I'm currently working on my F.E.A.R. review over at Gaming Trend which hopefully will be up next week, and I have to say I'm impressed. My thoughts on the demo was that the gunfights were amazing to the point where they demanded replay after replay, and Alma was one heck of a creepy villain. After playing a few hours worth last night, I finally arrived at the office building where the majority of the story supposedly takes place.
Two things: The first is that I'm honestly surprised it took as long as it did to get to this point, and two is a simple HOLY CRAP!!!
The second the chopper you're riding in lands on the roof the office building, you come under fire. Instantly hoping out and returning fire leads to one of the most intense gun battles I've ever played. The AI is nothing short of amazing, and I can't wait to see how it reacts when I up the difficulty. The gunfights lead to debris and smoke flying everywhere, along with hugely bloody effects. For example, I was flanked by two enemy soldiers who were crouching behind crates. I opted to charge the one on the right and as I left over the top of the crate I discharged my combat shotgun and the blast tore his head clean off. I landed close enough to the one on the left that when I fired into his midsection, it blew him in half.
I immediately reloaded and played through the scenario several more times. I think I honestly spent an hour on that rooftop last night just fighting the soldiers in different ways, and watching how much of the terrain we destroyed. It's brilliant fun, and if you just turn off shadows it runs smoothly.
I can't wait to get inside and see what else is in store.
Friday, October 21, 2005
So it's been a while...
It must be disheartening to my three readers that almost a month has gone by with no updates or thoughts. Or maybe my ego is still flying high from last night. Either way, here's in brief what's been going on:
The last three weeks were devoted to work and nothing but. While My Fair Lady was consumed by event after event and two massive legal papers at school, I found myself spending more than a few extra hours at the office. My production company was responsible for crafting a 35 minute show for a Las Vegas trade show, and did it under the tightest deadlines I've seen in a long time. March, actually. Which was when we did our last trade show.
I cannot stress enough how poor the time management is at my current company.
For example, we have nine clients who appear in this video. All well and good by itself, but when sales is not explicitly given a cut-off date, what happens? More and more sales will be made, and the time frame to put together the show shrinks because the deadline for the show to be completed never changed. So as that window shrinks, tensions frequently rise, but nothing comes of it because the executive level gives not one care about how put upon the workers are. To them, the working class should simply do what they're told and remain grateful they're employed.
Capitalism in full swing, baby.
So the primary editor and primary writer on the show spent pretty much every waking moment at the office for two weeks straight pounding this beast out. The rest of us took care of any and all day-to-day work because we all knew that we'd have little to no time to create all of the deliverables (i.e. DVD/CD/VHS copies among other things) once they finished the show. As it turns out, we had even less time than that because Project Management made more promises than they should have, and production's Vaunted Leader agreed. Like she does with everything that's handed down From Above. Regardless, we wound up with basically three days in which we had to do a week's worth of work. Having experienced this sort of deadline for a semester and a half while working as Entertainment Editor at the TCU newspaper, I felt confident we could do it.
Complete everything with time to spare was exactly what we did. The problem is, it should never have come to that. Even worse is knowing that despite a debriefing meeting the following Monday, where we made suggestions on what we can do better in the future, is that nothing if going to change. Period, end of story. The next trade show is going to be handled in the exact same manner, and those of us on the short end of the stick will get shafted. Joy.
It's times like these I find myself wanting to be my own boss. I create my own hours, set my own rates, and if I feel like treating myself to a movie during my lunch hour(s) then so be it.
Now is time for me to run out on an errand. More later today comeplete with updates on what happened last night to keep me up until 2 a.m. yet remain wide awake today, details on one of the best action games this year, along with some brief thoughts on why Batman Begins is one of the best movies I've seen in a long time.
The last three weeks were devoted to work and nothing but. While My Fair Lady was consumed by event after event and two massive legal papers at school, I found myself spending more than a few extra hours at the office. My production company was responsible for crafting a 35 minute show for a Las Vegas trade show, and did it under the tightest deadlines I've seen in a long time. March, actually. Which was when we did our last trade show.
I cannot stress enough how poor the time management is at my current company.
For example, we have nine clients who appear in this video. All well and good by itself, but when sales is not explicitly given a cut-off date, what happens? More and more sales will be made, and the time frame to put together the show shrinks because the deadline for the show to be completed never changed. So as that window shrinks, tensions frequently rise, but nothing comes of it because the executive level gives not one care about how put upon the workers are. To them, the working class should simply do what they're told and remain grateful they're employed.
Capitalism in full swing, baby.
So the primary editor and primary writer on the show spent pretty much every waking moment at the office for two weeks straight pounding this beast out. The rest of us took care of any and all day-to-day work because we all knew that we'd have little to no time to create all of the deliverables (i.e. DVD/CD/VHS copies among other things) once they finished the show. As it turns out, we had even less time than that because Project Management made more promises than they should have, and production's Vaunted Leader agreed. Like she does with everything that's handed down From Above. Regardless, we wound up with basically three days in which we had to do a week's worth of work. Having experienced this sort of deadline for a semester and a half while working as Entertainment Editor at the TCU newspaper, I felt confident we could do it.
Complete everything with time to spare was exactly what we did. The problem is, it should never have come to that. Even worse is knowing that despite a debriefing meeting the following Monday, where we made suggestions on what we can do better in the future, is that nothing if going to change. Period, end of story. The next trade show is going to be handled in the exact same manner, and those of us on the short end of the stick will get shafted. Joy.
It's times like these I find myself wanting to be my own boss. I create my own hours, set my own rates, and if I feel like treating myself to a movie during my lunch hour(s) then so be it.
Now is time for me to run out on an errand. More later today comeplete with updates on what happened last night to keep me up until 2 a.m. yet remain wide awake today, details on one of the best action games this year, along with some brief thoughts on why Batman Begins is one of the best movies I've seen in a long time.
Monday, September 26, 2005
139 Words and Change
I think I've finally discovered why I don't like reading or hearing about legalese. According to My Fair Lady, the case she is currently using for research has a sentence that is nine lines in length and 139 words. No, Dickens had no part in it.
It's an insanity ruling from 1895, back in the days when lawyers were apparently paid by the word. This, despite my extensive interest and knowledge of history, was something I was unaware of.
I think it explains pretty much every grievance against attorneys since the dawn of time. Each ruling is a mini Ark of the Covenant in its denseness. Any mere mortal who so seeketh to divine the meaning of such cases, would be struck dead, or at the very least left incoherently mumbling since their brain was crushed by the sheer difficulty in untangling these word mazes. My Fair Lady read me the aforementioned nine lines, and by line 2.5 I could feel the walls of my skull caving in. By the time she hit line 5.3, I was drooling.
I don't quite recall lines 7-9 so either she took pity on me and stopped or I blacked out.
Current lawyers no longer are paid by the word, but in reading any current ruling (by current I mean in the last century), you'd think that whoever decided to no longer pay based on verbiage would have at least told the lawyers they could keep things simple. If anything, current rulings seem to go on even longer than they did 100 years ago. Time has shown us many things, and currently it shows me that attorneys of all ages throughout the ages have never let their love of their own intelligence get in the way of simplicity.
I guess that's why My Fair Lady keeps me around. Whenever she asks my opinion on how she should proceed with a motion, I shout out "Fry 'em! If they're crazy, tell them it's a ride! They'll love it!"
Reason #108 why I could never be an attorney.
It's an insanity ruling from 1895, back in the days when lawyers were apparently paid by the word. This, despite my extensive interest and knowledge of history, was something I was unaware of.
I think it explains pretty much every grievance against attorneys since the dawn of time. Each ruling is a mini Ark of the Covenant in its denseness. Any mere mortal who so seeketh to divine the meaning of such cases, would be struck dead, or at the very least left incoherently mumbling since their brain was crushed by the sheer difficulty in untangling these word mazes. My Fair Lady read me the aforementioned nine lines, and by line 2.5 I could feel the walls of my skull caving in. By the time she hit line 5.3, I was drooling.
I don't quite recall lines 7-9 so either she took pity on me and stopped or I blacked out.
Current lawyers no longer are paid by the word, but in reading any current ruling (by current I mean in the last century), you'd think that whoever decided to no longer pay based on verbiage would have at least told the lawyers they could keep things simple. If anything, current rulings seem to go on even longer than they did 100 years ago. Time has shown us many things, and currently it shows me that attorneys of all ages throughout the ages have never let their love of their own intelligence get in the way of simplicity.
I guess that's why My Fair Lady keeps me around. Whenever she asks my opinion on how she should proceed with a motion, I shout out "Fry 'em! If they're crazy, tell them it's a ride! They'll love it!"
Reason #108 why I could never be an attorney.
Friday, September 23, 2005
LOST Opens Hatch, Finds Big Can of Whoop-ass
Despite my headline, I was not the biggest fan of the LOST season 2 opener. I liked it overall, and certainly everything having to do with what was down the hatch and how it might relate to the island was awesome (no mean feat considering the build-up last year), but the rest just felt like filler. Nothing in a given episode of LOST is ever simply filler, and while that was absolutely true Wednesday night, it still felt the show runners were just killing time until the final reveal. Which in turn leaves us dying to see episode two which is where the meat AND the potatoes are. Annoying to say the least, but the show is nothing if not an elaborate tease. I’m a LOST junkie, but I’ve no qualms about calling it out when it does something stupid, or silly, or both.
But regardless of how I felt about the episode overall, ABC literally killed its competition Wednesday night. CNN has posted a story with the details and the other networks are now looking like the boneheads they are for trying to schedule anything against ABC’s new giant. Considering how hard the show hit last year, and the final build-up to opening the hatch, how the hell could any network think that a show might succeed against LOST’s second premier? That the condensing of the first season into an hour as a primer also drew huge numbers, and then the premier of Invasion after LOST also drew huge numbers, means ABC killed everything in its path Wednesday night.
Remember how big a hit the first season of Survivor was? It wasn’t at first, becoming one of the last shows to actually build all season long based solely on word of mouth. It also didn’t have anything in the way of competition during the summer either, and in so doing it let CBS stamp its logo on the heads of a large cross-section of the TV-viewing public, who from that point on would follow the show wherever it went. Hence it has done well on the Thursday night battleground, and when coupled with the right shows it’s proven time and again to be a formidable opponent.
I think the only show that can survive against LOST is Veronica Mars, another cult show in the spirit of Buffy that has inspired a small legion of devoted followers. I’m personally dying to check out the show, but LOST is my first love of the moment and unless it turns really stupid, Veronica will have to wait until I hit it in my NetFlix queue. Looking through the CNN story, FOX in their wisdom killed off “Head Cases” after only the second airing in that time slot. Probably for the best because Chris O’Donnell can’t act, and the Hebrew Hammer is only funny in short bursts at best.
I remain amused at how the networks continually battle each other and always lose, when simple war-time strategy is all it would take to satisfy their egos and the viewing public. Look for vulnerable points in rival networks’ schedules, and exploit them by scheduling high-profile shows there. Do not put a high-profile show against a brand-new juggernaut, because the juggernaut will win time and again. I think LOST is going to reign that time slot through the rest of this year, and possibly into next but that depends on whether JJ Abrahms tanks his show in the third season as he is wont to do. The nets are going to have to wait until next year at the earliest before trying to chink away at LOST’s armor. Just get out of the way, and attack elsewhere. I’ll post my suggestions later for how TV can win both viewers and satisfy egos all at the same time. Hardly scientific, but hopefully Sun Tzu would be proud.
But regardless of how I felt about the episode overall, ABC literally killed its competition Wednesday night. CNN has posted a story with the details and the other networks are now looking like the boneheads they are for trying to schedule anything against ABC’s new giant. Considering how hard the show hit last year, and the final build-up to opening the hatch, how the hell could any network think that a show might succeed against LOST’s second premier? That the condensing of the first season into an hour as a primer also drew huge numbers, and then the premier of Invasion after LOST also drew huge numbers, means ABC killed everything in its path Wednesday night.
Remember how big a hit the first season of Survivor was? It wasn’t at first, becoming one of the last shows to actually build all season long based solely on word of mouth. It also didn’t have anything in the way of competition during the summer either, and in so doing it let CBS stamp its logo on the heads of a large cross-section of the TV-viewing public, who from that point on would follow the show wherever it went. Hence it has done well on the Thursday night battleground, and when coupled with the right shows it’s proven time and again to be a formidable opponent.
I think the only show that can survive against LOST is Veronica Mars, another cult show in the spirit of Buffy that has inspired a small legion of devoted followers. I’m personally dying to check out the show, but LOST is my first love of the moment and unless it turns really stupid, Veronica will have to wait until I hit it in my NetFlix queue. Looking through the CNN story, FOX in their wisdom killed off “Head Cases” after only the second airing in that time slot. Probably for the best because Chris O’Donnell can’t act, and the Hebrew Hammer is only funny in short bursts at best.
I remain amused at how the networks continually battle each other and always lose, when simple war-time strategy is all it would take to satisfy their egos and the viewing public. Look for vulnerable points in rival networks’ schedules, and exploit them by scheduling high-profile shows there. Do not put a high-profile show against a brand-new juggernaut, because the juggernaut will win time and again. I think LOST is going to reign that time slot through the rest of this year, and possibly into next but that depends on whether JJ Abrahms tanks his show in the third season as he is wont to do. The nets are going to have to wait until next year at the earliest before trying to chink away at LOST’s armor. Just get out of the way, and attack elsewhere. I’ll post my suggestions later for how TV can win both viewers and satisfy egos all at the same time. Hardly scientific, but hopefully Sun Tzu would be proud.
Rita Comes Calling...
... and the crowds go crazy. The third most powerful hurricane on record blasted its way into the Gulf of Mexico this week, and aims to hit land right on the LA-TX border sometime later tonight. With it comes no small amount of wind and rain, and the already battered New Orleans might find itself dunked under water yet again.
Yet I still don’t know what’s happening in Mississippi and thank you, news media, for setting the country’s priorities on the straight and narrow once more. New Orleans was hit hard, true, but go back for a second and watch the instant replay. At the last second, it veered east and blasted the holy hell out of Biloxi and other towns. New Orleans at least is still standing. Water-logged, but standing. Can anyone say the same out of some of those Mississippi towns?
So why are we still focusing on The Big Easy? Harry Connick, Jr. and others can go down there, say how shocked they are (I’m merely using Connick as an example, as I did see him when he arrived in New Orleans and he’s not a good enough actor to fake the disbelief and anguish he felt), and report on the devastation and complain about the federal response to what is first and foremost a STATE issue (and Governor Blonco should take a hearty helping of blame for failing to declare an emergency days ahead of time despite everyone warning her, because the government could not move in until she did so), yet we ignore a larger amount of destruction that’s only a few miles away. Go figure.
Regardless, we in Texas and Louisiana are in the path of Katrina’s younger-but-equally-pissed sister, Rita. The fun part is where Rita is heading – right across the motherload of Gulf Coast oil platforms and refineries. The latest projections have the storm missing the largest of the refineries, but still putting the hurt on both states even further. Here is the projected path the latest projections have compiled. Dallas is already swollen to the point of bursting with the LA refugees, yet here come another several thousand from Houston and the gulf coast.
The funny part is now we might get a little rain, and maybe some wind, and that’s about it. Yet tell that to the checkout lady I spoke with at Tom Thumb last night. When I went in to do some weekly shopping (nothing disaster-related, we were just plain out of a few things), the entire place looked like it had been raided. When I was checking out, I asked the checkout lady what it was like earlier in the day. The look on her face suggested I’d inadvertently provoked a ‘Nam flashback. All of a sudden she was face down in a rice patty being shot at by VC while her squad called for immediate extraction, yet all she could do was hold the line and hope to live through it.
Maybe I’ve just been watching too many war movies lately.
At any rate, it looks like the disaster of Rita may miss us physically, but is sure has caused a disaster of another sort on I-45. Houston is legendary for its roads and freeways being under 24/7/365 construction, so it’s pretty bad all by itself. But no city infrastructure has ever been built with the idea of 2 million people either coming in or leaving all at the same time. As such, the Houston and Texas roadways have come to a complete stand-still, and it’s just unbelievable to watch. You always hear or read about miles and miles of stalled out traffic jams in end of the world stories, but somewhere in the back of your mind it still registers as fiction. You still believe that in the real world, people would be able to get away from the destruction and make it to safety to turn around and fight the ultimate evil that always shows up later.
From everything I’ve seen the last two days out of Houston, Randall Flagg can rest easy knowing that were Captain Tripps to start making the rounds, people would pretty much be screwed. But as the hero of this story, I would still find a way to kick his ass and keep my girl around at the same time, so rest easy knowing I’m on the job.
Whiteboyskim – defender of the universe. Respekt.
Yet I still don’t know what’s happening in Mississippi and thank you, news media, for setting the country’s priorities on the straight and narrow once more. New Orleans was hit hard, true, but go back for a second and watch the instant replay. At the last second, it veered east and blasted the holy hell out of Biloxi and other towns. New Orleans at least is still standing. Water-logged, but standing. Can anyone say the same out of some of those Mississippi towns?
So why are we still focusing on The Big Easy? Harry Connick, Jr. and others can go down there, say how shocked they are (I’m merely using Connick as an example, as I did see him when he arrived in New Orleans and he’s not a good enough actor to fake the disbelief and anguish he felt), and report on the devastation and complain about the federal response to what is first and foremost a STATE issue (and Governor Blonco should take a hearty helping of blame for failing to declare an emergency days ahead of time despite everyone warning her, because the government could not move in until she did so), yet we ignore a larger amount of destruction that’s only a few miles away. Go figure.
Regardless, we in Texas and Louisiana are in the path of Katrina’s younger-but-equally-pissed sister, Rita. The fun part is where Rita is heading – right across the motherload of Gulf Coast oil platforms and refineries. The latest projections have the storm missing the largest of the refineries, but still putting the hurt on both states even further. Here is the projected path the latest projections have compiled. Dallas is already swollen to the point of bursting with the LA refugees, yet here come another several thousand from Houston and the gulf coast.
The funny part is now we might get a little rain, and maybe some wind, and that’s about it. Yet tell that to the checkout lady I spoke with at Tom Thumb last night. When I went in to do some weekly shopping (nothing disaster-related, we were just plain out of a few things), the entire place looked like it had been raided. When I was checking out, I asked the checkout lady what it was like earlier in the day. The look on her face suggested I’d inadvertently provoked a ‘Nam flashback. All of a sudden she was face down in a rice patty being shot at by VC while her squad called for immediate extraction, yet all she could do was hold the line and hope to live through it.
Maybe I’ve just been watching too many war movies lately.
At any rate, it looks like the disaster of Rita may miss us physically, but is sure has caused a disaster of another sort on I-45. Houston is legendary for its roads and freeways being under 24/7/365 construction, so it’s pretty bad all by itself. But no city infrastructure has ever been built with the idea of 2 million people either coming in or leaving all at the same time. As such, the Houston and Texas roadways have come to a complete stand-still, and it’s just unbelievable to watch. You always hear or read about miles and miles of stalled out traffic jams in end of the world stories, but somewhere in the back of your mind it still registers as fiction. You still believe that in the real world, people would be able to get away from the destruction and make it to safety to turn around and fight the ultimate evil that always shows up later.
From everything I’ve seen the last two days out of Houston, Randall Flagg can rest easy knowing that were Captain Tripps to start making the rounds, people would pretty much be screwed. But as the hero of this story, I would still find a way to kick his ass and keep my girl around at the same time, so rest easy knowing I’m on the job.
Whiteboyskim – defender of the universe. Respekt.
Thursday, September 22, 2005
I think Will Ferrell’s 15 Minutes are Up
I just watched the rather shady quality trailer for The Producers on Sony’s site, and I no longer have any curiosity about the film. I think it will do well overall, though the Christmas release date is always a bad one, in my opinion. But I won’t see it, nor am I even remotely curious about it, and the reason can be summed up thusly: Will Ferrell as the Nazi playwrite.
I am one of the few people who never found Ferrell funny on SNL, though admittedly I never found Mike Myers, Jimmy Fallon, Molly Shannon, or any of the crew from the mid-90’s onward funny. I’ll confess to being a bit biased because when I started watching SNL, it was of the 1970’s "Not Ready For Primetime" crew in re-runs. Maybe it was because SNL started at the top that there was no where to go but down. Maybe it was because high-octane comedians are just naturally funnier when they’re flying high on cocaine (for example, compare Robin Williams’ latest piece on Broadway to his late ‘70’s shows or even his 1986 HBO spotlight and the difference is staggering).
Regardless, SNL has been neither funny nor particularly relevant for some time, despite the A+ effort head writer Tina Fey has put into the show in recent years. With the SNL players increasingly heading to the West Coast for big-screen glory, I can only hope that future generations of SNL prove far funnier than "names" like Ferrell.
Not that the bar is too high to jump over. Heck, if it were any lower you’d have to dig to find it.
When any comedian "hits" and becomes the "next big thing," there is a period where they appear in just about everything, regardless of whether they are right for the part. Then after several movies, they calm down the work load and take one or two movies a year until they decide to work even less and only make one movie every two years. For examples, look at Tom Hanks and Jim Carrey’s respective careers. While I think both are among the funniest men alive, Ferrell wouldn’t even register as a pimple on their asses. It’s not just that he’s not funny, it’s that he produces stone silence from me whenever he’s on screen.
It took the big screen debacle of "Bewitched" to take a lot of the luster off his star, but I wish it took the star as well. Sadly, we’ll have to endure him again later this year as the German playwright in Mel Brook’s musical version of his stage play based on his movie "The Producers." I truly love the original Gene Wilder-Zero Mostel film, despite it taking about 15 minutes to really get going. The basic story is two guys, a failed Broadway producer (Mostel) and his accountant (Wilder), decide to produce a guaranteed flop, then collect all the investment money, default on paying their investors, and retiring to the tropics. They set out to find the worst play of all time, and when they find it, it proves to be a doozy.
"Springtime for Hitler" is the name of the play, and from the description of it to the hiring of the worst director ever, to the casting of LSD, "The Producers" is gut-bustingly funny. Nathan Lane and Matthew Broderick seem to have perfect chemistry for the stage play, and I was curious to see the film based on it. But after watching Ferrell act like a loon for the umpteenth time, I’m done with him. He appears in anything as a major or supporting character, and I will not buy a ticket. Period.
I can only hope his star will either drop off the map, or ascend so high he’s only in one movie every two years. Either way, it’s easier to avoid him.
I am one of the few people who never found Ferrell funny on SNL, though admittedly I never found Mike Myers, Jimmy Fallon, Molly Shannon, or any of the crew from the mid-90’s onward funny. I’ll confess to being a bit biased because when I started watching SNL, it was of the 1970’s "Not Ready For Primetime" crew in re-runs. Maybe it was because SNL started at the top that there was no where to go but down. Maybe it was because high-octane comedians are just naturally funnier when they’re flying high on cocaine (for example, compare Robin Williams’ latest piece on Broadway to his late ‘70’s shows or even his 1986 HBO spotlight and the difference is staggering).
Regardless, SNL has been neither funny nor particularly relevant for some time, despite the A+ effort head writer Tina Fey has put into the show in recent years. With the SNL players increasingly heading to the West Coast for big-screen glory, I can only hope that future generations of SNL prove far funnier than "names" like Ferrell.
Not that the bar is too high to jump over. Heck, if it were any lower you’d have to dig to find it.
When any comedian "hits" and becomes the "next big thing," there is a period where they appear in just about everything, regardless of whether they are right for the part. Then after several movies, they calm down the work load and take one or two movies a year until they decide to work even less and only make one movie every two years. For examples, look at Tom Hanks and Jim Carrey’s respective careers. While I think both are among the funniest men alive, Ferrell wouldn’t even register as a pimple on their asses. It’s not just that he’s not funny, it’s that he produces stone silence from me whenever he’s on screen.
It took the big screen debacle of "Bewitched" to take a lot of the luster off his star, but I wish it took the star as well. Sadly, we’ll have to endure him again later this year as the German playwright in Mel Brook’s musical version of his stage play based on his movie "The Producers." I truly love the original Gene Wilder-Zero Mostel film, despite it taking about 15 minutes to really get going. The basic story is two guys, a failed Broadway producer (Mostel) and his accountant (Wilder), decide to produce a guaranteed flop, then collect all the investment money, default on paying their investors, and retiring to the tropics. They set out to find the worst play of all time, and when they find it, it proves to be a doozy.
"Springtime for Hitler" is the name of the play, and from the description of it to the hiring of the worst director ever, to the casting of LSD, "The Producers" is gut-bustingly funny. Nathan Lane and Matthew Broderick seem to have perfect chemistry for the stage play, and I was curious to see the film based on it. But after watching Ferrell act like a loon for the umpteenth time, I’m done with him. He appears in anything as a major or supporting character, and I will not buy a ticket. Period.
I can only hope his star will either drop off the map, or ascend so high he’s only in one movie every two years. Either way, it’s easier to avoid him.
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
Fun with Atrophy
I feel like my leg muscles have atrophied in a big way. Last night was a whole mess of no fun, considering that I pseudo-slept the night away with a big lump in my throat courtesy of yet another sinus attack. Let me state again for the record that I hate my sinuses and have since birth.
Maybe I’m allergic to September, or maybe it’s Dallas, or both. It seems that going three days without DayQuill coursing through my system wasn’t the best idea, so my sinuses hit me again last night. Popped some DayQuill and a vitamin, then did the same this morning before I came in to work.
Now my legs feel like they’ll barely support me. Combine that with my outright exhaustion and no breakfast and I’m stunned to find I’m actually in a good mood. Odd how my personality works, eh?
The good news is that I don’t have to run a 5K today. The bad news is, it’s still 20 minutes before I can head out to lunch and even then I have a lengthy errand to run which will keep me away from food for probably another hour. Joy!
Maybe I’ve been looking at this the wrong way, sort of like the Clinton Administration did on terrorism. Whether you agree or not with how the Bush Administration have handled things, they at least correctly approached international terrorism as a war and not as a simple legal matter. I now must declare outright war on my sinuses, and for that I need food, and lots of it. Energy For the Cause. Viva le Revolution and all that. My Fair Lady has grown increasingly concerned that I’ve been losing too much weight, and not only does she have a point, but it finally hit me as to why.
These sinuses combined with sickness from two weeks ago have sapped a lot of strength and weight off my bones, and it’s time to put it all back. So while everyone else is concerned with losing weight, it’s again time for me to worry about putting it back on. In a former life, I must have been an actor who specialized in roles requiring weight loss/gain. If only I had the Oscar to prove it...
Maybe I’m allergic to September, or maybe it’s Dallas, or both. It seems that going three days without DayQuill coursing through my system wasn’t the best idea, so my sinuses hit me again last night. Popped some DayQuill and a vitamin, then did the same this morning before I came in to work.
Now my legs feel like they’ll barely support me. Combine that with my outright exhaustion and no breakfast and I’m stunned to find I’m actually in a good mood. Odd how my personality works, eh?
The good news is that I don’t have to run a 5K today. The bad news is, it’s still 20 minutes before I can head out to lunch and even then I have a lengthy errand to run which will keep me away from food for probably another hour. Joy!
Maybe I’ve been looking at this the wrong way, sort of like the Clinton Administration did on terrorism. Whether you agree or not with how the Bush Administration have handled things, they at least correctly approached international terrorism as a war and not as a simple legal matter. I now must declare outright war on my sinuses, and for that I need food, and lots of it. Energy For the Cause. Viva le Revolution and all that. My Fair Lady has grown increasingly concerned that I’ve been losing too much weight, and not only does she have a point, but it finally hit me as to why.
These sinuses combined with sickness from two weeks ago have sapped a lot of strength and weight off my bones, and it’s time to put it all back. So while everyone else is concerned with losing weight, it’s again time for me to worry about putting it back on. In a former life, I must have been an actor who specialized in roles requiring weight loss/gain. If only I had the Oscar to prove it...
Monday, September 19, 2005
These Shoes Were Made For Tripping
It’s an odd thing to be unable to walk in a pair of shoes you purchased many moons in the past, yet have not worn for a while. That’s what happened to me all morning at work, and since I don’t drink, I’ve been unable to blame my stumbling around on a hangover. In thinking about it, maybe I should take up boozing. Other than making my job easier to endure, I’d have a good excuse as to why I’ve been stumbling all over the place today.
North Texas has about as much seismic activity as the dunes of the Sahara. The ground here dries up frequently which leads to houses shifting and large cracks forming in the ceiling, but we come up short on earthquakes each year. So why is it that the ground was moving left whenever I would go right today? If I hadn’t caught myself as I stumbled at one point in the men’s room, I’d have gone spelunking in the john.
The shoes themselves are nothing out of the ordinary, simply black dress shoes. Were My Fair Lady in the room, she could tell me what shade of black they were, who made them, where they were made, and how they make my butt look better based on how I stand in them. From my point of view, they were one of two pairs of black shoes I own, and they were closest to me when I opened the closet door this morning. And now I can barely walk in them without stumbling.
Should I wear the black pants I have on again this week, I think I’ll venture further into the closet and find the other pair of black shoes. Being able to walk fearlessly might be worth an extra step into the closet.
North Texas has about as much seismic activity as the dunes of the Sahara. The ground here dries up frequently which leads to houses shifting and large cracks forming in the ceiling, but we come up short on earthquakes each year. So why is it that the ground was moving left whenever I would go right today? If I hadn’t caught myself as I stumbled at one point in the men’s room, I’d have gone spelunking in the john.
The shoes themselves are nothing out of the ordinary, simply black dress shoes. Were My Fair Lady in the room, she could tell me what shade of black they were, who made them, where they were made, and how they make my butt look better based on how I stand in them. From my point of view, they were one of two pairs of black shoes I own, and they were closest to me when I opened the closet door this morning. And now I can barely walk in them without stumbling.
Should I wear the black pants I have on again this week, I think I’ll venture further into the closet and find the other pair of black shoes. Being able to walk fearlessly might be worth an extra step into the closet.
Monday, September 12, 2005
Weight Fluctuations
In college, I could down an entire Jack in the Box bacon ultimate cheeseburger, after an appetizer of chili cheese fries and an eggroll, and wash it down with a large Dr. Pepper, then still be hungry for dinner. I suspect that my collegiate diet might have worn down my stomach’s resistance to pretty much anything. Some things will now set my stomach off so I get to spend the next few hours in the men’s room, yet it can handle other things that would make the average person double over in pain. The fun part is I never know when either will occur so now every meal becomes a sort of Emeril Roulette.
After the last round of “stomach tomfoolery” which was a couple of weeks ago, I swore off fast food, and since then have lived up to my promise. The only places I now eat at that could be considered “fast” are Subway and Chick-Fil-A, neither of which have grease in the sandwiches I order, or are particularly quick in processing orders. I think all that grease and fat has finally passed through my system, because I haven’t felt any stomach pains in weeks and my weight has dropped.
I’ve felt a little less like myself for the past two or three weeks, but the reason why didn’t hit me until last week. After getting a haircut, a few people at work jokingly asked me if I was losing weight. Bear in mind that I went from shaggy to sharp overnight, and have a narrow, angular face with high cheekbones. When my hair is longer, it tends to give the impression of having more meat on my face than I guess I actually have.
So I weighed myself and found out that I actually have lost some weight over the past few weeks. As I sat there and thought about it, I came to realize something – all that fast food really did add up.
Go figure.
Now comes the part where I try to put some extra weight on, or at least turn the existing weight into muscle. The idea being a buffer, toner, me for next year. I hit the magic number 30 in 2007 and want to go into that decade healthier than I was in the previous one. Make no mistake – my 20’s have been all about abusing my body, but now that I’m closer to the end of my 20’s than I am to the beginning, it’s time to start thinking about the future. I always figured a diet like mine would cause my heart to go Alien on me about the time I hit 35, but it seems my stomach cut that plan short. Probably for the better since I’ve grown quite attached to My Fair Lady, and I don’t fancy the idea of her waking up one morning to find my chest exploded all over the credenza. I also have no idea what a “credenza” is per se, but it sounds like it fits in with my scenario.
Ideally, my 30’s will be healthier and stronger than my 20’s were. That’s the plan, anyway. My Fair Lady and I have talked at length about getting healthier and that includes joining a gym next year after she graduates law school. We share an attitude of grudging obedience to the needs for exercise, but we do it when we simultaneously pressure each other. Since neither of us like to waste money, we both figure that if we join a gym then we’ll have no reason not to go work out at least two or three times a week and tone up. It’s a solid plan, because it manages to both inspire us and prey on our weaknesses at the same time.
Exercise, thy name is "Devious."
After the last round of “stomach tomfoolery” which was a couple of weeks ago, I swore off fast food, and since then have lived up to my promise. The only places I now eat at that could be considered “fast” are Subway and Chick-Fil-A, neither of which have grease in the sandwiches I order, or are particularly quick in processing orders. I think all that grease and fat has finally passed through my system, because I haven’t felt any stomach pains in weeks and my weight has dropped.
I’ve felt a little less like myself for the past two or three weeks, but the reason why didn’t hit me until last week. After getting a haircut, a few people at work jokingly asked me if I was losing weight. Bear in mind that I went from shaggy to sharp overnight, and have a narrow, angular face with high cheekbones. When my hair is longer, it tends to give the impression of having more meat on my face than I guess I actually have.
So I weighed myself and found out that I actually have lost some weight over the past few weeks. As I sat there and thought about it, I came to realize something – all that fast food really did add up.
Go figure.
Now comes the part where I try to put some extra weight on, or at least turn the existing weight into muscle. The idea being a buffer, toner, me for next year. I hit the magic number 30 in 2007 and want to go into that decade healthier than I was in the previous one. Make no mistake – my 20’s have been all about abusing my body, but now that I’m closer to the end of my 20’s than I am to the beginning, it’s time to start thinking about the future. I always figured a diet like mine would cause my heart to go Alien on me about the time I hit 35, but it seems my stomach cut that plan short. Probably for the better since I’ve grown quite attached to My Fair Lady, and I don’t fancy the idea of her waking up one morning to find my chest exploded all over the credenza. I also have no idea what a “credenza” is per se, but it sounds like it fits in with my scenario.
