Splat!

Wow. Last post? 2009. I forgot I even had this thing. But here's the thing: I kind of want to be a writer. It's a secret desire that I've harbored for some time and have always pushed to the back of my head and hidden around a corner with what's left of my ambition to become both an astronaut and a firefighter. How does one become a writer? Well . . . . . . . . . You write. There's always been a mystique around writing, the same as being in a band or songwriting. It seems so difficult, so impossible, accessible only by a thin sliver of the population who are genetically gifted and have been doing it since they tumbled from their mothers' womb. But, just like those other two things: you just do it, and splat! there you are. I, therefore, am now A WRITER. Splat!

Perfect example of not looking before I leap . . .

The first five (5) people to respond to this post will get something made by me. You can tell me something you might like if you want to, and I'll try my best to do it but I can't promise anything, sorry!

This offer does have some restrictions and limitations:

- I make no guarantees that you will like what I make.
- What I create will be just for you. (you get to decide what happens to it and where/if it'll be posted, if applicable)
- It'll be done by the end of this year (2009).
- You have no clue what it's going to be. It may be a mix CD or an icon. I may make something. I might bake you something and mail it to you. Who knows? Not you, that's for sure! [not me either]
- I reserve the right to do something completely weird :)

The catch is that you have to put this in your journal as well, if you expect me to do something for you! (cuz it's more fun that way)

(I responded to my friend Kat's posting of this before I knew what it entailed . . . Oh well. She makes awesome stuff.)

Let's do the Time Warp Again

Liz and I turned on her old laptop today: the one she used for four years in college. Its homepage was set to oberlin.edu.

It was as if some part of Liz, some part of both of us had been made static - frozen in time - waiting for years to start again. When we started up the computer again, it reached out for the things that we had taught it to reach for years ago, tried to re-establish connections that didn't exist anymore. Both the people who set the homepage and the website itself have moved on. None of the connections and applications on this machine are relevant.

I think, then, how sad it would be to travel in time. Even if we travel to a foreign country, we still have some few things in common with the people there: a knowledge that, despite any differences, we are still citizens of the same world. We exist in the same vast space, and are capable of reaching each other with an appropirate amount of time and effort.

Imagine, though, that you have suddenly been dropped into the ancient roman Empire. Not only are you seperated from their language (who alive could understand spoken Imperial Latin?) but their entire culture would be alien to you. Even if you had made a study of the Roman Empire, for every custom or turn of phrase you've learned, there are a thousand lost forever in the whispers of time. You have almost nothing in common with these people: their lives are short, they know hardships we cannot fathom, and they worship strange and violent gods. Where is your common ground? How could you ever connect?

This computer is old. I love it. I remember the desktop screen. I remember the icons, the programs, the itunes music. I'm going to enjoy using it.

Curse you, Facebook!

So, I finally decided to get back on Facebook.  I'm constantly being told by multiple parties that Facebook is a fantastic cornucopia of constant up-to-date facts that continuously pours information into the ether like some sort of friend-specific fountain of knowledge.  A font, even.  

But.  There's a problem.  The first time I get back on facebook after, like, a year, I decided to delete the original e-mail address associated with the account.  Weeeell that was the information font equivalent of shooting myself in the digital foot.  

"Dear God," you might say, breath bated with excitement, "Tomfoolery and Shennanigans!"  Well, you probably wouldn't say that.  I might.  Point is: I can't sign on now.  I've apparently deleted all of the e-mails associated with the account according to facebook technical support.  

Sigh.  I wish I existed.  

What does this portend for me?  Am I to be cut off forever from this river-flow of constant information?  Is the knowledge of what other people are doing to be damned before it flows into my brain-resevoir by Facebook beavers?!  

Yeah. I guess so . . . for now.

The Five Albums I simply can't stop listening to

(No matter how hard I try)

1. Weezer: The Blue Album

Perfect. Everything about this album is awesome. Half the tracks are radio singles, the other half are still pretty awesome. Original songwriting, unique old-meets-new sound, highly personal and insightful songwriting married to some excellent musicianship makes for deliciousness.

2. Against Me!: Reinventing Axel Rose

The vigor of idealism coupled with the bitterness of homelessness! Add a radical agenda and POOF: AWESOME ALBUM.

3. The Anniversary: Designing a Nervous Breakdown

Despite deciding to suck on their next album, this one delivers emo bliss. The Anniversary couples a classic emo outfit with a moog synthesizer. I loooooove their sound.

