I started playing video games in the late 1970s, when one of my elementary school friends had an early version of Pong at his house. From there I evolved to text-based computer games and simple games of skill, to the arcade to consoles to even a brief (multi-year) flirtation with next-generation desktop gaming. These days my game playing usually happens on the iPad, or, when I have the time to invest, in something far more complicated on the XBox. Yes. I’m 50, and I own an XBox, and I make no apologies about this. Nobody who has ever played Bejeweled or Words with Friends or Candy Crush or any kind of casino slot game on their phone gets to look down on me.
Video games of today involve problem solving, math, and have evolved to the degree that they’ve enabled the publication of thousand-page strategy guides. Sure, some are needlessly violent and yes, there are a lot of them kids are playing that kids shouldn’t even need to know about. But not to acknowledge them as legitimate is just wrong.
As the games I’ve played have become more intricately plotted and complicated, I’ve learned some things from them, both about myself based on my strategic choices and reactions to certain situations, and how to apply certain skills used in the games to daily life. Before anyone dismisses all of this as a trite defense of a time-wasting pursuit, allow me to share some truths about life I’ve learned from gaming, in one way or another:
*Take the time to develop fundamental skills for something you want to do well. The time you invest will eventually pay off.
*Don’t foolishly charge into problems well beyond your skill set and expect to succeed.
*When faced with a seemingly overwhelming challenge, isolate the weak spots and approach it from unexpected directions.
*Think divergently when what seem like obvious solutions aren’t working.
*Manage your inventory, in whatever context this might mean. Only carry the things you’ll need and use.
*Choose your allies carefully. Find people who will compensate for your deficiencies and value what you have to offer.
*Don’t throw your money around. It’s a lot better to have enough when you really need it.
*Save your strongest arguments for when you’ll need them the most.
*Don’t let a pretty face make up your mind for you.
*Sometimes the quiet and subtle approach is the best way to get things done.
See? Not a complete waste of time. (Also, if anyone reading this has any recommendations for must-play console games I could tackle — and learn from? — this summer, I’m all ears.)
Showing posts with label Nerdery Backstory. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Nerdery Backstory. Show all posts
Thursday, May 24, 2018
Friday, May 4, 2018
Day 4: Why Return of the King Needed So Many Endings
One of my favorite movies, and quite possibly my favorite, is “Lord of the Rings: Return of the King.” It’s either three or four hours long, depending on which version you watch. I’m confident that I’ve spent at least a week of my life watching it. Everything about it is extraordinary.
Back when it first came out, there was a bit of a controversy surrounding it, at least in the nerd circles who would have cared enough about such things to form strong opinions. The thing that so many people complained about was how the movie seemed to have so many endings, and dragged on longer than necessary once the story seemed to have been resolved.
I disagree with this thesis completely. After all, the ending of Return of the King wasn’t just the ending of one movie, but it was the resolution of one of the most epic trilogies ever filmed. I was thinking about watching the appropriate disc from my special edition set and reviewing all of the endings before I wrote this, then realized there was no need. I’m not going to hold back on describing anything that happens in the ending(s) here, because seriously, the movie has been out for something like fourteen years. If you haven’t seen it yet and you’re worried about spoilers, it’s your own fault.
Ending #1: Frodo Healing in Bed
The Eagles have rescued Frodo and Sam from Mount Doom and brought them to Rivendell for a well-earned rest. While Frodo is healing from his near-death experience and recovering (as much as he ever will) from the realization that in the end the Ring had finally taken him, he experiences a joyous moment in which the surviving members of the Fellowship are reunited for the first time since the end of the first movie. It’s also the first time Frodo becomes aware that Gandalf was alive and well.
WHY IT’S NECESSARY: The Fellowship had been scattered across Middle Earth on many adventures over the past two movies. They absolutely need to have a reunion to celebrate the success of their quest, and we need to emotionally experience it with them.
