I'm not going to bother showing you all of Friday's Around the Net segment, because all you need to know is that they showed this clip during it minus the last few bits of dialogue at the end. But honestly, those last lines are so irrelevant to scene it matters not. In fact, I'm betting that you are so stunned by the lack of breath you have after laughing or screaming in shock like I did at the end of this scene that you won't even hear the last few lines they say.
There are so many different things I could add to this. I have a particularly choice rant about the Rifts RPG and SDC/MDC damage, but I'm going to let it go and just force this clip upon you. Your soul will not be the same after watching this. It's the perfect storm of crazy.
Note: Kevin and Olivia made an appeal to all viewers to e-mail G4TV and request/demand that they get the rights to Hard Ticket to Hawaii and air it as a Movie That Doesn't Suck. I don't know if the world could handle that amount of epic.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Why My Mom is Cool
Okay, so there are a million stories about the mom that I could tell, and they'd all be worthy. Plus, this story is more about me, anyway, but bear with me.
Last week, my mom reminded me of why I sometimes think that even though she often acts like she doesn't, she actually does get me. I had just stopped by my grandmother's house to visit my mom who was there and I was about to bootleg some food for the trip home when I started going off on a random rambling about something or other (I think, oddly enough, it was about birth control... it made sense at the time, trust me...).
Anyway, I was heading from the bedroom to the kitchen when I heard my mom comment to the few family members assembled there that she thought I could do stand-up comedy.
I understand what you're thinking. Why should I care about a comment as irrelevant and unimportant as that? Well, truth be told, I sometimes wonder about whether I should take a shot at it myself. But see, I understand the task of a stand up comedian enough to realize that it's not that simple.
I'm not afraid of performing. I've been on stage before (although not recently) both alone and with groups, and I could even say that I thrived there for the most part. But that's practiced stage performing or even improv (which isn't practiced, but isn't nearly as random as some people would have you believe).
I know that I'm funny. Maybe not to all people and about all things, but I'm pretty sure that most of the people I've met in life and spent time with (aside from maybe a few work contacts) would attest to my having some type of comic timing. So yeah, it could work.
But it's you against the audience. And even if they're willing and encouraging, they can be a fickle and unforgiving bunch. And that's assuming you're not in front of a bunch of drunk and half-drunk people (which you probably are). So yes, even the fearless performing heart that is mine feels a little bit of trepidation over giving that a shot.
But still, it's nice to hear my mom say that she thinks I could probably do it, since it means that if I ever wanted to try, I'd have her support. I'd probably have it regardless, but at least now I think she might actually be encouraging about it. And of course, the whole thing reminds me that I'm supposed to get around to doing some type of performing again at some point in my life. Some minor theater work, an open mic night, some impromptu improv... heck, I might even break down, find one of those fancy video camera things and venture into that YouTube thing all the hip kids are talking about.
Or all they all about the MySpace now? I can never keep up with those hip kids.
Last week, my mom reminded me of why I sometimes think that even though she often acts like she doesn't, she actually does get me. I had just stopped by my grandmother's house to visit my mom who was there and I was about to bootleg some food for the trip home when I started going off on a random rambling about something or other (I think, oddly enough, it was about birth control... it made sense at the time, trust me...).
Anyway, I was heading from the bedroom to the kitchen when I heard my mom comment to the few family members assembled there that she thought I could do stand-up comedy.
I understand what you're thinking. Why should I care about a comment as irrelevant and unimportant as that? Well, truth be told, I sometimes wonder about whether I should take a shot at it myself. But see, I understand the task of a stand up comedian enough to realize that it's not that simple.
I'm not afraid of performing. I've been on stage before (although not recently) both alone and with groups, and I could even say that I thrived there for the most part. But that's practiced stage performing or even improv (which isn't practiced, but isn't nearly as random as some people would have you believe).
I know that I'm funny. Maybe not to all people and about all things, but I'm pretty sure that most of the people I've met in life and spent time with (aside from maybe a few work contacts) would attest to my having some type of comic timing. So yeah, it could work.
But it's you against the audience. And even if they're willing and encouraging, they can be a fickle and unforgiving bunch. And that's assuming you're not in front of a bunch of drunk and half-drunk people (which you probably are). So yes, even the fearless performing heart that is mine feels a little bit of trepidation over giving that a shot.
But still, it's nice to hear my mom say that she thinks I could probably do it, since it means that if I ever wanted to try, I'd have her support. I'd probably have it regardless, but at least now I think she might actually be encouraging about it. And of course, the whole thing reminds me that I'm supposed to get around to doing some type of performing again at some point in my life. Some minor theater work, an open mic night, some impromptu improv... heck, I might even break down, find one of those fancy video camera things and venture into that YouTube thing all the hip kids are talking about.
Or all they all about the MySpace now? I can never keep up with those hip kids.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Unfiltered: Project Nano - Chapter 1
(Now that I've got all of the nonsense of what might have been out of the way, back to what was. This is an excerpt from what I guess would chapter 1 of the project, a little ditty that I named "Roll Call". We enter the scene as Hunter Clan Sponsor Edith Fortunado brings her weekly meeting to a halt and resident Hunter Lake O'Bannon prepares to make drag it back to activity... the hard way.)
Edith gritted her teeth at the smattering of murmurs and chuckles that protruded from the crew. If nothing else, she hated the lack of order that always presented itself during these meetings. Heck, she hated the meetings altogether. But they were a necessary evil if she wanted to keep the guild in a state that remotely resembled solvent. Not that she always cared about that, but like most people she appreciated when the lights and appliances worked. Edith waved a hand dismissively. “All right, pipe down you yahoos. Anything else?”
She took the momentary lapse of comments as reason enough to move on. “Okay, then. We can move on to new business. We’ve had a drop in our capture rate over the past quarter. This coincides, surprisingly enough, with an increase in our hunter injuries and fatalities. I don’t have to explain this to any of you, do I? Now I know there have been things going on in the guild, and far be it from me to get bent out of shape by a few of you bums getting put into the ground, but it’s affecting business. The bottom line is the bottom line, and right now we’re leaning more towards red no matter how you look at it.”
Edith gave her small play on words time to hit some of the slower witted members over the head a few times before continuing. “The important thing to remember is to be careful. I know half the city thinks that we’re expendable, but we are actually providing a service here. Contrary to popular belief, if we don’t do our jobs right, the city does suffer. But enough with the pep talk…” The woman had to resist the urge to smirk at the notion before continuing, “On to other business. We have a walkabout today.”
The statement drew more attention than any other one in the morning had. Just about every head in the assemblage perked up and directed its attention to the front. Even a few of the sleeping folks snapped awake at the word. It had been a while since there had been a walkabout in the guild. It had been long enough that some people had never encountered one in their entire career. For anyone familiar with the process, there was the usual mix of emotions flowing through the room. There was the standard order of idle curiosity. There was a sprinkle of novelty. But mostly, there was the fear. The horrible, all enclosing fear of the words that would next be spoken.
“I need a volunteer.” Edith timed the comment for the appropriate mix of drama and amusement. The amusement was mostly hers, of course, but there were a handful of people masochistic enough to find potential joy in the outcome. She brushed her hand in a dismissive fashion. “Aw, don’t cry, ya bunch of babies! I’m not stupid enough to expect any of you putzes to actually volunteer. In fact, I’ve come up with a method that’s more than fair. I think I’ll just consider the lucky victim to be the next person to walk through the door. Yep, that’ll do it. The very next person to walk through that door will be our lucky volunteer.”
There was a certain anticipation in her proclamation that had eluded some of the guild, but like a wave the realization of what was happening was starting to become apparent. A low-based murmuring linked itself to a pattern of individuals checking the clock that hung over the door. Anyone that checked saw that it was clearly twelve minutes after their meeting start time. Anyone with even a trace of sense knew that it was Wednesday. And everyone that knew a certain individual knew that by some manner of habit or heavenly decree, a certain member of their guild almost certainly showed up exactly thirteen minutes late for any Wednesday meeting. So it was with great revelry and a modicum of satisfaction that the group welcomed its tardy compatriot into the room.
Lake O’Bannon strolled into the room in matter of fact fashion. Neither his demeanor nor his appearance would indicate that he was in any rush to get inside. On the contrary, nothing that Lake did gave faintest hint that he was on the verge of either sneaking to his seat or apologizing for being late. It had already been well established that the time that Lake reported in on Wednesday was pretty much his own prerogative.
The popular theory was that Lake had some mystery rendezvous on Tuesday nights that kept him preoccupied, but his general lack of a good mood on Wednesday precluded them from associating him with the usual pleasantries that a “secret rendezvous” would entail. Others carried the popular theory that Lake had some early morning regimen on Wednesday that made him late, but again there were no outward signs that he was exhausted from workout, peaceful from meditation, or (as previously mentioned) in a pleasant mood from any other unsavory activity. A few guild members had bothered to attempt to track him on Wednesday morning to see just what the deal was. The few that remained intact long enough to report to anyone else brought the dismal news that Lake was late simply because he was, and it seemed to just be a matter of fate conspiring to make sure he was never on time on Wednesday. Whatever the reason, today it was bound to provide some much needed entertainment for the meeting.
Lake paused after entering the doorway, adjusting the cuff of his leather jacket as he mumbled something best left incoherent under his breath. It took him a handful of seconds to notice that something was out of sorts… more out of sorts than usual in the group. Too many people seemed pleased to see him. He had found in general practice that too many people happy to see him was rarely a good thing.
“Mr. O’Bannon. So lovely to see you today. And at such an appropriate time, too. “ Edith Fortunado grinned an impish smile that her lack of stature made appear even more so. A few of the guild members reflected the same mock enthusiasm that Edith did, and that was when Lake truly grasped how screwed he was.
Lake let a short huff of air slip out of his lips before starting his query. “What? Am I getting docked? Am I getting written up for that ganger I cracked last week? Am I getting docked for cracking that ganger last week? Am I getting cracked for docking that ganger last week?”
The room hung in silence for the reply of their leader. They knew this was just the opening volley in a classic exchange. Edith debated letting the noose tighten a little more before the big reveal, but decided that there was really no reason to drag it out too far. Besides, all of this pleasantry was wearing on her own nerves. Edith propped a hand against her podium. “I was just informing everyone about the walkabout we just acquired.”