Ideally, my 30’s will be healthier and stronger than my 20’s were. That’s the plan, anyway. My Fair Lady and I have talked at length about getting healthier and that includes joining a gym next year after she graduates law school. We share an attitude of grudging obedience to the needs for exercise, but we do it when we simultaneously pressure each other. Since neither of us like to waste money, we both figure that if we join a gym then we’ll have no reason not to go work out at least two or three times a week and tone up. It’s a solid plan, because it manages to both inspire us and prey on our weaknesses at the same time.
Exercise, thy name is "Devious."
Thursday, September 8, 2005
NewsCorp + IGN = High Comedy
The raucous sound of laughter on the internet today is from gamers the world over mocking Rupert Murdoch's $650 million buy out of IGN, Inc., which is about $630 million more than he should have paid for it. With that purchase comes ownership of several sites including IGN, FilePlanet, GameSpy, Rotten Tomatoes, AskMen.Com, and others. In one fell swoop, NewsCorp bought up a hearty chunk of the online gaming world, and if this isn't a sign of sheer desperation on the part of Big Conglomerates I don't know what is.
For all the complaining that people on the Right and the Left do about the current state of the US economy, no one seems willing to acknowledge that we lived through the Second Gold Rush, better known as The Internet Boom. The early to mid 1990's was truly when the internet exploded the world over. Everyone everywhere with access to a phone line had access to vast amounts of people and information, moreso than ever before. Overnight, companies popped up online and offered good and services that sometimes could barely keep up with demand, if at all. It mattered not a whit, as several of those sites were purchased for obscene amounts of money, and Wall Street traders reveled as their stocks soared higher and higher.
The funny thing is, no one looked behind the curtain until it was too late. Once that bubble burst, stocks across the board that were over-inflated rolled over and died, and millionaires became paupers overnight. At this point, you economists out there might be asking, "What does this quickie history lesson have to do with why you think NewsCorp. buying IGN is funny?"
Simple - they grossly overpaid for a terrifically underperforming octopus with so many tentacles that NewsCorp. must have figured their investment would pay off in some form. A big company like NewsCorp. doesn't do something like this unless they see an opportunity to strike gold.
Where they'll find the gold at IGN is unbeknownst to me. I know no one who goes out of their way to read IGN for anything insightful, they have hands-down one of the top three worst layouts on the web (and that includes porn sites), the infamous McGriddles episode ranks as one of the worst ad-crazy sprees ever witnessed, their writing is poor, and they care more about the "I'm first, you're not!" mentality than they do about gaming in general. I laugh when I read their grossly over-inflated scores, or when they say a game will change the face of gaming forever when all it actually is is an annual update to a stale franchise.
I have no idea what NewsCorp. has in store for IGN, but a healthy round of mass firings followed by a healthy redesign would be a strong first two steps. Bill Harris at Dubious Quality made a sound point on this today when he said that this also marks the entry of truly giant corporations into the gaming market. I have to agree on that, and his assessment that Walt Disney could actually buy out EA might be spot-on. Were that to happen, I would also laugh long and hard because EA is so bloated and utterly useless now as a game developer, that I will go out of my way to avoid in-house titles from them.
I'm sure the diamond in the rough might slip out sometime, but that's what reliable gamers on the internet are for. The ten-year-olds who spam the IGN boards thinking they're cool because they can write l337 remind me of the vaptards who frequent the Aint-It-Cool-News talk backs, which is one among many reasons why I go out of my way to find truth on the web.
Now that's a diamond in the rough. But if you can plough through enough junk out there, you'll be surprised at what you may find. I suspect it will take about six months before NewsCorp. realizes they've bought a hefty chunk of fool's gold thinking it was the real thing.
For all the complaining that people on the Right and the Left do about the current state of the US economy, no one seems willing to acknowledge that we lived through the Second Gold Rush, better known as The Internet Boom. The early to mid 1990's was truly when the internet exploded the world over. Everyone everywhere with access to a phone line had access to vast amounts of people and information, moreso than ever before. Overnight, companies popped up online and offered good and services that sometimes could barely keep up with demand, if at all. It mattered not a whit, as several of those sites were purchased for obscene amounts of money, and Wall Street traders reveled as their stocks soared higher and higher.
The funny thing is, no one looked behind the curtain until it was too late. Once that bubble burst, stocks across the board that were over-inflated rolled over and died, and millionaires became paupers overnight. At this point, you economists out there might be asking, "What does this quickie history lesson have to do with why you think NewsCorp. buying IGN is funny?"
Simple - they grossly overpaid for a terrifically underperforming octopus with so many tentacles that NewsCorp. must have figured their investment would pay off in some form. A big company like NewsCorp. doesn't do something like this unless they see an opportunity to strike gold.
Where they'll find the gold at IGN is unbeknownst to me. I know no one who goes out of their way to read IGN for anything insightful, they have hands-down one of the top three worst layouts on the web (and that includes porn sites), the infamous McGriddles episode ranks as one of the worst ad-crazy sprees ever witnessed, their writing is poor, and they care more about the "I'm first, you're not!" mentality than they do about gaming in general. I laugh when I read their grossly over-inflated scores, or when they say a game will change the face of gaming forever when all it actually is is an annual update to a stale franchise.
I have no idea what NewsCorp. has in store for IGN, but a healthy round of mass firings followed by a healthy redesign would be a strong first two steps. Bill Harris at Dubious Quality made a sound point on this today when he said that this also marks the entry of truly giant corporations into the gaming market. I have to agree on that, and his assessment that Walt Disney could actually buy out EA might be spot-on. Were that to happen, I would also laugh long and hard because EA is so bloated and utterly useless now as a game developer, that I will go out of my way to avoid in-house titles from them.
I'm sure the diamond in the rough might slip out sometime, but that's what reliable gamers on the internet are for. The ten-year-olds who spam the IGN boards thinking they're cool because they can write l337 remind me of the vaptards who frequent the Aint-It-Cool-News talk backs, which is one among many reasons why I go out of my way to find truth on the web.
Now that's a diamond in the rough. But if you can plough through enough junk out there, you'll be surprised at what you may find. I suspect it will take about six months before NewsCorp. realizes they've bought a hefty chunk of fool's gold thinking it was the real thing.
Tales from a Lawyer-in-Training's Spouse
I've been having great fun with My Fair Lady tonight because she has to deliver a speech Friday afternoon at school for a mock trial. The short version is she is delivering her closing argument in a case where her "client" was an apartment complex who was being sued by a woman that knowingly left her baby unattended next to a water faucet famous for spewing nothing but hot water.
If you think the baby managed to cook itself with the bath water and the woman then sued the complex out of refusal to accept personal responsibility, give yourself a cookie.
I took a swing at writing My Fair Lady's closing argument, but managed to side track myself by returning to variants of the phrase "hang the beyotch." Yet again, another reason why I would never make a solid attorney.
Lawyers on both sides of the court seem to have their BS meters turned off at some point in either their schooling or their experiences. This will be especially amusing to see happen to My Fair Lady because her's is so sensitive that she puts Robert DeNiro's Meet the Parents character to shame. I guess that comes from having a dad who worked white collar crimes for the FBI for close to 30 years. The man is one of the most laid back and relaxed people I've ever met, but to hear tales from My Fair Lady's youth, he was someone you never wanted to cross "back in the day."
That's pleasant to hear, because he still is required to pass quarterly shooting tests at the Dallas office's firing range which means he still knows how to kill me in one shot.
Apparently, she's now reading about how people are left-brained or right-brained and pointing out how lawyers are all left-brained and people who write about lawyers are all right-brained. I get the feeling she's talking down to me, but I stand by my initial statement that the chick in her case should get the chair. Hey, it may be inflammatory, but it also sounds good to me.
If you think the baby managed to cook itself with the bath water and the woman then sued the complex out of refusal to accept personal responsibility, give yourself a cookie.
I took a swing at writing My Fair Lady's closing argument, but managed to side track myself by returning to variants of the phrase "hang the beyotch." Yet again, another reason why I would never make a solid attorney.
Lawyers on both sides of the court seem to have their BS meters turned off at some point in either their schooling or their experiences. This will be especially amusing to see happen to My Fair Lady because her's is so sensitive that she puts Robert DeNiro's Meet the Parents character to shame. I guess that comes from having a dad who worked white collar crimes for the FBI for close to 30 years. The man is one of the most laid back and relaxed people I've ever met, but to hear tales from My Fair Lady's youth, he was someone you never wanted to cross "back in the day."
That's pleasant to hear, because he still is required to pass quarterly shooting tests at the Dallas office's firing range which means he still knows how to kill me in one shot.
Apparently, she's now reading about how people are left-brained or right-brained and pointing out how lawyers are all left-brained and people who write about lawyers are all right-brained. I get the feeling she's talking down to me, but I stand by my initial statement that the chick in her case should get the chair. Hey, it may be inflammatory, but it also sounds good to me.
Tuesday, September 6, 2005
Fun with Sinus Attacks
I understand that God has an odd sense of humor. I get it, and frequently can even appreciate it. But I sincerely think He was out of His gourd when He thought sinus-related health issues might be good for a snicker. Every March-April and September-October I find myself hacking, sneezing uncontrollably, and blowing through enough Kleenexes to fill the New Orleans levees. Thus far, my 2005 record was spotless, and I was beginning to hope I would survive the year without an attack.
That hope was shattered at about 8:30 p.m. Saturday night when I discovered I could no longer breathe through my nose. The ability to breathe is not to be overlooked, nor should it ever be overrated.
Sunday wasn’t too bad as most of my symptoms dissipated, but I realize now they weren’t ready for their assault. Oh no. They backed off casually, called their friends, had them bring their friends, then thought it would be really funny to launch a full-scale attack on me Monday morning around 4:30 a.m. You know, right about the time people tend to be so deep into sleep a bomb next door won’t wake them up.
If human begins were designed by committee, then I want to find the SOB responsible for sinuses and kick the holy crap out of him/her. This stuff isn’t funny, and certainly not when it’s repeated a few times annually. I enjoy looking forward to Christmas. I do not enjoy looking forward to my sinuses beating me like a dog two or three times a year. Last year was even more fun than this one because normally it's My Fair Lady who has sinus problems the entire month of September, and our wedding date was Aug. 28. Think for a second and you’ll begin to understand how fortunate we were to post-pone our honeymoon until January.
DayQuill is my salvation, and I’m all about popping it like M&M’s. The box says to wait 12 hours between doses, but my body chemistry seems to react better if I stagger it every 6 hours for about three to four days straight. My Fair Lady disagrees with this self-diagnosis, but I do what works. Heavy doses of anti-sinus medication work for me, period. It may not work for you or your neighbor, but it works for me more times than not and so long as I have a chance of fighting this crap off then I’ll dance with the devil I know.
I’ve heard rumors of surgeries that correct sinus problems, but those same rumors tend to end with a variant of the phrase, "… after the swelling went down, I stuck a huge pair of pliers up my nose and pulled out the gauze." I am not so vein as to be afraid of swelling post-surgery, as I am (thankfully) no longer in the dating pool. But when people tell me there will be things left in my face from the surgery that I will later have to go in and forcibly remove with a tool my brother-in-law gave us as a wedding gift, I get concerned. I suppose if I were drunk enough, I might be able to pull that off (or out as the case may be). However, as the frequency of my drinking has been limited to one occasion in this lifetime, I would be more concerned with friends and family wanting to come over and video tape the whole thing and then stick it on the internet once I passed out from the pain.
Obviously, I would only do this were I alone with no video or camera equipment anywhere in the house.
That hope was shattered at about 8:30 p.m. Saturday night when I discovered I could no longer breathe through my nose. The ability to breathe is not to be overlooked, nor should it ever be overrated.
Sunday wasn’t too bad as most of my symptoms dissipated, but I realize now they weren’t ready for their assault. Oh no. They backed off casually, called their friends, had them bring their friends, then thought it would be really funny to launch a full-scale attack on me Monday morning around 4:30 a.m. You know, right about the time people tend to be so deep into sleep a bomb next door won’t wake them up.
If human begins were designed by committee, then I want to find the SOB responsible for sinuses and kick the holy crap out of him/her. This stuff isn’t funny, and certainly not when it’s repeated a few times annually. I enjoy looking forward to Christmas. I do not enjoy looking forward to my sinuses beating me like a dog two or three times a year. Last year was even more fun than this one because normally it's My Fair Lady who has sinus problems the entire month of September, and our wedding date was Aug. 28. Think for a second and you’ll begin to understand how fortunate we were to post-pone our honeymoon until January.
DayQuill is my salvation, and I’m all about popping it like M&M’s. The box says to wait 12 hours between doses, but my body chemistry seems to react better if I stagger it every 6 hours for about three to four days straight. My Fair Lady disagrees with this self-diagnosis, but I do what works. Heavy doses of anti-sinus medication work for me, period. It may not work for you or your neighbor, but it works for me more times than not and so long as I have a chance of fighting this crap off then I’ll dance with the devil I know.
I’ve heard rumors of surgeries that correct sinus problems, but those same rumors tend to end with a variant of the phrase, "… after the swelling went down, I stuck a huge pair of pliers up my nose and pulled out the gauze." I am not so vein as to be afraid of swelling post-surgery, as I am (thankfully) no longer in the dating pool. But when people tell me there will be things left in my face from the surgery that I will later have to go in and forcibly remove with a tool my brother-in-law gave us as a wedding gift, I get concerned. I suppose if I were drunk enough, I might be able to pull that off (or out as the case may be). However, as the frequency of my drinking has been limited to one occasion in this lifetime, I would be more concerned with friends and family wanting to come over and video tape the whole thing and then stick it on the internet once I passed out from the pain.
Obviously, I would only do this were I alone with no video or camera equipment anywhere in the house.
Saturday, September 3, 2005
Coulda, Woulda, Shoulda
In the aftermath of what is now hailed as the worst natural disaster the United States has ever seen, much ado is being made of the humanitarian effort and the response time to it. These people are missing the point that around two million people (give or take) are now left with a whole lot of nothing to their lives courtesy of Hurricane Katrina, one of the most devastating storms ever to make landfall on the continental US. When all is said and done, I'm sure plenty of blame will be left over to go around.
For starters, why not lay it squarely at the feet of an architect ~250 years ago who thought it would be a good idea to build a city inside a bowl that's roughly six feet below sea level? Or at the feet of everyone in the 200 years since then who has gone out of their way to ignore the problem. In short, can it.
In other news, check out this satellite view of New Orleans courtesy of the NOAA and Dubious Quality. No, they're not partnered together (that I know of) but DQ crafter Bill Harris doesn't get enough love on the web these days. I am, of course, joking.
If I can figure out how to post pictures via Blogger, I'll do so of My Fair Lady and I's trip to the Big Easy roughly six days before Katrina blew it off the map. We left on a Monday, and by the following Sunday New Orleans was under 20 feet of water in some places. "Humbling" doesn't quite cover it, but if I can share the pictures we took, I will.
As you might have heard, donating to The Red Cross is about as strong a thing as you can do right now, but The Salvation Army is also accepting of anything and everything right now. Watching the news, people have generally said the same thing about how they were utterly wiped out. The people in the Texas refugee shelters have almost to a one stated how they might just stay. To all of them, I wish you the best of luck, and we Texans will do everything we can to help out. Godspeed to you all.
For starters, why not lay it squarely at the feet of an architect ~250 years ago who thought it would be a good idea to build a city inside a bowl that's roughly six feet below sea level? Or at the feet of everyone in the 200 years since then who has gone out of their way to ignore the problem. In short, can it.
In other news, check out this satellite view of New Orleans courtesy of the NOAA and Dubious Quality. No, they're not partnered together (that I know of) but DQ crafter Bill Harris doesn't get enough love on the web these days. I am, of course, joking.
If I can figure out how to post pictures via Blogger, I'll do so of My Fair Lady and I's trip to the Big Easy roughly six days before Katrina blew it off the map. We left on a Monday, and by the following Sunday New Orleans was under 20 feet of water in some places. "Humbling" doesn't quite cover it, but if I can share the pictures we took, I will.
As you might have heard, donating to The Red Cross is about as strong a thing as you can do right now, but The Salvation Army is also accepting of anything and everything right now. Watching the news, people have generally said the same thing about how they were utterly wiped out. The people in the Texas refugee shelters have almost to a one stated how they might just stay. To all of them, I wish you the best of luck, and we Texans will do everything we can to help out. Godspeed to you all.
Friday, September 2, 2005
Microsoft Shoots Self in Foot. Aims for Other One.
It never ceases to amaze me how outright silly companies become the larger they grow. All grass-roots companies come across as scrappy, willing to fight the good fight to become huge successes, and all the while they mix in the good decisions with the bad. Then they incorporate, grow by a factor of 10, then promptly throw all good decision making out the window and try to get by on sheer force of name recognition.
How else to explain Microsoft's recent decisions regarding the XBox 360? By that I mean, any of their recent decisions, especially the latest one which has the console launched on November 25, 2005. You know it by another name:
Black Friday, aka The Day After Thanksgiving™. Roland Emmerich is probably looking to trademark that phrase as I type this.
One week earlier is all it would take to avoid this. Then they could consume every aspect of the gaming press and, more importantly, the mainstream media who will be looking for something else in the world besides the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. But if The Xbox 360 launches on The Day After Thanksgiving™ then Microsoft will find itself sharing the spotlight with the usual news stories from that time of the year. Make no mistake about it - Microsoft CAN NOT AFFORD to share ANY amount of spotlight time with ANYONE that's not talking about the 360. They simply have too much time, energy, and money invested in it to have it be an "in other news..." story. Microsoft simply must have this console succeed beyond its wildest dreams to stem the immense financial bleeding from the current generation, but they seem hell-bent on making sure their own console is doomed to fail from the start.
The word via this story at IGN, who I never consiously point to as a bastion of investigative journalism, is that Microsoft doesn't even have final development kits out to the various game developers.
Those are the ones I'm interested in, period. None of this short-term incremental stuff we're going to see come November and December interests me, and that includes Oblivion. Its predecessor Morrowind was aptly nicknamed Boreowind until the mod community added the fun, but that's a topic for another time. At present, Microsoft is asking us to bite the bullet on a brand new console system that's a year ahead of our normal 5-year-plan, is at least $100 more expensive than what we paid last time, and has an initial run of games that might work or might not because they were created using dev kits that were no where near finalized, all for the sake of beating Sony to the punch.
I've said it before and I'll say it again. All Sony has to do is shut up, and put out a stellar system at either $399 or $450 next summer, and point out that not only are all of their games truly next-gen, but that it came with the future in mind. As evidenced by certain developers already bitching about current DVD technology lacking the storage capacity to support next-gen games, the 360 might wind up dated before it hits the street. That's yet another blow to Microsoft's image this time around, and it's certainly not an appearance they can afford to have. If they don't get their act together and soon, then they'll have between six and eight months to capture as much of the market as they can before the 800-lb gorilla unleashes on them next year.
How else to explain Microsoft's recent decisions regarding the XBox 360? By that I mean, any of their recent decisions, especially the latest one which has the console launched on November 25, 2005. You know it by another name:
Black Friday, aka The Day After Thanksgiving™. Roland Emmerich is probably looking to trademark that phrase as I type this.
One week earlier is all it would take to avoid this. Then they could consume every aspect of the gaming press and, more importantly, the mainstream media who will be looking for something else in the world besides the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. But if The Xbox 360 launches on The Day After Thanksgiving™ then Microsoft will find itself sharing the spotlight with the usual news stories from that time of the year. Make no mistake about it - Microsoft CAN NOT AFFORD to share ANY amount of spotlight time with ANYONE that's not talking about the 360. They simply have too much time, energy, and money invested in it to have it be an "in other news..." story. Microsoft simply must have this console succeed beyond its wildest dreams to stem the immense financial bleeding from the current generation, but they seem hell-bent on making sure their own console is doomed to fail from the start.
The word via this story at IGN, who I never consiously point to as a bastion of investigative journalism, is that Microsoft doesn't even have final development kits out to the various game developers.
Why the late date? Microsoft is hoping to give developers as much time as possible to finish and polish their games while simultaneously shipping their concave new box during the most active day in North America. Additionally, independent sources have told IGN that final dev kits haven't replaced the mid-summer beta kits, which has added to developers' frustrations.What that translates to is a bunch of launch titles that may only scratch the surface of the 360's power. In other words, nothing spectactular enough to blow us all away right from the get-go. I've seen the screenshots from Oblivion and the next Project Gotham Racing, but if no one is coding for the final hardware which is, to be blunt, staggeringly powerful, what will games look like two years from now?
Those are the ones I'm interested in, period. None of this short-term incremental stuff we're going to see come November and December interests me, and that includes Oblivion. Its predecessor Morrowind was aptly nicknamed Boreowind until the mod community added the fun, but that's a topic for another time. At present, Microsoft is asking us to bite the bullet on a brand new console system that's a year ahead of our normal 5-year-plan, is at least $100 more expensive than what we paid last time, and has an initial run of games that might work or might not because they were created using dev kits that were no where near finalized, all for the sake of beating Sony to the punch.
I've said it before and I'll say it again. All Sony has to do is shut up, and put out a stellar system at either $399 or $450 next summer, and point out that not only are all of their games truly next-gen, but that it came with the future in mind. As evidenced by certain developers already bitching about current DVD technology lacking the storage capacity to support next-gen games, the 360 might wind up dated before it hits the street. That's yet another blow to Microsoft's image this time around, and it's certainly not an appearance they can afford to have. If they don't get their act together and soon, then they'll have between six and eight months to capture as much of the market as they can before the 800-lb gorilla unleashes on them next year.
Thursday, September 1, 2005
Anniversaries, Romance, and You
Gentlemen, please indulge me for a second or three in educating you in the finer points of romance as it relates to anniversaries. Women are, by design, a fickle collective. One minute you can do no wrong in their eyes ever, then they blink and you're the destroyer of worlds. Yet time and again they prove to us why they are worth enduring for, and as such we men persevere. We will never understand the woman's mind, nor should we. Some mysteries God created simply as a challenge to us, while others were meant simply to make Him laugh. I'll let you decide into which category Understanding Women falls, but my money says it's in the same boat as the platypus.
As regards anniversaries, I've discovered that women in general tend to be prone towards sentimentality, whereas men do not. I, for one, am about as anti-sentimental as it's possible to get. If I travel somewhere that holds a special place in my heart, a simple, yet specific, token is all that is required. Meanwhile, My Fair Lady requires us to purchase a separate suitcase to store all of the trinkets and mementos of the journey.
Not that there is anything inherently wrong with this, but it makes traveling abroad more interesting than I was initially led to believe it could be.
Women, and My Fair Lady in particular, like anniversaries. It's important to remember to either create a prospective anniversary on an easy to remember date, or write it down and tattoo it someplace on your body that you see at least five times each day. Don't worry about her, she'll remember it forever. No need to remind her either, as if she's kind, she'll start reminding you about it two months ahead of time. If she's unkind, then she'll wait until 12:01 a.m. the day AFTER the anniversary to remind you that you missed it and that the couch will be your home for the foreseeable future.
Should you be one of the fortunate few to have actually partaken of my advice, and can anticipate an anniversary, it's important to remember that wherever you go on the blessed day, you absolutely will be expected to mention that it is your anniversary. This is never more true than wedding anniversaries, with the first one being the key one. The 17th is in no way as important as that first one, with the next major one being the 5th, then the 10th, and so forth.
I'm just saying. Good luck, and good day.
As regards anniversaries, I've discovered that women in general tend to be prone towards sentimentality, whereas men do not. I, for one, am about as anti-sentimental as it's possible to get. If I travel somewhere that holds a special place in my heart, a simple, yet specific, token is all that is required. Meanwhile, My Fair Lady requires us to purchase a separate suitcase to store all of the trinkets and mementos of the journey.
Not that there is anything inherently wrong with this, but it makes traveling abroad more interesting than I was initially led to believe it could be.
Women, and My Fair Lady in particular, like anniversaries. It's important to remember to either create a prospective anniversary on an easy to remember date, or write it down and tattoo it someplace on your body that you see at least five times each day. Don't worry about her, she'll remember it forever. No need to remind her either, as if she's kind, she'll start reminding you about it two months ahead of time. If she's unkind, then she'll wait until 12:01 a.m. the day AFTER the anniversary to remind you that you missed it and that the couch will be your home for the foreseeable future.
Should you be one of the fortunate few to have actually partaken of my advice, and can anticipate an anniversary, it's important to remember that wherever you go on the blessed day, you absolutely will be expected to mention that it is your anniversary. This is never more true than wedding anniversaries, with the first one being the key one. The 17th is in no way as important as that first one, with the next major one being the 5th, then the 10th, and so forth.
I'm just saying. Good luck, and good day.
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Why I Could Never be an Attorney Part Deux
My Fair Lady spoke to me earlier this afternoon about how her law school's Gay & Lesbian Alliance held a meeting to protest the JAG from coming onto campus and interviewing people for a prospective career in desert legal manuevers. Apparently, the G&LA has a problem with the military's historically less-than-favorable views on same-sex couples, and as such want to, ahem, bar the JAG from coming anywhere near the campus. In response, the JAG (and the federal government, by proxy) has threatened to suspend any and all federal funds from not only My Fair Lady's law school, but all other law schools who want to enact the same anti-JAG ban. Were I a judge and I heard this case in my court, my response would be the following:
"You're both wrong, you're both in violation of the Constitution, STFU and get out of my court. Oh, and you're both paying for lunch."
Thinking like this is probably why I'm about as close to joining the Supreme Court as the guy who lives by the supermarket and talks to the nearest wall.
"You're both wrong, you're both in violation of the Constitution, STFU and get out of my court. Oh, and you're both paying for lunch."
Thinking like this is probably why I'm about as close to joining the Supreme Court as the guy who lives by the supermarket and talks to the nearest wall.
Why I Could Never be an Attorney
My Fair Lady read a description to me just now from her Estates & Trusts book. To say it gave me a headache would be a mockery of my pain, but the thing that got me was how frequently the same word, "Decedents," was used. Try every third word. Here's another word for you aspiring lawyers out there: Repetitive.
The punchline is that apparently the treatise she read to me was a math problem. Not one time did I hear so much as a number, yet I was expected to keep pace with the rapid-fire arithmeticery in spite of the fact there were no numerical values anywhere. When I asked her about this, she replied "Oh, it's a word problem!"
The punchline is that apparently the treatise she read to me was a math problem. Not one time did I hear so much as a number, yet I was expected to keep pace with the rapid-fire arithmeticery in spite of the fact there were no numerical values anywhere. When I asked her about this, she replied "Oh, it's a word problem!"
Friday, August 12, 2005
Volkswagon's Little F-U to the Public
So I get home from Day 1 of the 2005 Quake Convention last night just before 5 p.m. the phone rings and it's My Fair Lady. She's stuck at her office because her car has a flat tire. It wasn't flat when she left her car to go into work, yet it's flat when she came out of work. Two things would cause this. The first being a puncture by something, and the second being someone slashed her tire.
There was no evidence of the tire being a slasher victim.
I knew full well my editor at Console Gold would be displeased at my lack of immediate updates, but as I'm not sleeping with him I knew full well where I needed to be. So after uploading a few pictures to the site, I headed south to pick up My Fair Lady and offer comfort and support. I drive up and she's pissed. And now for a little background on My Fair Lady's emotional state.
She has varying degrees of happy, or she's pissed. There is either pure fury and flames coming out of her nostrils, or she ranges from extremely happy to moderately perky. She is filled with a mighty amount of joy, which usually leads to people looking at my somber expression, back to her bouncing off the nearest wall like a ferret on speed, then back to me shaking my head in wonder. At this point I'll usually say a variation on the phrase:
I look at the VW Passat's tire, and it's about as flat as a tire can be. Next to it, all the tools for changing it are laid out and organized. This was the first time I'd seen a jack for a VW Passat, and it's a strange silver device not uncommon to 1950's sci-fi movies. Anyone that's ever encountered changing a tire on a VW Passat knows full well that one of the lugnuts holding the tire to the car is actually a secret lock, and you have to have the turn-key for it. The trick is two-fold: 1) you have to find the lugnut that's secretly the magic lock; 2) You have to have the magic key to unlock the magic lock, and good luck with that.
It's the size of a lugnut and should be in your VW Passat utility belt/tool kit. Naturally when we needed it months ago, it wasn't. So we bought one. Fortunately, it didn't wander off in the intervening months so I was able to unlock the magic lock only to discover the Right Hand of God™ had screwed in the lugnuts. This where modern machinery is both a blessing and a hindrance. I love knowing that an air compressor bolted those suckers onto the car so tight Hercules would look at it and say, "Sorry dude, you're walkin'." But when you find yourself in a bind, you have to recall that Hercules took one look and wished you well on your hike. After half an hour during which I exercised more than I have in the last month, four of the five lugnuts were loosened. This is when I found Volkswagon's secret little F-U to the public.
The final lugnut would not loosen up regardless of how much pressure and/or torque I put on it. Period. It then ocurred to me that this was Volkswagon's way of telling the public, "You can bust your butt all day long and get almost there, but you see that final one? That's ours, yo. Have your phone nearby 'cause you'll be calling us soon enough."
By this point I was sweating like a pig courtesy of working out in August in Texas. It doesn't matter where you are, be it under cover or in the sun. If you are outside doing any sort of manual labor in Texas from June through mid-October, you will sweat extensively. The only variable is how much. But that's not the best part.
My Fair Lady works in a, shall we say, "hostile" environment while going through law school, and most of her co-workers drove past us on the way out. Some even looked at us, then drove on about their way. A friend of ours later asked us if they could tell what we were up to. I made the comment that from the tools laid out on the ground, the fact that the car was jacked a foot in the air, and I was swearing to High Heaven™ while using said tools to forcibly remove a flattened tire, it could easily be assumed we were standing around waiting for a pizza to arrive.
Fortunately, an old comrade of hers drives up, gets out, looks at the lugnut, looks at me on my last leg ready to pass out, takes the tool from me and pops the lugnut out of its death grip. He assures me, "Oh I'm sure you would have gotten it soon enough."
I thank him by reminding him it's a long way to Christmas, which is about the time I would have loosened the damn thing enough to get the tire off.
He drives off and then it's hoisting the car back up, yanking the old tire off and slapping the new tire on, all whilst My Fair Lady looks on with encouragement. "I should be there helping you, you know I would be if not for these work clothes," she says while taking a deep swig from the cold Coke in her hands. I ignore her and focus on the task at hand - getting out of the damn heat.
Finally, the replacement tire is in place and we drive home. I'm driving her car while she's driving mine behind me, obviously listening to music and waving at me. All I can do is smile and wave back, and wonder about ways to hunt down the VW engineer who thought it would be a good idea for the Fist of God™ to lock the lugnuts onto the wheels. Any tips on ways to avenge myself upon VW are always welcome.
Postscript: There is currently a truck in the apartment complex behind us that has been blaring its car alarm for the last four hours non-stop because the vehicle's owner went to work about 15 minutes before a storm rolled in setting off every car alarm in the neighborhood. I've tried to take a lesson from all of this, and here it is: All cars have quirks, foreign engineers will slip a little knife into you when you're not looking, and listening to a damn car alarm for four hours can lead one to extreme violence. Watching a Dallas cop come by and check the truck, only to open the car door, lock it, then drive off leads one to believe that all Dallas cops suck. With that, I'm going to sleep with the pillow over my head.
There was no evidence of the tire being a slasher victim.
I knew full well my editor at Console Gold would be displeased at my lack of immediate updates, but as I'm not sleeping with him I knew full well where I needed to be. So after uploading a few pictures to the site, I headed south to pick up My Fair Lady and offer comfort and support. I drive up and she's pissed. And now for a little background on My Fair Lady's emotional state.
She has varying degrees of happy, or she's pissed. There is either pure fury and flames coming out of her nostrils, or she ranges from extremely happy to moderately perky. She is filled with a mighty amount of joy, which usually leads to people looking at my somber expression, back to her bouncing off the nearest wall like a ferret on speed, then back to me shaking my head in wonder. At this point I'll usually say a variation on the phrase:
"I don't get it either."But such is Fate's Quirky Sense of Humor™ and I am most certainly Fate's beyotch. We now return you to your irregularly scheduled and sporadically paced blog.
I look at the VW Passat's tire, and it's about as flat as a tire can be. Next to it, all the tools for changing it are laid out and organized. This was the first time I'd seen a jack for a VW Passat, and it's a strange silver device not uncommon to 1950's sci-fi movies. Anyone that's ever encountered changing a tire on a VW Passat knows full well that one of the lugnuts holding the tire to the car is actually a secret lock, and you have to have the turn-key for it. The trick is two-fold: 1) you have to find the lugnut that's secretly the magic lock; 2) You have to have the magic key to unlock the magic lock, and good luck with that.
It's the size of a lugnut and should be in your VW Passat utility belt/tool kit. Naturally when we needed it months ago, it wasn't. So we bought one. Fortunately, it didn't wander off in the intervening months so I was able to unlock the magic lock only to discover the Right Hand of God™ had screwed in the lugnuts. This where modern machinery is both a blessing and a hindrance. I love knowing that an air compressor bolted those suckers onto the car so tight Hercules would look at it and say, "Sorry dude, you're walkin'." But when you find yourself in a bind, you have to recall that Hercules took one look and wished you well on your hike. After half an hour during which I exercised more than I have in the last month, four of the five lugnuts were loosened. This is when I found Volkswagon's secret little F-U to the public.
The final lugnut would not loosen up regardless of how much pressure and/or torque I put on it. Period. It then ocurred to me that this was Volkswagon's way of telling the public, "You can bust your butt all day long and get almost there, but you see that final one? That's ours, yo. Have your phone nearby 'cause you'll be calling us soon enough."
By this point I was sweating like a pig courtesy of working out in August in Texas. It doesn't matter where you are, be it under cover or in the sun. If you are outside doing any sort of manual labor in Texas from June through mid-October, you will sweat extensively. The only variable is how much. But that's not the best part.
My Fair Lady works in a, shall we say, "hostile" environment while going through law school, and most of her co-workers drove past us on the way out. Some even looked at us, then drove on about their way. A friend of ours later asked us if they could tell what we were up to. I made the comment that from the tools laid out on the ground, the fact that the car was jacked a foot in the air, and I was swearing to High Heaven™ while using said tools to forcibly remove a flattened tire, it could easily be assumed we were standing around waiting for a pizza to arrive.