Ending #2: Aragorn Becomes The King of Gondor
Aragorn had denied his true self for most of his life, and only accepted the responsibilities of the crown when the fate of Middle Earth hung in the balance and needed him to lead. After reuniting with his true love, the couple approaches the four hobbits, who try to humbly bow before him, now the king, before he stops them and says, “My friends — you bow to no one.” He immediately kneels before them, as does every other coronation guest.
WHY IT’S NECESSARY: This scene closes the story arc for many characters, including several who were not official members of the original Fellowship but have become increasingly important throughout the story. I’ve always liked how the reactions of the hobbits to the adulation of the crowd reflects the character of each: Pippin is a little too satisfied with the attention he’s receiving, Merry enjoys it but doesn’t want to look like he enjoys it too much, Sam is all kinds of uncomfortable, and Frodo is unaffected, still knowing that even though the quest was a success, he had failed at the very end.
Ending #3: Back to the Shire
The top priority for the hobbits throughout the movie was to protect their home, The Shire. We needed to see them return triumphantly, and receive next to no acknowledgement for what they had accomplished. When the four of them sit in a bar and share a slightly melancholy toast as another hobbit is showing off a prize pumpkin, it’s a scene that shows the bond shared by the four that no one else in their home will ever understand or know about, and at the same time demonstrates the simple and bucolic life they fought so desperately to save. We also get to see Sam follow through on what he thought were his dying thoughts, about how he should have pursued Rosie while he had the chance. We see the two of them marry, then through a time jump we see Frodo nearly finish Bilbo’s newly-amended manuscript, adding the story of his own adventures alongside his uncle’s.
WHY IT’S NECESSARY: Because we have to see the hobbits back in the Shire. One of my personal curiosities about stories has always been what happens to the characters once the adventure is done and they try to return to ordinary life. I loved seeing so much detail about what the hobbits did afterward. I would have been left unfulfilled if I hadn’t seen them go back home.
Ending #4: Into the West
Gandalf and the four hobbits, decked out in their Fellowship cloaks, escort a visibly aged Bilbo to a docked ship where the elves wait to bring him along as they depart Middle Earth. Once he boards the ship, we learn Gandalf is accompanying them as well, as is Frodo, who had not told any of his friends this news.
WHY IT’S NECESSARY: We see one last example of how Frodo’s encounter with the ring has left him forever changed as he and Bilbo talk about the ring on the way to the ship. Bilbo muses about wishing he could see it one last time, and Frodo’s expression when he tells his uncle that he lost the ring leaves him looking absolutely haunted. We discover how deep his pain runs in the final moments when he tells Sam they had set out to save The Shire, but it hadn’t been saved for him. After heartbreaking goodbyes between the four friends, Frodo boards the ship, turns back and smiles, showing the audience there remains hope that our hero still might find a way to happiness someday.
Ending #5: Sam Goes Home
Okay, I’ll admit this moment felt a little tacked on. Sam gets home, and we learn he and Rosie have some babies. He announces he’s back and the family all walks inside.
WHY IT’S NECESSARY: Maybe the movie could have left this out and been two minutes shorter, but after everything we had seen Sam go through, it was nice to see him end his story happily.
Back when it first came out, there was a bit of a controversy surrounding it, at least in the nerd circles who would have cared enough about such things to form strong opinions. The thing that so many people complained about was how the movie seemed to have so many endings, and dragged on longer than necessary once the story seemed to have been resolved.
I disagree with this thesis completely. After all, the ending of Return of the King wasn’t just the ending of one movie, but it was the resolution of one of the most epic trilogies ever filmed. I was thinking about watching the appropriate disc from my special edition set and reviewing all of the endings before I wrote this, then realized there was no need. I’m not going to hold back on describing anything that happens in the ending(s) here, because seriously, the movie has been out for something like fourteen years. If you haven’t seen it yet and you’re worried about spoilers, it’s your own fault.
Ending #1: Frodo Healing in Bed
The Eagles have rescued Frodo and Sam from Mount Doom and brought them to Rivendell for a well-earned rest. While Frodo is healing from his near-death experience and recovering (as much as he ever will) from the realization that in the end the Ring had finally taken him, he experiences a joyous moment in which the surviving members of the Fellowship are reunited for the first time since the end of the first movie. It’s also the first time Frodo becomes aware that Gandalf was alive and well.