Lake fought back a grimace at the mention of the word, a successful effort that he managed to bend into a small smirk. “Walkabout, huh? Haven’t we got enough crap floating around here without one of those making it worse?” Lake had absolutely no qualms about tossing a general insult out in a room of what should be his allies. Heaven knows they would be more than willing to do the same should the opportunity arise. Still, the comment seemed to raise the dander of at least a few of the assembled, many of whom showed their disapproval by shifting in their seats and glaring.
Edith coughed out a monosyllable of disapproval to the question. “Could be.” Edith had the same lack of regard as Lake did in the matter, but at least she had the pull to not be worried about reprisals, “But for better or worse, we’ve got one. And now that I have a volunteer for walkabout duty, I don’t have to worry about it all that much.
“Volunteer?” Lake’s smirk gathered a hint of actual amusement. “What poor fool would be insane enough to volunteer for walkabout du…” It was about that time that he managed to piece it all together. The pleasantries, the general joy he seemed to be bringing part of the room, the fact that he hadn’t been docked yet… there had to be a payoff somewhere for Edith, and there it was. His entire demeanor shifted to one of annoyance. “Oh, no. No, no, no. You are not shackling me with one of those... things for the week. I did my time two years ago and I was done. Find some other sucker with a death wish to do your dirty work for you.”
Edith’s tone took an abrupt shift of its own, “Now you wait just a minute! You think fair play applies in all guild matters? The truth is this has been coming for a long time. Breaking rules, not following protocols, damage tallies way beyond your class level allowance… and every time I try to call you on it, you have some half-cocked excuse or some convenient break of fortune that keeps my hands tied. You’ve slipped through more loopholes and backdoors than I can count, but not today, bucko! I’ve been waiting to screw you over for a long time now, and now you're gonna get what’s coming to you!”
For a brief moment, Lake seemed genuinely taken aback by Edith’s diatribe. His left eyebrow arched upward as he perused his employer’s face. His lips parted calmly as he carefully sorted out his response.
“Say… are you coming on to me?”
The smattering of chuckles from the audience was more than enough to break the tension for most of them. Some of the guild had gotten a bit restless in the brief pause that preceded Lake’s comment. A few foolish souls actually dared to assume it possible that Lake was honestly repentant and on the verge of apologizing for his past actions. They were more than pleased to see that that was not the case.
Edith Fortunado, on the other hand, was anything but amused. Her face began to flare an almost trademark shade of red, and it was abundantly clear to any of the guild members who had seen it occur before that it was not a blush of embarrassment.
“Do you think…” Edith fought to maintain anything that resembled civility as her temper railed against her better judgment, “… for one second… that I would ever… within the confines of my mind… “ Edith pointed towards Barnard, who flinched at the motion despite the lack of flames shooting from her fingertip, “… his mind… or within the very depths of hell itself even remotely consider coming onto you? In what bizarre freakshow of a world does my utter contempt and rage for you possibly translate into anything that even resembles attraction? You… you… you’re lucky I don’t leap off of here and throttle the life out you with my bare hands!” Her body began slowly tremble, making some fear that she might actually leap from her podium in some kind of suicidal plunge at her contemptuous employee.
Lake, for his part, seemed unfazed by this newfound rage. In fact his own demeanor had improved a good deal, though an apt observer could clearly see that he was by no means happy. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he mused aloud to no one in particular, “Well, I can’t say where it came from, exactly. It was just the wording there. ‘Half-cocked,’ ‘loophole,’ ‘backdoor.’ You know in some circles, even the word 'throttle'…”
Edith banged her fist on the top of her podium and pointed an aged finger at Lake. “All right! Not another word out of you! You’re taking the walkabout, and so help me if I hear anything other than rave reviews about your behavior, I'll bounce you out of here on your smug little backside!”
Lake clearly had something else to say on the matter, but he remained silent. Of his many social skills, the ability to know just how far he could push someone before he had crossed the point of no return was probably the most finely honed. It was clear he didn’t love this particular turn of events, but it was also clear that short of getting himself removed from the guild there wasn’t much else he could do to get out of this. With a certain sense of resignation, he turned and headed back towards the door he had so recently entered.
“And just where do you think you’re going, hot shot?” Edith queried to his back.
Lake didn’t bother to turn around, stopping as he reached the door. “In accordance with Article 4, Paragraph 8 of the Provisional Guild Agreement with the Free States, any member enacted into volunteer duty with a walkabout may, at their discretion, forgo standard guild protocols when interacting with said walkabout. Pursuant with this, I’m enacting a special preparatory meeting to prepare for said walkabout. This meeting, coincidentally enough, will force me to miss the rest of this one. Sorry for the inconvenience.”
As the door shut with Lake on the opposite side of it, Edith Fortunado quietly grinded her teeth together. “I am so docking him for cracking that ganger last week…”
(Lengthy, sure, but I really like the entire exchange between the two. Besides, I haven't posted anything else all week. Read it in parts if you have to. Until next time, when I think I'll spend a little time breaking down some of the who, what, and why of the story elements...)
Edith gritted her teeth at the smattering of murmurs and chuckles that protruded from the crew. If nothing else, she hated the lack of order that always presented itself during these meetings. Heck, she hated the meetings altogether. But they were a necessary evil if she wanted to keep the guild in a state that remotely resembled solvent. Not that she always cared about that, but like most people she appreciated when the lights and appliances worked. Edith waved a hand dismissively. “All right, pipe down you yahoos. Anything else?”
She took the momentary lapse of comments as reason enough to move on. “Okay, then. We can move on to new business. We’ve had a drop in our capture rate over the past quarter. This coincides, surprisingly enough, with an increase in our hunter injuries and fatalities. I don’t have to explain this to any of you, do I? Now I know there have been things going on in the guild, and far be it from me to get bent out of shape by a few of you bums getting put into the ground, but it’s affecting business. The bottom line is the bottom line, and right now we’re leaning more towards red no matter how you look at it.”
Edith gave her small play on words time to hit some of the slower witted members over the head a few times before continuing. “The important thing to remember is to be careful. I know half the city thinks that we’re expendable, but we are actually providing a service here. Contrary to popular belief, if we don’t do our jobs right, the city does suffer. But enough with the pep talk…” The woman had to resist the urge to smirk at the notion before continuing, “On to other business. We have a walkabout today.”
The statement drew more attention than any other one in the morning had. Just about every head in the assemblage perked up and directed its attention to the front. Even a few of the sleeping folks snapped awake at the word. It had been a while since there had been a walkabout in the guild. It had been long enough that some people had never encountered one in their entire career. For anyone familiar with the process, there was the usual mix of emotions flowing through the room. There was the standard order of idle curiosity. There was a sprinkle of novelty. But mostly, there was the fear. The horrible, all enclosing fear of the words that would next be spoken.
“I need a volunteer.” Edith timed the comment for the appropriate mix of drama and amusement. The amusement was mostly hers, of course, but there were a handful of people masochistic enough to find potential joy in the outcome. She brushed her hand in a dismissive fashion. “Aw, don’t cry, ya bunch of babies! I’m not stupid enough to expect any of you putzes to actually volunteer. In fact, I’ve come up with a method that’s more than fair. I think I’ll just consider the lucky victim to be the next person to walk through the door. Yep, that’ll do it. The very next person to walk through that door will be our lucky volunteer.”
There was a certain anticipation in her proclamation that had eluded some of the guild, but like a wave the realization of what was happening was starting to become apparent. A low-based murmuring linked itself to a pattern of individuals checking the clock that hung over the door. Anyone that checked saw that it was clearly twelve minutes after their meeting start time. Anyone with even a trace of sense knew that it was Wednesday. And everyone that knew a certain individual knew that by some manner of habit or heavenly decree, a certain member of their guild almost certainly showed up exactly thirteen minutes late for any Wednesday meeting. So it was with great revelry and a modicum of satisfaction that the group welcomed its tardy compatriot into the room.
Lake O’Bannon strolled into the room in matter of fact fashion. Neither his demeanor nor his appearance would indicate that he was in any rush to get inside. On the contrary, nothing that Lake did gave faintest hint that he was on the verge of either sneaking to his seat or apologizing for being late. It had already been well established that the time that Lake reported in on Wednesday was pretty much his own prerogative.
The popular theory was that Lake had some mystery rendezvous on Tuesday nights that kept him preoccupied, but his general lack of a good mood on Wednesday precluded them from associating him with the usual pleasantries that a “secret rendezvous” would entail. Others carried the popular theory that Lake had some early morning regimen on Wednesday that made him late, but again there were no outward signs that he was exhausted from workout, peaceful from meditation, or (as previously mentioned) in a pleasant mood from any other unsavory activity. A few guild members had bothered to attempt to track him on Wednesday morning to see just what the deal was. The few that remained intact long enough to report to anyone else brought the dismal news that Lake was late simply because he was, and it seemed to just be a matter of fate conspiring to make sure he was never on time on Wednesday. Whatever the reason, today it was bound to provide some much needed entertainment for the meeting.
Lake paused after entering the doorway, adjusting the cuff of his leather jacket as he mumbled something best left incoherent under his breath. It took him a handful of seconds to notice that something was out of sorts… more out of sorts than usual in the group. Too many people seemed pleased to see him. He had found in general practice that too many people happy to see him was rarely a good thing.
“Mr. O’Bannon. So lovely to see you today. And at such an appropriate time, too. “ Edith Fortunado grinned an impish smile that her lack of stature made appear even more so. A few of the guild members reflected the same mock enthusiasm that Edith did, and that was when Lake truly grasped how screwed he was.
Lake let a short huff of air slip out of his lips before starting his query. “What? Am I getting docked? Am I getting written up for that ganger I cracked last week? Am I getting docked for cracking that ganger last week? Am I getting cracked for docking that ganger last week?”
The room hung in silence for the reply of their leader. They knew this was just the opening volley in a classic exchange. Edith debated letting the noose tighten a little more before the big reveal, but decided that there was really no reason to drag it out too far. Besides, all of this pleasantry was wearing on her own nerves. Edith propped a hand against her podium. “I was just informing everyone about the walkabout we just acquired.”
