THE TAO OF HASH

Eulogy of 12E

2008-11-03T19:59:00.003-07:00

It's over--finally. Apartment 12E with all of its lesbian residents, reckless-mohawked children, and shitty parking is now a thing of my past.

Moving sucks; but moving on is awesome.

LittleBigtober

2008-10-01T22:34:00.006-06:00

I went the entire month of September without updating my blog . . . I'm sure you guys are livid! Haha, yeah right. No one gives a shit. Therefore, this blog will be total nonsense. Can you dig it!?

The only thing I care about in life is the fact that LittleBigPlanet comes out on the 21st. I don't think any of you can understand how fucking jazzed I am for this game . . . I mean, I've been beating off in the shower to thoughts of level editors and Sackboy since the game was first announced at the 2007 GDC. It's almost here!! Rejoice.

Some pretty good goddamn movies came out this week, namely Forgetting Sarah Marshall and Iron Man. I think I'll finally start my "purchase one Blu-ray-a-month" plan to build up my collection. Now if I can only decide whether I'd rather see Robert Downey Jr.'s shiny costume or Jason Segal's schlong in 1080p . . . By the way, that Iron Man has some killer cheek bones.

At the end of this month, I will either be renting or purchasing a home. Big news! I can't decide whether renting or buying is the way to go, because buying is SUCH a big commitment. But I mean, if I'm going to be paying $1100 bucks a month to RENT something, I'd might as well own the goddamn thing, right? It all depends, though, on what I find and what they qualify me for. So stay tuned!

The highest of ku's.

2008-08-26T21:36:00.006-06:00

If your kid has a
Mohawk, you should consider
ending your life. Thanks.

Duran Duran is
so very underrated.
Go buy their CDs.

PS3 trumps Wii.
360s "redring" all day.
Lets us play a game.

Late-model Civics
are not fast 'cause they are loud.
Don't try to race me.

I'm sorry that I
had sex with your big sister.
She came onto me.

These chips are now more
nacho-cheesier. Where do
they put all that cheese?

It's easy to fuck
up a good thing by being
a douchebag. So don't.

Medal Count

2008-08-13T16:44:00.010-06:00

Michael Phelps won a whole bunch of medals the other day. How many, you ask? I dunno, I lost count somewhere around 27.

The Olympics are back--and yes, those italics are necessary. From the opening ceremonies, which were something out of the future, to Phelps's ridiculous medal hording, it seems as though these games won't go down as a snoozer . . . Which is good, because NBC spent good money on this shit!

The "modern" games have really become quite the spectacle. And by "modern," of course I mean the 1896 revival of the ancient naked Greek competitions. Apparently, the world got tired of economic and military pissing contests, and decided to compete for athletic superiority.

It's funny how we all care so much about these esoteric athletics for two weeks, and then completely forget their existence once the torch is extinguished. Is that an American thing or a global thing? Perhaps the rest of the world still continues to support water polo and competitive weight lifting by selling-out arenas and televising meets.

Then there's the athletes themselves, who dedicate their lives to sports that only a handful of people give a damn about, to which there is no money to be made, and for what? A medal? Their photo on a Wheaties box? An appearance on Letterman? I feel kinda sorry for these guys, especially when I see Home Depot commercials proudly proclaiming that they employ more Olympic hopefuls than any other company . . . OK, Mrs. Olympic Sabre Gold Medalist, after your 15 minutes are over, you'll be stocking shelves in the garden section of Home Depot. SAD.

Fake sports and Home Depot employees aside, I really do love watching the games. I watch it for hours, and when I'm not home to watch, I have the DVR set to record it. It's like I'm in a trance, hypnotized by voice of Bob Costas, unable to change the channel.
The only thing that detracts from the experience is the fact that it's on network TV. I've become a bit of a television snob, relegating my viewing to primarily HBO original series. So, to see NBC hawk such GOD AWFUL shit in between each event makes me want to throw up. So far, the NBC fall lineup is as follows:

The Christian Slater Double-Agent Show--The former teen idol and Jack Nicholson wannabe brings his widow's peak to prime time! He's a normal guy--oh, wait--he's holding an AK-47! I smell an Emmy.

ER, The Final Season (For reals this time!)--The Michael Crichton-produced medical drama that's been on the air longer than Saturday Night Live has come to an end. In order to generate interest in this shark-jumping turd, Hollywood has-beens John Stamos and Angela Bassett join the cast! How very exciting.

Crusoe--The extremely boring 18th century Defoe novel gets strung out into a series that promises to be just like LOST, only with less smoke monsters and more cannibals.

Alright, time to go. I've got a U.S. men's synchronized swimming team to root for.

Stan Lee I am not.

2008-08-06T16:08:00.006-06:00

So there's this program on my computer called Comic Life, and I've never even bothered to see what it was all about . . . until now. Here's my first (read: pithy) attempt. There's nothing wrong with a little self-parody, right?!

(CLICK ME)

Karate Kid Part II sucks.

2008-07-27T14:10:00.004-06:00

You can judge the quality of people living in an apartment complex by the beer boxes in the dumpster.

There was an alarmingly large amount of "Natty Light" boxes in mine yesterday . . . .

I think it's time to relocate.

The Dark Hype

2008-07-18T13:25:00.012-06:00

Christopher Nolan's latest macabre superhero film is out. I dunno, you might have heard of it . . . It's called The Dark Knight, or something.