WHY IT’S NECESSARY: The Fellowship had been scattered across Middle Earth on many adventures over the past two movies. They absolutely need to have a reunion to celebrate the success of their quest, and we need to emotionally experience it with them.
Ending #2: Aragorn Becomes The King of Gondor
Aragorn had denied his true self for most of his life, and only accepted the responsibilities of the crown when the fate of Middle Earth hung in the balance and needed him to lead. After reuniting with his true love, the couple approaches the four hobbits, who try to humbly bow before him, now the king, before he stops them and says, “My friends — you bow to no one.” He immediately kneels before them, as does every other coronation guest.
WHY IT’S NECESSARY: This scene closes the story arc for many characters, including several who were not official members of the original Fellowship but have become increasingly important throughout the story. I’ve always liked how the reactions of the hobbits to the adulation of the crowd reflects the character of each: Pippin is a little too satisfied with the attention he’s receiving, Merry enjoys it but doesn’t want to look like he enjoys it too much, Sam is all kinds of uncomfortable, and Frodo is unaffected, still knowing that even though the quest was a success, he had failed at the very end.
Ending #3: Back to the Shire
The top priority for the hobbits throughout the movie was to protect their home, The Shire. We needed to see them return triumphantly, and receive next to no acknowledgement for what they had accomplished. When the four of them sit in a bar and share a slightly melancholy toast as another hobbit is showing off a prize pumpkin, it’s a scene that shows the bond shared by the four that no one else in their home will ever understand or know about, and at the same time demonstrates the simple and bucolic life they fought so desperately to save. We also get to see Sam follow through on what he thought were his dying thoughts, about how he should have pursued Rosie while he had the chance. We see the two of them marry, then through a time jump we see Frodo nearly finish Bilbo’s newly-amended manuscript, adding the story of his own adventures alongside his uncle’s.
WHY IT’S NECESSARY: Because we have to see the hobbits back in the Shire. One of my personal curiosities about stories has always been what happens to the characters once the adventure is done and they try to return to ordinary life. I loved seeing so much detail about what the hobbits did afterward. I would have been left unfulfilled if I hadn’t seen them go back home.
Ending #4: Into the West
Gandalf and the four hobbits, decked out in their Fellowship cloaks, escort a visibly aged Bilbo to a docked ship where the elves wait to bring him along as they depart Middle Earth. Once he boards the ship, we learn Gandalf is accompanying them as well, as is Frodo, who had not told any of his friends this news.
WHY IT’S NECESSARY: We see one last example of how Frodo’s encounter with the ring has left him forever changed as he and Bilbo talk about the ring on the way to the ship. Bilbo muses about wishing he could see it one last time, and Frodo’s expression when he tells his uncle that he lost the ring leaves him looking absolutely haunted. We discover how deep his pain runs in the final moments when he tells Sam they had set out to save The Shire, but it hadn’t been saved for him. After heartbreaking goodbyes between the four friends, Frodo boards the ship, turns back and smiles, showing the audience there remains hope that our hero still might find a way to happiness someday.
Ending #5: Sam Goes Home
Okay, I’ll admit this moment felt a little tacked on. Sam gets home, and we learn he and Rosie have some babies. He announces he’s back and the family all walks inside.
WHY IT’S NECESSARY: Maybe the movie could have left this out and been two minutes shorter, but after everything we had seen Sam go through, it was nice to see him end his story happily.
Tuesday, May 1, 2018
Day 1: Sidestepping Intention
Back in high school, my best friend and I had a pretty standard Saturday night routine. It wasn’t dramatic or exciting, but it worked for us. It involved some arrangement of the following activities: Eating at some fast food place, feeding quarters into video games at an arcade, seeing a movie at one of our regular theaters, then renting a video somewhere to watch back at my house while packing away some Doritos, Dr. Pepper, and Mountain Dew. Yeah, we were nerds, but I’ll be damned if we weren’t happy ones.