Lake fought back a grimace at the mention of the word, a successful effort that he managed to bend into a small smirk. “Walkabout, huh? Haven’t we got enough crap floating around here without one of those making it worse?” Lake had absolutely no qualms about tossing a general insult out in a room of what should be his allies. Heaven knows they would be more than willing to do the same should the opportunity arise. Still, the comment seemed to raise the dander of at least a few of the assembled, many of whom showed their disapproval by shifting in their seats and glaring.
Edith coughed out a monosyllable of disapproval to the question. “Could be.” Edith had the same lack of regard as Lake did in the matter, but at least she had the pull to not be worried about reprisals, “But for better or worse, we’ve got one. And now that I have a volunteer for walkabout duty, I don’t have to worry about it all that much.
“Volunteer?” Lake’s smirk gathered a hint of actual amusement. “What poor fool would be insane enough to volunteer for walkabout du…” It was about that time that he managed to piece it all together. The pleasantries, the general joy he seemed to be bringing part of the room, the fact that he hadn’t been docked yet… there had to be a payoff somewhere for Edith, and there it was. His entire demeanor shifted to one of annoyance. “Oh, no. No, no, no. You are not shackling me with one of those... things for the week. I did my time two years ago and I was done. Find some other sucker with a death wish to do your dirty work for you.”
Edith’s tone took an abrupt shift of its own, “Now you wait just a minute! You think fair play applies in all guild matters? The truth is this has been coming for a long time. Breaking rules, not following protocols, damage tallies way beyond your class level allowance… and every time I try to call you on it, you have some half-cocked excuse or some convenient break of fortune that keeps my hands tied. You’ve slipped through more loopholes and backdoors than I can count, but not today, bucko! I’ve been waiting to screw you over for a long time now, and now you're gonna get what’s coming to you!”
For a brief moment, Lake seemed genuinely taken aback by Edith’s diatribe. His left eyebrow arched upward as he perused his employer’s face. His lips parted calmly as he carefully sorted out his response.
“Say… are you coming on to me?”
The smattering of chuckles from the audience was more than enough to break the tension for most of them. Some of the guild had gotten a bit restless in the brief pause that preceded Lake’s comment. A few foolish souls actually dared to assume it possible that Lake was honestly repentant and on the verge of apologizing for his past actions. They were more than pleased to see that that was not the case.
Edith Fortunado, on the other hand, was anything but amused. Her face began to flare an almost trademark shade of red, and it was abundantly clear to any of the guild members who had seen it occur before that it was not a blush of embarrassment.
“Do you think…” Edith fought to maintain anything that resembled civility as her temper railed against her better judgment, “… for one second… that I would ever… within the confines of my mind… “ Edith pointed towards Barnard, who flinched at the motion despite the lack of flames shooting from her fingertip, “… his mind… or within the very depths of hell itself even remotely consider coming onto you? In what bizarre freakshow of a world does my utter contempt and rage for you possibly translate into anything that even resembles attraction? You… you… you’re lucky I don’t leap off of here and throttle the life out you with my bare hands!” Her body began slowly tremble, making some fear that she might actually leap from her podium in some kind of suicidal plunge at her contemptuous employee.
Lake, for his part, seemed unfazed by this newfound rage. In fact his own demeanor had improved a good deal, though an apt observer could clearly see that he was by no means happy. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he mused aloud to no one in particular, “Well, I can’t say where it came from, exactly. It was just the wording there. ‘Half-cocked,’ ‘loophole,’ ‘backdoor.’ You know in some circles, even the word 'throttle'…”
Edith banged her fist on the top of her podium and pointed an aged finger at Lake. “All right! Not another word out of you! You’re taking the walkabout, and so help me if I hear anything other than rave reviews about your behavior, I'll bounce you out of here on your smug little backside!”
Lake clearly had something else to say on the matter, but he remained silent. Of his many social skills, the ability to know just how far he could push someone before he had crossed the point of no return was probably the most finely honed. It was clear he didn’t love this particular turn of events, but it was also clear that short of getting himself removed from the guild there wasn’t much else he could do to get out of this. With a certain sense of resignation, he turned and headed back towards the door he had so recently entered.
“And just where do you think you’re going, hot shot?” Edith queried to his back.
Lake didn’t bother to turn around, stopping as he reached the door. “In accordance with Article 4, Paragraph 8 of the Provisional Guild Agreement with the Free States, any member enacted into volunteer duty with a walkabout may, at their discretion, forgo standard guild protocols when interacting with said walkabout. Pursuant with this, I’m enacting a special preparatory meeting to prepare for said walkabout. This meeting, coincidentally enough, will force me to miss the rest of this one. Sorry for the inconvenience.”
As the door shut with Lake on the opposite side of it, Edith Fortunado quietly grinded her teeth together. “I am so docking him for cracking that ganger last week…”
(Lengthy, sure, but I really like the entire exchange between the two. Besides, I haven't posted anything else all week. Read it in parts if you have to. Until next time, when I think I'll spend a little time breaking down some of the who, what, and why of the story elements...)
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
The Greatest Game in the History of Gaming
I've played RPGs. I've played FPSs and RTSs. I've played action games and fighting games and beat-em-ups. But believe me when I say that - despite the fact that I have made this claim before - this is, in fact, the greatest game in the history of gaming. If you don't need the walkthrough to finish it, you simply must be godly.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
My "This makes sense at 3AM" Thought of the Week
Why do I hate Pete Wisodm so much? Sure he has that stupid "bad boy" image. And yes he almost literally ruined a decent X-Men favorite of mine by being in a relationship with her. And he does have those dumb powers and the stupid accent...
Oh my gosh! No wonder I hate him. He's British Gambit! It's a wonder that I don't hate him more...
Oh my gosh! No wonder I hate him. He's British Gambit! It's a wonder that I don't hate him more...
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Thursday, February 19, 2009
I Couldn't Let This Go...
Sam talked about it. Roland Martin talked about it. Al Sharpton was on Countdown talking about it (although to be fair, I imagine Rev. Sharpton will be everywhere talking about it, but he's getting a pass because he seems to be on a good tear right now...).
And the thing is that I really wanted to let this go. Keep in mind I will play devil's advocate for almost anyone. And in truth, had the both the Post and the cartoonist in question kept their mouths shut, I might have continued to. But both released statements and both statements together lead you to one of two conclusions.
1) the cartoonist and editor are racists that are bad at lying.
2) the cartoonist and the editor are short sighted and/or idiots.
Because really, at best they should offer a non-committal, "We're sorry if you were offended by this," statement. But no, they seem to imply that it's absolutely ridiculous to look at the image and think that somehow there was any racial overtone to it. But the problem with this, as is the case with many so-called "political satire" cartoons, is that in order to make that argument, there must be some other conclusion that can be drawn from your drawing. In reality, there should be a clear alternate conclusion, and not only was there not one, but it wasn't addressed by any of the defending parties.
Heck, I can do it if I apply myself hard enough. Earlier today I was noting that I often use the expression, "trained monkey" in sentences (i.e. "A trained monkey could do that job."). I'll note here for my own personal safety that I have been exerting a great deal of effort to cut that out of my dialogue to prevent any accidental or incidental offense of nearby ears.
So obviously, that's the clear and easy path to defusing this, right? Surely, someone at the NY Post thought to offer some explanation like that when referencing this, right? Right?
Nope. The Post's EIC notes that the carton was "...a clear parody of a current news event, to wit the shooting of a violent chimpanzee in Connecticut. It broadly mocks Washington's efforts to revive the economy." Except that it fails as a parody, as it actually depicts the event nearly as it happened, and it fails to draw any logical connection (in parody or otherwise) to the stimulus bill in Washington. Really, if the cop was saying something like, "Maybe they'll forget about that stimulus bill now..." or "Maybe that stimulus bill will keep this off the front page..." I could get in your corner on this one.
But the fact is your defense makes no sense, and your explanation has no logic. And when you fail to successfully connect something like that logically, the first and only conclusion to be drawn is that you have an ulterior motive.
So sorry, NY Post. I was going to let this go, and not manage to ramble about it for half a page. But because you can't mount anything that resembles intelligent defense, and because your only outlet was to attempt to malign Rev. Al Sharpton (who, as I noted before, is actually presenting the calm, logical argument against you in this case), I just gotta say... What the **** is wrong with you? Can no one think before they publish something like this? Because if you're telling me that a small office full of people saw this thing, and none of them thought to say, "This might not go over well..." then I've got to say that you need new people in your office.
That's assuming, of course, that you care what the general public thinks. And it's obvious that you don't consider a certain percentage of them at all when you go to press.
And the thing is that I really wanted to let this go. Keep in mind I will play devil's advocate for almost anyone. And in truth, had the both the Post and the cartoonist in question kept their mouths shut, I might have continued to. But both released statements and both statements together lead you to one of two conclusions.
1) the cartoonist and editor are racists that are bad at lying.
2) the cartoonist and the editor are short sighted and/or idiots.
Because really, at best they should offer a non-committal, "We're sorry if you were offended by this," statement. But no, they seem to imply that it's absolutely ridiculous to look at the image and think that somehow there was any racial overtone to it. But the problem with this, as is the case with many so-called "political satire" cartoons, is that in order to make that argument, there must be some other conclusion that can be drawn from your drawing. In reality, there should be a clear alternate conclusion, and not only was there not one, but it wasn't addressed by any of the defending parties.
Heck, I can do it if I apply myself hard enough. Earlier today I was noting that I often use the expression, "trained monkey" in sentences (i.e. "A trained monkey could do that job."). I'll note here for my own personal safety that I have been exerting a great deal of effort to cut that out of my dialogue to prevent any accidental or incidental offense of nearby ears.
So obviously, that's the clear and easy path to defusing this, right? Surely, someone at the NY Post thought to offer some explanation like that when referencing this, right? Right?
Nope. The Post's EIC notes that the carton was "...a clear parody of a current news event, to wit the shooting of a violent chimpanzee in Connecticut. It broadly mocks Washington's efforts to revive the economy." Except that it fails as a parody, as it actually depicts the event nearly as it happened, and it fails to draw any logical connection (in parody or otherwise) to the stimulus bill in Washington. Really, if the cop was saying something like, "Maybe they'll forget about that stimulus bill now..." or "Maybe that stimulus bill will keep this off the front page..." I could get in your corner on this one.
But the fact is your defense makes no sense, and your explanation has no logic. And when you fail to successfully connect something like that logically, the first and only conclusion to be drawn is that you have an ulterior motive.