The Batman mythos is celebrated for its dark, mature, often psychological themes; something at which I take issue with. The Bruce Wayne character is essentially a billionaire vigilante nutcase with a proclivity for wearing capes and masks. Does that sound dark? Or mature? Not really . . . Because despite constant attempts to legitimize the hokeyness surrounding the almost 70-year-old character, at the end of the day it's still a fantasy and it's still a superhero story.

My experiences with Batman have been bittersweet, with the sweet to bitter ratio at about 3:4. Because for every "brilliant re-imagining" of the character, there's always a few Adam West/Joel Schumacher cockups right around the corner. Despite being let down several times, I still feel that I am invested nostalgically to the character. I was around for the 1989 Batman-mania that ensued as a result of Tim Burton's film. I saw it in the theaters, played the NES game, and even had that ubiquitous t-shirt.

I am eager to see The Dark Knight, but I've noticed an alarming trend in people loving it before they've seen it. It's for that reason that I am going to approach the movie with a bit of trepidation, and try not to let the avalanche of hype influence my opinions on it. I'm also avoiding the opening weekend shows, as well. Hollering nerds and fanboys could have a negative effect on my judgment.

So, enjoy the movie everyone! I know all you assholes are gonna see it. I'll leave you with photos of the most embarrassing moments in Batman history.

. . . . . .

Prince is lucky he's such a bad ass . . .

Yeah. I would've voted for him, too.

If it weren't for Michael Clayton, I don't think I'd be able to forgive you, George.

Keep in mind, this guy makes over $20 million per movie.

Who needs to work out when your shirt has fully articulated faux-abs?

NOhawk

2008-06-29T16:07:00.013-06:00

Over the past couple of days I helped out my roommate by manning one of the PS3 booths at the Streetfest. It was really easy work, consisting primarily of people watching and answering any Sony-related questions that the denizens had, of which there were few. Anywho, the people watching took up the majority of my time, and in the process I noticed an alarmingly high number of people sporting Mohawks. I really do not understand the appeal of this hairstyle at all . . . So I decided to do a little Wiki-research on this, the most socially unacceptable of coiffures.

The term "Mohawk" originated from the name of an Indian tribe in upstate New York. I already knew this . . . I didn't, however, know that they lived in longhouses instead of tepees. Just like Little Bear from Indian in the Cupboard! These Mohawk Indians were pretty intense, and apparently only the warriors war the hairstyle. This is presumably to scare the fuck out of the enemies, especially these guys:

I know for a fact that if I was this fag back in the 1700s, wielding a single-shot musket and weighted down by 30 pounds of superfluous clothing and I saw a near-naked Indian with a crazy hairdo charging at me with a homemade bludgeon that I would shit my pants instantly. That, folks, is the purpose of the hairstyle, and it was mighty effective . . .

Fast-forward a couple hundred years and we find ourselves at the birth of the punk movement. Basically a bunch of malnourished British kids started dressing wacky and hating everything. Then a select few of these "punks" started writing songs about all the things that they hated. The hairstyle of choice of these kids (at least the one that the media latched onto,) was the Mohawk. The modern advances in hair-color-altering chemicals gave the punks a rainbow of options to personalize their 'dos.
After 20-or-so years of pissing people off, the Mohawk became passé. The punks held onto their hair-gel-consuming hairstyle, however, despite the fact that toddlers have them. Shit like this is becoming the norm everywhere:

Not only are children bastardizing the original shit-your-pants-inducing intent of the Mohawk, but male fashionistas everywhere have made their own version of style. I like to call it the non-committal Mohawk, because Faux Hawk sounds pretentious. Men in designer clothes take their normal-everyday short hairstyle and comb it up in the shape of Mohawk. This of course is a pussy way to wear a Mohawk, and makes the whole thing even more annoying than if they went all out in the first place!

Now-a-days there is nothing at all shocking about a Mohawk. There is no statement to be made by having one, other than letting everyone know that you are, in fact, an idiot.

Mike Myers? FTW!

2008-06-20T14:35:00.010-06:00

All over the country today, Mike Myers' latest exercise in unfunny self-indulgence thinly disguised as a film opens in theaters. Unless you live your life like the uni-bomber, you've no doubt been bombarded with the cram-it-down-your-throat advertising campaign that has managed to plaster Myers' stupid face on everything from billboards to postage stamps. I don't know about you guys, but I hope that The Love Guru ends up being the Waterloo of Mike Myers movies; once and for all putting an end to a career consisting of 15 years of recycled gags.

"Hey, look! He put his pinkie up again! Whatta gas!"

In the post-Wayne's World-era of Myers' career, he's made one film that has been the embodiment of every fucking thing he has ever done since. That film is, of course, So I Married an Axe Murderer. Within the 90-or-so-minutes of Axe Murderer, you'll see the makings of every character that has managed to make Mike Myers a billionaire and a household name in the subsequent years. Here's just one example, presented in easy to understand visual format:

=

=

The angry Scottish man voice is so funny! Seriously, though . . . three fucking characters? Has anyone noticed this? Does anyone even care?! I think it's a travesty that Myers is literally wallowing in money, when his old comedic partner and the real reason behind the hilarity of Wayne's World, Dana Carvey, can't get a fucking break. But I digress . . .