Fortunately, an old comrade of hers drives up, gets out, looks at the lugnut, looks at me on my last leg ready to pass out, takes the tool from me and pops the lugnut out of its death grip. He assures me, "Oh I'm sure you would have gotten it soon enough."
I thank him by reminding him it's a long way to Christmas, which is about the time I would have loosened the damn thing enough to get the tire off.
He drives off and then it's hoisting the car back up, yanking the old tire off and slapping the new tire on, all whilst My Fair Lady looks on with encouragement. "I should be there helping you, you know I would be if not for these work clothes," she says while taking a deep swig from the cold Coke in her hands. I ignore her and focus on the task at hand - getting out of the damn heat.
Finally, the replacement tire is in place and we drive home. I'm driving her car while she's driving mine behind me, obviously listening to music and waving at me. All I can do is smile and wave back, and wonder about ways to hunt down the VW engineer who thought it would be a good idea for the Fist of God™ to lock the lugnuts onto the wheels. Any tips on ways to avenge myself upon VW are always welcome.
Postscript: There is currently a truck in the apartment complex behind us that has been blaring its car alarm for the last four hours non-stop because the vehicle's owner went to work about 15 minutes before a storm rolled in setting off every car alarm in the neighborhood. I've tried to take a lesson from all of this, and here it is: All cars have quirks, foreign engineers will slip a little knife into you when you're not looking, and listening to a damn car alarm for four hours can lead one to extreme violence. Watching a Dallas cop come by and check the truck, only to open the car door, lock it, then drive off leads one to believe that all Dallas cops suck. With that, I'm going to sleep with the pillow over my head.
Saturday, August 6, 2005
Cliche or Cliche to be?
1Up has a pretty funny article up on gaming cliches, and before I head off to bed I wanted to address a few of them.
10) Big Heads Cheat. It seems with just about every game developed by anyone with even a slight sense of humor (or a bigger sense of irony), we have the cheat option to make everyone's heads... bigger. This is a fun side-game in UT2K4 where the bigger the head swells, the easier it is to shoot it and where the trick is to stay alive the longest. That's some fun times. Otherwise, what's the point?
8) Unnecessary Stealth. If I wanted a stealth game, I'd have bought Splinter Cell not God of War. I buy a game called God of War where the main character is a brute who tears harpies apart with his bare hands, and I expect, nay demand, some high-octane violence with a Grecian flair. What I do not expect is to sneak around and hope something that I'll wind up fighting in 20 minutes anyway doesn't hear me. Do not give me a game, 98% of which is pure combat, and tell me that for one mission only I can't use a weapon, regardless of the fact that I'm armed to the teeth. This = teh stupid.
4) Ridiculous portrayals of women in games. I agree with the statement at 1Up - "Women have breasts. Get over it." When I see games like Prince of Persia: Warrior Within, I genuinely become embarrassed for the females who enjoy gaming and work in the industry. When I was at E3 in 2003, I saw Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time, arguably one of the greatest games of all time, and was lead through an elaborate demo by one of the artists. She was a very cute French-Canadian lass who seemed passionate about her job, and loved seeing the result in a game that shows off the developers' love of it in every frame. When I played the sequel, I imagined this same artist gritting her teeth while putting the textures on any of the female bodies in the game. When you consider that gaming stands on the precipice of becoming truly mainstream or finding itself beaten back by ignorance (thank you, RockStar), attracting women to the industry can only lead to bigger and better things. I know of no woman who isn't insulted when she sees a game like Prince of Persia: Warrior Within and who doesn't immediately think that the developers are all 15-years-old and have just discovered women.
I've said it before and I'll say it again - the games industry is poised on the edge of a knife. Stray but a little one way and it will fall into darkness. With the monumental stupidity of RockStar Games giving rise to further Washington idiocy, the industry and hobby which I love so much might soon find itself with a big bootmark on its backside. With so many billions at stake, I don't think gaming is going away anytime soon. But the industry desperately needs to pull its head out of its ass and recognize the need to move forward, not just rely on "what worked on the Super NES." That won't cut it any more, kids. It's time to take steps forward and think outside the (x)box.
10) Big Heads Cheat. It seems with just about every game developed by anyone with even a slight sense of humor (or a bigger sense of irony), we have the cheat option to make everyone's heads... bigger. This is a fun side-game in UT2K4 where the bigger the head swells, the easier it is to shoot it and where the trick is to stay alive the longest. That's some fun times. Otherwise, what's the point?
8) Unnecessary Stealth. If I wanted a stealth game, I'd have bought Splinter Cell not God of War. I buy a game called God of War where the main character is a brute who tears harpies apart with his bare hands, and I expect, nay demand, some high-octane violence with a Grecian flair. What I do not expect is to sneak around and hope something that I'll wind up fighting in 20 minutes anyway doesn't hear me. Do not give me a game, 98% of which is pure combat, and tell me that for one mission only I can't use a weapon, regardless of the fact that I'm armed to the teeth. This = teh stupid.
4) Ridiculous portrayals of women in games. I agree with the statement at 1Up - "Women have breasts. Get over it." When I see games like Prince of Persia: Warrior Within, I genuinely become embarrassed for the females who enjoy gaming and work in the industry. When I was at E3 in 2003, I saw Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time, arguably one of the greatest games of all time, and was lead through an elaborate demo by one of the artists. She was a very cute French-Canadian lass who seemed passionate about her job, and loved seeing the result in a game that shows off the developers' love of it in every frame. When I played the sequel, I imagined this same artist gritting her teeth while putting the textures on any of the female bodies in the game. When you consider that gaming stands on the precipice of becoming truly mainstream or finding itself beaten back by ignorance (thank you, RockStar), attracting women to the industry can only lead to bigger and better things. I know of no woman who isn't insulted when she sees a game like Prince of Persia: Warrior Within and who doesn't immediately think that the developers are all 15-years-old and have just discovered women.
I've said it before and I'll say it again - the games industry is poised on the edge of a knife. Stray but a little one way and it will fall into darkness. With the monumental stupidity of RockStar Games giving rise to further Washington idiocy, the industry and hobby which I love so much might soon find itself with a big bootmark on its backside. With so many billions at stake, I don't think gaming is going away anytime soon. But the industry desperately needs to pull its head out of its ass and recognize the need to move forward, not just rely on "what worked on the Super NES." That won't cut it any more, kids. It's time to take steps forward and think outside the (x)box.
Friday, August 5, 2005
Parting Sorrows
In accordance with my boss-rant last night, I'd like to chime in and bitch for a second at my bosses because they canned a buddy of mine this afternoon. The way the organization worked is this: It grew quickly and included starting up our own advertising agency with a grand total of four people, and a few months later the CEO decided he didn't want it anymore. But simply shutting it down and canning the agency employees would have been too simple. He decided to do it one at a time all while fighting against the lady who headed the agency, who to be fair was an extreme control-freak bitch not unlike my current boss. The difference being she butted heads with the CEO instead of being his personal sock puppet.
BTW - I will henceforth call my direct boss Socko.
Anyway, my buddy Clint, the agency's graphic designer and a damn good one, was let go today. He'd only been the designer on the artwork for five of the current projects I was working on, and his fucking useless superior, the "creative director," who makes a lot more than Clint does, remains on staff. The "creative director"'s idea of designing graphics is telling the person who's actually created them, "I don't know... something's off." The designer will make a small change and then the boss signs off on it, and the "creative director" accepts the credit.
Such are the ways of insulting the workers at my company.
I would laugh at how management-heavy this organization has become if it wasn't so tragic. The nimrods at the top think their idea of saving money is to stripmine the staff and pile on the work under the auspice of "future hirings" and still expect us to not only agree to it, but to actually beg for more.
I don't recall signing on for so much dumbassery when I jumped to this company. It'd be one thing if I was well-paid and had quality insurance, but since neither is true I'm forced to look in the mirror and wonder what I'm still doing there. I actually had a relaxing weekend planned, and now it's looking like a good time to update my resume and job hunt. The longest I've worked at a company is close to two years, and I've only been here since April of last year, 2004. When I started, I genuinely wanted to stay and contribute as much as possible. Considering I'm not even listened to by Socko, who insists I should learn how best to help out despite everyone telling me that they neither need my help nor have anything more to teach me about their jobs, and I'm by and large shunted into the "fix my PC!" IT-guru roll I so desperately wanted to leave, I've found exactly zero reasons to stay.
When people were let go about a year ago and before that, they always said the people were the best part of working for the company. Considering the company seems to go out of its way to can all the quality people, what exactly will we be left with in the next six months as the remaining elements of the production department all quit in digust?
Crap.
BTW - I will henceforth call my direct boss Socko.
Anyway, my buddy Clint, the agency's graphic designer and a damn good one, was let go today. He'd only been the designer on the artwork for five of the current projects I was working on, and his fucking useless superior, the "creative director," who makes a lot more than Clint does, remains on staff. The "creative director"'s idea of designing graphics is telling the person who's actually created them, "I don't know... something's off." The designer will make a small change and then the boss signs off on it, and the "creative director" accepts the credit.
Such are the ways of insulting the workers at my company.
I would laugh at how management-heavy this organization has become if it wasn't so tragic. The nimrods at the top think their idea of saving money is to stripmine the staff and pile on the work under the auspice of "future hirings" and still expect us to not only agree to it, but to actually beg for more.
I don't recall signing on for so much dumbassery when I jumped to this company. It'd be one thing if I was well-paid and had quality insurance, but since neither is true I'm forced to look in the mirror and wonder what I'm still doing there. I actually had a relaxing weekend planned, and now it's looking like a good time to update my resume and job hunt. The longest I've worked at a company is close to two years, and I've only been here since April of last year, 2004. When I started, I genuinely wanted to stay and contribute as much as possible. Considering I'm not even listened to by Socko, who insists I should learn how best to help out despite everyone telling me that they neither need my help nor have anything more to teach me about their jobs, and I'm by and large shunted into the "fix my PC!" IT-guru roll I so desperately wanted to leave, I've found exactly zero reasons to stay.
When people were let go about a year ago and before that, they always said the people were the best part of working for the company. Considering the company seems to go out of its way to can all the quality people, what exactly will we be left with in the next six months as the remaining elements of the production department all quit in digust?
Crap.
Thursday, August 4, 2005
Bi-Polar Boss Disorder
Short of My Fair Lady, the longest I dated anyone was a Latina girl in college for a year and a half. After six months, I should have dropped her like a bad habit and run for the hills screaming, but held onto the pain primarily out of low self-confidence. The whole "I don't know if I'll ever find anyone else..." mantra that the young go through, only to later realize that with 3 billion-plus women in the world, my odds of meeting anyone were damn good. During said relationship, she was diagnosed with bi-polar disorder, the short explanation is basically this: Tie a wildcat and a hyena together by the tails, tranq both of them, then throw them in a sack together and stand back. When the drugs wear off, all hell is going to break lose and you're only safe by running as far away as possible.
I've now come to think of my boss as bi-polar. Either that, or a living, breathing, hand puppet with the CEO's hand so far up her ass if she leans her head back, we'll see his fingers as an Adam's Apple.
I work in a production company that produces what amounts to glorified infomercials and corporate videos. My boss is the head of the production department and her boss is, naturally, the CEO. He's known for flying off at the slightest thing, and she's become known as parrotting anything and everything he says. Case in point was our weekly meeting this morning.
Just last week, our boss was talking about the need to reign in the creativity in favor of turning-and-burning product. Shortly thereafter, the CEO talks about needing to improve the quality. Cut to today and she's talking to us about being more creative and doing what we can to boost quality and creativity while still maintaining our turn-and-burn attitude and go-team-go spirit.
The silence in the room was, to be blunt, deafening.
The punchline comes mere moments later when she informs the room of how she will henceforth examine "approval" copies of our work. She plans to examine "approval" copies and then see where we can be more "creative" and then give it back to us, all while point at the boss and saying, "See, I did something!" Meanwhile, we busy bees plot ways of getting her fired because we know she's kicking back things just for the sake of kicking things back so the boss thinks she's doing something. I laugh consistently when she takes on assignment after assignment only to delegate it to her "wunderkinds," our two production assistants/travel coordinators/whatever-else-they're-called. They know everytime she accepts something that it's only going to fall on their shoulders, and have accepted this with a grim sense of inevitability.
After a point, I'd have figured they would snap and take out the whole office, or at least the management wall. I'd also say that if I don't post for a few days to take that as a bad sign, but considering the (in)frequency of my posts, that might not be such a hot idea.
I've now come to think of my boss as bi-polar. Either that, or a living, breathing, hand puppet with the CEO's hand so far up her ass if she leans her head back, we'll see his fingers as an Adam's Apple.
I work in a production company that produces what amounts to glorified infomercials and corporate videos. My boss is the head of the production department and her boss is, naturally, the CEO. He's known for flying off at the slightest thing, and she's become known as parrotting anything and everything he says. Case in point was our weekly meeting this morning.
Just last week, our boss was talking about the need to reign in the creativity in favor of turning-and-burning product. Shortly thereafter, the CEO talks about needing to improve the quality. Cut to today and she's talking to us about being more creative and doing what we can to boost quality and creativity while still maintaining our turn-and-burn attitude and go-team-go spirit.
The silence in the room was, to be blunt, deafening.
The punchline comes mere moments later when she informs the room of how she will henceforth examine "approval" copies of our work. She plans to examine "approval" copies and then see where we can be more "creative" and then give it back to us, all while point at the boss and saying, "See, I did something!" Meanwhile, we busy bees plot ways of getting her fired because we know she's kicking back things just for the sake of kicking things back so the boss thinks she's doing something. I laugh consistently when she takes on assignment after assignment only to delegate it to her "wunderkinds," our two production assistants/travel coordinators/whatever-else-they're-called. They know everytime she accepts something that it's only going to fall on their shoulders, and have accepted this with a grim sense of inevitability.
After a point, I'd have figured they would snap and take out the whole office, or at least the management wall. I'd also say that if I don't post for a few days to take that as a bad sign, but considering the (in)frequency of my posts, that might not be such a hot idea.
Saturday, July 30, 2005
Firefly the movie. Serenity now? Not so much.
Since it's a few months before Serenity hits theaters, I thought I would post my thoughts on the movie in the hopes of saving the film from itself and writer-director Joss Whedon's legion of fans (unlikely considering this is just a blog no one but me reads, but a man can hope). At no point in the run up to this film's release have I heard a dissenting opinion from the online community, and I'd like to take this moment to point out how disasterously bad an idea that is. When people operate in a vacuum, they tend not to see even the most glaringly obvious flaws because everyone around them says, "What you're doing is perfect!"
Which is the thing Serenity is furthest from, let me assure you. Also, consider this the lone voice of dissention on the internet until the critical responses hit in September where, I assure you, the response will be all over the map. For the record, the version my friends and I saw was pretty much locked except for music and color-timing. All of the effects work looked finished, and if there was more editing left to do, I would be surprised. I just hope someway, somehow, Joss Whedon finds his way to this corner of the internet and finds someone who liked the show, but strongly disagrees with "his vision of the future."
It’s been a little while since I watched Serenity, the movie based on the cancelled TV show Firefly, and I’m still pissed. But first, a quick explanation of my history with the show.
When Firefly debuted on FOX in the Friday-night death slot once owned by The X-Files, I immediately thought of it as average with a strange concept and an awful theme song. As the show progressed and we leapt around the galaxy with this motley crew of misfits who hated each other, I actually found myself kind of interested in where it was going. Then FOX killed it, and I put it out of my mind.
Once the show hit DVD and sales went through the roof, I became curious again. I borrowed it from a friend of mine and over a few days sat down and watched all 13 episodes of the show in the order they were intended. It wasn’t until the half-way point with the episode Ariel that my interest really piqued. It culminated with Objects in Space, which is justifiably hailed as one of the better hours television has seen. My friends and everyone on the internet are crazy and drunk in love with Firefly while I still maintain that it was a solid show with promise.
Then I watched the Universal-funded movie and I have only one thing to say: I’m done with Joss Whedon for a while.
In Serenity, I found myself not recalling the characters as being this unlikable, specifically Malcolm Reynolds (Nathan Fillion) and Simon Tam (Sean Maher). These two comprise two thirds of the movie’s focus and both are consistent only in the sense they’re angry with each other. Does Malcolm want to shoot everyone on his crew if they won’t hop to his orders or will he go to the ends of the universe to save them? Is Simon a shy medic who is protective of his sister, or an angry snot that’s reached the end of his rope? Which is it, Joss?
If you’re going to have the story focus on three people, two of which spend more time angry at each other than not, then having the third be a crazed loose canon named River (Summer Glau), who was always the weakest link on the show, might not be the best way to go. Oh, and the best of your supporting characters shouldn’t be thrown to the background as much as they are.
Next to River, Zoe (Gina Torres) was the second-weakest link on the show because the extent of her character was as a stoic bad-ass of a soldier that had Mal’s back. That’s her character, start to finish, and this is what passes for a strongly written character in the Whedonverse? Come on. Look at the rest of the cast: Alan Tudyk’s pilot Wash, Jewel Staite’s mechanic Kaylee, Ron Glass’s pseudo-preacher Book, Adam Baldwin’s thug Jayne, and Monica Baccarain’s call girl Inara, were the collective heart and soul of the show, as much as Mal was the Han Solo poster child for it. These were the actors and characters who brought the Firefly universe to believable and, more importantly, human levels for the mass audience. Short shifting them in the big screen movie is flat-out stupid, which makes it all the more maddening and surprising that Whedon would do something like this. He typically knows where his strongest characters are and plays them up to the hilt, frequently too much for their own good (witness Spike in the last two years of Buffy).
