Why I Do the Things I Do · 6:51am Jan 9th, 2021
I was never informed as a kid on how you are supposed to remember people, the ones still here and the ones who are not, the degree, in which, you are supposed to feel about them and, what particular acts are included in remembering.
Maybe it is not widely taught due to it being unavoidable and, thus, people will find their means on their own. What works and what does not and the struggle endured between those two. I am not a visibly, emotional person. In fact—I'm rather seen as an uncaring dick.
Which is mostly true.
Yet even I, no matter the person, so long as they affected me, came to copy something that they did that I liked. Either they did something for my development or, in general, were just good people. Sometimes such people and times and stories will enter my mind. But they come and go.
And one needs a cue to bring back such memories, to begin with.
In my daily life, I've come to do various things, of which, were stolen from such people. It all started before I had much of a personality.
And wanted to be like Dale Cooper.
I don't know why Dale Cooper from Twin Peaks stood out to me so much but, as you may have guessed, in my more cringe of days—I tried to be like the motherfucker. I would take his photo to my barber for the same haircut and even try to act a bit like him.
I'd been convinced that I was a no one and, even if I were someone, that someone went unnoticed by those around me. So I looked for a change. Ways to become special or even equal to those around me. And my first goal was to act like fictional characters in shows.
I was not popular in high school.
That fad—thankfully—ended quick. A quirk I took from Dale is that he drinks his coffee as black as midnight on a moonless night. At first, I didn't like the coffee but, in wanting to be like him, endured before my taste buds surrendered. Now I only drink my coffee black.
I don't quite remember Dale Cooper too much. But I know I drink my coffee, simple, because of him. I prefer it this way. People always find it funny that you're able to take it black. Maybe part of the initial intent in drinking it has amounted to something.
Monty Oum was an artist and animator whose goal was to save as much time as he could as to dedicate it to work. He'd focus on optimization first. Ensuring that his workflow was so. He also worked a lot. Would work until he was subconscious then find work that could be done in such a state.
He used himself to the fullest.
The story that stuck with me in how he lived his life and approached his work comes in the form of a story about a microwave. He'd made the argument that if something has to be set inside of one for a minute—that you should set it to fifty-five seconds instead.
Why?
One was that, in order to punch in 1:00, you had to go from the 1 to the 0, then to enter. Three movements and presses. :55 only required you to press 5, twice, and then enter. Five seconds doesn't make much of a difference in heating, either. So you save time there.
Most would laugh at such a story for the seconds saved are not that big of a deal. But a part of me took in trying to remove the littlest of things to have the best route possible in doing something. I remember Monty, and this philosophy in that, anytime I have to heat for a minute—I only do :55 seconds.
There'd been a writer on this site that I admired for a while and, wanting to be like him, would look at all the images he would post in regarding his writing. I saw that, for some reason, he wrote on a black page with red text.
In coming to do the same, I found myself, loving it, and must set every PC I use to the same high-contrast. I'd rather not mention the writer, but rather, the red on black text and trick that is enjoyable to use.
When I got seriously into writing and had no clue how to write, I decided to read those who got me into reading and, as you would guess, they helped me write. One such writer was Adrensfax. Several of their stories are lovely and you should read them.
But they would open their stories like so.
In Her Blood
By Ardensfax
I decided it was good except that the 'boy' wasn't needed. So I decided to take their format—which isn't really theirs, but rather, from whom I started doing my stuff.
Another writer I took to to inform the format I write is Ink Stroke. I would read and reread their chapters, over and over, before my own writing sessions to write like them. I was driven to be like them to very detail back in 2017.
They would open their chapters as so.
~ Chapter 2 ~
Reunion
As you may guess, I liked everything, except the word 'Chapter' wasn't needed. But the rest I stole for my own. That, and I use Roman Numerals because I'm a cunt.
Harlan Ellison is a writer that I, for the longest time, in being a writer, tried to be the most like. That fire has since died. But a part of him lives on. Embers whispering in smoke with a possible relight—to both good and bad were it to happen.
He used to have a forum dedicated to him and, whenever he would reply to someone, at the bottom, his signature would be:
~ Yr. Pal, Harlan
So I stole that shit at once.