As I said before, this is only one example. The gamut of Austin Powers characters make an appearance in way or in another in So I Married an Axe Murderer. The only thing that is really missing from Myers' comedic arsenal is the presence of Vern Troyer. Although I'm sure if Myers had discovered the little guy with no self-respect way back then, you best believe he would've found a way to shoehorn his tiny ass into the script.

"I'm funny because I'm short!"

I suggest we all make a pact to not go see The Love Guru this weekend. Doing so will only result in more movies featuring all three of his impressions, Vern Troyer being short jokes, cameos by flavor-of-the-month celebrities, and nauseatingly persistent ad campaigns.

Mobile

2008-06-20T14:34:00.001-06:00

Sent from my iPhone

Keanu Peeved

2008-06-13T17:48:00.010-06:00

The other day I got it in my head that I needed to watch Point Break again. You know, the one where young FBI agent Johnny Utah attempts to infiltrate a community of surfers who are also bank robbers? Anyways, it's a fucking classic, despite the fact that said FBI agent is played by the deplorable Keanu Reeves.

I've tried to understand why someone as talentless as Reeves has managed to maintain a successful career for over 20 years. I suppose that there will always be a need for characters that say "dude" a lot in movies, and he's definitely the go-to man for those roles.

But despite how much he sucks, he's been making movies for a long, long time. So quantitatively speaking, there's bound to be a couple more movies that he hasn't managed to completely by simply being cast in them, right? Let us examine this. Here I have assembled a list of the best non-Point Break Keanu Reeves movies.

The River's Edge, 1987
This [mostly] brilliant teen-angst drama focuses on the lives of several friends and their ambivalent reactions to a murder. Reeves is perfectly cast as a teen that says "dude" a lot. We also get to witness some real acting from the likes of Crispin Glover and Dennis Hopper.

Parenthood, 1989
A multi-generational examination of why having children will ultimately ruin your life. Reeves is charming in his portrayal of Diane Wiest's daughter's boyfriend that says "dude" a lot. The rest of the cast is like a who's-who of early 90's movies, with Steve Martin, Mary Steenburgen, Rick Moranis, MARTHA PLIMPTON, and Tom Hulce.

Speed, 1994
A bus armed with explosives must maintain a speed of at least 50 miles-per-hour or else it will explode. Bitchin'! The only problem is that Sandra Bullock is driving, and she sucks pretty hard. Reeves seems to reprise his role of Johnny Utah here, only with a shaved head this time. Dennis Hopper shows up once again opposite Reeves as the madman that put the explosives on the bus. If you like this one, be sure to check out the sequel, Speed 2: Cruise Control, I heard it was pretty good.*

*Just kidding!

Leave Kitty alone!

2008-06-02T22:38:00.004-06:00

As I was driving up the street about to turn into my apartment today, I saw a woman pushing what looked like a stroller. A second glance, however, revealed that it wasn't a stroller at all, but some sort of feline-torture device. I know people love their pets--and some people really love their pets--but come on!

I've only had one cat in my life (RIP Lucy,) which by no means makes me an expert, though I'm pretty sure that every cat on the planet would hate being rolled around in one these contraptions more than being sprayed with a garden hose. So I beg of you, cat-owners, let your cats be the lazy balls of allergens that they are, and stop contributing to the industry of ridiculous and unnecessary bourgeois pet products.

I also got Stockard Channing and Olympia Dukakis mixed up today. But that's another story!

Strike Four

2008-05-19T17:58:00.003-06:00

Being excited about the fourth installment of the Indian Jones series goes against everything I believe in. I am always the first to poo-poo such blatant Hollywood profiteering at the expense of idiotic fanboyism, but fuck . . . It looks so cool!

It's been 19-g0ddamn years since Harrison Ford last outing as the world's most intrepid archaeologist and since that time, the business has changed for the worst. Stuntmen have been replaced by CGI and movie sets are nothing more than a sound stage with a huge green screen suspended from the ceiling. This computer-generated chicanery has taken a lot of the "gee wiz!" out of modern blockbusters. I can't even enjoy these movies, because my cynical ass spends the whole time trying to find the cuts where Spider-Man goes from costumed-Tobey McGuire to animated puppet. So I offer this plea: Please! Don't do that to my beloved Indie!

I know my begging is in vain, considering the film has been in the can for months and is now just a couple of days away from release . . . but wishful thinking never hurt anybody, right? And fuck, who am I kidding? I'm gonna go see the thing regardless of any amount of negative reviews I read and CGI-overflowing trailers that I see.

I have high hopes, but I'm pretty sure that I will treat the film like I treat all of the modern superfluous sequels to established series that have come out in recent years. Example:

Die Hard was (and still is, in my eyes) a trilogy. Three movies that I will continue to watch until I'm old and impotent because I enjoy Bruce Willis' everyman hero John McClain and explosions. But the money grubbing bastards weren't satisfied to let me have my three-film set, oh no! They decided to unleash upon the world a PG-13 abortion of a film starring an over-the-hill Willis and then had the audacity to call it Die Hard 4! I paid my money and watched it, but I don't recognize it as an official part of the Die Hard canon. I see it for what it is. And it will exist thusly for me, and I hope for other fans of the series as well.

This new Indiana Jones will likely find a place on the shelf next to Die Hard 4 and Terminator 3. It's a movie that never should have been made.

But hey, who wants to go see it with me!?