I picked up a philosophy of life from him throughout the months of Saturdays and thousands of suburban miles we shared. One night while driving through what passed for the affluent part of our hometown, we were talking about graduation parties and he introduced the following idea into our meandering conversation: “Don’t ever plan in too much detail. That way you won’t be disappointed when things don’t happen the way you want.”
That might seem objectively pessimistic, but in context it makes perfect sense, and I will argue even today that he had a legitimate point. He wasn’t saying to expect things will always go south regardless, or that you should never try to make something good happen. His point was how easy it is for people to get wrapped up in over-planning the details of whatever they had going on, hoping to arrange events that will live up to nearly unattainable ideals. If you spend all your time worrying about getting things set up and making sure they’re perfect, one thing going wrong can be enough to drag on the happiness and satisfaction you might otherwise experience, and make all of the stress that came with the preparation a waste of time and energy.
Example: Whenever I visit my friends in Seattle, I never go with a checklist of things I absolutely have to do while there (other than buy some smoked salmon to ship home). I’ve always been perfectly agreeable to whatever they might suggest, and have let my experiences there build into memories I never could have anticipated or planned. Without this absence of planning, I wouldn’t know anything about Boom City, Port Townsend, or the Poulsbo street fair. Conversely, I can think of far too many times I’ve planned out elaborate lessons with way too many moving parts that I was sure would be huge successes, only to be stuck biting back at the frustration and anger I felt when things didn’t work out.
With this in mind, I’ve decided to put aside any effort to make my 50th birthday into an event. Instead I’m going to just take the month to reflect on things here in my May blog posts, and let anything else associated with my birthday either happen or not. (I’m not planting any seeds about surprise parties in saying this, by the way; God help anyone who would ever try going that direction with me, and I literally could not be more serious.) When I say I’m just going to let things happen, that’s what I mean. It’s more important to me to have the day pass and not feel disappointed about it than it is to put together some kind of memory-making bash.
The memories will take care of themselves. Maybe they don’t have to be spectacular because I’m landing on a decade number this year. Maybe something will sprout up and make the day landmark-worthy.
Or maybe I’ll just go see Infinity War again after school that day, and be home in bed by 9:00. I ain’t gettin’ any younger, you know….
I picked up a philosophy of life from him throughout the months of Saturdays and thousands of suburban miles we shared. One night while driving through what passed for the affluent part of our hometown, we were talking about graduation parties and he introduced the following idea into our meandering conversation: “Don’t ever plan in too much detail. That way you won’t be disappointed when things don’t happen the way you want.”
That might seem objectively pessimistic, but in context it makes perfect sense, and I will argue even today that he had a legitimate point. He wasn’t saying to expect things will always go south regardless, or that you should never try to make something good happen. His point was how easy it is for people to get wrapped up in over-planning the details of whatever they had going on, hoping to arrange events that will live up to nearly unattainable ideals. If you spend all your time worrying about getting things set up and making sure they’re perfect, one thing going wrong can be enough to drag on the happiness and satisfaction you might otherwise experience, and make all of the stress that came with the preparation a waste of time and energy.
Example: Whenever I visit my friends in Seattle, I never go with a checklist of things I absolutely have to do while there (other than buy some smoked salmon to ship home). I’ve always been perfectly agreeable to whatever they might suggest, and have let my experiences there build into memories I never could have anticipated or planned. Without this absence of planning, I wouldn’t know anything about Boom City, Port Townsend, or the Poulsbo street fair. Conversely, I can think of far too many times I’ve planned out elaborate lessons with way too many moving parts that I was sure would be huge successes, only to be stuck biting back at the frustration and anger I felt when things didn’t work out.
With this in mind, I’ve decided to put aside any effort to make my 50th birthday into an event. Instead I’m going to just take the month to reflect on things here in my May blog posts, and let anything else associated with my birthday either happen or not. (I’m not planting any seeds about surprise parties in saying this, by the way; God help anyone who would ever try going that direction with me, and I literally could not be more serious.) When I say I’m just going to let things happen, that’s what I mean. It’s more important to me to have the day pass and not feel disappointed about it than it is to put together some kind of memory-making bash.