For all the bitching I’m doing, let me say that Serenity starts off brilliantly. The first third of the film is outstanding and moves at a breakneck pace. Then we start focusing on the wacky visions of River, and the film grinds to a screeching halt. Then we crash to another halt as the movie introduces a silly character named Mr. Universe, since Mr. Plot Contrivance might have tipped off the audience a little early. Try though it might, and River’s final stand against an endless tide of Reavers should instantly be added to any action fan’s highlight reel, Serenity just rolls along to its fairly predictable ending, something I never thought I’d say regarding a Whedon story.
My friends and other fans online argue that "the big character death" towards the end is essential in creating dramatic tension, because after that point anyone can die. Or so they said to me. I counter with this: nothing changes after the character dies. Nothing. To be more specific, the character dies, and the most we get is "Person X isn’t coming" and then we’re on to another big action scene. This I expect out of a typical Hollywood movie where, to be honest, lesser characters have warranted more tears and shock than this did. This was a person so near and dear and vital to the show and the crew, and no one at all freaks out or expresses remorse or sorrow? Not even at the end when everyone left is safe? Am I alone in finding this strange?
In short, the biggest surprise of Serenity is how utterly familiar and clichéd it is. After watching the fifth season of Angel a few weeks back, and comparing certain Whedon-directed episodes of that to Serenity, I became even more surprised. When Whedon is firing on all cylinders, he becomes a force capable of making you laugh through anguished tears and I love him for it. The most powerful episodes of Angel and Buffy the Vampire Slayer and even Firefly brought high comedy, powerful drama, and epic romance all into one package. Serenity brings the comedy and the drama, but somewhere along the way it forgot the formula for magic and settled on the formula for average.
Make no mistake, you will laugh heartily during Serenity. But when you sit back and think about what you’ve just seen, you’ll realize exactly where Whedon abandoned creativity and went for the easy out. Take away the names and this is the exact same action-adventure film we’ve seen for the last 40 years, right down to the character types who don’t make it to the end. I guess that is what left me so utterly disappointed in Serenity. That after going through everything he went through to make this film, it feels like Whedon just turned out a run-of-the-mill action flick with above-average acting and sharper one-liners. He can now make Firefly-based movies until he’s blue in the face, and I won’t care a lick. The only two characters I was emotionally invested in didn’t survive, ergo I find myself with no one to care about anymore.
So were there any truly inspired characters in the movie? Chiwetel Ejiofor is downright scary as The Operative, a government assassin sent out to retrieve River and kill anyone in contact with her. His own code of ethics is terrifically contrasted with the missing code of the captain, and their battle of wills is vastly entertaining. Out of the entire cast, it is my sincere hope that Ejiofor goes on to bigger and better things because he’s simply outstanding.
Fans of the show may be chomping at the bit to see what the Reavers look and act like, and Serenity does not disappoint. Reavers were built up on the series as men who had ventured to the furthest reaches of space and gone mad from the emptiness. As a result, they slaughter anyone they encounter in ways few people can imagine. So you might wonder how it is that they not only work in teams together, but also how they manage to maintain and fly star ships. The trouble is, that line of thinking will only confuse you more once you see a video late in the movie that explains exactly what the Reavers are. Once I saw that, I immediately said to myself, "Wait a minute. That pretty much kills any means by which they would be on ships and flying out amongst the stars." We are never lead to believe, either in being shown or told, that Reavers are anything more than mindless savages, and this goes back to the show as well. Sooo… how are they flying ships and sometimes actually showing restraint?
One thing I will give Whedon a huge amount of credit for is the extensive, brutal, and frequently funny action scenes. As stupid as I think the Reavers wind up being late in the film, initially they’re scary, fast, and furious, and when they give chase, you can see the genuine terror in our heroes’ eyes. It’s also a good thing Summer Glau is an ex-dancer because the acrobatic nature of her fight scenes is breathtaking to watch. Whenever River decides to take out everything in sight, it’s downright awesome. The same can be said for the final space battle in which Whedon remembers something most science-fiction films forget: Space is an empty vacuum. As such, you can go in any direction you want, and with so many ships all duking it out in a frenzy of explosions and laser blasts it can lead to some hair raising moments. The effects team really did a wonderful job during the final sequences, and should be heartily commended.
Major plot holes and character beefs aside, Serenity is quite funny and the first third is terrific as is the final series of battles both in space and on the ground. If you really must see it in the theater, then I can’t stop the signal as the ads have repeatedly told me. But I can say that you’re wasting good money when you can just as easily wait five months and watch it cheaply on DVD.
Grade: D+
Which is the thing Serenity is furthest from, let me assure you. Also, consider this the lone voice of dissention on the internet until the critical responses hit in September where, I assure you, the response will be all over the map. For the record, the version my friends and I saw was pretty much locked except for music and color-timing. All of the effects work looked finished, and if there was more editing left to do, I would be surprised. I just hope someway, somehow, Joss Whedon finds his way to this corner of the internet and finds someone who liked the show, but strongly disagrees with "his vision of the future."
It’s been a little while since I watched Serenity, the movie based on the cancelled TV show Firefly, and I’m still pissed. But first, a quick explanation of my history with the show.
When Firefly debuted on FOX in the Friday-night death slot once owned by The X-Files, I immediately thought of it as average with a strange concept and an awful theme song. As the show progressed and we leapt around the galaxy with this motley crew of misfits who hated each other, I actually found myself kind of interested in where it was going. Then FOX killed it, and I put it out of my mind.
Once the show hit DVD and sales went through the roof, I became curious again. I borrowed it from a friend of mine and over a few days sat down and watched all 13 episodes of the show in the order they were intended. It wasn’t until the half-way point with the episode Ariel that my interest really piqued. It culminated with Objects in Space, which is justifiably hailed as one of the better hours television has seen. My friends and everyone on the internet are crazy and drunk in love with Firefly while I still maintain that it was a solid show with promise.
Then I watched the Universal-funded movie and I have only one thing to say: I’m done with Joss Whedon for a while.
In Serenity, I found myself not recalling the characters as being this unlikable, specifically Malcolm Reynolds (Nathan Fillion) and Simon Tam (Sean Maher). These two comprise two thirds of the movie’s focus and both are consistent only in the sense they’re angry with each other. Does Malcolm want to shoot everyone on his crew if they won’t hop to his orders or will he go to the ends of the universe to save them? Is Simon a shy medic who is protective of his sister, or an angry snot that’s reached the end of his rope? Which is it, Joss?
If you’re going to have the story focus on three people, two of which spend more time angry at each other than not, then having the third be a crazed loose canon named River (Summer Glau), who was always the weakest link on the show, might not be the best way to go. Oh, and the best of your supporting characters shouldn’t be thrown to the background as much as they are.
Next to River, Zoe (Gina Torres) was the second-weakest link on the show because the extent of her character was as a stoic bad-ass of a soldier that had Mal’s back. That’s her character, start to finish, and this is what passes for a strongly written character in the Whedonverse? Come on. Look at the rest of the cast: Alan Tudyk’s pilot Wash, Jewel Staite’s mechanic Kaylee, Ron Glass’s pseudo-preacher Book, Adam Baldwin’s thug Jayne, and Monica Baccarain’s call girl Inara, were the collective heart and soul of the show, as much as Mal was the Han Solo poster child for it. These were the actors and characters who brought the Firefly universe to believable and, more importantly, human levels for the mass audience. Short shifting them in the big screen movie is flat-out stupid, which makes it all the more maddening and surprising that Whedon would do something like this. He typically knows where his strongest characters are and plays them up to the hilt, frequently too much for their own good (witness Spike in the last two years of Buffy).
For all the bitching I’m doing, let me say that Serenity starts off brilliantly. The first third of the film is outstanding and moves at a breakneck pace. Then we start focusing on the wacky visions of River, and the film grinds to a screeching halt. Then we crash to another halt as the movie introduces a silly character named Mr. Universe, since Mr. Plot Contrivance might have tipped off the audience a little early. Try though it might, and River’s final stand against an endless tide of Reavers should instantly be added to any action fan’s highlight reel, Serenity just rolls along to its fairly predictable ending, something I never thought I’d say regarding a Whedon story.
My friends and other fans online argue that "the big character death" towards the end is essential in creating dramatic tension, because after that point anyone can die. Or so they said to me. I counter with this: nothing changes after the character dies. Nothing. To be more specific, the character dies, and the most we get is "Person X isn’t coming" and then we’re on to another big action scene. This I expect out of a typical Hollywood movie where, to be honest, lesser characters have warranted more tears and shock than this did. This was a person so near and dear and vital to the show and the crew, and no one at all freaks out or expresses remorse or sorrow? Not even at the end when everyone left is safe? Am I alone in finding this strange?
In short, the biggest surprise of Serenity is how utterly familiar and clichéd it is. After watching the fifth season of Angel a few weeks back, and comparing certain Whedon-directed episodes of that to Serenity, I became even more surprised. When Whedon is firing on all cylinders, he becomes a force capable of making you laugh through anguished tears and I love him for it. The most powerful episodes of Angel and Buffy the Vampire Slayer and even Firefly brought high comedy, powerful drama, and epic romance all into one package. Serenity brings the comedy and the drama, but somewhere along the way it forgot the formula for magic and settled on the formula for average.
Make no mistake, you will laugh heartily during Serenity. But when you sit back and think about what you’ve just seen, you’ll realize exactly where Whedon abandoned creativity and went for the easy out. Take away the names and this is the exact same action-adventure film we’ve seen for the last 40 years, right down to the character types who don’t make it to the end. I guess that is what left me so utterly disappointed in Serenity. That after going through everything he went through to make this film, it feels like Whedon just turned out a run-of-the-mill action flick with above-average acting and sharper one-liners. He can now make Firefly-based movies until he’s blue in the face, and I won’t care a lick. The only two characters I was emotionally invested in didn’t survive, ergo I find myself with no one to care about anymore.
So were there any truly inspired characters in the movie? Chiwetel Ejiofor is downright scary as The Operative, a government assassin sent out to retrieve River and kill anyone in contact with her. His own code of ethics is terrifically contrasted with the missing code of the captain, and their battle of wills is vastly entertaining. Out of the entire cast, it is my sincere hope that Ejiofor goes on to bigger and better things because he’s simply outstanding.
Fans of the show may be chomping at the bit to see what the Reavers look and act like, and Serenity does not disappoint. Reavers were built up on the series as men who had ventured to the furthest reaches of space and gone mad from the emptiness. As a result, they slaughter anyone they encounter in ways few people can imagine. So you might wonder how it is that they not only work in teams together, but also how they manage to maintain and fly star ships. The trouble is, that line of thinking will only confuse you more once you see a video late in the movie that explains exactly what the Reavers are. Once I saw that, I immediately said to myself, "Wait a minute. That pretty much kills any means by which they would be on ships and flying out amongst the stars." We are never lead to believe, either in being shown or told, that Reavers are anything more than mindless savages, and this goes back to the show as well. Sooo… how are they flying ships and sometimes actually showing restraint?
One thing I will give Whedon a huge amount of credit for is the extensive, brutal, and frequently funny action scenes. As stupid as I think the Reavers wind up being late in the film, initially they’re scary, fast, and furious, and when they give chase, you can see the genuine terror in our heroes’ eyes. It’s also a good thing Summer Glau is an ex-dancer because the acrobatic nature of her fight scenes is breathtaking to watch. Whenever River decides to take out everything in sight, it’s downright awesome. The same can be said for the final space battle in which Whedon remembers something most science-fiction films forget: Space is an empty vacuum. As such, you can go in any direction you want, and with so many ships all duking it out in a frenzy of explosions and laser blasts it can lead to some hair raising moments. The effects team really did a wonderful job during the final sequences, and should be heartily commended.
Major plot holes and character beefs aside, Serenity is quite funny and the first third is terrific as is the final series of battles both in space and on the ground. If you really must see it in the theater, then I can’t stop the signal as the ads have repeatedly told me. But I can say that you’re wasting good money when you can just as easily wait five months and watch it cheaply on DVD.
Grade: D+
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
How About a Dose of Reality, Sen. Clinton?
First and foremost, I'm a devote Republican that has steadily lost faith in the Bush Administration's ability to things other than pander to the Extreme Right(tm) and the Religious Right(tm). I agree with some of their decisions, and disagree with quite a few of them too. That being said, I can't stand Hillary Clinton and her ilk of misinformed, melodramatic, spotlight grabbing drama queens. So imagine my utter shock when a "liberal" newspaper like the LA Times calls her, and others, out regarding the controversy over Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas. The article linked below is flat-out perfect:
LA Times to Hillary - FactCheck This!
I love it. Enjoy.
LA Times to Hillary - FactCheck This!
I love it. Enjoy.
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
Remakes Etc.
If you check out this story at Yahoo, you'll see there is now a filmic adaptation of the beloved Voltron: Defender of the Universe in the same pipeline as The Transformers movie. Apparently, originality is so completely dead in Hollywood that lame cartoons from the 1980's are the next frontier for big-budget films. God help us all if someone should discover Robotech.
For the record, I grew up on Voltron, Starblazers to a degree, and more importantly, The Transformers. There was a rumor on AICN this morning about the current fallout behind the scenes on The Transformers courtesy of possible-director Michael Bay's latest film, The Island, rolling over and dying at the box office, but it looks like it's been pulled. The story on AICN, I mean. Expect The Island to be yanked off-stage shortly. I'm honestly puzzled why it's shown up DOA in theaters, because it looks like a fun movie. Say what you will about Bay's penchant for explosions over exposition, he always gets great performances out of his actors, save Affleck. Hell, he even showed that Josh Hartnett can emote more than "morose" or "happy" along with reigning in Cuba Gooding, Jr. at the same time. For that alone he deserves some kind of lifetime achievement award.
In short, the story said there was dissention in the ranks behind the scenes over The Island flopping. Bay was in line to direct The Transformers and now he may have to pull out. Personally, I think he's perfect for the roll. This is a man who fetishizes cars, explosions, and Americana to the point of eroticism, and he does it with a twinkle in his eye and song in his heart. He's perfect for The Transformers movie. Rumors of a script being completed are just that at this point. The video circling the 'net showing off Spielberg talking about his love of the toys ends with the logo and the date of July 4, 2007.
That's a throw-down to everyone else in the industry that says only one thing: Move, or be moved, because that date is ours.
I'm growing weary of the remake/raping the childhood trend ravaging Hollywood at the moment. Some of the movies being remade are barely 20 years old. There should be a rule that no film can be remade until it hits the magic 50 year mark. This year we've seen War of the Worlds, the upcoming Bad News Bears, and cap it with King Kong. And those are just the biggest three. I can appreciate the need to go with "familiar" territory, but in no way, shape, or form do either Bad News Bears or King Kong need to be re-done. There is literally nothing new to be gained from this, nothing at all. Peter Jackson's argument on Kong is that it's his own take on it, and he's wanted to retell that story since he first saw it. Fine, Peter, I get that. So why not come up with something similar (a beauty&the beast love story involving a monster) and call it "new"? And the trailer did nothing for me, even in the theater. Completely unnecessary film, when you should be working on wrenching the rights to The Hobbit from whomever owns them.
And what is the world coming to when I see a large-scale remake of War of the Worlds directed by Steven Spielberg, and it sucks? I mean it was start-to-finish awful. I had to come home and watch Jaws just to get the taste out of my mouth. The marketing campaign was brilliant because it was simple, and never showed you the aliens. To be fair, the tripods and the aliens both are scary, genuinely so. The problem is the film if focused on three assholes who try to survive an alien invasion, and none of them warrant your sympathies to start with, and actually manage to lose your good faith the further along it goes. Tom Cruise is simply terrible as the "bad dad" cliche, and he manages to get worse the more he's on screen. If you're going to make a story about the end of the world, here's a tip Steven: Bad things that happen to nice people = high quality drama.
At no point did I care about some man-child asshat from Queens who runs from aliens with his equally asshat teenage son and his brat daughter, then tries to find his pregnant ex-newly-re-married-wife because... why? His son accuses him of wanting to find her and drop the kids with her, and even after it's over I thought, "Yup, that's about right." Spielberg loves broken families sort-of being healed through extrordinary circumstances, but good God does he mangle it here. The only highlights belong to the tripods, and when they show up the film leaps to life. Spielberg can truly burn images into our minds like the fury of God, and he does so here with the tripod attacks, the burning train, and the clothes floating down from the sky. But then he focuses on three asshats on the run, and the film dies again. Couple all of this with a disappointing score from John Williams (moreso after his phenomenally powerful "Revenge of the Sith" score) and War of the Worlds is a massive disappointment.
So what did that rant have to do with remakes? That Hollywood needs to tread carefully and remember that even if the movie worked the first time, there's no guarantee it will work the second time. Or the third. Or fourth...