So sorry, NY Post. I was going to let this go, and not manage to ramble about it for half a page. But because you can't mount anything that resembles intelligent defense, and because your only outlet was to attempt to malign Rev. Al Sharpton (who, as I noted before, is actually presenting the calm, logical argument against you in this case), I just gotta say... What the **** is wrong with you? Can no one think before they publish something like this? Because if you're telling me that a small office full of people saw this thing, and none of them thought to say, "This might not go over well..." then I've got to say that you need new people in your office.
That's assuming, of course, that you care what the general public thinks. And it's obvious that you don't consider a certain percentage of them at all when you go to press.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Why "It Works on TV" Doesn't Work in Real Life...
or... "Dear Hef, pay attention to this one."
CNN reports that a Chinese businessman had his attempt at Elimi-Date go horribly, horribly wrong. The man, who by the way had five mistresses.... five! Anyway, the man had been so affected by the recession that he had to cut back to just the one mistress. So instead of choosing one mistress, just one, based on the merits of her being and what she meant to him personally, the genius decided to take a different tactic...
That's right. After letting the judge drop her for not looking good enough, this guy decides to get into a car with what should be a clearly upset woman and drive around the mountains. What could possibly go wrong?
Whoops. So not only did he dump her, but he also managed to nearly get himself and all four... four! remaining women killed in the process. The guy ends up paying a chunk of change to the Yu woman's family (as she oddly enough ends up being the only person in the car to die in the crash), and all of his remaining women leave him. That's his mistresses and his wife, who was the only one who didn't know he had other women.
CNN reports that a Chinese businessman had his attempt at Elimi-Date go horribly, horribly wrong. The man, who by the way had five mistresses.... five! Anyway, the man had been so affected by the recession that he had to cut back to just the one mistress. So instead of choosing one mistress, just one, based on the merits of her being and what she meant to him personally, the genius decided to take a different tactic...
He staged a private talent show in May, without telling the women his intentions. An instructor from a local modeling agency judged the women on the way they looked, how they sang and how much alcohol they could hold, the Shanghai Daily said.
There are 4 things he should not have done here. First, he shouldn't have turned the entire thing into a competition. Secondly, he certainly should not have done so without letting his five... five! mistresses know they were on the chopping block. Third, he should not have ever let someone cut a woman (known only by the name Yu in the aritcle) for being ugly, especially if he does thing four, which is this...
The judge knocked out Yu in the first round of the competition based on her looks. Angry, she decided to exact revenge by telling her lover and the four other women to accompany her on a sightseeing trip before she returned to her home province, the media reports said.
That's right. After letting the judge drop her for not looking good enough, this guy decides to get into a car with what should be a clearly upset woman and drive around the mountains. What could possibly go wrong?
It was during the trip that Yu reportedly drove the car off the cliff.
Whoops. So not only did he dump her, but he also managed to nearly get himself and all four... four! remaining women killed in the process. The guy ends up paying a chunk of change to the Yu woman's family (as she oddly enough ends up being the only person in the car to die in the crash), and all of his remaining women leave him. That's his mistresses and his wife, who was the only one who didn't know he had other women.
Monday, February 16, 2009
"And in Other News, the Sky is Blue and Water is Wet..."
In a move that should surprise no one, the Republican party has decided to claim that President Barack Obama is failing to deliver the change and bipartisanship that he promised. Also, there are no gumdrop trees and it's not raining cupcakes.
Of extra note to me is that one of the spearheads in this commentary is Senator John McCain, who said this to CNN:
Now, what he and other Republicans mean to say is that President Obama and his administration aren't doing things the way that the GOP wants them to do it, which for some reason is their definition of bipartisanship. I'm not going to go hyper-political or anything, but I find it just a bit frustrating that the GOP, which has had a virtual stranglehold on the country for the better part of the decade (and yeah, "Democrats took over the Senate two years ago..." what the **** ever...), now suddenly are shocked that their ideas and concepts for what will be put into effect aren't being embraced. Really, they should be happy that anyone is even willing to give them the chance to speak on the matter.
And I know that sounds like me being a bit harsh, but let's look at the facts. In a perfect world, bipartisanship would mean that both parties argue the pros and cons of various points and come to the best middle of the road solution. But in reality, we all know that it's going to play out exactly the way that it is now, at least in the short term. The Democrats will attempt to give the Republicans a voice and probably concede some minor points while working their own agenda.
Furthermore, there's absolutely no reason to think that the nature of Congress would change itself overnight. Nothing else has, so why would anyone think that it would? If there is to be a change towards more bipartisan legislating, it will take place over time and through the efforts of both parties to be reasonable. Whining about how nobody's listening to you and your idea of a solution (which is a toss up between more of the same thing that got us into this mess and apparently absolutely nothing judging by the lack of ideas floated by the conservative side) is counterproductive and makes you look like... well, a bunch of whiners.
And finally, for some reason... McCain has just been pissing me off recently. He gives the sweetest concession speech I have ever heard, and then a few months later he's spearheading the same bull**** parade he was leading during the campaign. This Republican notion that their failures in the past few elections can be fixed by going back to basics and deeper into their conservative shells is destined to blow up in their faces. If nothing else, don't be so blatantly open with your bull****. If you're going to blow smoke up my poophole, I'd at least appreciate you not telling me to grab my ankles while puffing the cigar right in my face.
Hey, an ankle-grabbing reference. I'm Bizarro Rush Limbaugh. There's a scary thought...
Of extra note to me is that one of the spearheads in this commentary is Senator John McCain, who said this to CNN:
"It was a bad beginning because it wasn't what we promised the American people, what President Obama promised the American people, that we would sit down together," McCain told CNN's "State of the Union With John King."
Now, what he and other Republicans mean to say is that President Obama and his administration aren't doing things the way that the GOP wants them to do it, which for some reason is their definition of bipartisanship. I'm not going to go hyper-political or anything, but I find it just a bit frustrating that the GOP, which has had a virtual stranglehold on the country for the better part of the decade (and yeah, "Democrats took over the Senate two years ago..." what the **** ever...), now suddenly are shocked that their ideas and concepts for what will be put into effect aren't being embraced. Really, they should be happy that anyone is even willing to give them the chance to speak on the matter.
And I know that sounds like me being a bit harsh, but let's look at the facts. In a perfect world, bipartisanship would mean that both parties argue the pros and cons of various points and come to the best middle of the road solution. But in reality, we all know that it's going to play out exactly the way that it is now, at least in the short term. The Democrats will attempt to give the Republicans a voice and probably concede some minor points while working their own agenda.
Furthermore, there's absolutely no reason to think that the nature of Congress would change itself overnight. Nothing else has, so why would anyone think that it would? If there is to be a change towards more bipartisan legislating, it will take place over time and through the efforts of both parties to be reasonable. Whining about how nobody's listening to you and your idea of a solution (which is a toss up between more of the same thing that got us into this mess and apparently absolutely nothing judging by the lack of ideas floated by the conservative side) is counterproductive and makes you look like... well, a bunch of whiners.
And finally, for some reason... McCain has just been pissing me off recently. He gives the sweetest concession speech I have ever heard, and then a few months later he's spearheading the same bull**** parade he was leading during the campaign. This Republican notion that their failures in the past few elections can be fixed by going back to basics and deeper into their conservative shells is destined to blow up in their faces. If nothing else, don't be so blatantly open with your bull****. If you're going to blow smoke up my poophole, I'd at least appreciate you not telling me to grab my ankles while puffing the cigar right in my face.
Hey, an ankle-grabbing reference. I'm Bizarro Rush Limbaugh. There's a scary thought...
SNL Clips of the Week
Since SNL still hits a few out of the park even after the election has ended, I might as well keep up with things here. The open was a little too on the money with how I think the Republicans actually act these days to be realy funny, and the Cougar Den was just... well, disturbing. But there were a few winners.
First, a little diversion that makes effective use of both the musical guest and your host.
And speaking of effective use of music, this one gets credit for dissecting a song with one of the most direct commentaries ever held. Why haven't I written this sketch myself?
And finally, the sketch they snuck in right around the 12:52 mark, which covers a joke that every living person has to have seen coming. Wait...
First, a little diversion that makes effective use of both the musical guest and your host.
And speaking of effective use of music, this one gets credit for dissecting a song with one of the most direct commentaries ever held. Why haven't I written this sketch myself?
And finally, the sketch they snuck in right around the 12:52 mark, which covers a joke that every living person has to have seen coming. Wait...
Sunday, February 15, 2009
HouseTV: XTreme Advisory
For anyone that might not have noticed this weekend, the channel that was Toon Disney has now offically become Disney XD. XD, yo!
... Okay, so it's pretty much the same channel, but there are a few exceptions and additions to the line-up. Of things I've seen or seen scheduled, here are a few that might be interesting to those of my ilk:
Aaron Stone: A new series lauded as being about a boy who trains to be the superhero/crimefighter like one that's in his favorite video game. Or something like that. I haven't bothered to see it, but I know I'll eventually get around to it.
Even Stevens: I don't recall really liking this show, but I'm sure someone had to since it was on for so long. I guess it was that sibling rivalry thing. And tweener girls might like it because they can "... see what Shia was like when he was my age. Squeeeeee...!"
Phil of the Future: A kid and his family go on vacation in the past (our present) and get stuck here. It's stupid beyond stupid at times, but every now and then amidst the insanity they would drop a really good plot or two in there. And the theme song is catchy as all get out.
Famous Jett Jackson: I nearly boggled when I saw they were showing episodes of this in the here and now. Yet another show where I can't figure out just what I liked so much about it, but it was so cool. Jett's just your average kid who just happens to be a TV superstar. Still, he chooses to move back to his hometown and finds centering from his family nd friends. Think Hannah Montana without the dual identity bit. Hey, the formula works, don't it?
Static Shock: Speaking of boggling... I never thought this show would make it to air again simply because I didn't think anyone up there loved me enough. But the tale of Milestone Comics character Static (no Shock... just Static) has a progressive storyline and several very interesting plot points to cover before it's over with. Although admittedly, the best stuff comes before the last season which was DC guest shot city.
(It should be noted that Static has appeared recently in DC's Terror Titans miniseries and is all but confirmed to be joing the Teen Titans later this year. So they're probably trying to get him some more face time in other venues.)
