My client, Mr. Hammond, feels inclined to reinforce that while all his entries reflect his personal likes and interests, his writing is sheer hyperbole, pure exaggeration. Blogging, for him, is a creative writing exercise done for his own and hopefully your entertainment. Mr. Hammond sees it as an opportunity to explore his ability to craft the written word. He asks all readers to just relax, have some fun. If you are weirded out, Rooster Cogburn put it best when he said, "I can do nothin' for ya' son."
Warm Regards,
Walther P. P. K., Dewey Cheatum and Howe Law Firm, LLC Toledo, Mississippi 456.934.8940
Music is the most important element on the Periodic Table of Elements. Unfortunately it is not one of the elements on the Periodic Table of Elements, but if it was, “Mu” would rival “O” as the most important, beautiful, life-sustaining element of the bunch. Everyone loves music in one form or another, and if you don’t you probably don’t have a soul and probably hate children/small puppies and can’t see your own reflection when you look in the mirror.
I for one love music. It feeds my soul. It feeds my soul to the point of obesity. I’m talking “trucking around Wal-Mart on a motorized cart shopping for Looney Tune character nightgowns and sequin-decorated cat sweaters” kind of obesity. Apparently this affinity for music has been passed down to my first-born. In fact I may have created a monster. He obsesses over music; listens to it all the time. Music is like his toddler crack, and he’s not satisfied until he gets his fix. I’m afraid his little stereo could go up in flames at any moment due to over use; alas, the boy’s music addiction is a topic I’ll address another day.
You see I pride myself on being a rather well rounded music listener, a music connoisseur of sorts. I can do rock, alternative, country, show tunes, new wave, world, classical, techno, singer songwriter, hip-hop, rap, new age; you name it. (R&B and Adult Contemporary can burn in the eternal flames of musical hell. Curse you! Curse you I say!) In turn, I strive to expose my son to a smorgasbord of musical treats. Most recently, it has been chiptunes.
Chiptunes, is music that derived from the 8-bit era of video games. These synthesized sounding tunes are composed using complex computer algorithms that are coded to mimic the sounds of actual instruments. The results are some of the greatest musical compositions of the last 500 years. That's right, eat your heart out Mozart, Tchaikovsky, and Bach. Do you hear that Beethoven? Of course not, you’re deaf (and dead), but if you could hear, it would be the sound of your own hand slapping your forehead in "why didn't I think of that" envious adoration of this musical medium.
Beethoven Coveting
It's time for the classical “masters” to move over and make room for the likes of Kinuyo Namashita, Hirokazu Tanaka, and Koji Kono. These men are masters of musical composition in the same way Mario is the master of chubby-super-powered-princess-saving plumbers. They not only excel at orchestrating and writing incredible music, but they have an uncanny ability to translate their masterpieces into nerd. You see, Handel would never have been able to translate his Messiah into ones and zeros because he was first and foremost an ivory tickler. Chiptune composers are required to be total geeks on two fronts! They are modern maestros whose talents are the glorious love child of music and engineering.
Koji Kono, before retiring to the Nerdery with his calculator.
Mega Man 2, Metroid, The Legend of Zelda, Super Mario Bros., Metal Gear, Life Force, Contra, Castlevania, anyone who has played these games know how enduring their music is. These songs stay in your head for days at a time, they burn their notes upon the fleshy tablets of your heart, drowning out all remnants of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. (Which is a fantastic song by the way. Could use some electric drums though.)
Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe my Mother’s prophetic warnings have come to fruition. Maybe video games have melted my brain. And maybe, some day in the future, my brain will have to be scooped out of my skull with a ladle, and my vital organs will have to be hooked up to machines. Some day I may simply stare at the wall while being spoon-fed pre-masticated peaches and soiling my man-diapers. But if this is to be my fate, do not cry for me. For somewhere, in what’s left of my brain, I’ll be hearing some sweet and familiar chiptunes seamlessly looping; making me feel at home, keeping me company. And I will begin to lightly tap my soft slipper on my wheelchair’s foothold, and the nurses will begin to celebrate. They’ll call it miracle. A nurse will kiss the crucifix attached to her necklace while another will light a Santa Domingo prayer candle. Tears will flow and embraces will be given freely. I will open my mouth to speak and everyone will stare with wide eyes in anticipation. Using all the energy left in my being and through indistinguishable mumbles my mouth will begin forming syllables. Everyone will lean in closer to hear; it will be silent enough to hear a pin drop. Suddenly, like a bolt of lighting I’ll joyfully exclaim, “Muh…Muh…Muh…Meeega Man 2 was an ah....awesome game. Rrrr…rrrr…rrrr…Really good music.” The nurses will then clear the room in disappointment, the last one will pause long enough to turn off the light, leaving me in the dark. Moments later in the darkness, with my renewed ability to speak, I will begin humming this:
