Dear Past Self,

I hope this letter finds you well. I know you have work to do, but I expect you'll be able to take the time out to read this - after all, I always have been easily distracted.

Now, I know that sometimes the world looks pretty grim: the everpresent threat of war, of famine, of disease, the knowledge always aching in the back of your mind that there are so many people who are so desperate, so helpless, and that you are helpless to change it. And that feeling never goes away, let me tell you. Life will always be a struggle: some of your fondest hopes will give way to crushing disappointment, and your dreams will succumb, as so many do, to cold, hard reality chipping away at them - slowly, but surely. Science will never cure death, and God will never speak to you and tell you your purpose, and no matter how many times you open your closet door, Narnia will never be on the other side.

But, it's always worth remembering: sometimes you get it right, even if just by accident. The right words in the right place, and opportunity strikes. The skill you spent so long acquiring suddenly becomes needed, or the publisher you spent so long courting decides to bite, or the girl you also spent so long courting... also decides to bite. If you get me.

And hey, things don't have to be easy to be fun. The hardest things you've ever done will inevitably be the best, and once every sixteen days, the ringrise on Titan is still the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. So go nuts. The world is always worth the effort.

Now get back to work, you slacker.

- Etarran

PS. July 14, 2027: Don't get out of bed. I mean it.

It's Always Comforting

... to know that, no matter how many scandals and failed policy decisions and hopeless wars he has involved us in, our head of state remains the best in the world at dodging shoes. I can't say I'm sorry to see the end of your term approaching, President Bush, but damn, sir, you are a ninja.

This Essay Gets a C Minor

Is it wrong of me to find this video philosophically fascinating? It is, isn't it?

In all seriousness (By which I, naturally, mean "more than a little tongue in cheek"), though, I wanted to change tack a bit with this post and discuss something I don't talk about terribly often: music.

This comic, from back before XKCD jumped the shark (Yeah, I said it. More on webcomics in a future post. Await with anticipation!) illustrates perfectly my feelings on the matter. We suck, guys. We really do.

This is not to say that there aren't artists, that we don't produce excellent music, or even that some of it isn't popular. But good music and great music are two different things. When you listen to Bach or Beethoven or Mozart, you know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this is great music, that this is art which transcends everything that came before it and will be the bar to which all after it must be held. And the same, I will contend, is true of art from the musical revolution that preceded my generation. There is a sense of greatness, of achievement, of some kind of transcendental musical experience, that you get when listening to Queen or the Beatles or Led Zeppelin. Whether or not you like their music, there is a quality of greatness which must come through.

I'm going to go on the record here with an address to future musical historians:

Dear Future Musical Historians,

When you decide that the 1960s, 70s, and early 80s were a period of musical rennaissance which rivaled that of the late 16th and early 17th centuries, please remember that I totally called it.

Love, Etarran.

PS. I agree, Katy Perry's "I Kissed a Girl" is totally awesome.

It is telling, I think, that university campuses, supposedly bastions of cultural revolution, primarily have the sounds of forty-year-old music drifting from students' rooms. Not even the generation making modern music thinks it's better than our parents' music.

Perhaps it is too much to expect. After all, a great cultural revolution can come along only once in a very great while. And we do, of course, have our cultural successes. But even those, which are primarily internet-related, are based on technologies and cultures that fundamentally belong to the generation before. And I can't help but think that, in an era of unprecedented cultural freedom and diversity and intercommunication, surely we should be coming up with something better than webcomics and the Rickroll.

Perhaps art simply isn't our destiny. After all, we have more practical problems to deal with. Our parents may have produced excellent music, but they also produced a hell of a lot of carbon dioxide and enriched uranium. But surely we could save the world and rock out?

Get on that, will you?

PS. I was totally serious about Hot n' Cold being philosophically fascinating. I invite you to contemplate its symbolism, which is surpassed, perhaps, only by this video.

Chapter Three: Wherein Our Hero Does Discover the Universe, and All That It Contaims Within, There Being Sore Temptations and Terrible Perils Faced

I wrote this short piece of fiction a while back, on a whim, and have been told variously that it is "the best thing anyone has ever written, ever," that it is "confusing and poorly worded," and that it is "kinda funny, I guess." I'm still working on the decision of whether or not to include creative writing (As opposed to my normal lack of originality, I suppose) in the entries of this blog - so consider this to be a test, of sorts. Tell me what you think.

Divine Plan

I have heard that a belief in evolution used to be practically synonymous with atheism. To me, this seems unthinkable. Now that the first galactic survey has been completed, it is precisely the opposite: the world no longer has to choose between God and reality. We understand - I have always understood - that the two are inseparable.