Dribble

2008-05-17T19:13:00.005-06:00

The single best thing I saw all week was a poodle sticking out of the window of a truck wearing a rugby shirt. That is, the poodle was wearing the shirt, not the truck . . . Hilarious! If my camera-phone-photography skills were up to snuff as they should be, you best believe I would've taken a pic of that amazing sight. Sadly though, your imagination will just have to do. I suppose you could Google "poodle in rugby shirt" and probably get some satisfactory results. Gotta love the interweb . . .

You know what else you should love? Grand Theft Auto IV. I know, I know . . . I'm as disappointed in myself as you all are with me given the amount of time that I have let pass by without contributing my opinion of "TEH B3ST GAME EVAR!" I bought it on launch day for the PS3 because I couldn't possibly give a fuck less about the exclusive downloadable content that's coming out later on for the 360. So yeah, Sony fanboys unite!

It really is an amazing experience. Once you get over the fact that the characters still look a lot like Muppets, you'll be totally engrossed. It is a little weird, though, I must admit, the first time you see a Muppet-esque character doing a line of cocaine. But after that it's all good!

I'm not terribly far into the game, because my progress has been marred by two things: my general lack of GTA adroitness and Boom Blox. I die in the game. A lot. I'm not ashamed to admit that. The controls are way better than Rockstar's PS2 outings, but they still will lead me to my death rather often. That isn't to say that it's frustrating, it's quite the contrary. The open-ended nature of the game allows you attempt missions multiple ways, which will be necessary if you suck as much as I do.

The hype is fucking annoying, I know. But try to ignore it and experience the game for yourself. If you have an Xbox 360 or a PS3 and aren't one of those hardcore, conservative, violent videogames-caused-Columbine-kinda moms, then you'll surely love it.

No Substitutions

2008-05-09T19:15:00.004-06:00

I hate my job. I know that at 5pm on Fridays, about 95% of Americans say those same four words as they speed off to happy hour. Complaining about work is like complaining about traffic or taxes, it's useless because it sucks for everyone. Work is work. It's the necessary, perfunctory endeavor that we all just have to get over.

That said, please excuse the following rant. I had a particularly-patience-taxing day today, and I'd like an avenue to bitch, and what better avenue than my own fucking blog! Yes, this is indeed the best place to complain about shit. So I'd like to send the following "Fuck you!"s out to those that make my job terrible:

Fuck you, kid who experiences the world through the left-head phone of your friend's iPod. You don't own a fucking iPod, it's okay! I didn't either for a long time. But scooting your desk super close to your friend and listening to one-half of his/her shitty music collection is both impractical and annoying to all of those around you. My advice: Go to fucking Burger King, fill out an application, work for one month, buy your own goddamn MP3 player, and then quit.

Fuck you, overweight kid that dresses in super tight "emo" clothes that wouldn't even fit your 90-lb "emo" friend! We know that tight pants are in, and everybody is wearing them. But when you have a fucking 42-inch waist, you should not be shopping in the children's section.

Fuck you, overly aggressive cholo that goes out into the hall to talk to your friends without permission! It may take away from your street cred, but goddammit you better start taking life seriously. You guys are already 17-years old with freshman credits, because you've always been more concerned about the latest issue of Low Rider Magazine than getting a passing average in algebra.

Fuck you, stupid girl that goes "to the bathroom" and is gone for 25 minutes and returns to class with a Coke and a bag of Flamin' Hot Cheetos. You are an ugly, ugly person. I can't let the sad nerdy kid that probably has to take a dump go the bathroom, because you're off socializing and buying snacks for half an hour. People like you ruin lives.

Whew, that totally feels better. Is it still happy hour!?

Happiness is a warm [laser] gun.

2008-04-16T15:38:00.004-06:00

Richard and I were watching Back to the Future II for the eighth time in four days (gotta love the variety of programming that 12 HBO channels offers,) and talking about its depiction of the future. For those of you who lacked a childhood, Back to the Future II is the flawless sequel to one of the best films ever made about time travel. This time around, Doc and Marty take the Delorean to the year 2015, which is pretty much the late 80's with a bunch of future clichés thrown in. You know, flying cars, video phones, holograms, etc.

A lifetime of watching movies like this has made me a little disappointed of the future that we live in. Sure, we have the Internet in our pockets, PS3s, and cardboard boxes that pop up fresh tissues each time you pull one out, but there's still stuff that's lacking. Wouldn't you guys like to see food pellets that are adequate substitutes for full meals? Conveyor belt sidewalks? Robot companions? Cities in the sky?

Personally, the future innovation that I'm most disappointed about still not coming to fruition is the laser gun, or if you're old school--the ray gun. Campy sci-fi pulp dating back 60 and 70 years featured images of spacemen wielding weapons that emitted not bullets, but lasers or concentric circles of light. Now, I'm not a weapons enthusiast by any means. I don't belong to the NRA and I could give a fuck less about the recent passing of their biggest celebrity member and bible film star Charlton Heston . . . but I want to live in a world where laser guns exist! A world where gangsters carry electric "gats" instead "9's" and shootouts are more like Hoth than South Central Los Angeles.

The second amendment has gotten stale. As long as guns are mechanical, gun powder-filled, bullet holding contraptions, I'm boycotting weapons all together. The future is now!