The memories will take care of themselves. Maybe they don’t have to be spectacular because I’m landing on a decade number this year. Maybe something will sprout up and make the day landmark-worthy.
Or maybe I’ll just go see Infinity War again after school that day, and be home in bed by 9:00. I ain’t gettin’ any younger, you know….
Thursday, May 25, 2017
Bringing Letters Back
I have a few memory boxes in my house, holding artifacts from life with enough sentimental value for me to keep. One of the boxes is mostly filled with memorable documents, like important papers from school or special holiday cards. Most of what you’d find in this particular box would be old letters.
Maybe you’re old enough to remember a time when people sent each other letters through the mail. Not text messages, not email, but actual sheets of paper folded up, jammed into an envelope, then addressed and stamped. Exchanging letters was maybe the most practical way to stay in touch with people if they lived far away and you didn’t see them very often, especially considering how expensive long distance phone calls were. Having a letter addressed to you showing up in your mailbox was at least a minor thrill. Not only did it give you a chance to hear about what was going on in the lives of the people important to you, but it was a small piece of evidence that you were important enough for them to take the time and effort to write.
The last person I probably exchanged letters with regularly was my grandmother. I had a good run of a year or two when I would try to write her at least a couple of times a month. College was probably my peak letter-writing period. I had regular exchanges going on with my older sister (who lived the furthest away from me and I saw the least frequently), a number of high school friends who were at different colleges, and a lot of my cousins.
Our cousin letters were epic. We almost always wrote them by hand, and sometimes, just to amuse ourselves and each other, we’d ignore the lines on the paper and wrote at the wrong direction or angle, or built the text up to surround some kind of illustration, or even have parts of the letter continue onto the outer envelope. (My cousins are the type of people who would think it was a great joke to use pi as the point spread in a weekly football pool. The nerdery is both strong and proud in our genes.)
I was looking through one of those memory boxes a few days ago while hunting for my Best Dude wedding program. Seeing what might be hundreds of letters in the box got me thinking that maybe this could be the summer to start bringing letters back. Here’s what I’m proposing: If anyone reading this would like me to write them a letter sometime this summer, just message me the mailing address you’d like me to send it to. I’m not sure if I’ll write it by hand like in the old days; I’m sure you’d get a longer and (hopefully) more satisfyingly rambling letter if it’s typed, just because of the time save. I won’t say anything about when to expect it, because the surprise of seeing it arrive is half the fun. However, if I do write to you, I will hope, but not expect, to receive a reply. I’ll even let you off the hook of replying through the snail mail, since getting email letters would be just as fun for me.
Who’s in? I’m not even kidding about this. Message me an address, and start keeping an eye on your mailbox!
Maybe you’re old enough to remember a time when people sent each other letters through the mail. Not text messages, not email, but actual sheets of paper folded up, jammed into an envelope, then addressed and stamped. Exchanging letters was maybe the most practical way to stay in touch with people if they lived far away and you didn’t see them very often, especially considering how expensive long distance phone calls were. Having a letter addressed to you showing up in your mailbox was at least a minor thrill. Not only did it give you a chance to hear about what was going on in the lives of the people important to you, but it was a small piece of evidence that you were important enough for them to take the time and effort to write.
The last person I probably exchanged letters with regularly was my grandmother. I had a good run of a year or two when I would try to write her at least a couple of times a month. College was probably my peak letter-writing period. I had regular exchanges going on with my older sister (who lived the furthest away from me and I saw the least frequently), a number of high school friends who were at different colleges, and a lot of my cousins.
Our cousin letters were epic. We almost always wrote them by hand, and sometimes, just to amuse ourselves and each other, we’d ignore the lines on the paper and wrote at the wrong direction or angle, or built the text up to surround some kind of illustration, or even have parts of the letter continue onto the outer envelope. (My cousins are the type of people who would think it was a great joke to use pi as the point spread in a weekly football pool. The nerdery is both strong and proud in our genes.)