Isaac Asimov is a writer who, in the clarity, passion, and gentleness in his tone, mellowed me a bit in a few degrees as well as taught me to handle the strain of continuous writing. Various advice still employed to keep him fresh in the memory.
But the one that sticks out the most is writing a journal in the same format that he used for his greatest book of all.
I started up a general document on my desktop and, knowing I would hate to only record the events of my day, instead, I would have each page be different.
324.
???
This would await me as I got on and, the moment I sat down to start my day, a journal entry before writing, I found the title be whatever is on my mind.
324.
Writing like Shit | 21 JAN 20
Then I would, underneath that, ramble as much as I pleased about the subject, entering a flow state as I did so and, hopefully, an answer to my problem. That. Or support and encouragement from myself.
This, so far, has been my most important tool in writing.
This is why I give great thanks to Issac.
If you ever talk to me on Discord then, without a doubt, in being said something, my reply will be 'Copy copy.' Even this has a story. I used to work for the Pepsi factory for three years. I had a pal there who went by the name of Friday.
And yes.
There is a chance that his parents, both loving the movie, also agreed on that name. He's a fellow fan of Dave Chappelle and one of the coolest people you'd find. Everybody breaks down on the plant. Yet Friday always kept a good head about him. He was short but fast. The air around him, metaphorically at least, felt brighter.
He had a gentle way of cracking jokes and would even deal with the ire of incompetent management without giving up his mood or somehow angering them. There's something that caught me about him on the walkie.
He would say 'Copy copy' instead of copy. One thought, because of the person he was, that he would snatch to such things that had a beat to it. Fellow to tap his foot if you will. However, on the floor, there was an issue with most walkies.
It didn't start transmitting until a second or so after you pressed the button. Many mistakes and accidents occurred due to someone only speaking half of what was needed and asked to repeat only for the same incident.
And then there were others who, holding the button for a while, denying others from speaking, would only speak until long after. However, Friday figured that if you said 'Copy copy' instead of copy that, if you were to be cut off, it would only be at one copy.
It primed that needed time as well as gave double assurance of whatever being said was heard. Plus, he was the only person to do it, and so, it made him unique. I don't think or have many stories around Friday. Only that he's someone you're glad to have met because, in merely being himself, and doing as he does, he made the environment around him—better.
He's someone who brightens whatever is around him.
And so I say 'copy copy' to remember him by.
And so I must end the blog here, without the list complete, but feeling as though, what is here, is enough. Sometimes I send messages to people to let them know what they mean to me. Otherwise, I fail in those little reminders to others to let them know what they mean to me.
In being unable to express myself well, I decided, strangely enough, to pay homage to such people that I would steal their quirks. I don't know how much it does to honour them. They certainly don't get much from it. But I like to think that the parts of others that I stole, which I employ around me, cause me to be more interesting.
Even if it's at none of my credit.
All I can say is that it feels right to take those little pieces and, in their daily uses, sometimes think about the people that passed them on and, in that, feel good in thinking about how good they were to me. This blog is starting to make even less sense now—and we're already below the sensible line.
I hope all is well for you.
And that you carry little things to remind you of the goodness of others.
~ Yr. Pal, B ~
Why do I come here
Hey B, I found this blog sort of heartwarming, and I think that taking quirks from everybody eventually leads you to be you because no-one can be built the same if that makes sense.
ooh late night blog #2
Interesting thoughts. I haven't really stopped to consider where I pick up all the various ticks and habits that find their way into the back of my brain. You made me remember that I write my 2s with a little loop because in early grade school someone whose name I don't remember told me it made me seem smarter... for some reason.
Cheers a second time, but without mentioning the laptop. Oh, wait.
Definitely an interesting outlook on things and quite understandable. Thanks for sharing and keep on keeping on!
Lovely blog. It’s interesting to think how we become bundles of little habits picked up here and there. Thank you for sharing yours!
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Feel that! Thanks for the support, homes.
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We all have little memories like this tucked away. Sometimes childhood feels like a dream that never happened—but little things like this bring back the memories and allow us to live through that time again.
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Thanks for the support as always.
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Thanks for the kindness, homie. Glad to see a new face around. And yeah. Happy to know I'm not the only one composed with bits of others.
Take care, everyone.
~ Yr. Pal, B