Good game. Check it out.

I'm very fond of Internet Checkers, which is a game preloaded on to various computers I get, apparently because of Windows. Checkers is a simple game, but a fun one, and playing against a live opponent is facilitated by this program. In fact, it's so simple that you can only communicate with your opponent with a list previously chosen comment.

It's interesting to me that they add this capability even though it's so limited. Some of them ease an abandoned player ("Sorry, I have to go now" "Be right back..."), while others ease the impatient ones ("I'm thinking...").

The sentences I use most often are the simple little ones reflecting everyday politeness. I begin every game with "Hello. Good luck!" The exception here is if my opponent has turned off their chat, by which my opinion of them is immediately lowered.

From this point on, there are several possibilities which will ultimately determine how much I like a person, based entirely on their skill and how they use the chat box, if at all. The first area people can get points is the greeting. If they have chat open, and they respond with a "Hello," I give them points. It's not uncommon to then receive either a "Thank you!" or a matching "Good luck!" If this does happen, they get further credit. Overwhelmingly, they don't say anything, but so long as they haven't turned the chat off, I consider this acceptable.

From here on, skill does most of the talking. I do not consider myself a master at checkers (I played at the intermediate level), but I feel l like I have a pretty solid grasp of the game. It's not uncommon for me to be totally obliterated, nor is it uncommon for me to sweep the board and claim victory with ease. I will, however, always endure until the bitter end.

The reason for this is that, all too often, I will suddenly be winning, and my opponent will leave the game. This is offensive to me, a player, who wants to play his game. That loses them major points. Sometimes, if they're ballsy, they request a draw. Yeah. Right. At least it's better than leaving. I will always reject a draw unless I feel like it's well-deserved. At this point, if they continue playing, they basically regain any potential lost points.

Towards the end of the game, I have to decide my closing comments to my opponent. "Good game" is the option I use, but I have come to use it sparingly, and only if I really thought the game was good. There are some criteria for this:

-If I win too easily, it was not a good game.

-If I win too easily and I wasn't trying, it was definitely not a good game.

-If I wasn't trying and I lose, it was not a good game.

-If I was trying and my opponent mops the floor with my face, it was not a good game.

-If I wasn't trying but it didn't seem like the opponent was either, it was a good enough game.

-If I was trying, and there was a struggle, it was a good game.

Now, these are general circumstances, and each game deserves its own consideration. Generally, though, a "good game" is issued. There can, however, be great games. These are recognizable by the massive about of conversation that goes on between my opponent and me, even considering our limited contact. This has happened to me twice.

The first time, it was a long and hard game, where we kept essentially equal. Eventually, a large jump was made by both of us, and we found ourselves equally matched with very few pieces. I sent out a ":-)", which was returned. We whittled away at each other until we each had only one piece left. It's possible that I'm lying here, and that (s)he had just one piece, and I had two, but we were both being stubborn and not letting the game end. This resulted in a draw, and lots of smilie faces.

The second time was a game that was mostly in gridlock, until suddenly most of our pieces were destroyed. At one point I was at a clear disadvantage, about to lose, but turned things around just a tiny bit. At this point I was offered a draw. I still had a piece on the board, so no thank you. A move or two later I was bound to lose and I put out the "good game," which I like to do early in case my check-mate leaves too soon, but my opponent then made the one move that guaranteed defeat (it was surprising, considering that there were several moves that would have guaranteed a win). (S)He threw me a sad face, which made me feel sort of terrible. I sent out a "it was luck," so to help him/her feel better, and several other "good game"s and a "thank you!". The game then ended.

Both of those games were sort of sweet to me. It felt more or less like an actual conversation was happening. I know that none of you care, but that's okay. I'm only writing this for a class assignment anyway. This isn't to say, of course, that I'll never get into it. I'm just not into it now.

Goodnight.

Mr. Jarmusch...How simply ravishing you are today.

Alright, so as promised, here's that assignment I have to do:

There's a film-maker named Jim Jarmusch--a guy I had never heard of--who has written himself a list of golden rules. They apply to film-making directly, but they're applicable on a wider spread. Here they are:

Rule #1: There are no rules. There are as many ways to make a film as there are potential filmmakers. It’s an open form. Anyway, I would personally never presume to tell anyone else what to do or how to do anything. To me that’s like telling someone else what their religious beliefs should be. Fuck that. That’s against my personal philosophy—more of a code than a set of “rules.” Therefore, disregard the “rules” you are presently reading, and instead consider them to be merely notes to myself. One should make one’s own “notes” because there is no one way to do anything. If anyone tells you there is only one way, their way, get as far away from them as possible, both physically and philosophically.

Rule #2: Don’t let the fuckers get ya. They can either help you, or not help you, but they can’t stop you. People who finance films, distribute films, promote films and exhibit films are not filmmakers. They are not interested in letting filmmakers define and dictate the way they do their business, so filmmakers should have no interest in allowing them to dictate the way a film is made. Carry a gun if necessary.