Kirb Your Enthusiasm

2008-04-02T18:40:00.007-06:00

The Smash Bros. thing still hasn't gotten old. Sorry, I promise I will only talk about it for a little while this time. My two favorite characters in the game are Meta Knight and King Dedede, both of which are from the Kirby universe. I've always loved Kirby. The charm of the characters always overshadowed the mohawked-baby-level difficulty and resulted in some really enjoyable games. Anyways, all this Smash Bros.-induced Kirby musing encouraged me to dust off my copy of Kirby's Adventure for the NES and start playing it again. And needless to say; brilliance ensued.

I'm in Yogurt Land right now, and I fucking love it. It's amazing how much animation they managed to pull out of the NES. Kirby's gelatinous body reacts exactly how you'd expect to the environments and situations. The gameplay is also spot-on, which you would expect from any platformer developed in-house at Nintendo. This was also the first Kirby game that allowed you steal your enemies' abilities by eating them. The variety and usefulness of these power-ups keeps things interesting. I highly recommend it if you have a functioning NES or a Wii, since it's available on Virtual Console.

I wish Nintendo would get on the fucking ball and hurry up and release Kirby's Dreamland 3 on the Virtual Console. Sadly, I missed this particular Kirby outing when it was originally released on the SNES. I blame it on the fact that the SNES was gasping its dying breaths underneath trampling "32-bit" and "64-bit" consoles. It's sad, really. But I will play it someday!

I made two purchases today. One of which won't be here for a few days because I bought it online. Oh, and fuck you Best Buy for not carrying it. You have about 70 copies of Wild Hogs on Blu-Ray, but you can't spare the shelf-space for a masterpiece?!
My other purchase was a wild-hair sort of thing. I'm sure that my memory has been kind to this show, and that actually seeing will tarnish my childhood in some irrevocable way . . . but fuck it. This is sitting in my living room and I'm watching it tonight!

In other materialistic news, the Dual Shock 3 hits next week with a $55 price tag. I've been pretty vocal about how I'm totally over rumble, which I am, but I think I'll be forced to pick this up. You see, the SIXAXIS is the PS3's current standard controller, and it's perfectly functional, only it weighs about 5 micrograms. There's no substance to it. No heft. Anyone who knows me knows that I need heft. Oh, and it comes in white, too. Bitchin'.

Colonoscopy

2008-03-29T17:07:00.002-06:00

Apartments: I hate living in an apartment. Well, perhaps that's a bit extreme--sometimes I hate living in this apartment. I've mentioned the shitfest family that lives downstairs and their terrible mohawked children. Yes, mohawks. If any of you reading this have children and give them a mohawk before their actually old enough to "rebel" and choose to get a mohawk themselves, then you are setting your child on a path to unemployment, crime, numerous STDs, bastard children of their own, and overall awfulness. Fuck them. Oh, then there's the dick head in the black Honda Civic that parks in the middle of the lot completely blocking access to my parking space overnight. I tried to get his car towed to no avail. There is no justice in this world.

Eulogy: Lex and I downloaded Super Mario World on the Virtual Console the other night and began the super fun task of 96-ing it while drunk. This made me realize how much Nintendo is snoozing by holding out on the release of Super Mario World 2 Yoshi's Island. So, the next day I dug out my SNES and fired it up; only there was no fire. I panicked. I tried plugging the AC adapter into another outlet, but it still wouldn't work. This is seriously tragic, folks. The little grey box that served as a vessel for some of the best entertainment products ever produced is dead. I'm talking about A Link to the Past, Super Castlevania IV, Contra III, Super Mario Kart, Street Fighter II, Super Metroid, Kirby's Dream Course . . . TRAGIC. And don't even try to tell me about emulation. It's not the same.

Inland Empire: I don't think I've given any blogspace to Inland Empire, which is pretty goddamn shameful on my part. The film has been available on DVD for over six months, so you should own it already. But for those of you haven't seen it, you are totally missing out on an experience. My words cannot do Lynch's work any justice, so I'll refrain from even trying. Oh, and download the song Polish Poem and listen to it on repeat.

Going Out: I met my friend Sandra and her boyfriend Tom last night at the ol' hangout and was immediately uncomfortable about being there. I asked Tom, who hails from San Diego, if he finds going out in California to be the terrible exercise in boredom that I think it is here. He pretty much said the same things that I've been bitching about, which made me feel a lot better. It's not that I've become embittered and anti-social, it's just that the people that frequent bars are 90% garbage.

Halo 3: New maps. Time to pwn some n00bZ.

Dojo Dump[ing]

2008-03-21T21:12:00.005-06:00

You should probably go to Hawaii. It's good for you. It's good for your mind, body, soul, and libido.

I've been back since Tuesday, and I haven't done a whole lot since. I miss the smell of the beach and the general Jurassic Park-esque appearance of everything. But hey, it was fun!

I posted some photos on the ol' Fakebook, but I don't know what the fuck is up with my photo application. It somehow disappeared from the list underneath my profile picture, and in order to find it I had to go through other people's photos of me. Weeeeeird. But yeah, they're totally there for your viewing/commenting/masturbation material use. Just kidding! Kind of.

There isn't a whole lot else going on in this life of mine. The wicked get-paid-to-do-nothing tutoring job that I was milking ended. *Le sigh* The reason, of course, was lack of funds. Which I was pretty much expecting any day now, but it still sucks. I didn't even get a chance to say goodbye to the kiddies. You see, unlike subbing, I worked with the same kids everyday. Some of them were garbage, but a lot of them were pretty cool. Oh well, perhaps they'll think of me when taking the state-mandated aptitude test.