For the record, I grew up on Voltron, Starblazers to a degree, and more importantly, The Transformers. There was a rumor on AICN this morning about the current fallout behind the scenes on The Transformers courtesy of possible-director Michael Bay's latest film, The Island, rolling over and dying at the box office, but it looks like it's been pulled. The story on AICN, I mean. Expect The Island to be yanked off-stage shortly. I'm honestly puzzled why it's shown up DOA in theaters, because it looks like a fun movie. Say what you will about Bay's penchant for explosions over exposition, he always gets great performances out of his actors, save Affleck. Hell, he even showed that Josh Hartnett can emote more than "morose" or "happy" along with reigning in Cuba Gooding, Jr. at the same time. For that alone he deserves some kind of lifetime achievement award.
In short, the story said there was dissention in the ranks behind the scenes over The Island flopping. Bay was in line to direct The Transformers and now he may have to pull out. Personally, I think he's perfect for the roll. This is a man who fetishizes cars, explosions, and Americana to the point of eroticism, and he does it with a twinkle in his eye and song in his heart. He's perfect for The Transformers movie. Rumors of a script being completed are just that at this point. The video circling the 'net showing off Spielberg talking about his love of the toys ends with the logo and the date of July 4, 2007.
That's a throw-down to everyone else in the industry that says only one thing: Move, or be moved, because that date is ours.
I'm growing weary of the remake/raping the childhood trend ravaging Hollywood at the moment. Some of the movies being remade are barely 20 years old. There should be a rule that no film can be remade until it hits the magic 50 year mark. This year we've seen War of the Worlds, the upcoming Bad News Bears, and cap it with King Kong. And those are just the biggest three. I can appreciate the need to go with "familiar" territory, but in no way, shape, or form do either Bad News Bears or King Kong need to be re-done. There is literally nothing new to be gained from this, nothing at all. Peter Jackson's argument on Kong is that it's his own take on it, and he's wanted to retell that story since he first saw it. Fine, Peter, I get that. So why not come up with something similar (a beauty&the beast love story involving a monster) and call it "new"? And the trailer did nothing for me, even in the theater. Completely unnecessary film, when you should be working on wrenching the rights to The Hobbit from whomever owns them.
And what is the world coming to when I see a large-scale remake of War of the Worlds directed by Steven Spielberg, and it sucks? I mean it was start-to-finish awful. I had to come home and watch Jaws just to get the taste out of my mouth. The marketing campaign was brilliant because it was simple, and never showed you the aliens. To be fair, the tripods and the aliens both are scary, genuinely so. The problem is the film if focused on three assholes who try to survive an alien invasion, and none of them warrant your sympathies to start with, and actually manage to lose your good faith the further along it goes. Tom Cruise is simply terrible as the "bad dad" cliche, and he manages to get worse the more he's on screen. If you're going to make a story about the end of the world, here's a tip Steven: Bad things that happen to nice people = high quality drama.
At no point did I care about some man-child asshat from Queens who runs from aliens with his equally asshat teenage son and his brat daughter, then tries to find his pregnant ex-newly-re-married-wife because... why? His son accuses him of wanting to find her and drop the kids with her, and even after it's over I thought, "Yup, that's about right." Spielberg loves broken families sort-of being healed through extrordinary circumstances, but good God does he mangle it here. The only highlights belong to the tripods, and when they show up the film leaps to life. Spielberg can truly burn images into our minds like the fury of God, and he does so here with the tripod attacks, the burning train, and the clothes floating down from the sky. But then he focuses on three asshats on the run, and the film dies again. Couple all of this with a disappointing score from John Williams (moreso after his phenomenally powerful "Revenge of the Sith" score) and War of the Worlds is a massive disappointment.
So what did that rant have to do with remakes? That Hollywood needs to tread carefully and remember that even if the movie worked the first time, there's no guarantee it will work the second time. Or the third. Or fourth...
Thursday, July 21, 2005
Rockstar Doused with Hot Coffee
By now, just about everyone on the internet has heard about the infamous "Hot Coffee" mod that lets you play an interactive sex scene in Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas, and how it's since been determined that despite developer Rockstar's pleas to the contrary, the code for this sex game was left in the original PS2 version.
In short, Rockstar has found itself pwned. Hard. And fast. The unfortunate thing is, so has the games industry.
I won't rehash the explicit details of the mini-game itself, nor the manner in which to access it. Suffice it to say, you have to go out of your way and devote the better part of an afternoon just to play a few minutes worth of pixelated nudity that's half-assed at best, so to speak. So why all the hub-bub about this from the hallowed halls of the Senate? Why, we must protect the children of course! Anything less is downright un-American! We must support the right for free violence for all, but nudity?!? Holy crap, stop that now!
I mock the rather Puritanical values of our nation, but the repressed nature of the Religious Right in America isn't going anywhere. Personally, I don't think it's really grown or shrunk since the glory days of Oliver Cromwell's people landed here, but it's voice has always been both shrill and frequently used. They may very well be in the minority of the populace, but you would never know it from how vocal they are. I'm all for people believing what they want, but the second they become more interested in living my life instead of theirs, they anger me to no end.
All of this is a round-about way of saying Rockstar displayed the sort of hubris and wanton stupidity others hold up as an example of "What Never To Do" in their respective business fields. By leaving this in game, whether intentionally or by accident, they opened the flood gate for the sort of political and activist probing the games industry does not ever need. The entire argument boils down to the fact that games in general are not static content such as movies and television shows and as a result anyone with a bit of tech savvy can modify them to their heart's content.
Where that blurs the line between what is "acceptable" and what is a "violation of the hearts/minds of children everywhere OH NOS!1!" is what the developer created and what the end user adds to it. Any modification creator worth their salt can alter game code like Neo could change the world of the Matrix in the blink of an eye. There is little to no challenge there, and by leaving questionable code in a powder keg of a game like Grand Theft Auto is to invite the kind of mayhem that has now erupted.
It’s a shame that fools like Rockstar and Running With Scissors have become the de facto poster children of the games industry in the eyes of Washington. Or course, when have politicians ever concerned themselves with learning facts when the "seriousness of the charge" looks so much sexier headlining the New York Times?
To its eternal credit, the games industry is giving Rockstar the grand spanking it deserves. GTA: SA has been pulled from every shelf in the land with the intent of relabeling it as Adults Only until Rockstar releases a patch that locks the code out from the PC version. The PS2 and Xbox versions are pretty much guaranteed to be AO only until Rockstar goes back and re-releases the games without the code, possibly at great cost to them. No one ever said stupidity came cheap, and hopefully Rockstar will learn something from this.
If history has proven anything though, they’ll just do something even dumber next time. Idiots.
In short, Rockstar has found itself pwned. Hard. And fast. The unfortunate thing is, so has the games industry.
I won't rehash the explicit details of the mini-game itself, nor the manner in which to access it. Suffice it to say, you have to go out of your way and devote the better part of an afternoon just to play a few minutes worth of pixelated nudity that's half-assed at best, so to speak. So why all the hub-bub about this from the hallowed halls of the Senate? Why, we must protect the children of course! Anything less is downright un-American! We must support the right for free violence for all, but nudity?!? Holy crap, stop that now!
I mock the rather Puritanical values of our nation, but the repressed nature of the Religious Right in America isn't going anywhere. Personally, I don't think it's really grown or shrunk since the glory days of Oliver Cromwell's people landed here, but it's voice has always been both shrill and frequently used. They may very well be in the minority of the populace, but you would never know it from how vocal they are. I'm all for people believing what they want, but the second they become more interested in living my life instead of theirs, they anger me to no end.
All of this is a round-about way of saying Rockstar displayed the sort of hubris and wanton stupidity others hold up as an example of "What Never To Do" in their respective business fields. By leaving this in game, whether intentionally or by accident, they opened the flood gate for the sort of political and activist probing the games industry does not ever need. The entire argument boils down to the fact that games in general are not static content such as movies and television shows and as a result anyone with a bit of tech savvy can modify them to their heart's content.
Where that blurs the line between what is "acceptable" and what is a "violation of the hearts/minds of children everywhere OH NOS!1!" is what the developer created and what the end user adds to it. Any modification creator worth their salt can alter game code like Neo could change the world of the Matrix in the blink of an eye. There is little to no challenge there, and by leaving questionable code in a powder keg of a game like Grand Theft Auto is to invite the kind of mayhem that has now erupted.
It’s a shame that fools like Rockstar and Running With Scissors have become the de facto poster children of the games industry in the eyes of Washington. Or course, when have politicians ever concerned themselves with learning facts when the "seriousness of the charge" looks so much sexier headlining the New York Times?
To its eternal credit, the games industry is giving Rockstar the grand spanking it deserves. GTA: SA has been pulled from every shelf in the land with the intent of relabeling it as Adults Only until Rockstar releases a patch that locks the code out from the PC version. The PS2 and Xbox versions are pretty much guaranteed to be AO only until Rockstar goes back and re-releases the games without the code, possibly at great cost to them. No one ever said stupidity came cheap, and hopefully Rockstar will learn something from this.
If history has proven anything though, they’ll just do something even dumber next time. Idiots.
Monday, July 18, 2005
Composing Forgetfulness
I tend to repress a lot more than I'd like to admit. Probably why I never kept a journal before, and probably why this on-line one is sparse to say the least. It'll be odd when I die that the sum of my life's experiences will almost assuredly go with me, but maybe the grandkids will enjoy listening to me weave tales of B.S. Such are my pleasant thoughts this Monday afternoon.
In other news, I find myself torn between wanting to outright leave both of my jobs (my 8-5 gig and my gaming site one) from sheer frustration, and wanting to leave both my jobs from sheer frustration. On the one hand, I receive too little information to successfully do my job, and on the other I receive too little information to enhance my job. Go figure. It's one thing to feel completely ignored at your job, but to feel completely ignored at both jobs despite being fairly vocal results in nothing but pure frustration. To which everyone would instinctively say:
Then along comes some other people who just outright do what they want and circumvent you on your article writing (of a sorts). This leads one to believe the inmates have finally taken over the asylum, and the Powers That Be have become the Powers That Were But Have Taken Off To Jamaica.
The result is seeking some comfort in a day job that is less than creative-friendly, the irony being said work takes place in a production company. The company line clearly states that we make corporate videos and do a positive profile series on companies, when the reality is a series of glorified informercials. To even whisper that word around the boss will result in him going Mola Ram on you, and after he tears your heart from your chest he'll punch you in the face with it.
So I find myself left in a quandry of wanting desperately to write professionally, be it scripts, books, syndicated columns, blogs, and so forth, yet continue working in creatively-devoid endeavors while sitting at home nights looking at my computer wondering why the hell I'm not writing more than I am (which is sporadic at best). I've said it before to myself, and I'll say it again now: I think it's high time I shut up and just do it. It's times like these I grow anxious for My Fair Lady to finish law school and pass the bar (slated for next summer) so our financial situation won't appear so dire everytime I look at our bank account.
The funny thing is I still wouldn't trade my current life for going back to school. That ship sailed many moons ago, and may it never see land again.
In other news, I find myself torn between wanting to outright leave both of my jobs (my 8-5 gig and my gaming site one) from sheer frustration, and wanting to leave both my jobs from sheer frustration. On the one hand, I receive too little information to successfully do my job, and on the other I receive too little information to enhance my job. Go figure. It's one thing to feel completely ignored at your job, but to feel completely ignored at both jobs despite being fairly vocal results in nothing but pure frustration. To which everyone would instinctively say:
"Then why don't you speak up and make your discomfort known to The Powers That Be?"My response is such:
"Already done that for the last few months, bud, and the only thing I've become is a few months older. And horse."Picture this: You write up a series of articles and turn them in on average every two and a half weeks, and start building this up into what you hope, and what you have been told, will become a standard feature on the site. Nothing else comes from the Powers That Be despite your repeatedly asking them whether this is something they want to proceed with.
Then along comes some other people who just outright do what they want and circumvent you on your article writing (of a sorts). This leads one to believe the inmates have finally taken over the asylum, and the Powers That Be have become the Powers That Were But Have Taken Off To Jamaica.
The result is seeking some comfort in a day job that is less than creative-friendly, the irony being said work takes place in a production company. The company line clearly states that we make corporate videos and do a positive profile series on companies, when the reality is a series of glorified informercials. To even whisper that word around the boss will result in him going Mola Ram on you, and after he tears your heart from your chest he'll punch you in the face with it.
So I find myself left in a quandry of wanting desperately to write professionally, be it scripts, books, syndicated columns, blogs, and so forth, yet continue working in creatively-devoid endeavors while sitting at home nights looking at my computer wondering why the hell I'm not writing more than I am (which is sporadic at best). I've said it before to myself, and I'll say it again now: I think it's high time I shut up and just do it. It's times like these I grow anxious for My Fair Lady to finish law school and pass the bar (slated for next summer) so our financial situation won't appear so dire everytime I look at our bank account.
The funny thing is I still wouldn't trade my current life for going back to school. That ship sailed many moons ago, and may it never see land again.
Thursday, June 23, 2005
Addendum + 1
As an addendum, My Fair Lady's luggage finally is in her possession once more, which elicted shrieks of joy when last she spoke to me. She promptly set fire to her old clothes and feels more like a human being again. She also had her first bit of fun on the island, which in itself is a minor miracle. At least we know not to use Olympic Airways again for travel into Greece. Instead, we'll likely fly into Turkey then paddle our way to the Grecian islands.
As for the Plus 1, I'm starting to feel at ease with my "new" car. Essentially a hand-me-up, the car I now drive is a four-door Jeep Grand Cherokee Laredo which only seem to come in a beige color. I've never seen a red version of this vehicle, only the same dour light brown. A stark contrast to my car of yore, which was a purple 2-door Ford Explorer, that has been by my side for the last ten years. When I actually say that out loud, it still feels weird. Ten years I owned one vehicle, a small truck my dad won in a golf tournament, and now she's gone. She was dying a little bit each day this past year, until finally this spring she decided to randomly give up the ghost.
Every so often, but always on hot days, the car might or might not start. It was completely random too, which explained my shock when I drove to buy My Fair Lady flowers on an anniversary of ours, and then the car died after I bought the flowers. It was somewhat of an odd situation when I left her a voice mail to come pick me up at that specific corner because it would clearly tip my hand.
After a new fuel pump was put into it, the car still would randomly die. Since my sister's Jeep wouldn't pass emissions standards, I got it while she got a brand new smaller car. Ahh, balance. I do so love watching my two younger siblings be handed things while I had to work for them or do with out growing up as a teenager. My parents would correctly point out that they did take care of me when I was younger, but how did that change once I got my first job. After that, it's practically nothing for free unless I specifically ask. Annoying when the younger ones are pampered as they are, but I'm surprised my sister has actually matured to the point where she won't have them helping her out much longer.
My brother on the other hand, does so love being waited on hand and foot.
As for the car, it's driving better for me now. It helps having the entire thing cleaned out top to bottom because my sister does not tend to a car's interior with the same fervor of a butler. Having the inside clean was a breath of fresh air. Having the gear box (which holds the power steering fluid) go out, was less than such. But that's another story.
As for the Plus 1, I'm starting to feel at ease with my "new" car. Essentially a hand-me-up, the car I now drive is a four-door Jeep Grand Cherokee Laredo which only seem to come in a beige color. I've never seen a red version of this vehicle, only the same dour light brown. A stark contrast to my car of yore, which was a purple 2-door Ford Explorer, that has been by my side for the last ten years. When I actually say that out loud, it still feels weird. Ten years I owned one vehicle, a small truck my dad won in a golf tournament, and now she's gone. She was dying a little bit each day this past year, until finally this spring she decided to randomly give up the ghost.
Every so often, but always on hot days, the car might or might not start. It was completely random too, which explained my shock when I drove to buy My Fair Lady flowers on an anniversary of ours, and then the car died after I bought the flowers. It was somewhat of an odd situation when I left her a voice mail to come pick me up at that specific corner because it would clearly tip my hand.
After a new fuel pump was put into it, the car still would randomly die. Since my sister's Jeep wouldn't pass emissions standards, I got it while she got a brand new smaller car. Ahh, balance. I do so love watching my two younger siblings be handed things while I had to work for them or do with out growing up as a teenager. My parents would correctly point out that they did take care of me when I was younger, but how did that change once I got my first job. After that, it's practically nothing for free unless I specifically ask. Annoying when the younger ones are pampered as they are, but I'm surprised my sister has actually matured to the point where she won't have them helping her out much longer.
My brother on the other hand, does so love being waited on hand and foot.
As for the car, it's driving better for me now. It helps having the entire thing cleaned out top to bottom because my sister does not tend to a car's interior with the same fervor of a butler. Having the inside clean was a breath of fresh air. Having the gear box (which holds the power steering fluid) go out, was less than such. But that's another story.
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
Need Luggage, Will Travel
So My Fair Lady tells me in January that she's looking into a study abroad program with her law school in conjunction with Tulane University. Since I most likely wasn't paying enough attention at the time, I said, "Sure, look into that and I hope you enjoy yourself." Almost involuntarily, that response. I don't recall feeling any change in my heartrate or breathing speed, so I've come to the conclusion that the wife triggered one of my five automated responses.
Flash forward a few months and My Fair Lady is stranded on an island two hours off the coast of Greece with no luggage, very slim provisions, and an increasingly hostile attitude. In hindsight, I probably need to remove the "shuffle" feature from my auto-response list.