Also, avoid sycophants at all costs. There are always people around who only want to be involved in filmmaking to get rich, get famous, or get laid. Generally, they know as much about filmmaking as George W. Bush knows about hand-to-hand combat.

Rule #3: The production is there to serve the film. The film is not there to serve the production. Unfortunately, in the world of filmmaking this is almost universally backwards. The film is not being made to serve the budget, the schedule, or the resumes of those involved. Filmmakers who don’t understand this should be hung from their ankles and asked why the sky appears to be upside down.

Rule #4: Filmmaking is a collaborative process. You get the chance to work with others whose minds and ideas may be stronger than your own. Make sure they remain focused on their own function and not someone else’s job, or you’ll have a big mess. But treat all collaborators as equals and with respect. A production assistant who is holding back traffic so the crew can get a shot is no less important than the actors in the scene, the director of photography, the production designer or the director. Hierarchy is for those whose egos are inflated or out of control, or for people in the military. Those with whom you choose to collaborate, if you make good choices, can elevate the quality and content of your film to a much higher plane than any one mind could imagine on its own. If you don’t want to work with other people, go paint a painting or write a book. (And if you want to be a fucking dictator, I guess these days you just have to go into politics...).

Rule #5: Nothing is original. Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration or fuels your imagination. Devour old films, new films, music, books, paintings, photographs, poems, dreams, random conversations, architecture, bridges, street signs, trees, clouds, bodies of water, light and shadows. Select only things to steal from that speak directly to your soul. If you do this, your work (and theft) will be authentic. Authenticity is invaluable; originality is nonexistent. And don’t bother concealing your thievery—celebrate it if you feel like it. In any case, always remember what Jean-Luc Godard said: “It’s not where you take things from—it’s where you take them to.”

(Taken from: http://www.moviemaker.com/directing/article/jim_jarmusch_2972/)

Delicious. Now, as a result of some potentially general inadequacy on my part, I didn't write a very clear indication of what it was I'm supposed to do with these rules. A classmate tells me to just...discuss, and apparently only one of the rules. Discuss I shall. I choose rule number one.

To start: the man is right; there really aren't any rules. This immediately brings to mind something I've considered several times: the conclusion that there is no such thing as objective importance. Think about it--if something hasn't existed since the beginning of time, then once upon a time the Universe was chipper without it. I'm not talking little things like cars and the Internet. I'm talking like...Earth and the Milky Way. With this in mind, the only important things out there are subatomic particles.

Of course, aside from having to do with absolutely everything, subatomic particles have nothing to do with film-making. The point is that on the universal playing field, nothing sticks out. Now let's zoom in on Earth, where naked apes have taken over. Humans spent several centuries doing things very primitively, and very freely. If Ork wanted something, he could just go get it. Unfortunately for Ork, there are some things he cannot do, like craft spears, but Hoong can. If Ork wanted a spear, he could conceivably just take it from Hoong, or kill Hoong if necessary. The only limitations were physical capability and willingness.

However, there is another way that Ork can get a spear. Rather than kill Hoong, they started working together, and Hoong would share some of his spears with Ork. Ork, in return, would hunt for both Hoong and himself. This is a society. As more people came along, able to contribute in some way, the society grew. As there were more people, standards of conduct were established, set in place so that everything was run in a certain way. Everybody in their society still had the ability to act however they'd like, just as Ork had the ability to kill Hoong. They wouldn't, though, because the society as a whole would shun them if they did, and they might be thrown out of society. This means that they couldn't provide everything for themselves, and nobody wants to be left wanting. Thus, people followed the standards of society.

Now, looking at these societies in the context of the universal playing field, they're just as meaningless as anything else.

Now back to film-making. Even though there are standards put in place so that everybody can interact in a comfortable way, i.e. conventional film-making techniques (I don't claim to know any), anybody still has the ability to do what they'd like to, just like Ork killing somebody. It might be unconventional, but it's still perfectly viable, and will often lead you to a place you never expected to find--often a good place. Be Ork. Kill for spears. The Universe doesn't care.

(So by the way...I started writing this, and somewhere in the middle there my attention was captured by a five-hour conversation with my beau, so what I wrote may not make so much sense all of a sudden. So be it.)

It goes on and on and aunindon endawnindaun...

Hello, hello!

The name's Merrill. It's a pleasure for you to meet me.

Currently I'm in a class called Creativity and Content Development in which we were challenged to create a blog. I did so, with the idea of actually getting to work on a comic I once thought about making. I started it up, but had no new content after a week (this was just about a week ago), but I'm about as motivated to create it as I ever was, which isn't very. The challenge then turned into an assignment, and I've created this.

I expect this to be a current of thoughts--a stream of consciousness--with a somewhat journalesque feeling to it. I can't guarantee that, but that's the original idea, anyway. I know that one post will reflect an assignment for this class. That's likely to be the next post. Meanwhile, I want lunch.

Until next time,

-Merrill