Other than that, I have been completely consumed by Super Smash Bros. Brawl. I didn't play either of the two prequels with any regularity, so what's old-hat to most is FULL-ON WIN to me. It's beautiful chaos. It's super easy to mash buttons, so your videogame-hating girlfriend can pick it up and give it a go. But the more you play, the more you realize that there are a shit-ton of things going on at once that you need to be constantly aware of. This is where the "strategy" element comes in. Sure, like Mario Kart and Mario Party there's a chance factor with the item distribution that can rapidly change the momentum of the match. But, if you're aware of what's going on around you, you can still prevail. Which is why I think I like it so much more than I though I would. As I said, having never played it the prequels I completely missed the depth. It's definitely not Virtua Fighter 5, but you can be good at it.

I'm in the process of unlocking characters right now, which is very time consuming, but I still have some time for multiplayer. If I haven't already gotten your child-predator-proof friend code from you, go ahead and send it my way. My Meta Knight skillZ will be feared by all.

Flex and hold

2008-03-06T20:37:00.006-07:00

The only good thing about going to the gym is the people watching, no doubt about it. Even though there are multiple big screens showing things like Seinfeld and Jeopardy!, I'm much more entertained by watching the people that come and go from the cardio-room.

I always wonder, "Do these people hate coming here as much as I do?" Working out sucks. It really, really does. There about 900 things I can think of off the top of my head that I'd rather do than run in place like a fucking hamster or lift heavy objects. Right?!

Sure, some people love the gym. You know the ones, the guys that drink steroid smoothies and buy their tank tops two-sizes too small to emphasize their guns. But what about everyone else? What about the mildly overweight mom and the balding dad? Are they really enjoying themselves there? I seriously doubt it.

Keep on working out all you want, buddy. We'll still hate you.

I don't want to go into self-esteem issues, and society pressure to be fit, and all that bullshit that's been said a million times. We all know that the vast majority of gym-goers are like mildly overweight mom, balding dad, and myself. We go in vain. We go simply to feel better about ourselves at the end of the day. Because seriously, the time it would take to make any drastic change in our bodies is something that we aren't willing to sacrifice.

I sure-as-fuck aren't giving up my FFXII sessions, mildly overweight mom ain't giving up her PTA meeting, and balding dad, well . . . He's got shit to do, too. And that's fine! Barely working out is better than not working out at all.

So the next time you skip going to the gym because you're just soooo busy, don't fret. At least you make the effort sometimes. Like today, I was busy playing Super Buster Bros. with Richard, so I just couldn't find the time. But yeah, I'll be there tomorrow. Totally.

Finality times twelve

2008-03-04T00:01:00.000-07:00

I'm not tired at all. I should be, because I "worked" today; there's a possibility that I'll do it again tomorrow. But tired? Nah . . . sleep is for n00bZ.

Earlier today, I spoke to my friend about the inevitable redundancy of life. Even though I know it's unavoidable, it still bothers me. It seems as though that life is made up of a number of constants that can be marginally effected by a few variables. The constants are, of course, the aspects of life that make us fit into society: waking up in the morning, working, paying bills, etc. The variables are the distractions. Leisure. Activities, relationships, and states of being, that when added, subtracted, multiplied or divided by the constants help to make things interesting.

The beauty of it is, we can choose whether we focus our attention and efforts on the constants or the variables. I have friends that are perfectly content to follow the routine, pay their taxes, and exist as productive citizens. By that same token, there's the floaty vagabonds that don't have any idea what the fuck is going on, and love it that way. Neither way is wrong, it's just a choice that people tend to make when they "grow up."

My problem is that I cannot decide which category I fall into. I suppose at 25, I'm about as grown up as I am going to get . . . Yet I still exist in this quasi-adolescent, hedonistic fantasy land--where I want to be taken seriously as an adult, but sure as fuck don't act like one.

I've adopted several "philosophies" over the years, all of which ultimately contradicted each other to the point of death. There was no overlap, here. These ideas were mostly the results of external variable factors, such as the girl I was dating, or the group of friends I was hanging out with, or whatever. I'm not especially susceptible to group-think, but I had my moments of weakness.

The question is, can there really be a balance? I'm pretty sure that these constants and variables form a system, and not an equation. Those may claim to have balance in their lives, but they're always leaning more in one direction than the other.

WHO KNOWS!?

I don't think I ever will. I do know, however, that it's really fucking easy to stray from your intended topic of discussion when the hour is late and your mind begins to wander. I suppose I'll write about Final Fantasy XII some other time.

It's bedtime for Bonzo.

Splooge to the Music!

2008-02-20T17:08:00.000-07:00

It's alarming how many songs out there feature lyrics about ejaculation. Seriously, "bitch" and "ass" are taboo on most radio stations, but if a song features detailed descriptions of fucking splooging--well, that's a-ok. This of course is nothing new, because as long as men and women have been able to strum chords on a guitar, they've written songs about their climaxes.

It's just one of those counterintuitive censorship mentalities you see in every media. On television for instance, people get shot, operated on, ran over, punched in the face, strangled, and tortured during prime time. But will you ever see a bare ass or--gasp--a female nipple?! Fuck no. After every bible thumping soccer mom in the country had a brain hemorrhage when Janet Jackson's boob popped out during the Super Bowl, all bets have been off. Violence: fine. Sex: very bad.