When the first of the survey ships pulled itself away from the ring of satellites and factories endlessly turning in the upper reaches of Earth's orbit, we had no idea what we would find. We hoped for life, of course: some cousins among the stars to share our triumphs and our failures. But as I and the other pilots landed on world after world after world, what we would find became all too clear.

In our galaxy there are seven hundred and sixteen thousand, eight hundred and ninety-two planets capable of supporting life, and every last one of them does. A shocking discovery, of course, but not an eventuality we were unprepared to face. It was the manner of life they supported that took us by surprise.

Darwin's theory of evolution was originally posited to explain diversity, or so I have been told. But now, we have a much better understanding of the universe than poor Darwin, and we know that diversity - true diversity - is a myth. Seven hundred thousand worlds, and each and every one of them is indistinguishable from Earth - or at least, from Earth in the rough era of the late Cretacious.

At first, the dinosaurs were exhilarating. After all, many children choose early in their lives between careers in space travel or paleontology. Just because I am doing one doesn't mean I don't have a soft spot for the other. Or at least had. You see, after a while, the monotony of worlds inhabited only by thunder lizards became almost too much to bear.

Those with less experience than I of the endless dinosaur worlds - or perhaps merely those whose faith is stronger than my own - have called this irrefutable evidence of God's divine plan for humanity. Why else, they ask, would ours be the only world to be different? The only world to be struck by that disaster, that blessing, that allowed intelligent life to arise?

My Lord - or no longer my Lord - if what I am about to say is false, forgive me. But while my belief in You is unchanged, my faith is sorely troubled.

Seven hundred thousand worlds, and only one of them is different. Seven hundred thousand worlds, and only one of them was changed, by a disaster, an accident of space and time. I see no evidence of God's divine plan for humanity in this.

After all, I've walked on those worlds. I've stared Creation in the mouth. Stared God in the mouth.

It was full of teeth.

Etarran Knows How to Get the Ladies

There once was a blogger whose name
Was Etarran (or so he would claim)
His readers said "Serious?!
Fool! You're delerious
If you think that's the name of the game!"

Etarran said "Readers, for shame!
If you think wholly sombre my aim
You are quite mistaken."
(In truth, he was shaken
To hear they believed him so tame.)

In defense of my honour and pride,
I go back to the sillier side
Of my writings and rambles,
My journeys and ambles,
Through English's wildest ride.

I'm sure every one of you knows
Of the essay, and all that it shows
Of mankind's erudition:
The way we partition
Our words into columns and rows.

But I practice a form far superior
Though of usually humerous interior
Nevertheless
It is easy to press
To possession of motives ulterior.

The limerick, thus, is the form
Which I use today to inform
Of a shift in intention
Within the dimension
Encompassed within this transform.

This isn't to say there comes change
To the pages within which I range
But simply to state
Without room for debate
"Sometimes I can simply be strange."

I know many would read this for pleasure
But the subjects are heavy for leasure
So just this, in closure:
I'll limit exposure
To my overly serious measure.

And I hope this begins to appease
Those who found me too ranting for ease
And so: comments! Concerns!
Rebuttals! Returns!
But... only in limericks, please.

Life is the Bubbles (Excuses, Excuses)

So, recently I have been accused by several separate people of neglecting this blog, after having promised so faithfully to maintain it (and hug it and love it and call it George). To this spurious accusation I say: "Fools! You know not whereof you speak!"

Because, in fact, far from neglecting my blog, I've been paying it a lot of attention. No, what I've been neglecting is not the blog, but the readers.

"How," you ask, "is it possible to be writing blog entries but not have people reading blog entries?" Well, I'm glad you asked that question, in fact, because it's exactly the one I have set out this post to answer. The reason you've seen nothing here is not that I haven't been writing, but that I haven't been finishing what I write. In fact, this has become such a problem that I now have more than three times as many unfinished drafts of posts as I do actual posts.

So, in lieu of actually getting to work and finishing them, I have chosen here to post a list of the Top Ten Coming Attractions to the world of Fog and Castles. All but two of these posts are more than half finished, and of those two, one is totally made up. Try to guess which.

1. A post entitled "Sicklical," discussing the nature of health care in North America.
2. A post that uses the word "Fish" more times than any other single word.
3. A post explaining the name of the blog, and directing you towards the excellent work of an unknown artist.
4. The Internet According to Etarran.
5. A post explaining who the worst enemy of gaming culture is. (I'll spoil the surprise ending: it turns out to be gamers. [Specifically, Loud.])
6. Webcomics, and why Dinosaur Comics is funnier than yours. (Two words: Dinosaurs and, ummm... the other one's not really important)
7. A post discussing Penguins, and why they are evil.
8. The Internet According to Solipsism. (And vice versa!)
9. A post discussing Penguins, and why they are really, really evil.
10. Politics, Philosophy, Or Philolotics: The Poll. (Warning: May include traces of dinosaur.)