Looking at my collection of Autobots in my cubicle (the ones who make Hyperion, if you must know), a re-occurring thought, uh, occurred. We never think about it, but there's always a Last Time for something, right? Say, I used to play with Transformers, but one day, one day it was the very last day I'd ever transform Optimus and make that transforming noise. There's no real sense of occasion, it just stumbles across us, and soon we're listening to "Misty Mountain Top" by Zeppelin and trying to grow a respectable mullet. Optimus forgotten, the rad awesome voice of Soundwave a glimmer of a memory.
And one day, you give up Zeppelin, and move onto Sound Garden, or Ice-T, or Street Fighter II. There are these ephemeral hobbies and interests that take up so much of our world and our time, that shape how we see the world and what we see of it. I don't think that, while in the throes of some wicked Joe Satriani lick or finishing the last panel of a Power Pack comic, that we ever consider that we'll never do it again. We'll never give it the care and attention it demanded from us.
At some point, these past-times become nostalgia, which then become fodder for next year's Michael Bay Breast and BOOM-BOOM ExxxTRAVEGANZA! It's something. I'm not sure if it's sad, per se, but it's evidence of the ever rushing passage of time all around us while we fly fish haphazardly in its waters, assured that we will never move, ignorant of the impermanence.
But easy there, before I get too philosophical and have to write an unpublished polemic on space-time and our reality in it and rise to the assistant district manager at a local fast food chain. This isn't some deep and profound insight. You can never go back home, as they say. True enough. You can never quite watch a 297 pound man jump 6 feet off a top rope and absolutely believe it's real again, you can never get those butterflies while trying to get your car in gear on uphill red light.
But there is a transition from there to here, isn't there? A Last Time.
Except for assembling Hyperion, this robot is fricking sweet.
And one day, you give up Zeppelin, and move onto Sound Garden, or Ice-T, or Street Fighter II. There are these ephemeral hobbies and interests that take up so much of our world and our time, that shape how we see the world and what we see of it. I don't think that, while in the throes of some wicked Joe Satriani lick or finishing the last panel of a Power Pack comic, that we ever consider that we'll never do it again. We'll never give it the care and attention it demanded from us.
At some point, these past-times become nostalgia, which then become fodder for next year's Michael Bay Breast and BOOM-BOOM ExxxTRAVEGANZA! It's something. I'm not sure if it's sad, per se, but it's evidence of the ever rushing passage of time all around us while we fly fish haphazardly in its waters, assured that we will never move, ignorant of the impermanence.
But easy there, before I get too philosophical and have to write an unpublished polemic on space-time and our reality in it and rise to the assistant district manager at a local fast food chain. This isn't some deep and profound insight. You can never go back home, as they say. True enough. You can never quite watch a 297 pound man jump 6 feet off a top rope and absolutely believe it's real again, you can never get those butterflies while trying to get your car in gear on uphill red light.
But there is a transition from there to here, isn't there? A Last Time.
Except for assembling Hyperion, this robot is fricking sweet.
Comments
Munky : This had better be not code.
NH : I actually just blather, and when I'm done with things to spew, try and think of someway to tie it into the beginning. Sometimes it comes off like I planned it.