Aesthetics
I’m working swing shift at the BYU Office of Information Technology. The OIT building is large, with glass-walled rooms looking out to the city below. It’s 9:00 PM, and it’s time for my 15-minute break.
I go downstairs to get some snacks. The office, normally loud and bustling during daylight hours, is dead silent and dim. The hum of the servers and the appliances is all I hear as I look at dark meeting rooms that feel like entrances to other worlds.
I enter the break room, and go to the vending machine. I get my snacks: chips, cookies, Gatorade, an Uncrustable. I sit down on an armchair. I look out at the city lights from the big glass walls. I look overhead and I see the stars. It makes me feel like I’m in one of my favorite nightcore-style anime digital illustrations, a character looking out at the lights of the city. What could be out there, beyond those stars, in the vastness of space? Aliens? Adventure? Romance? Love that never dies? I think about my art, my writing, my musical instruments, my code, the theme parks I love and their design, my cybersecurity studies. I picture myself hacking into systems and animating characters. I think about gaming, and all the games I plan to play soon, awash in a world of RGB lights. I think about cartoons, about books, about the animes I am going to watch. All the worlds I want to visit and explore.
Could I escape to those stars?
night = glowing lights, RGB, server hum, alerts, chatting on forums, technical and artistic excellence.
morning = me and the bike trail; river and grass; sun and fallen leaves.
I go downstairs to get some snacks. The office, normally loud and bustling during daylight hours, is dead silent and dim. The hum of the servers and the appliances is all I hear as I look at dark meeting rooms that feel like entrances to other worlds.
I enter the break room, and go to the vending machine. I get my snacks: chips, cookies, Gatorade, an Uncrustable. I sit down on an armchair. I look out at the city lights from the big glass walls. I look overhead and I see the stars. It makes me feel like I’m in one of my favorite nightcore-style anime digital illustrations, a character looking out at the lights of the city. What could be out there, beyond those stars, in the vastness of space? Aliens? Adventure? Romance? Love that never dies? I think about my art, my writing, my musical instruments, my code, the theme parks I love and their design, my cybersecurity studies. I picture myself hacking into systems and animating characters. I think about gaming, and all the games I plan to play soon, awash in a world of RGB lights. I think about cartoons, about books, about the animes I am going to watch. All the worlds I want to visit and explore.
Could I escape to those stars?
I will master it, though. This glowing world of tech, games, and beautiful anime art. I will master it all.
I feel cozy, protected, and safe. Observing the outside world, yet detached from it. All too soon, my break is over, and I am back to a world of yellow Nagios alerts, blinking desktop PCs, and tech support phones that are all too quiet.
…
It’s the first day of Cornbelly’s opening, and I’m at the Spanish Fork location, shortly after work. The world is blindingly bright and hot. Hot late August sun bakes the uneven, grassy ground of the farmland. The corn mazes are new, and quiet, with the first few families heading into the labyrinths. The corn stands green and tall, not the limp brown thing it becomes in November. Pumpkins are everywhere, jack-o-lanterns smiling, sparkling with lights turned on too early. The Cornbelly’s Express train blows steam into the air, taking passengers into a world of autumn while summer’s grip still reigns. Rides whir.
The first grilled mac-and-cheese sandwich of fall tastes sharp, poignant, hot like the summer sun. A few noodles fall off into the tray. I pick them up with a fork one by one, not wasting a single one. Apple cider slushes are cool and refreshing, many weeks before they will be replaced by hot cider and cinnamon rolls. My t-shirt is destined to be replaced by a Cowabunga Bay hoodie, dancing on the Punkin Twister underneath the Lehi lights, food trucks sending smells of barbecue, sugar, and woodfire into the autumn air.
But not yet. It’s daylight and sweat pours down my brow.
It’s time to head to Splash Summit water park for some slides and summer fun. I'll have two wristbands on: one for the fall fair, one for the water park.
…
It’s the Saturday of Memorial Day Weekend. I stand atop Liquid Lightning at Lagoon-a-Beach, then sit down in the cool water, waiting for the lifeguard to release the bar so I can fly. The weather is only slightly warm in the sun, the lines short, a cold winter chill still remaining as it blasts through the tube. I shiver as the bar is released and I fly down the water slide in a flurry of shimmering droplets.
Summer is here, in late May, and it won’t be gone until September. Almost four months to lose myself in worlds of water — floating in lazy rivers, wondering what creatures lurk around the corner, or if that little offshoot to the left takes you to an undersea kingdom.
I feel cozy, protected, and safe. Observing the outside world, yet detached from it. All too soon, my break is over, and I am back to a world of yellow Nagios alerts, blinking desktop PCs, and tech support phones that are all too quiet.
…
It’s the first day of Cornbelly’s opening, and I’m at the Spanish Fork location, shortly after work. The world is blindingly bright and hot. Hot late August sun bakes the uneven, grassy ground of the farmland. The corn mazes are new, and quiet, with the first few families heading into the labyrinths. The corn stands green and tall, not the limp brown thing it becomes in November. Pumpkins are everywhere, jack-o-lanterns smiling, sparkling with lights turned on too early. The Cornbelly’s Express train blows steam into the air, taking passengers into a world of autumn while summer’s grip still reigns. Rides whir.
The first grilled mac-and-cheese sandwich of fall tastes sharp, poignant, hot like the summer sun. A few noodles fall off into the tray. I pick them up with a fork one by one, not wasting a single one. Apple cider slushes are cool and refreshing, many weeks before they will be replaced by hot cider and cinnamon rolls. My t-shirt is destined to be replaced by a Cowabunga Bay hoodie, dancing on the Punkin Twister underneath the Lehi lights, food trucks sending smells of barbecue, sugar, and woodfire into the autumn air.
But not yet. It’s daylight and sweat pours down my brow.
It’s time to head to Splash Summit water park for some slides and summer fun. I'll have two wristbands on: one for the fall fair, one for the water park.
…
It’s the Saturday of Memorial Day Weekend. I stand atop Liquid Lightning at Lagoon-a-Beach, then sit down in the cool water, waiting for the lifeguard to release the bar so I can fly. The weather is only slightly warm in the sun, the lines short, a cold winter chill still remaining as it blasts through the tube. I shiver as the bar is released and I fly down the water slide in a flurry of shimmering droplets.
Summer is here, in late May, and it won’t be gone until September. Almost four months to lose myself in worlds of water — floating in lazy rivers, wondering what creatures lurk around the corner, or if that little offshoot to the left takes you to an undersea kingdom.
...
The multiplicity:
night = glowing lights, RGB, server hum, alerts, chatting on forums, technical and artistic excellence.
before the sun rises = rows of dumbbells, a dark gym blinking into light as I flick on the switch, caffeine in my system
morning = me and the bike trail; river and grass; sun and fallen leaves.
day, afternoon = rides, water slides, and roller coasters
afternoon, dusk = becoming everything I've ever wanted
evening = dining, plates, clinking silverware, glasses, family, friends, looking around the restaurant for the one you dream of.
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