That's that. There should be more shows popping up here and there (I didn't do an exhaustive search), so take a look at the channel and see what's new and/or improved.
... Okay, so it's pretty much the same channel, but there are a few exceptions and additions to the line-up. Of things I've seen or seen scheduled, here are a few that might be interesting to those of my ilk:
Aaron Stone: A new series lauded as being about a boy who trains to be the superhero/crimefighter like one that's in his favorite video game. Or something like that. I haven't bothered to see it, but I know I'll eventually get around to it.
Even Stevens: I don't recall really liking this show, but I'm sure someone had to since it was on for so long. I guess it was that sibling rivalry thing. And tweener girls might like it because they can "... see what Shia was like when he was my age. Squeeeeee...!"
Phil of the Future: A kid and his family go on vacation in the past (our present) and get stuck here. It's stupid beyond stupid at times, but every now and then amidst the insanity they would drop a really good plot or two in there. And the theme song is catchy as all get out.
Famous Jett Jackson: I nearly boggled when I saw they were showing episodes of this in the here and now. Yet another show where I can't figure out just what I liked so much about it, but it was so cool. Jett's just your average kid who just happens to be a TV superstar. Still, he chooses to move back to his hometown and finds centering from his family nd friends. Think Hannah Montana without the dual identity bit. Hey, the formula works, don't it?
Static Shock: Speaking of boggling... I never thought this show would make it to air again simply because I didn't think anyone up there loved me enough. But the tale of Milestone Comics character Static (no Shock... just Static) has a progressive storyline and several very interesting plot points to cover before it's over with. Although admittedly, the best stuff comes before the last season which was DC guest shot city.
(It should be noted that Static has appeared recently in DC's Terror Titans miniseries and is all but confirmed to be joing the Teen Titans later this year. So they're probably trying to get him some more face time in other venues.)
That's that. There should be more shows popping up here and there (I didn't do an exhaustive search), so take a look at the channel and see what's new and/or improved.
Scrubs is Kinda Awesome
Scrubs is one of a pair of shows that I think have been excellent as they returned at the start of the year (the other being 24, which I think really benefitted from a year off). Whether the small break behind their transition led to better scripting I can't say, but I can say that the first ten episodes of the season have been pretty strong.
As proof of this, check out this 3 minutes worth of one of last week's episodes. The new interns take an apt but cheap shot at Turk and J.D., and the pair respond... well, exactly the way you expect Turk and J.D. to. Also, it marked the return of one of the greatest songs ever written. Yeah, I said it.
As proof of this, check out this 3 minutes worth of one of last week's episodes. The new interns take an apt but cheap shot at Turk and J.D., and the pair respond... well, exactly the way you expect Turk and J.D. to. Also, it marked the return of one of the greatest songs ever written. Yeah, I said it.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
The New Face of Hip-Hop?
Half the joy of stumbling onto Letterman late at night is sometimes running across nonsense like this. But after seeing his interview last night, I've come to one of two possible conclusions:
1) Joaquin Phoenix has had a psychotic break and is, in fact, bat**** crazy.
2) Joaquin Phoenix is Andy Kaufman's secret love child.
Because either he has no idea what's going on in his life right now, or he's pulling a tremendous prank on the world. I'm hoping it's 2), because otherwise someone close to him should have him checked out by someone soon.
Late Show - Where's Joaquin Phoenix? - 2/11/09
1) Joaquin Phoenix has had a psychotic break and is, in fact, bat**** crazy.
2) Joaquin Phoenix is Andy Kaufman's secret love child.
Because either he has no idea what's going on in his life right now, or he's pulling a tremendous prank on the world. I'm hoping it's 2), because otherwise someone close to him should have him checked out by someone soon.
Late Show - Where's Joaquin Phoenix? - 2/11/09
Monday, February 9, 2009
Unfiltered: The NaNo That Might Have Been
(You'll see plenty of the actual project before it's over, but here's part that you'll only see this much of. The reason? It's literally the majority of what I did the first few days of mu Nanowrimo project. This is the work I abandoned after the first few days, in part because I really wasnt sure where it was going to go. Anyway, enjoy...)
Chapter One
"Riley! Take out the trash, honey!"
Riley Waters grumbled to himself as he heard his mother's voice. He dragged himself form the sanity of his bed covers and wandered himself downstairs to the kitchen. He cursed himself for being angry at his mother the second he saw her strained face over the kitchen sink.
"What in the world could be stuck down there?" she quietly mused as she stared into the drain. "My god, is it some type of animal or something?" Her dark ponytail drifted out of the back of the cloth she had wrapped around her head. Her face, showing much more age than it should for a woman of her years, stressed itself into a series of premature wrinkles.
Riley sighed as he tried to force himself to look towards the trash can. Two firmly packed bags of trash waited for him at the end of his vision's journey, with another bag all but spilling out of the can. Riley grumbled quietly again before being startled by his mother's yell.
"Riley! Ri...!" his mother had started before realizing that he was already in the room. "Oh, dear. Dear? Can you take that out, please?"
"Where's Dudley?" Riley half mumbled the question from his lips. "It's his turn..."
"What?" His mother pursued. "Dudley? Oh, dear, I don't know. I'm sure he's around somewhere."
Riley pointed towards the trash bin with a finger. "It's Dudley's week to take out the trash. What's the point of having a chore wheel if he's not even going to .."
"Oh, Riley..." his mother interrupted him. "I know it's not fair, but I just..." She fought very hard to try and sound like she was being the reasonable person that she knew she wasn't. "I need the trash out of here, and this drain is acting up and... Could you just please do this for me right now?"
Riley wasn't a completely insensitive kid. He knew that life hadn't been entirely kind to his mother over the years. Having to take care of two children, boys no less, on her own wouldn't have been a picnic for anyone. Even though he knew her life was tough, even though he knew that he should be madder at his brother than at her, even though he knew that it wasn't nearly as big of a deal as he was making it out to be to take out the trash... he couldn't help but be aggravated.
Still, he could hear the strain in his mother's voice. He could see the stress in her face and the near defeat in her eyes. And while he wasn't sure exactly what the feeling was inside he got when he heard and saw it, he knew that it was a feeling he had learned he couldn't stand.
"Sure, Mom," Riley offered, trying his best to sound optimistic, "I can do it." Riley wandered over to the trash bin and grimaced. He really hadn't managed to appreciate just how terrible a mess it was. The odor was all but palpable once you managed to reach the can. No wonder she wanted this out, Riley thought. How did my brother manage to avoid this for two days straight? Riley decided to tackle the open bag first, partly because he believed that it might help alleviate part of the odor issue and partly because he figured that by doing that he could stop his mother's almost incessant need to throw items into the bag at the last possible moment.
Sealing the bag, Riley looked up and was surprised to see that his mother was nowhere in sight with a bowl or pot that needed scraping. Her attention remained drawn into the bottom of the drain she was trying with little success to open. He grabbed the first bag, most notably because it appeared it could burst open at any minute, and carefully made his way out the back door.
Riley cautiously carried the bag to the large, green cans in the back of the house, taking an extra moment or two to establish leverage before clomping the bag into the can. He dusted off his hands by brushing them together, even though he realized that there wasn’t much to come from it. His hands weren’t really dirty, but he had picked up the habit from his father, who had always done the same thing after finishing any task of great (or not so great) difficulty.
Riley stopped to look at the small brick house that he called his home. To say it wasn't much would be a bit of an understatement, but they had come to find a way to settle into it. Home. It wasn't really a concept he had even wrapped his head around in the past few years.
The first part of his task complete, Riley returned to the back door and made his way back inside. The two remaining bags sat waiting for him, and his mother was still perched over the kitchen sink drain. She was now taking a plunger to the pesky problem, seemingly oblivious to her son's return. No wonder she hadn't tried to cram anything else in, he thought. Riley glanced into the den, where the television was still on. The news program showed the local weather caster pulling one of his infamous gags. The middle-aged man was currently wearing a bathrobe and shower cap while standing in front of a green screen. The man was ducking and dodging as someone, presumably offscreen, threw what looked like balls of aluminum foil at him.
"And this is a reminder to all of our viewers out there..." The forecaster spoke through his bobbing and weaving. "A reminder that tonight is the last night of the meteor shower we've been having the past two nights... so make sure..." It was at this point that it became apparent that there were at least a few people throwing objects, as the number of foil balls had increased. "So make sure that you check it out if you get a chance..."
There were now a good many other objects being tossed around in the man's direction. Some balled up wads of paper, some tennis balls, and even a stapler passed narrowly by his head. Just at the moment when the poor man's distress seemed to reach its peak, the screen quickly flipped to an image of the news anchor trying his best to act like everything was normal. The hearty older man simply smiled and offered in his favorably relaxed tone, "Thanks, Stu. Good old Stu."
From somewhere offscreen, Stu could be heard screaming, "Ow! That's my spleen!"
(So that's it. There was some funky stuff at the beginning as a prologue, but it was truly babbling. Eventually, it was supposed to turn into a story about two brothers trapped on a strange planet and I think it might have gotten Lord of the Flies at one point... I never really have read that book, come to think of it. Anywho, I think there are a few all right moments in here, and I might at least re-use the weatherman scene in some future project. No part of the animal goes to waste...)
Chapter One
"Riley! Take out the trash, honey!"
Riley Waters grumbled to himself as he heard his mother's voice. He dragged himself form the sanity of his bed covers and wandered himself downstairs to the kitchen. He cursed himself for being angry at his mother the second he saw her strained face over the kitchen sink.
"What in the world could be stuck down there?" she quietly mused as she stared into the drain. "My god, is it some type of animal or something?" Her dark ponytail drifted out of the back of the cloth she had wrapped around her head. Her face, showing much more age than it should for a woman of her years, stressed itself into a series of premature wrinkles.
Riley sighed as he tried to force himself to look towards the trash can. Two firmly packed bags of trash waited for him at the end of his vision's journey, with another bag all but spilling out of the can. Riley grumbled quietly again before being startled by his mother's yell.
"Riley! Ri...!" his mother had started before realizing that he was already in the room. "Oh, dear. Dear? Can you take that out, please?"
"Where's Dudley?" Riley half mumbled the question from his lips. "It's his turn..."