I was looking through one of those memory boxes a few days ago while hunting for my Best Dude wedding program. Seeing what might be hundreds of letters in the box got me thinking that maybe this could be the summer to start bringing letters back. Here’s what I’m proposing: If anyone reading this would like me to write them a letter sometime this summer, just message me the mailing address you’d like me to send it to. I’m not sure if I’ll write it by hand like in the old days; I’m sure you’d get a longer and (hopefully) more satisfyingly rambling letter if it’s typed, just because of the time save. I won’t say anything about when to expect it, because the surprise of seeing it arrive is half the fun. However, if I do write to you, I will hope, but not expect, to receive a reply. I’ll even let you off the hook of replying through the snail mail, since getting email letters would be just as fun for me.
Who’s in? I’m not even kidding about this. Message me an address, and start keeping an eye on your mailbox!
Tuesday, May 23, 2017
The Reverse Q & A
Each of the years I’ve done daily May blog posts I’ve always had one day when I wrote a Q&A, when people asked questions about anything and I’d give my best, and sometimes even semi-serious, answers. This year a friend suggested I reverse that, and instead provide my own list of answers ahead of time for people to try finding questions that would match. I wasn’t sure which way to go with this at first, but decided to think of questions I suspect some people might have reasons to ask me. Whether these people ever read my blog or not I can’t say, and I’ll admit to being a little hyperbolic with some of my answers to make them less transparent than they feel. But each of these would be a legitimate answer to a question that someone might want to ask, or one that maybe hadn’t occurred to them to ask. I came up with ten. I’m curious to find out what questions people would match with these, if any responses come in. Let’s play!
*I absolutely would. In a heartbeat. And I probably will someday, maybe soon, if I screw up enough nerve.
*Most of the time, yes. I admit it’s a luxury that most people would love to experience. But only most of the time. Not always.
*I’m not saying I did everything right, but we are the way we are now largely because of the choices you made. We always felt a little one-sided, until we weren’t even that.
*No. I promise.
*Yes. And I can’t imagine that you’ve never at least suspected it.
*I probably would, at least sometimes, if I was asked. But being who I am, it’s not ever going to be anything I bring up on my own. I have a hard time inserting myself into situations like that without some reassurance.
*It’s an introvert thing that I can’t really explain in a way that would sound like anything but a cop-out. All I can say is that it would be physically and emotionally painful on a scale that most people couldn’t appreciate.
*I’ll admit it gives me some pause. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I understand why. You’ve got a lot going on. But seriously, how hard would it be? And isn't it the way things are supposed to be anyway?
*Because it feels as much like home as any home I’ve ever had, and more than some.
*I honestly don’t know if I ever will.
There they are. Who’s got the questions?
*I absolutely would. In a heartbeat. And I probably will someday, maybe soon, if I screw up enough nerve.
*Most of the time, yes. I admit it’s a luxury that most people would love to experience. But only most of the time. Not always.
*I’m not saying I did everything right, but we are the way we are now largely because of the choices you made. We always felt a little one-sided, until we weren’t even that.
*No. I promise.
*Yes. And I can’t imagine that you’ve never at least suspected it.
*I probably would, at least sometimes, if I was asked. But being who I am, it’s not ever going to be anything I bring up on my own. I have a hard time inserting myself into situations like that without some reassurance.
*It’s an introvert thing that I can’t really explain in a way that would sound like anything but a cop-out. All I can say is that it would be physically and emotionally painful on a scale that most people couldn’t appreciate.
*I’ll admit it gives me some pause. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I understand why. You’ve got a lot going on. But seriously, how hard would it be? And isn't it the way things are supposed to be anyway?
*Because it feels as much like home as any home I’ve ever had, and more than some.
*I honestly don’t know if I ever will.
There they are. Who’s got the questions?
