Rohit's Realm - August 2011

// / archive / 2011 / 08

August 29, 2011

Virtual Reality

Madden 12

For all the mind-numbing technical gibberish I routinely spout on this most wretched of sites, there remains one technical topic that I have rarely—if ever—breached: video games. Considering it is a subject so closely aligned in the popular psyche with technology and computer geekery, that is as strange an omission as it is a confounding one. What could possible have motivated such a silence for over nine years of this blog's existence?

Could it be shame? But, as a rather unapologetic (computer) nerd who as recently as 2007 refused to outsource my e-mail, what possible shame could there be in admitting I like video games? None, as it were. My consummate failures are, after all, well known to this readership—to reveal, for instance, that I was a video game addict wouldn't do any more harm than, say, this entry, already has to my beleaguered (online) reputation.

So, what's the deal then? Simple: I don't write about video games because I neither play nor am interested in video games. (I know: blasphemy!) In fact, of mainstream societal indulgences today, I can't think of one (besides maybe television) in which I have less interest than gaming.

August 15, 2011

Rohit Reviews: Alice in Wonderland

Alice in Wonderland

My summer binge of books continues unabated, it would seem. Today, I got through Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland, or more precisely, Alice's Adventure's in Wonderland, the first of three stories published in the Norton Critical Edition I purchased in my ill-advised book-buying binge some weeks ago. The other two—Through the Looking Glass and The Hunting of the Snark—will have to wait another day, however, as the 99 pages of nonsense provided courtesy of Alice was quite enough for me for one summer.

I chose to pick up Alice in Wonderland last month for several reasons, but none of them were because I was particularly excited to read the book. Children's literature, as you might guess dear readers, is not and was never really my cup of tea. I did, of course, once upon a time read children's literature, given that I had little choice in the matter in my early years; and to this day have fond, if hazy, memories of the Berenstain Bears, Boxcar Children, Hardy Boys, and of course, most stories authored by the prolific Roald Dahl. But before I was ten, I had moved onto Crichton, Grisham, and Clancy—popular and contemporary stories, without doubt, but hardly children's stories. And in high school, college, and beyond, I would abandon contemporary fiction entirely for the classics—a trend from which I have yet to deviate even today.

What compelled me to pick up Alice, then, was a combination of feeling that this was a book I should read given its literary and cultural significance and wanting a change of pace from the melancholy of recent titles such as Interpreter of Maladies and The Idiot. And on those fronts, it did not disappoint—I can now say I have read it, and it certainly was not melancholy. I must admit, however, that ultimately I don't think I really got the book.