Which brings me back to the music thing. I really cannot see in any way how this sort of thing is allowed. It's not like it could possibly "slip by" the censors. 'Cause dammit, I don't care if you're a prepubescent teen or old enough to have seen both World Wars, when someone says "come into you," there's only one goddamn thing that could mean.

Seriously, I'm trying to think of how one can "come into" someone else and have it be appropriate subject matter somewhere other than Penthouse Forums, and I just can't. To paraphrase my dashboard dictionary, "come" is a present tense verb that means to move toward, travel, accompany, reach to, occur, join, make progress, and become apparent to. All of those are things that people do, but none of which can be done in someone else. So even in the broadest interpretation of the word, if you're coming into someone, you are fucking that person and fucking ejaculating--nothing else!

You don't have too look very deep into your music folder to find examples of this, either. Every artist from the über risqué to the most squeaky clean does it--and it's embraced by all. In fact biggest song of 2007 nothing but an ode to the money shot. You know the one, where the skinny girl sings euphemistically about umbrellas and rain? Well anyways, the last few lines of the song go like this:

. . . baby come into me
Come into me
It's raining (raining)
Ooo baby it's raining
You can always come into me
Come into me

Always, huh? Well, I sure hope little Rihanna is on the pill. But all joking aside, this song was huge. Fucking huge. So abhorrently popular that it's a likely candidate to appear on the next Kidz Bop CD and it's all about coming.

Now I'm the last person to promote censorship, I fucking hate it. But I would like to see some consistency with what's edited and what isn't. If shit pop songs can rule the airwaves with lyrics like this, then why the can't you say "shit" on TV? It makes no sense.

If you'll excuse me, I'm going to listen to some radio-friendly erotica.

Movies That I Will NEVER See - Valentine's Edition

2008-02-14T17:15:00.000-07:00

Well, it's Valentine's Day--my favorite day of the year. As I type this, poor saps everywhere are being subjected to two-hour plus waits at restaurants because they fear the wrath of their girlfriend/wife/girl-that-they-are-currently-bedding. And for what, really? A made-up holiday that forces us to do nice things for the people that we love, things that we should be doing all year? Yeah, I don't buy it. But enough bitterness! I'm eating candy and "St. Elmo's Fire (Man in Motion)" just came on my iTunes, so I'm happy!

So as I sit home with my candy and John Parr music, I'll be safe from these rotten examples of holiday tie-in cinema.

DEFINITELY, MAYBE
Ryan Reynolds plays a loving but misogynistic father who's having a hard time telling his daughter who her mother is because of all the women he fucked the year she was born. But instead of being perturbed by this, the daughter thinks trying to figure out who her mom is from stories of her dad's promiscuous past is a fun game! Then the audience goes, "Awww!" Seriously, who greenlighted this? They can stamp it with all the "From the makers of Love Actually" stamps in the world, and I still wouldn't go see the goddamn thing. Oh, and Ryan Reynolds looks like Dane Cook. I fucking hate Dane Cook.

STEP UP 2 THE STREETS
If there was any movie from 2006 that cried out for a sequel, it was Step Up. The ending left audiences wondering, "Will they ever dance again?!" Well, the answer is here. And I hate to spoil it for you, but they dance! That's it! More fucking dancing. A whole lot of dancing. People dancing in warehouse with a bunch of people standing around watching them. Dancing with the latest hip-hop hit playing in the background. With all that dancing and a title sounds like something that a moron who uses numbers instead of letters would text message to another moron who uses numbers instead of letters, you can't go wrong!

JUMPER
The kid who ruined my childlike feelings of awe whenever I saw Darth Vader takes yet another sci-fi role as a teleporting guy who gets hunted by . . . other teleporting guys. One of the "other" teleporting guys is the venerable Samuel L. Jackson, who dons a white coif and proves once again that he'll gladly play any part that's thrown at him. This one is rated PG-13 for a generic sci-fi premise, bad acting, mild violence, and language.

Maybe I'll Be Fast as You

2008-02-10T18:23:00.000-07:00

Saying that the weekend went by too fast would be stating the obvious--and I hate stating the obvious--so I won't say it.

Even though I spent the past two-and-a-half days being anti-social, I had a good time. I should should address, though, that being anti-social means not going out and drinking. I've decided to attempt being healthy in the days leading up to my trip. You know, not eat junk food, avoid the beer, exercise and all that bullshit. So far it hasn't been very difficult, but I doubt that it's making any real difference. In a little over a month I'll be one of the countless flabby, untanned, mainlander tourists at the beach. Score!

I suppose I was social on Saturday night, although I am not sure if people coming over to your apartment and playing videogames all night counts as a social activity in most circles. But yeah, I have to tell you all that Poker Smash for Xbox 360 is the greatest. I downloaded it yesterday and that's all we played for several hours. It takes the mechanics of Puzzle League and combines it with poker hands. So, not only can you eliminate similar face cards, you can also make poker hands which are worth more points. Anyways, it's fucking amazing and you should totally download it if you have an Xbox 360 and a Live account.

The best thing since intercourse was invented.

I felt especially manly today. Spending six hours with my dad, the manliest of all men, tends to do that to me. It was fun, though. We ate BBQ, talked about what a pussy Tom Brady is, and wait for it--worked on my car. See! That's some manly shit, right there.