"What?" His mother pursued. "Dudley? Oh, dear, I don't know. I'm sure he's around somewhere."
Riley pointed towards the trash bin with a finger. "It's Dudley's week to take out the trash. What's the point of having a chore wheel if he's not even going to .."
"Oh, Riley..." his mother interrupted him. "I know it's not fair, but I just..." She fought very hard to try and sound like she was being the reasonable person that she knew she wasn't. "I need the trash out of here, and this drain is acting up and... Could you just please do this for me right now?"
Riley wasn't a completely insensitive kid. He knew that life hadn't been entirely kind to his mother over the years. Having to take care of two children, boys no less, on her own wouldn't have been a picnic for anyone. Even though he knew her life was tough, even though he knew that he should be madder at his brother than at her, even though he knew that it wasn't nearly as big of a deal as he was making it out to be to take out the trash... he couldn't help but be aggravated.
Still, he could hear the strain in his mother's voice. He could see the stress in her face and the near defeat in her eyes. And while he wasn't sure exactly what the feeling was inside he got when he heard and saw it, he knew that it was a feeling he had learned he couldn't stand.
"Sure, Mom," Riley offered, trying his best to sound optimistic, "I can do it." Riley wandered over to the trash bin and grimaced. He really hadn't managed to appreciate just how terrible a mess it was. The odor was all but palpable once you managed to reach the can. No wonder she wanted this out, Riley thought. How did my brother manage to avoid this for two days straight? Riley decided to tackle the open bag first, partly because he believed that it might help alleviate part of the odor issue and partly because he figured that by doing that he could stop his mother's almost incessant need to throw items into the bag at the last possible moment.
Sealing the bag, Riley looked up and was surprised to see that his mother was nowhere in sight with a bowl or pot that needed scraping. Her attention remained drawn into the bottom of the drain she was trying with little success to open. He grabbed the first bag, most notably because it appeared it could burst open at any minute, and carefully made his way out the back door.
Riley cautiously carried the bag to the large, green cans in the back of the house, taking an extra moment or two to establish leverage before clomping the bag into the can. He dusted off his hands by brushing them together, even though he realized that there wasn’t much to come from it. His hands weren’t really dirty, but he had picked up the habit from his father, who had always done the same thing after finishing any task of great (or not so great) difficulty.
Riley stopped to look at the small brick house that he called his home. To say it wasn't much would be a bit of an understatement, but they had come to find a way to settle into it. Home. It wasn't really a concept he had even wrapped his head around in the past few years.
The first part of his task complete, Riley returned to the back door and made his way back inside. The two remaining bags sat waiting for him, and his mother was still perched over the kitchen sink drain. She was now taking a plunger to the pesky problem, seemingly oblivious to her son's return. No wonder she hadn't tried to cram anything else in, he thought. Riley glanced into the den, where the television was still on. The news program showed the local weather caster pulling one of his infamous gags. The middle-aged man was currently wearing a bathrobe and shower cap while standing in front of a green screen. The man was ducking and dodging as someone, presumably offscreen, threw what looked like balls of aluminum foil at him.
"And this is a reminder to all of our viewers out there..." The forecaster spoke through his bobbing and weaving. "A reminder that tonight is the last night of the meteor shower we've been having the past two nights... so make sure..." It was at this point that it became apparent that there were at least a few people throwing objects, as the number of foil balls had increased. "So make sure that you check it out if you get a chance..."
There were now a good many other objects being tossed around in the man's direction. Some balled up wads of paper, some tennis balls, and even a stapler passed narrowly by his head. Just at the moment when the poor man's distress seemed to reach its peak, the screen quickly flipped to an image of the news anchor trying his best to act like everything was normal. The hearty older man simply smiled and offered in his favorably relaxed tone, "Thanks, Stu. Good old Stu."
From somewhere offscreen, Stu could be heard screaming, "Ow! That's my spleen!"
(So that's it. There was some funky stuff at the beginning as a prologue, but it was truly babbling. Eventually, it was supposed to turn into a story about two brothers trapped on a strange planet and I think it might have gotten Lord of the Flies at one point... I never really have read that book, come to think of it. Anywho, I think there are a few all right moments in here, and I might at least re-use the weatherman scene in some future project. No part of the animal goes to waste...)
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Abstract Thought of the Day
The next person that responds to the deluge of overtime I'm getting by saying, "Well, at least you're making all that money..." is getting all my fist upside their head. Apparently money isn't everything unless I'm trying to vent a little.
What is Gundam 00 Like?
(Note: While the event I'm describing has never happened to me... like, not even close to happening to me... I have to imagine that this is what said event is like, and as such, it's how I'm describing it.)
If someone were to ask me what Gundam 00 is like, I'd have to say that it's like making love to a secret naughty girl. Let me explain.
See, it's like if you met someone, and you really like them and they like you and you end up... you know, "Doing the Dew" as it were. And at first it's all nice and sweet and tender, but them somewhere along the way, something changes.
And it's not that she isn't innocent or that she's a whore or anything, but she has a dark side you never even thought about. And it's coming out right here, right now of all places. And part of you is mad, because you thought this was going to be a nice, tender moment making sweet love down by the fire and now it's gone all Cinemax at 2AM on you. And you're thinking, "I can't believe it. I never knew you had all of this going on, and frankly I'm a little shocked." You want to stop and say, "Wait a minute, this isn't what I signed up for..."
But you can't. Because as mad as you are about your sweet, gentle princess being a tigress, there is one fact that you simply cannot deny. You're loving it. You're hating yourself on the inside, but you're loving it. You know there'll be regret and bad feelings later, but the heck with it. This is the good good, and you're going to see this out. Besides, it's not like you were really going to stop in the middle anyway, right?
So that's all I have to say about it. Gundam 00, you naughty, dirty, whore of an anime. I love you. I hate you. Don't stop, baby.
Oh, yeah. And **** you for ****ing _________ over right after everyone had ________________________ and the _______ was kind of _______ but also ________. And right in front of ________ you do that, and I know that because of this **** that you plan to **** ______ over before the whole thing is through. Maybe _______ won't get completely ____ed, and I won't need a hug or something afterward. As it is, I feel like I need some chocolate milk or something just to deal with episode __. I mean, ****. Seriously. ****.
If someone were to ask me what Gundam 00 is like, I'd have to say that it's like making love to a secret naughty girl. Let me explain.
See, it's like if you met someone, and you really like them and they like you and you end up... you know, "Doing the Dew" as it were. And at first it's all nice and sweet and tender, but them somewhere along the way, something changes.
And it's not that she isn't innocent or that she's a whore or anything, but she has a dark side you never even thought about. And it's coming out right here, right now of all places. And part of you is mad, because you thought this was going to be a nice, tender moment making sweet love down by the fire and now it's gone all Cinemax at 2AM on you. And you're thinking, "I can't believe it. I never knew you had all of this going on, and frankly I'm a little shocked." You want to stop and say, "Wait a minute, this isn't what I signed up for..."
But you can't. Because as mad as you are about your sweet, gentle princess being a tigress, there is one fact that you simply cannot deny. You're loving it. You're hating yourself on the inside, but you're loving it. You know there'll be regret and bad feelings later, but the heck with it. This is the good good, and you're going to see this out. Besides, it's not like you were really going to stop in the middle anyway, right?
So that's all I have to say about it. Gundam 00, you naughty, dirty, whore of an anime. I love you. I hate you. Don't stop, baby.
Oh, yeah. And **** you for ****ing _________ over right after everyone had ________________________ and the _______ was kind of _______ but also ________. And right in front of ________ you do that, and I know that because of this **** that you plan to **** ______ over before the whole thing is through. Maybe _______ won't get completely ____ed, and I won't need a hug or something afterward. As it is, I feel like I need some chocolate milk or something just to deal with episode __. I mean, ****. Seriously. ****.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Abstract Thought of the Day
Who in the **** is watching Xavier, Renegade Angel and why does it have more than one season? Seriously.
I'm Okay, You're ... All Right, I Guess.
Just thought I'd chime in to say that I am, in fact, okay. After what I reported on Tuesday, it occurred to me that I haven't really had time to post as much as I meant to during the week. It's kind of tricky, because working days is generally more frantic and leaves me a little more tired than normal. As such, I tend not to have a lot of juice left for much else besides catching a little TV, grabbing something to eat, and then dragging myself to sleep to repeat the process. I thought that I'd actually have some extra time to work on things this week, but... yeah, well, stuff happens.
Anywho, the point was that I'm okay. I mean, I'm not great or anything. But for some reason, I seem to be terribly equipped to deal with death, so long as it's not directly connected to me. Honestly, there have been times when I was scared something might be wrong with me, but I guess it's just the way that I'm wired.
Anywho, the point was that I'm okay. I mean, I'm not great or anything. But for some reason, I seem to be terribly equipped to deal with death, so long as it's not directly connected to me. Honestly, there have been times when I was scared something might be wrong with me, but I guess it's just the way that I'm wired.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
An Odd Sort of Day
As I ironically started the week by turning an otherwise mundane event into its own epic, I reach Tuesday and have an event that's nowhere near mundane but in no way should be an epic. But it does have a character.
See, I have this coworker at my job. And you don't hear me mention my job here much except in passing. There are obvious and not so obvious reasons for that that I might get into at some later date. But like I was saying, there's this coworker at my job, and about the only thing anyone can ever agree on about him is that he's a character. When people say, "He/She is a character..."? They mean this guy.
Over the course of time, I came to learn that his mind just didn't work like other people's. He was a little crazy at times. And this is me saying it, so you understand the level on which he'd have to be for me to call him crazy. There were times I could literally pull what little hair I have on my head out trying to figure out just what he was thinking when he did something. But what you had to learn was that in his head, it was a clear path that made perfect sense, and even if you'd never follow that particular path yourself, you had to respect that it was there.
He'd always have some weird or odd thing to say at times. And even I can admit that while I usually could find him a bit annoying, he could really strike gold with a joke or two now and then.
But having said that, I'll say this. On his best days, like almost anyone else that I work with, he was as capable and dedicated to doing his job as anyone else was. He put the job and his coworkers first, almost to a fault at times, but that's just how he was.