Sunday, January 31, 2016
In Which I Explain the Whole Candle Thing
I’m starting a new category of posts today, in which I try to explain the origins of some of my more acute examples of nerdery, which, believe me, makes for an extensive list. But that’s fine. In fact, I even see it as a personal strength. In recent years, largely due to the power of social media, terms like “nerd” and “geek” and any derivations of them have been reclaimed by the same people who have had society tag them as such, and then redefined to mean a strong and focused devotion for a particular interest. I see nothing wrong with these things. I think anyone who can claim an enjoyment or interest in something that enhances their happiness, and isn’t hurting anybody along the way, is probably doing better than the people who would look to make fun of them for any over-enthusiasm they might occasionally display. Star Wars geek. Music nerd. Potter Nerd. And so on. But I’m not starting this by writing about any of those. Today it’s all about candles.
We didn’t typically have a lot of candles in our house growing up, but they were still around, usually on top of birthday cakes and all over the place at church. We had a collection that came out with the Christmas decorations, and because they were around every year makes me think how most of them probably didn’t get used much. Some did — I clearly remember some weird, porous thing of a candle that my dad brought home from the drugstore once. It looked like something plucked from an alien landscape, which melted through its own sides and dripped down to decorate the bottle supporting it. I remember spending at least an hour of one childhood evening hypnotized by this, watching it melt and trying to anticipate its narrative.
I came to resent candles a little once I began teaching, since they were such a staple of lazy parent obligation as a Christmas present for the teacher (to say nothing of me being a guy teacher, which was an added level of challenge for many people). Some gift candles were very nice, but I didn't have much use for them outside of the three weeks of the year I had Christmas decorations out. Plus most were pine-scented (Christmas trees?) to a level reminiscent of insect repellent, or they looked like they were made out of stale candy and formed into the shape of something like an awkwardly-balanced reindeer that I had no desire to display in my home.
A good number of years into teaching saw me living in a mediocre townhouse, and sharing a wall with a guy who regularly practiced his bass guitar at 11:00 PM. When I had my fill of this and decided it was time to move, I was introduced to the world of real estate staging. I had my house painted, my carpeting replaced, my kitchen floor redone and one bathroom remodeled to convince people my cave-like interior unit was worth buying. My cousin, who could be described as an amateur, but remarkably insightful, interior designer, told me I should start baking so my house would smell delicious and welcoming when people came to look at it. I told her that simply wasn’t going to happen. We compromised and found some cheap candles at the grocery store that were supposed to, and kind of did, smell like chocolate chip cookies when lit.
The idea of candles that could smell better than bug spray on pine trees seemed like a great shortcut of a way to make a house feel more domestic. This revelation led to a few exploratory sojourns down the candle aisle at Target, where I figured they had to have a better selection than the grocery store. Not only was the variety much greater, but they even had a few shelves of Yankee Candles there. I found one made of three layers of complementary warm colors of wax, each labeled with a different autumnal bucolic name, appropriate for the season. I removed the lid and smelled it and was thrown back on my heels, both by how perfectly the name matched the scent (of at least the top layer) and how strong it was. I decided to give that one a shot, and never really turned back.
Years later now, I’m still a loyal Yankee Candle customer (and Twitter follower) and have sunk more money into making my house smell nice than I will ever admit out loud to anyone. I get coupons in both my email and actual mail box, and frequently wind up using them. There’s a Yankee Candle retail location less than a mile from my home, and it wouldn’t surprise me to find out some of the employees recognize me when I walk in. I could tell you just by the name of the candle which season would be the best for it. I own a wick trimmer, because they make all the difference. Giving Yankee Candles as gifts has become habit. I can tell you which locations in my house are the best places to set lit candles so the scent will carry into other rooms. If I have people over, I’ll light a small jar candle for the bathroom, and I’ll make sure the scent is subtle enough to not overpower. There have been days I’ve put my jacket on at the end of the school day and discovered the scent of the candle I’d burned the night before had permeated it so I was still carrying it with me. And all of this is to say nothing of how the only person I can think of with a Yankee Candle devotion deeper than mine would be my agent Carrie, which I feel is yet another example of how well we are paired.
I’m very happy with the house I have now, particularly the way I don’t have to share any common walls with aspiring bass guitar players. I’ll admit that I might not dust every week, and that the outside of most of my windows really should’ve had a good cleaning last summer, and I’ve been known on occasion to fall victim to the “refrigerator full of condiments and nothing else” syndrome, so I’m never going to stand as anybody’s perfect idea of domestic aesthetic bliss.
