Loosey Goosey

FPS games have an option to increase or decrease the controller sensitivity. What this does is make it so that, with a lower sensitivity, mouse movements (sorry, console folk!) move the camera much slower while higher sensitivity makes the camera dart around with even the smallest flicker. Last night, I learned that our heads have a movement sensitivity that's increased when you consume alcohol.

Counting Out Time

Generally, when I listen to music, I listen to whole albums. Rarely do I put my iPod on shuffle and when I do it's because I want to rock out to some tunes rather quickly. This has a certain benefit that comes straight out of left field: depending on how long I've listened to music, I can tell how long I've been engaged in an activity. That's also thanks to Winamp, since its playlist window is kind of enough to note the run time of all the songs placed in it - as a result, I generally know the length of all the albums I have.

So when I tell you that I listened to all of Yes's Fragile and most of the Red Hot Chili Pepper's Mother's Milk, it means that I spent at least an hour on a trip from the NYU Academic Center (more or less) to my dorm at Osadni 35. You might wonder why it took me so long to get home. Well, it's simple: I walked.

Lost in a New Town

I'm in Europe; in the Czech Republic; in Prague. That's a fourteen hour flight from Miami and many more miles (kilometers, rather). Why? Why the hell not?

That's exactly what got me lost for at least an hour and a half in this city of spires. It could also be the hundreds of streets that go this way and that and feel like sidewalks yet cars still drive on them and snow falls from the roofs and can easily crush you as it did this one tiny car and the names of all the buildings are in a language you don't understand.

But why not, eh?

I couldn't answer that yesterday. I haven't had a moment - no, not that. A memory: there has yet to be a memory. Sure, I remember the flight here (complimentary dinner and breakfast made me forget my worries) and the odd sense of being in a foreign land on my first day. Of course those are memories. Maybe I mean Memories; the ones that go in a scrapbook with the same title. Hmm, no, that still doesn't encompass what I mean. Ah, I got it! I mean the memories that you can't explain to someone unless they were there with you. To your benefit, dear reader(s), my chosen profession can easily be summed up as one which creates such vivid images - from memory or imagination - that anyone can feel a little bubble of awe and wonder rise in the deepest pits of their bodies.

That's the kind of memory I have of today, and it occurred completely by error.

Rebirth

Hear ye, hear ye: by decree of J.A. Chavez, the old Yoshio Productions is defunct and in its place is the new and improved Yoshio Productions 2.0!

Tell your friends.