I'm sure by now you've noticed that I've shifted into past tense, and even if you hadn't, you've probably seen enough of these things to know what it's working its way towards. He'd been out sick for a few weeks now, but very early this morning he passed away at his home. He had been sick on and off many times, and one could argue that he had been blessed to have spent as much time as he did on this earth beyond what many people would have given him. He really did embrace each and every day of his life, and no matter how crazy he may have driven me at times, I'll always remember that most. I sincerely hope he finds the rest in passing that he never seemed to take in life, and I'll make sure to pray that his family can carry on with him there only in spirit.
See, I have this coworker at my job. And you don't hear me mention my job here much except in passing. There are obvious and not so obvious reasons for that that I might get into at some later date. But like I was saying, there's this coworker at my job, and about the only thing anyone can ever agree on about him is that he's a character. When people say, "He/She is a character..."? They mean this guy.
Over the course of time, I came to learn that his mind just didn't work like other people's. He was a little crazy at times. And this is me saying it, so you understand the level on which he'd have to be for me to call him crazy. There were times I could literally pull what little hair I have on my head out trying to figure out just what he was thinking when he did something. But what you had to learn was that in his head, it was a clear path that made perfect sense, and even if you'd never follow that particular path yourself, you had to respect that it was there.
He'd always have some weird or odd thing to say at times. And even I can admit that while I usually could find him a bit annoying, he could really strike gold with a joke or two now and then.
But having said that, I'll say this. On his best days, like almost anyone else that I work with, he was as capable and dedicated to doing his job as anyone else was. He put the job and his coworkers first, almost to a fault at times, but that's just how he was.
I'm sure by now you've noticed that I've shifted into past tense, and even if you hadn't, you've probably seen enough of these things to know what it's working its way towards. He'd been out sick for a few weeks now, but very early this morning he passed away at his home. He had been sick on and off many times, and one could argue that he had been blessed to have spent as much time as he did on this earth beyond what many people would have given him. He really did embrace each and every day of his life, and no matter how crazy he may have driven me at times, I'll always remember that most. I sincerely hope he finds the rest in passing that he never seemed to take in life, and I'll make sure to pray that his family can carry on with him there only in spirit.
Monday, February 2, 2009
The Big Deals of the Big Two: Part One
This is part one of a two-part breakdown of the Big 2's mega-event's and how they failed (and at times succeeded) in meeting my expectations. First up, the spectacle that was DC's Final Crisis.
(Note: This breakdown contains minor plot spoilers, but for the most part remains spoiler free. That said, be warned that if you don't know at least the main premise(s) of the event itself, you may end up spoiled a little.)
I decided to tackle Final Crisis first for two reasons. First, having just finished it, it's the most prevalent in my mind and I figured I might as well get it out of the way while it was fresh. And second, having actually bought Final Crisis, it should be easier to dissect my feelings of it than of Secret Invasion (although rest assured I have feelings on that, too). But I digress...
Final Crisis was the major event for DC. This was the event so big that it had an entire 52 week series dedicated to building up to it. And while said series ended up not being as connected to the final project as it could have been (again, a whole other story...), the impression was there. This was supposed to be the big one. The Crisis to end all Crises.
But maybe that was part of the problem. Just a scant five years ago, there was only one Crisis. In fact, if you talked to the average joe or casual comic reader, they may well still think that there's only one Crisis. Even the heroes would call it The Crisis if you pressed them on it. But in the last few years, there's been Identity Crisis (which was arguably less than an epic scale dilemma) and Infinite Crisis (which was definitely more of an epic scale dilemma). So to be honest, it's kind of easy to argue that the word "crisis" might be getting tossed around a bit too frequently at the old DC building.
But still, this was touted as Final Crisis, which would seem to imply that it will be the last one. At the very least, it should be the last one for a while, right? So we'll give all of that a pass and move on.
First the positives. Grant Morrison certainly created an event that went outside the box. Really, to say that he brought something different to the table would be an understatement. But at the same time, do you really expect less from Grant Morrison? The guy has a reputation for doing exactly what he did, which is work in abstract concepts and unique ideas that others probably wouldn't even think to touch. The question then becomes "Should they be touched?" and therein lies part of the problem for me.
See, I just didn't get it. I consider myself to be a fairly intelligent and thoughtful person. I think outside the box all of the time. I'm the first one to say that a unique idea is a welcome change of pace when it comes to a story. And even with all of this going for me, I didn't get it.
I understand that there was the "meta beyond the meta" or however you want to put it. I understand that it eventually became a war of concepts over an actual physical war. I know that if I read it a few more times or in one sitting that it would supposedly make more sense to me and I'd enjoy it more. My problem is that I just don't see why.
I openly admit that in this respect, I'm selfish. It's the type of reader I am when it comes to comics. I don't tune in for some book that's so deep that I have to study or do additional reading elsewhere to take it all in. It's fine if a book has that, but I just don't think it belongs in a mainstream title that should have appeal for many different readers.
Almost none of the setup seemed worthwhile. For all of the plotting, Libra seemed to go down like a punk. And while oddly appropriate, it's also a bit of a letdown. I guess he can go hang out with Monarch in "We really should have had better runs of it-Land". I don't know if that's a real place or not, but it should be. My point, though, is that with all of the set-up of various points, it just didn't feel like many of them were clicking together. The 52 weeks of build up ended up loosely connected at best, the bads that were supposed to be legendarily bad ended up not so much so, and the Crisis as it was ended more existential than confrontational.
And I hear you dissenters. I hear the "Grant Morrison delivered another epic story!" people and the "It's more enjoyable the more times you read it..." people and the "It took me a while, but I finally understood it..." people. And God bless you for being out there. But that's just not me. I have no fervent love affair with Grant Morrison (whose work I have enjoyed on various titles across the years). I have no interest in a story I need to read mulitple times for full comprehension, nor do I care for the multitude of people who slowly shift towards mock snooty-ness because they "got it" and apparently you didn't it.
Frankly, when it comes to comic book reading, I just want a solid story I can sit down and read without needing to concentrate too hard. And I'd like to think that I'm not alone. Casual readers that tried to pick this up would be hopelessly lost trying to make sense out of it, especially if they missed too many of the side books and events that apparently help to gel the story together. It doesn't help that the writer (and likely the editors, too) make no apologies about this, even noting the point that a reader should want to pick up everything related to an event story if they truly love comic books.
That's a big red flag for me. I don't want that story. Sure, enhancing a story that's able to tell itself with other titles is fine, and even managing to make a few side stories as events from your big event dribble into other titles works for me. But being forced into buying X number of other books just so I can get the jist of the main event title to the point that it's all but required? That just does not work for me. Hang onto that point. I'll be referencing it again before this is all over.
So for the reasons I explained above, I'd have to say that Final Crisis failed to meet my expectation. It was a story that sounded good in theory, but just didn't catch my interest overall. It started to lose me somewhere around issue 2 or 3, and never really got me back. Perhaps I'll feel a little differently about it if future books reference it in a way that makes it more reasonable, but I don't think so.
But it did give me Rogues Revenge, which I loved with an intense burning passion. So that's something.
Tune in next time, when I fire the retro rockets and talk about a certain alien invasion and why I'm glad I skipped it. And no, I don't mean ALF reruns on ION (although now that I think about it, I didn't really find him all that hilarious...).
(Note: This breakdown contains minor plot spoilers, but for the most part remains spoiler free. That said, be warned that if you don't know at least the main premise(s) of the event itself, you may end up spoiled a little.)
I decided to tackle Final Crisis first for two reasons. First, having just finished it, it's the most prevalent in my mind and I figured I might as well get it out of the way while it was fresh. And second, having actually bought Final Crisis, it should be easier to dissect my feelings of it than of Secret Invasion (although rest assured I have feelings on that, too). But I digress...
Final Crisis was the major event for DC. This was the event so big that it had an entire 52 week series dedicated to building up to it. And while said series ended up not being as connected to the final project as it could have been (again, a whole other story...), the impression was there. This was supposed to be the big one. The Crisis to end all Crises.
But maybe that was part of the problem. Just a scant five years ago, there was only one Crisis. In fact, if you talked to the average joe or casual comic reader, they may well still think that there's only one Crisis. Even the heroes would call it The Crisis if you pressed them on it. But in the last few years, there's been Identity Crisis (which was arguably less than an epic scale dilemma) and Infinite Crisis (which was definitely more of an epic scale dilemma). So to be honest, it's kind of easy to argue that the word "crisis" might be getting tossed around a bit too frequently at the old DC building.
But still, this was touted as Final Crisis, which would seem to imply that it will be the last one. At the very least, it should be the last one for a while, right? So we'll give all of that a pass and move on.
First the positives. Grant Morrison certainly created an event that went outside the box. Really, to say that he brought something different to the table would be an understatement. But at the same time, do you really expect less from Grant Morrison? The guy has a reputation for doing exactly what he did, which is work in abstract concepts and unique ideas that others probably wouldn't even think to touch. The question then becomes "Should they be touched?" and therein lies part of the problem for me.
See, I just didn't get it. I consider myself to be a fairly intelligent and thoughtful person. I think outside the box all of the time. I'm the first one to say that a unique idea is a welcome change of pace when it comes to a story. And even with all of this going for me, I didn't get it.
I understand that there was the "meta beyond the meta" or however you want to put it. I understand that it eventually became a war of concepts over an actual physical war. I know that if I read it a few more times or in one sitting that it would supposedly make more sense to me and I'd enjoy it more. My problem is that I just don't see why.
I openly admit that in this respect, I'm selfish. It's the type of reader I am when it comes to comics. I don't tune in for some book that's so deep that I have to study or do additional reading elsewhere to take it all in. It's fine if a book has that, but I just don't think it belongs in a mainstream title that should have appeal for many different readers.
Almost none of the setup seemed worthwhile. For all of the plotting, Libra seemed to go down like a punk. And while oddly appropriate, it's also a bit of a letdown. I guess he can go hang out with Monarch in "We really should have had better runs of it-Land". I don't know if that's a real place or not, but it should be. My point, though, is that with all of the set-up of various points, it just didn't feel like many of them were clicking together. The 52 weeks of build up ended up loosely connected at best, the bads that were supposed to be legendarily bad ended up not so much so, and the Crisis as it was ended more existential than confrontational.