4. Motion City Soundtrack: Commit this to Memory

Remember what I was saying about moogs? THESE GUYS HAVE ONE TOOOOO. And it's produced by Blink 182's Mark Hoppus. Their Pop sensibility serves them well. While they fall apart a little later on the album, I find myself coming back again and again.


5. The Darkness: Permission to Land

Just . . . what the fuck? I can't take these guys seriously. Every time I pop in the CD, I see the lead singer in a white spandex singlet. And yet . . . Their ability to turn hair metal on its head and their blazing guitar solos bring me back again and again. It's just fun to listen to. I can't stop myself. Kill me, master! Kill me!!!

You Can't Catch Me . . .

I have found the worst Wii game that ever was made. And it is called The Ninjabread Man.

So, when you think of a game, a few niceties pop into your head: little things called "plot" or "characters" or even "usable controls." Ninjabread Man eschews all of these things for nonsensical, impossible, pointless platforming and the opportunity to be eaten by food.

Well, I guess it's not true that there's no plot. I found the plot in the instruction booklet. By accident. While trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Apparently, "Sweetworld" has been ruined by the evil "Toothrotters" which are evil cupcakes, pieces of cake, and . . . bees. I don't get it either. And you have to . . . fight them? I guess?

That doesn't make any sense, though. Gingerbread is as much a sweet as cake or bees! Why would they be fighting? You know what? I'm just not going to think about it anymore. Let the twisted developers have their bee cake. It hurts my head trying to invent plot where there is none.

Anyway, so the point of every level is to get to the teleporter at the end of the level to get to the next level. You have to curse your way through frustrating jump puzzles until you collect enough items to move along. Maybe even that wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for the atrocious controls.

First off: props to Ninjabread Man for trying to make a game entirely with the Wii motion controls. I understand what they were going for. The problem lies in their failure to realize accurate movement detection. For example: To jump, you must move the nunchuck up. This works about 60 percent of the time. The hit-or-miss nature of the controls becomes a major frustration early on. It makes simple tasks like performing a simple jump puzzle or attacking an enemy incredibly difficult.

The idea had potential. A gingerbread man who is also a ninja is funny. But this game . . . this game is not funny.

Jingle all the way . . . TO HELL!!!

Damn! I totally forgot what I was going to write again. Agh!

Fine, brain. Have it your way. I'm just gonna sit here and type until you get your lazy ass in gear and remember what it is we were going to talk about.

Like that's going to happen.

Oh! Wait!

So, Jinglebells. I have to say that the genre of Christmas music is one of the ones that I revile the most. Some songs are catchy. Some have more genuine depth, but most are simply bubbly tunes from decades ago that get done and redone, arranged, cut, mangled and parodied for commercials. All in all, if I have to hear another rendition of "Silver Bells" ("Hark how the bells . . ." not " . . . It's Christmastime in the city") twisted to sell one more gadget or donut or whatever, I will throw up and die. Although I do kind of like the GPS tracker commercial that has the moose.

"There's that moose again!" bwahahaha!!

But getting back to the point: No one knows more than one verse of "Jingle Bells." We hear this song everywhere: supermarkets, in the car, in the mall, even most restaurants . . . Why has no one ever bothered with the later verses? It's true they're archaic and almost unnecessary (putting forth more or less the same sentiment and being somewhat more general), but it shocks me how something can be so important to us and simultaneously so very trivial. We all have memories of singing this song with friends and family, but who even knew there were multiple verses?

But who cares! It's just a stupid Christmas song! It's a shame no one's gone to the wikipedia article and pasted the missing verses on this blog . . .

A day or two ago

I thought I'd take a ride

And soon Miss Fanny Bright

Was seated by my side,

The horse was lean and lank

Misfortune seemed his lot

He got into a drifted bank

And then we got upsot!

Now the ground is white

Go it while you're young,

Take the girls tonight

and sing this sleighing song;

Just get a bob tailed bay

Two forty as his speed

Hitch him to an open sleigh

And crack! you'll take the lead.

Apparently, "upsot" can also mean hammered. Upsot is a great word.

Anyway, the next time you're forced through another round of "Santa Claus is Coming to Town," Think of a drunken Miss Fanny Bright lying in a snowdrift with an unlucky horse and a lusty young man.

My Christmas gift to you.