movies

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Is it possible to choose not to care, if you do?

It’s Friday again.  I won’t say “Thank God it’s Friday” or “Thank Batman it’s Friday” or anything of that sort.  Of course, I’m glad that we’re ending what has been a terribly long work week, which has provided only a few moments of accomplishment, apart from the trivial and the usual (i.e., working).  But that’s not saying much.  In general, for me, the weekend is just another two empty, lonely days coming up before the start of another work week.

I’ll be glad to get some rest, of course, since on the weekend I can knock myself out because I don’t have to worry about being able to do anything that requires mental effort the next day.  I find that terribly useful.  Also, I intend to try to get used to riding my new bicycle more over the weekend, especially since my right heel and the ball of my right foot now have new blisters from walking yesterday, and these will make further walking painful and somewhat counterproductive for the immediate future.

Other than that, though, there’s really nothing else going on.  I had thought—earlier in the week, when lack of foreknowledge allowed me to be stupidly optimistic—that maybe this weekend I would ride my new bike to the movie theater and see the new Fantastic Four movie, since I’ve always been a fan of the FF, and of course, I hear that the new Doctor Doom makes a post-credit appearance.  I’m an even bigger fan of Doctor Doom than of the FF.

I have mixed feelings about how they’re doing Doom.  He is (usually) my favorite villain across all fictional universes, and I’ve been very disappointed—mostly—by the way the movies have failed to portray him.

To be clear, I thought Julian McMahon (RIP) was a very good cast as Doom.  But the script of that first FF movie all but completely ruined his character, though it and he were still enjoyable.  I’ve long said, if someone wants to see a movie with a nearly perfect portrayal of how Doom should be, they should watch Star Trek II:  The Wrath of Khan.  Ricardo Montalban’s performance as Khan, and the way Khan is written, is almost perfect for Doom.

Anyway, all this is really neither here nor there.  I’m almost certain that the MCU is going to fuck up in trying to bring Doom to the screen—not least because they’re using RDJ to play him.  The means they’re going to somehow link Tony Stark and Victor von Doom.

While I admire Downey’s portrayal of Iron Man, which made him much more interesting in the movies than he ever was in the comic books, Tony Stark does not so much as deserve to polish Doom’s boots, let alone be somehow incarnated as Doom.  RDJ could have played Doom de novo, probably—he’s a very good actor—but to link those characters annoys me.

I don’t know why it matters to me.  It really shouldn’t.  I don’t know why much of anything matters to me.  I don’t know why I bother writing this stupid blog or doing anything else.

I want to rest.  I feel like I can never just clear the tension from my system.  Maybe if I actually stopped caring at all, I could do it.  But it’s very difficult to make yourself stop caring, because you already do care, and to be able to reprogram that particular function of your being, you would have to be able not to care about the fact that you would no longer care.

This is a conundrum that has long haunted or at least worried AI researchers.  If you program an AI with a particular terminal goal—the one that motivates it above all, to which all other goals are instrumental, subordinate goals—it becomes nigh impossible to make it voluntarily submit to changing that terminal goal.

If this seems obscure and abstract, consider a man (for instance) who deeply loves and cares about his family, more than he cares about anything else, or even everything else, in the world.  And then imagine asking him to submit voluntarily to some procedure by which he will be made to stop caring at all for his family.  Can you imagine such a person agreeing to that?  Would you agree to that?

If you don’t love or care about your family, try to think of something else you dearly love and feel justified in loving, like, I don’t know, Nascar or some particular political movement or some such.  Then imagine submitting yourself to some procedure or medicine or whatever that changes that, not because you have come to think that it’s a bad thing to love, but just because not caring about it would be simpler.

I’m not sure what point there is to this post.  Probably there is none.  I just need to shut it down for now, and hopefully over the weekend I’ll at least get some rest.  I don’t know what to say about anything else.  But please, do have a good weekend.

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“…all these weird creatures who lock up their spirits…”

It’s Tuesday morning, and I’m writing this on my laptop computer at the train station.  I brought the computer back with me last night because the bases of my thumbs have been—like so much of the rest of my body—really killing me (albeit slowly) lately, more so even than usual.  I guess writing the blog post yesterday on my smartphone didn’t help soothe them any.

It’s the last day of January in 2024, if that’s important to anyone.  Actually, it’s the last day in January in 2024 even if that’s not important to anyone at all, anywhere.  It’s just a fact of reality, one of those things that is so whether anyone even notices that it is.  Of course, the names of the months and the numbering of the days and years and all that are “made up” and effectively arbitrary, but once the system is in place, it is a fixed thing.  It is what it is.

