just because I disagree. It simply means I don’t agree. I do not tolerate people that cause others pain intentionally, whether it is the motivation or not.

But ranting as I do, also tends to reflect on my current state. Unsatisfied. Wanting justice to be present. So I pray after I yell about things for nearly an hour (ok, maybe not really yelling the whole time, I got quite a bit of normal voice in too). I tell myself I’m just passionate about some of these things. And I don’t really know if that’s true or just another rationalization.

I know that I can love people with dissent between us. My ideals need not align for me to wish you good health and a wonderful future. But these rants. They feed my anger in a way I determine is just. I don’t act in impassioned anger. I merely speak in it. As though I see too many injustices on a daily basis that my mouth opens and my brain just passes it a speech I was not aware I rehearsed.

I’m a great public speaker. In part because I can understand rhetorical approach. This bleeds through even in rants. But, do I embrace this side of me? It doesn’t seem to go away. But, it rarely leaves me pleased with myself after. Maybe I should take a more active role? I don’t know. These are all wonderful things to consider. But then again, maybe it’s just an episode?

Well. Just trying to gain some perspective. On another night where the meds don’t set in nearly fast enough. I think I’m still doing well. Just have a lot to comment on when I’m not at the computer I guess. For “rant” is 80% who I am.