And I hear you dissenters. I hear the "Grant Morrison delivered another epic story!" people and the "It's more enjoyable the more times you read it..." people and the "It took me a while, but I finally understood it..." people. And God bless you for being out there. But that's just not me. I have no fervent love affair with Grant Morrison (whose work I have enjoyed on various titles across the years). I have no interest in a story I need to read mulitple times for full comprehension, nor do I care for the multitude of people who slowly shift towards mock snooty-ness because they "got it" and apparently you didn't it.
Frankly, when it comes to comic book reading, I just want a solid story I can sit down and read without needing to concentrate too hard. And I'd like to think that I'm not alone. Casual readers that tried to pick this up would be hopelessly lost trying to make sense out of it, especially if they missed too many of the side books and events that apparently help to gel the story together. It doesn't help that the writer (and likely the editors, too) make no apologies about this, even noting the point that a reader should want to pick up everything related to an event story if they truly love comic books.
That's a big red flag for me. I don't want that story. Sure, enhancing a story that's able to tell itself with other titles is fine, and even managing to make a few side stories as events from your big event dribble into other titles works for me. But being forced into buying X number of other books just so I can get the jist of the main event title to the point that it's all but required? That just does not work for me. Hang onto that point. I'll be referencing it again before this is all over.
So for the reasons I explained above, I'd have to say that Final Crisis failed to meet my expectation. It was a story that sounded good in theory, but just didn't catch my interest overall. It started to lose me somewhere around issue 2 or 3, and never really got me back. Perhaps I'll feel a little differently about it if future books reference it in a way that makes it more reasonable, but I don't think so.
But it did give me Rogues Revenge, which I loved with an intense burning passion. So that's something.
Tune in next time, when I fire the retro rockets and talk about a certain alien invasion and why I'm glad I skipped it. And no, I don't mean ALF reruns on ION (although now that I think about it, I didn't really find him all that hilarious...).
Why I Love Attack of the Show: Part 4
If you missed the Friday edition of Attack of the Show, then you missed an epic one. And I'd figure that you must have missed evrey episode that week. Because truly, if you ever loved the show, and saw any episode that week, you'd know that it was Pie Week, which led to this epic conclusion involving Olivia jumping into a giant pie. Did I mention the French Maid outfit? Even if you saw it, relive the glory again, one more time.
Some of the looks Olivia gave during the ordeal were priceless. And of course, there was the aftermath of said pie jump. Not nearly as epic, but possibly worth the price of admission.
Yes, Olivia apparently injured herself again. And while I'm on the AoTS Train, I might as well point out that today's show somehow went from one of the most abstract Around the Nets ever to one of the most epic episodes ever aired. I wasn't supposed to watch the whole thing, but somehow I ended up doing it.
Some of the looks Olivia gave during the ordeal were priceless. And of course, there was the aftermath of said pie jump. Not nearly as epic, but possibly worth the price of admission.
Yes, Olivia apparently injured herself again. And while I'm on the AoTS Train, I might as well point out that today's show somehow went from one of the most abstract Around the Nets ever to one of the most epic episodes ever aired. I wasn't supposed to watch the whole thing, but somehow I ended up doing it.
HouseKeeping: Going for Broke
Okay, this week is when I make new friends and acquire new enemies. The schedule is set for chaos and/or bedlam with a side of the loony.
First up is the first of two articles on Marvel and DC's most recently finished big events and my opinions of both. As has been hinted, this will not win me friends at either editorial department.
Also on the agenda for the week, more of the insanity that was my NaNoWriMo project. Seriously, this time. I've actually done some rereading and editing and everything. And when I get extra fed up with it, I'll just post some random parts that I haven't even looked at since I typed them. Oh, but that's dangerous for me.
And I'm sure I'll find other stuff to go on about, too. That's fairly obvious.
First up is the first of two articles on Marvel and DC's most recently finished big events and my opinions of both. As has been hinted, this will not win me friends at either editorial department.
Also on the agenda for the week, more of the insanity that was my NaNoWriMo project. Seriously, this time. I've actually done some rereading and editing and everything. And when I get extra fed up with it, I'll just post some random parts that I haven't even looked at since I typed them. Oh, but that's dangerous for me.
And I'm sure I'll find other stuff to go on about, too. That's fairly obvious.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
The Ride: A Story of Redemption
... Okay, not really, but it sounds better than "How I got Home from Work: A Story You Won't Care About." But you should, because it nears epic status with regards to my failure.
It all begins with my Super Bowl plans. No, I don't have plans to attend a party, and to be fair my only true celebrating came down to the tortilla chips and salsa that I bought at the store earlier this week (which strangely remained untouched during taco night) and the 3-D glasses that I picked up on yesterday.
At this point, you probably realize that I don't really care about who wins the game (although I do tend to root for an underdog by default). No, my only ardent wish is to check out the two 3-D ads set to air at the end of the half. The only obstacle I have to this is the fact that I'm slated to work through 7PM (including 4 hours of overtime... yay...), clearly after the game is set to start. But I figure I'll probably have just enough time to drive myself home before the half ends and a little to spare. But of course, I wouldn't start this story if it ended like that, now would I?
So here's where things start to fall apart. My coworker that's relieving me comes in at about the absolute latest time that she could possibly come in and still be on time. This cuts into my safety buffer, so I decide to do something I don't normally do and take the back way home. The back way, in this case, is a trip down Chatham Parkway not towards 17 but towards Telfair. It's a back road trip that I don't normally make when it's dark (for obvious reasons), but it shaves a good five minutes off my trip time home because it's a straighter shot to pass by the train station. Unless...
I see the red flashing lights and immediately remember what I always forget with regards to this path: if a train is crossing the road, you're generally screwed. Why I never seem to remember this unless and until I head this way I'll never know. So having lost the initial game of Train Roulette (which I didn't realize I was playing), I decide to play a game Crossing Roulette. This is where I decide that instead of actually turning around and heading back the other way (a trip you know will take at least the 15 minutes it was going to and then some), I'll try to wait it out and hope that the train in question doesn't stall out on the tracks like so many freight trains are wont to do.
You know what happened there.
So I suck it up, turn around and head back the other way. Only before I get back to good old HW17, I have to pass I-16. Now, I never, and I should stress this, never take I-16 home. Not only do I not like interstate driving at night, but also I've already determined that it normally doesn't save me any time. But screw it, right? How could it possibly get any worse?
And I'd love to tell you a delicious anecdote about the pile-up that cost me the whole can of beans, but it really was a run of the mill drive the rest of the way to my house. I'm running the contingency plans through my head on the way there, just in case this really is close. No time for taking my stuff out of the car. I'll just go in and turn on my TV. That way, I can always pause my DVR and catch whatever's left of the whole thing after I get my stuff. (And yes, I did actually think this through that far. I got that bored when I was driving.)
The rest is just a little colorful nonsense. I get out of my car and close the door on my seat belt for the umpteenth time, an action that annoys me because the door doesn't close all the way but closes just enough that I have to unlock the door to get the seat belt out. But screw you, seat belt. You'll wait the 20 seconds just like the stuff in my trunk will. And of course, I end up not having to have worried about anything, since the rest of the second quarter took way more time than I figured. So happy endings all around, I got to see my stupid 3-D effects (which were marginally successful), and I got home from work safe and sound, which is always a good thing. You'll note that I really don't care about the game, since I've spent most of the second half composing this story that I openly admit really wasn't all that epic after all. But it is, as it always is... my life.
It all begins with my Super Bowl plans. No, I don't have plans to attend a party, and to be fair my only true celebrating came down to the tortilla chips and salsa that I bought at the store earlier this week (which strangely remained untouched during taco night) and the 3-D glasses that I picked up on yesterday.
At this point, you probably realize that I don't really care about who wins the game (although I do tend to root for an underdog by default). No, my only ardent wish is to check out the two 3-D ads set to air at the end of the half. The only obstacle I have to this is the fact that I'm slated to work through 7PM (including 4 hours of overtime... yay...), clearly after the game is set to start. But I figure I'll probably have just enough time to drive myself home before the half ends and a little to spare. But of course, I wouldn't start this story if it ended like that, now would I?
So here's where things start to fall apart. My coworker that's relieving me comes in at about the absolute latest time that she could possibly come in and still be on time. This cuts into my safety buffer, so I decide to do something I don't normally do and take the back way home. The back way, in this case, is a trip down Chatham Parkway not towards 17 but towards Telfair. It's a back road trip that I don't normally make when it's dark (for obvious reasons), but it shaves a good five minutes off my trip time home because it's a straighter shot to pass by the train station. Unless...
I see the red flashing lights and immediately remember what I always forget with regards to this path: if a train is crossing the road, you're generally screwed. Why I never seem to remember this unless and until I head this way I'll never know. So having lost the initial game of Train Roulette (which I didn't realize I was playing), I decide to play a game Crossing Roulette. This is where I decide that instead of actually turning around and heading back the other way (a trip you know will take at least the 15 minutes it was going to and then some), I'll try to wait it out and hope that the train in question doesn't stall out on the tracks like so many freight trains are wont to do.
You know what happened there.
So I suck it up, turn around and head back the other way. Only before I get back to good old HW17, I have to pass I-16. Now, I never, and I should stress this, never take I-16 home. Not only do I not like interstate driving at night, but also I've already determined that it normally doesn't save me any time. But screw it, right? How could it possibly get any worse?
And I'd love to tell you a delicious anecdote about the pile-up that cost me the whole can of beans, but it really was a run of the mill drive the rest of the way to my house. I'm running the contingency plans through my head on the way there, just in case this really is close. No time for taking my stuff out of the car. I'll just go in and turn on my TV. That way, I can always pause my DVR and catch whatever's left of the whole thing after I get my stuff. (And yes, I did actually think this through that far. I got that bored when I was driving.)
The rest is just a little colorful nonsense. I get out of my car and close the door on my seat belt for the umpteenth time, an action that annoys me because the door doesn't close all the way but closes just enough that I have to unlock the door to get the seat belt out. But screw you, seat belt. You'll wait the 20 seconds just like the stuff in my trunk will. And of course, I end up not having to have worried about anything, since the rest of the second quarter took way more time than I figured. So happy endings all around, I got to see my stupid 3-D effects (which were marginally successful), and I got home from work safe and sound, which is always a good thing. You'll note that I really don't care about the game, since I've spent most of the second half composing this story that I openly admit really wasn't all that epic after all. But it is, as it always is... my life.
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