Apparently the American Airlines flight into Gatwick Airport, London, went smoothly, as did the standard two hour lay-around-and-gripe-over that comes standard with international flights. The problem started with the Olympic Airways plane sitting on the tarmac for three hours waiting to take off. What I don't understand about airlines in general is why they won't let you de-plane in case something like this happens. If I'm sitting on a plane for three hours, it damn well better be some where else at the end of that time. If I'm still looking at the same airport after three hours and we haven't taken off at least once, then my head would a-splode. My Fair Lady, on the other hand, is about 1,000 times twitchier when it comes to planes. If there is even a hint of something out of the ordinary, she flips her lid. I can't imagine how much she was freaking out sitting on the tarmac. My condolences to the families of those sitting next to her.
As it turns out, three hours was not enough time to load an additional 20 bags onto a plane. Twenty bags missed this flight to Athens, and I'm impressed they were able to find the plane in the first place. It's not like it was flying around the skies above, or rolling around on the tarmac playing "catch me if you can" with the baggage handler. It was sitting stationary for three hours, yet 20 bags managed to miss it. I could understand if the target was a small hole in the ground and you only had three hours to find it.
But how is a 777 sitting in plain view of an airport with the name of the plane painted in large, bright colors on the side of it impossible to not see? And how do you misplace something like luggage which, by definition, is bulky, unwieldy, and usually found in a wide varity of bright colors with plenty of handles?
To insult to irony, the island's phone and internet connections tend to be spotty at best. My Fair Lady's 20 minute walk from the hotel took her to five different phones, only the fifth of which worked. Ergo, I get a panic-riddled phone call from the other side of the planet stressing out about no luggage and inordinately expensive prices on a tourist-driven island in the middle of the Mediterranean. Naturally, my anxiety was a little onthe high side.
I then contact American who says it's a Greek problem, and then contact the Greeks who hang up on me. Twice. So who do I find as the imtermediary?
The British.
A lovely woman named Jenni at Gatwick Airport was more than supportive in helping to track down My Fair Lady's bag, at which point she assisted in getting it on a plane to Athens. I follow-up with My Fair Lady and she is understandably ecstatic at the thought of fresh make-up. Flash-forward to this morning, i.e. my last communique, and Olympic Airlines in the wisdom were unaware of the additional luggage on the flight.
So here I sit with no follow-up from My Fair Lady other than being told the flight was slated to arrive this afternoon (around 4:30 p.m. Athens time) and that I would hear back from her within an hour. Being as that was several hours ago, my anxiety has returned with friends.
I'm now making a mental note to travel only with the 82nd Airborne from now on. Odds are they don't take any crap from snotty ticket agents sit on a tarmac for three hours, unless they're invading that particular airport. Which at this point, sounds like more fun than either My Fair Lady or I are having.
And here I was making a plan to enjoy my DVD collection/backlog tonight.
Flash forward a few months and My Fair Lady is stranded on an island two hours off the coast of Greece with no luggage, very slim provisions, and an increasingly hostile attitude. In hindsight, I probably need to remove the "shuffle" feature from my auto-response list.
Apparently the American Airlines flight into Gatwick Airport, London, went smoothly, as did the standard two hour lay-around-and-gripe-over that comes standard with international flights. The problem started with the Olympic Airways plane sitting on the tarmac for three hours waiting to take off. What I don't understand about airlines in general is why they won't let you de-plane in case something like this happens. If I'm sitting on a plane for three hours, it damn well better be some where else at the end of that time. If I'm still looking at the same airport after three hours and we haven't taken off at least once, then my head would a-splode. My Fair Lady, on the other hand, is about 1,000 times twitchier when it comes to planes. If there is even a hint of something out of the ordinary, she flips her lid. I can't imagine how much she was freaking out sitting on the tarmac. My condolences to the families of those sitting next to her.
As it turns out, three hours was not enough time to load an additional 20 bags onto a plane. Twenty bags missed this flight to Athens, and I'm impressed they were able to find the plane in the first place. It's not like it was flying around the skies above, or rolling around on the tarmac playing "catch me if you can" with the baggage handler. It was sitting stationary for three hours, yet 20 bags managed to miss it. I could understand if the target was a small hole in the ground and you only had three hours to find it.
But how is a 777 sitting in plain view of an airport with the name of the plane painted in large, bright colors on the side of it impossible to not see? And how do you misplace something like luggage which, by definition, is bulky, unwieldy, and usually found in a wide varity of bright colors with plenty of handles?
To insult to irony, the island's phone and internet connections tend to be spotty at best. My Fair Lady's 20 minute walk from the hotel took her to five different phones, only the fifth of which worked. Ergo, I get a panic-riddled phone call from the other side of the planet stressing out about no luggage and inordinately expensive prices on a tourist-driven island in the middle of the Mediterranean. Naturally, my anxiety was a little onthe high side.
I then contact American who says it's a Greek problem, and then contact the Greeks who hang up on me. Twice. So who do I find as the imtermediary?
The British.
A lovely woman named Jenni at Gatwick Airport was more than supportive in helping to track down My Fair Lady's bag, at which point she assisted in getting it on a plane to Athens. I follow-up with My Fair Lady and she is understandably ecstatic at the thought of fresh make-up. Flash-forward to this morning, i.e. my last communique, and Olympic Airlines in the wisdom were unaware of the additional luggage on the flight.
So here I sit with no follow-up from My Fair Lady other than being told the flight was slated to arrive this afternoon (around 4:30 p.m. Athens time) and that I would hear back from her within an hour. Being as that was several hours ago, my anxiety has returned with friends.
I'm now making a mental note to travel only with the 82nd Airborne from now on. Odds are they don't take any crap from snotty ticket agents sit on a tarmac for three hours, unless they're invading that particular airport. Which at this point, sounds like more fun than either My Fair Lady or I are having.
And here I was making a plan to enjoy my DVD collection/backlog tonight.
Wednesday, June 8, 2005
An Expensive Week, This
It's been an expensive week thus far, and not for lack of trying. My Fair Lady and I attended a black tie event Saturday night where I left our Canon A95 PowerShot digital camera in the car as we valetted it. Said camera was not in the car when we picked it up several hours later, thus requiring us to dig up a receipt so their claims can possibly send us money for it. Then my car dies on me for the last time, and I make a swap for my sister's old car since it won't pass the emissions standards in her new home of California.
Said car's power steering went out on me last night as My Fair Lady and I were driving home from dinner. I take it to Firestone this morning where after two and half hours of poking at it, I was presented with an estimate longer than my arm. The estimate, naturally, included dozens of supplementary fixes they'd "discovered" and recommended fixing right away. Even after automatically whacking half of it, the total came to around $700 to resolve my car problem.
And now for a little backstory.
My parents have historically purchased lemon vehicles with few exceptions. Whenever either my mother or father say, "I'd like to buy that car," said vehicle is the confirmed bad apple in the barrel. Were I to have the money for a brand new car, I would take them both shopping, tell them what car I want, then have them pick out the one for me. At which point I would select a similar model three ros back and four to the left as the one I would buy.
My sister's old car was an Infinity that damn near killed her on so many ocassions I honestly lost count. Then it was traded in for a 1997 Jeep Grand Cherokee, which soon required roughly $2000 worth of repairs to bring it to its current quasi-working state. My car was a 1995 purple Ford Explorer which my father won in a golf tournament, so one would believe it inherently immune to the "lemon curse." One would be wrong.
Ten years on, three transmissions later, the truck sometimes just wouldn't start. The punchline is how intermittent the problem was, culminating in the last three weeks where I would drive it to and from work and that was that. I figured, in my limited mechanical knowledge, that it was simply overheating. The fuel pump was replaced a little while back thus leaving me with a problematic car that might or might not start when I needed it to, but with a shiny new fuel pump.
Cause for celebration, that.
Once My Fair Lady is out of law school and ideally working for vastly more income than I presently bring in, we might look for a new car for myself. Having never had a choice in what car I actually want, I've thought extensively as to how I'll go about the purchase. The first step is about a month or two of research, followed by extensive test driving, followed by dragging my parents out so they can instinctively weed out which cars will die the second the 30,000 mile warranty is breached.
Said car's power steering went out on me last night as My Fair Lady and I were driving home from dinner. I take it to Firestone this morning where after two and half hours of poking at it, I was presented with an estimate longer than my arm. The estimate, naturally, included dozens of supplementary fixes they'd "discovered" and recommended fixing right away. Even after automatically whacking half of it, the total came to around $700 to resolve my car problem.
And now for a little backstory.
My parents have historically purchased lemon vehicles with few exceptions. Whenever either my mother or father say, "I'd like to buy that car," said vehicle is the confirmed bad apple in the barrel. Were I to have the money for a brand new car, I would take them both shopping, tell them what car I want, then have them pick out the one for me. At which point I would select a similar model three ros back and four to the left as the one I would buy.
My sister's old car was an Infinity that damn near killed her on so many ocassions I honestly lost count. Then it was traded in for a 1997 Jeep Grand Cherokee, which soon required roughly $2000 worth of repairs to bring it to its current quasi-working state. My car was a 1995 purple Ford Explorer which my father won in a golf tournament, so one would believe it inherently immune to the "lemon curse." One would be wrong.
Ten years on, three transmissions later, the truck sometimes just wouldn't start. The punchline is how intermittent the problem was, culminating in the last three weeks where I would drive it to and from work and that was that. I figured, in my limited mechanical knowledge, that it was simply overheating. The fuel pump was replaced a little while back thus leaving me with a problematic car that might or might not start when I needed it to, but with a shiny new fuel pump.
Cause for celebration, that.
Once My Fair Lady is out of law school and ideally working for vastly more income than I presently bring in, we might look for a new car for myself. Having never had a choice in what car I actually want, I've thought extensively as to how I'll go about the purchase. The first step is about a month or two of research, followed by extensive test driving, followed by dragging my parents out so they can instinctively weed out which cars will die the second the 30,000 mile warranty is breached.
Wednesday, May 4, 2005
Comments Welcome
Continuing my in-depth personal analysis in an effort to evade working this afternoon, I sit here and wonder how long before anyone actually finds this corner of the web and goes so far as to make a comment. Excluding the wife, who I currently chat with via Yahoo Messenger. At the moment, she's running out to her car to grab a Coke because studying for law school finals sucks the life out of someone faster than Mathilda May in Lifeforce.
That being said, so too does an office move where everything is incumbant upon everything falling into place at the exact time. When things do not happen when they should, other things have a nasty tendency of being due RIGHT THAT SECOND which is absolutely the one time when you can do nothing but shrug and say, "Sorry dude, you're on your own."
At which point the boss would make it her mission in life to see how far up my ass a pink slip would fit. Such are the thoughts of one stuck at work with 15 minutes to go on a rainy day when he's not five minutes from home.
That being said, so too does an office move where everything is incumbant upon everything falling into place at the exact time. When things do not happen when they should, other things have a nasty tendency of being due RIGHT THAT SECOND which is absolutely the one time when you can do nothing but shrug and say, "Sorry dude, you're on your own."
At which point the boss would make it her mission in life to see how far up my ass a pink slip would fit. Such are the thoughts of one stuck at work with 15 minutes to go on a rainy day when he's not five minutes from home.
Upon further reflection...
...perhaps starting up a blog the month of a massive office move in which you find yourself in the middle of multiple forces, might not have been the wisest of ideas. Then again, I lost count of the times I barely cheated death as a kid so I long ago realized that Soloman I am not.
A friend of mine actually berated me the other day for not posting more to said blog, which I found doubly funny because he's either more bored with nursing school than he let on, or he actually found my musings funny. Which they are in a way... all three of them.
A friend of mine actually berated me the other day for not posting more to said blog, which I found doubly funny because he's either more bored with nursing school than he let on, or he actually found my musings funny. Which they are in a way... all three of them.
I've seen all your movies.
-pause-
Both of them?That's one of the funnier quotes in a funny movie, In & Out, that never fails to crack me up. Especially the scene with Kevin Kline dancing to the "test your manhood" tape.
That was a trick!Yes, I really do drop quotes left and right, despite having no memory for the day-to-day things. I'd consider myself borderline autistic, but if someone asks me to count higher than five my brain collapses on itself and I pretty much stare at a wall for the next 10 minutes.
Monday, April 11, 2005
Writing on Demand
I'm thinking of reasons why I should write jack squat, and oddly enough I find I'm coming up short. Concurrently, I can't think of reasons not to write and while I'm doing all of this figuring out, I'm writing about it on the Internet.
Will wonders never cease. Apparently, irony is alive and well.
So is Mother Nature and I think the Grand Dame is having hot flashes. Here in Texas we've had every type of weather it's possible to have short of a blizzard, but I think Denver rolled snake eyes instead of us. It's now sunny and clear and 69 degrees out while this weekend we had 40-50 degree weather, clouds, rain, wind, and a few locusts for good measure. To top it off, it's pollen season which means my purple Explorer (yes, purple - story for a later time) now sports a nice tint of brownish-green. I keep thinking it's time to wash the car, but then I wait 48 hours and Mother Nature does it for me. During the summer though, you have to wash your car just to cool yourself down.
I'm finally trying like hell to write professionally again and make some money at it. Let me clarify - I've been writing professionally in some form or capacity for the last 13 years, but never made any money at it. I figured it was time for the cash to start flowing in, and as I grow increasingly dissatisfied working for anyone but myself I've looked at different avenues toward creative self-employment. Of course, not all of us can be Dave Barry. Hell, even he has trouble living up to his namesake on a day to day basis.
I flipped through a magazine last night that stated Stephen King makes it a point to write about 2000 words a day, or roughly 10 pages worth give or take. Another author stated that if you were unable to write a sentence, then write a word. My favorite piece of advice was such:
I think that's what finally clued me into the simple truth of professional writers - they write. They sit down, and write what's in their head, their heart, on the tip of their tongue. It's very likely that half of what Stephen King has ever written will never see the light of day, because it could be stream of conscious ramblings that helped kick-start his best novels. He could have driven past a burning building one day, then written his thoughts on the matter that night. The next morning, he might have read his thoughts and formulated Firestarter.
I'm just guessing here. We'll see where things go, but when you sit back and think about it, I'm amazed I didn't come to this conclusion sooner. We learn by doing, I guess.
Will wonders never cease. Apparently, irony is alive and well.
So is Mother Nature and I think the Grand Dame is having hot flashes. Here in Texas we've had every type of weather it's possible to have short of a blizzard, but I think Denver rolled snake eyes instead of us. It's now sunny and clear and 69 degrees out while this weekend we had 40-50 degree weather, clouds, rain, wind, and a few locusts for good measure. To top it off, it's pollen season which means my purple Explorer (yes, purple - story for a later time) now sports a nice tint of brownish-green. I keep thinking it's time to wash the car, but then I wait 48 hours and Mother Nature does it for me. During the summer though, you have to wash your car just to cool yourself down.
I'm finally trying like hell to write professionally again and make some money at it. Let me clarify - I've been writing professionally in some form or capacity for the last 13 years, but never made any money at it. I figured it was time for the cash to start flowing in, and as I grow increasingly dissatisfied working for anyone but myself I've looked at different avenues toward creative self-employment. Of course, not all of us can be Dave Barry. Hell, even he has trouble living up to his namesake on a day to day basis.
I flipped through a magazine last night that stated Stephen King makes it a point to write about 2000 words a day, or roughly 10 pages worth give or take. Another author stated that if you were unable to write a sentence, then write a word. My favorite piece of advice was such:
"I write only when I am inspired. And I make it a point to be inspired every morning at 9 a.m."How can you go wrong with a statement so blindingly obvious and simple at the same time?
I think that's what finally clued me into the simple truth of professional writers - they write. They sit down, and write what's in their head, their heart, on the tip of their tongue. It's very likely that half of what Stephen King has ever written will never see the light of day, because it could be stream of conscious ramblings that helped kick-start his best novels. He could have driven past a burning building one day, then written his thoughts on the matter that night. The next morning, he might have read his thoughts and formulated Firestarter.
I'm just guessing here. We'll see where things go, but when you sit back and think about it, I'm amazed I didn't come to this conclusion sooner. We learn by doing, I guess.
Monday, April 4, 2005
Mystery of the Universe #412 = Solved
I think my boss just solved one of the mysteries of the universe this morning. We Dallasites played host to cloud-free 70-degree weather all weekend, so everyone in the office is sunburned, save for me. I was busy finishing God of War, but I'll get to that later. But the boss comes in sunburned and I comment that everyone in the office is equally burned. He then mentions how he fell asleep at the pool, which leads one to frequently ponder, "Why is it that everyone always falls asleep at the pool and it's acceptable?"
I mean, are we allowed to just lay out on our desks at work and catch some Z's? Or snoring while waiting in the drive-thru at Chick-Fil-A? Nope. Yet it's perfectly acceptable, nay, expected, to fall asleep at "the pool." As if that was the one place where anyone of any race/gender/species can go to lay around and sleep. And all because there is a four-to-eight-foot deep body of chlorinated water not five feet away.
Stunningly simple when you think about it. All one needs is to be next to a pool, and you can get away with sleepiong soundly for hours. No wonder public pools all have fencing around them: The owners have to keep non-paying customers away from a good afternoon's sleep.
Either that or they want to see kids behind bars.
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