But, I promise if you ever walk through my front door and are welcomed into my home, it’s going to smell really good in here.
As it does right now.
We didn’t typically have a lot of candles in our house growing up, but they were still around, usually on top of birthday cakes and all over the place at church. We had a collection that came out with the Christmas decorations, and because they were around every year makes me think how most of them probably didn’t get used much. Some did — I clearly remember some weird, porous thing of a candle that my dad brought home from the drugstore once. It looked like something plucked from an alien landscape, which melted through its own sides and dripped down to decorate the bottle supporting it. I remember spending at least an hour of one childhood evening hypnotized by this, watching it melt and trying to anticipate its narrative.
I came to resent candles a little once I began teaching, since they were such a staple of lazy parent obligation as a Christmas present for the teacher (to say nothing of me being a guy teacher, which was an added level of challenge for many people). Some gift candles were very nice, but I didn't have much use for them outside of the three weeks of the year I had Christmas decorations out. Plus most were pine-scented (Christmas trees?) to a level reminiscent of insect repellent, or they looked like they were made out of stale candy and formed into the shape of something like an awkwardly-balanced reindeer that I had no desire to display in my home.
A good number of years into teaching saw me living in a mediocre townhouse, and sharing a wall with a guy who regularly practiced his bass guitar at 11:00 PM. When I had my fill of this and decided it was time to move, I was introduced to the world of real estate staging. I had my house painted, my carpeting replaced, my kitchen floor redone and one bathroom remodeled to convince people my cave-like interior unit was worth buying. My cousin, who could be described as an amateur, but remarkably insightful, interior designer, told me I should start baking so my house would smell delicious and welcoming when people came to look at it. I told her that simply wasn’t going to happen. We compromised and found some cheap candles at the grocery store that were supposed to, and kind of did, smell like chocolate chip cookies when lit.
The idea of candles that could smell better than bug spray on pine trees seemed like a great shortcut of a way to make a house feel more domestic. This revelation led to a few exploratory sojourns down the candle aisle at Target, where I figured they had to have a better selection than the grocery store. Not only was the variety much greater, but they even had a few shelves of Yankee Candles there. I found one made of three layers of complementary warm colors of wax, each labeled with a different autumnal bucolic name, appropriate for the season. I removed the lid and smelled it and was thrown back on my heels, both by how perfectly the name matched the scent (of at least the top layer) and how strong it was. I decided to give that one a shot, and never really turned back.
Years later now, I’m still a loyal Yankee Candle customer (and Twitter follower) and have sunk more money into making my house smell nice than I will ever admit out loud to anyone. I get coupons in both my email and actual mail box, and frequently wind up using them. There’s a Yankee Candle retail location less than a mile from my home, and it wouldn’t surprise me to find out some of the employees recognize me when I walk in. I could tell you just by the name of the candle which season would be the best for it. I own a wick trimmer, because they make all the difference. Giving Yankee Candles as gifts has become habit. I can tell you which locations in my house are the best places to set lit candles so the scent will carry into other rooms. If I have people over, I’ll light a small jar candle for the bathroom, and I’ll make sure the scent is subtle enough to not overpower. There have been days I’ve put my jacket on at the end of the school day and discovered the scent of the candle I’d burned the night before had permeated it so I was still carrying it with me. And all of this is to say nothing of how the only person I can think of with a Yankee Candle devotion deeper than mine would be my agent Carrie, which I feel is yet another example of how well we are paired.
I’m very happy with the house I have now, particularly the way I don’t have to share any common walls with aspiring bass guitar players. I’ll admit that I might not dust every week, and that the outside of most of my windows really should’ve had a good cleaning last summer, and I’ve been known on occasion to fall victim to the “refrigerator full of condiments and nothing else” syndrome, so I’m never going to stand as anybody’s perfect idea of domestic aesthetic bliss.
But, I promise if you ever walk through my front door and are welcomed into my home, it’s going to smell really good in here.
As it does right now.
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