This is the nature of reality, of course.  Despite political disinformation, or ideologies, or beliefs, or wishes, or fads, or “political correctness”, or whatever subjective, parochial notion people might have, reality is nevertheless “out there”, and it does not bend to anyone’s desires except through concerted effort and thought and will.  Even then, the laws of nature, whatever they may be in their ultimate form, are clearly not optional.  The old saying goes, “Nature, to be commanded, must be obeyed,” but there is no option not to obey nature.  It might be better to say, “Nature, to be commanded, must be understood.”

Even if the world were to turn out to be an illusion—some version of the Matrix, or a deceit of some other kind, perhaps some manner of hallucination—this would not undermine the existence of reality.  It would merely create relative barriers to our understanding of it.  Even if our universe were to turn out to be a simulation in a simulation in a simulation, on and on, as far as one arbitrarily might extend the chain, there would still have to be some underlying, ground-state reality in which the simulators and the simulations can exist.  A dream is not a free-floating thing, able to dream of other dreams that can then dream of it.  It requires some foundational place in which at least the first dream can occur.

All that’s pretty self-evident, I guess, so I’m sorry to bore you with the rehashing of such ideas.  It’s just that I encounter notions such as the whole “perception is reality” and its relatives too often, and they are maddening.

Then again, many things are maddening to me, especially lately, especially when my pain is flaring up.  Much of the world that I perceive is maddening.  I feel angry toward almost everything in the universe, and I have fewer and fewer respites in the form of distractions that make me at least temporarily joyful.  Pain doesn’t help, obviously.  Being in pain makes everything darker in general, and I’ve been in pain for roughly two decades, with no single day’s break from it.

The Dread Pirate Roberts said life is pain.  This is a simplification, of course; it would be more accurate to say that pain is a ubiquitous and necessary part of life.  That’s one of the reasons I hate it in general.

I particularly hate my own life, especially as it is now and as it feels to be more and more becoming over time.  There are so many things in the office, for instance, that increasingly drive me to want to lash out, physically—against the inconsistencies, and the idiocy, and the counterproductive chaos.  The noise also doesn’t help, frankly, and my pain makes things that I would normally at least be able to tolerate difficult even to endure.

I’m tired pretty much all the time.  I have no desire to play music, let alone to write any, and no desire to read fiction, let alone write any.  It’s harder and harder to find even YouTube videos that are transiently interesting, or that cover science topics in which I’m interested in ways that I didn’t already know.  “Mainstream” movies and shows, and the fodder on the various streaming services, all seem so utterly banal and trite and submoronic.

The last movie I watched all the way through was No One Will Save You, on Hulu.  I enjoyed that because the outsider main character fought off the invaders and the humans alike until finally the aliens accepted her and left her to her usual nature while taking over all the humans in the town.  At the end of the movie, the young woman dances happily with the alien-infested townsfolk, finally accepted into a community, finally having come to a place where she belongs—among the aliens, if you will.  As the last scene pulls out from the dancing, we see green forests and pleasant scenery, with alien ships hovering overhead*, perhaps supervising everything.  Perhaps this is the state of the whole world at the end of the movie.  I didn’t find it in any way horrifying.  It was actually quite beautiful.

Of course, it is a silly conceit that an alien species would look so like humans (only slightly stretched and bent here and there), or that they would have any interest in us, or that they were only slightly more advanced than we are (presumably) such that they would have any difficulty securing the dominance of any group, let alone an individual.  It’s a bit like a scientist finding it difficult to keep a yeast culture in a petri dish because some single yeast cell is fighting back.

Perhaps I’m being unkind.  Perhaps the aliens could simply have overwhelmed the Earth (which in the end it seems they did) but they wanted to do some manner of experiment or more subtle control, and were sworn not simply to wipe out individual humans who resisted, even when one of those humans killed several of them.

I guess human naturalists wouldn’t necessarily kill a grizzly bear or a lion or a shark or whatever that had killed people who were trying to interfere with it in some way as part of their research.  Perhaps they would consider it lamentable but accept—just an inherent risk involved in what they were doing.  I don’t know.  I’m probably overthinking it.

Anyway, that’s the most interesting new movie or fiction I’ve encountered recently (not counting Doctor Who, which isn’t really new), but I don’t plan to watch it again.  I should cancel my subscription.  I should probably cancel all of my subscriptions.  What is the point of having them when nothing is interesting?

I’m very tired, and I’m very sore—it hurts to sit, and it hurts to stand and walk, and it hurts to lie down, just in slightly different ways—and I’m exasperated.  Also, my train will be here in a moment.  So that’s it for today.

*Are they “making home movies for the folks back home”, as in Radiohead’s Subterranean Homesick Alien?  Possibly.