I didn't mention it, but a couple of months ago some douche bags stole the sidemarker lights from my car. I got over it pretty quick, seeing as I realized at a very young age just how terrible most people are. Some could say finding that out when you're little would make you jaded, but for me it helps me cope with situations like this. But yeah, I even have an idea as to who did it . . .

I'm sure it was one of these assholes.

Anyways, we went to several car parts stores before we finally got the parts that we needed. It was pretty fucking cool, because instead of just standing there while my pops does everything, I actually felt useful today. I found the wires we needed and even got some grease on my hands. Here's some before and afters of our handy work:

Looks good, huh? We'll see how long these last before Paul Walker and/or Vin Diesel come by and jack them.

Time to play some more Poker Smash, kids. Download it. Seriously.

Hello=Goodbye

2008-02-07T23:48:00.000-07:00

Remember that episode of The Brady Bunch where the whole family (including the fucking maid!) packs up and heads to Hawaii? And then stupid-ass Peter finds that wacky little tiki statue that he swears is good luck, but everyone tells him it's not--because all this scary shit happens, like Greg almost dies surfing and that spider totally almost kills Peter! Anyways, in the end they go in a cave for some reason and almost get molested by Vincent Price. Remember that one?
Well, in March I'll be going to Hawaii and I hope it's exactly like that!

My friend Adam has some crazy email-notification thing that informs him about flights to Hawaii, and one came up for pennies. Literally pennies. 27,700 pennies, to be exact. What a deal!

In case you can't tell, I'm really goddamn excited about this. It should be good times. It will be good times. Even if it isn't as good as the Brady trip, it will at least be as good as the Saved By The Bell one.

Can't wait!

Movies That I Will NEVER See - 02/08/07

2008-02-07T20:25:00.000-07:00

There must've have been a catastrophe at the shit factory this week, because only two turds are rolling out of the assembly line on Friday. And I don't know about you guys, but I'll take a shirtless Matthew McConaughey and Martin Lawrence getting hit in the groin repeatedly over a Sylvester Stallone "comeback" any day. But that doesn't mean they're any good!

FOOL'S GOLD
Matthew McConaughey shows off his pecs while Kate Hudson over-acts until you want to kill yourself. That's the gist of this romantic-comedy-adventure dud that reunites the stars from How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. Movies like this make me sad, not especially for the lack of creativity, but for the poor schmoes out there that are forced by their moronic girlfriends to go see this crap week-in and week-out. Seriously, why do it? Because if it's in order to get laid, I'll tell ya . . . I've had some sex in my day, and I never had to sit through a Reese Witherspoon/Sandra Bullock/J-Lo/Kate Hudson crapfest to get it.

WELCOME HOME ROSCOE JENKINS
Martin Lawrence argues with fat women, falls down stairs, get sprayed by a skunk, and hits his grandma in the head with a softball all while being made fun of by Mike Epps in this new "comedy." This time around, Lawrence stretches his acting ability to the limit in his portrayal of a small-town guy who left his roots behind and made it big as a talk show host. Lawrence then returns to home only to get pummeled repeatedly by fat women, skunks, inanimate objects, and the sardonic tongue of Mike Epps. The trailer is full of physical comedy cliches and sight gags that weren't new when the Three Stooges did them in the 1930s.

That's it for this week! Not too much to bitch about, but next week is Valentine's Day. The most pointless of all holidays always ushers in some terrible movies. Yikes!

Movies That I Will NEVER See - 02/01/07

2008-01-31T16:20:00.000-07:00

Hey, what do you know? Another week, another attempt by studios to cash-in on the lobotomized masses. Here's the movies that I, for one, will be bypassing.

HANNAH MONTANA & MILEY CYRUS: BEST OF BOTH WORLDS CONCERT
If you're a pedophile-weirdo or have the misfortune raising "tween-aged" children, then you have probably heard of Hannah Montana. Hannah Montana is the alter ego of Billy Ray Cyrus's daughter Miley, and the star of the latest cram-it-down-your-throat-until-you-fucking-choke offering from The Disney Channel. Apparently this 3D concert will only be showing for one week; but given the pathetic dedication of Hannah Montana fans, that should be ample time for Disney to make enough money to let Pixar go. Just kidding.

THE EYE
By now, everyone is aware of the mathematical fact that Jessica Alba's sex appeal and quality of film roles are inversely proportional. Never in the history of the universe has someone so attractive been consistently attached to such loathsome projects. In this sure-to-be-garbage thriller, Alba plays a blind a girl that undergoes miracle eye-transplant surgery. The only problem is, her new seeing ability is plagued by visions of creepy-shit that's suspiciously reminiscent of creepy-shit from The Ring and The Grudge. Sounds . . . creepy. Seriously though, who wouldn't do her?

OVER HER DEAD BODY
Professional scene-stealer Paul Rudd and overrated basketball star marrying slut Eva Longoria team up in another movie about a dead girlfriend that just won't go away. Didn't Reese Witherspoon play this exact same role a couple years ago? You know, the other metaphysical romantic that I didn't see--the one with Napoleon Dynamite and Mark Ruffalo in it. That's right! This must be a very timely remake of that classic.

STRANGE WILDERNESS
I think it's high-time that we all band together and make a pact to not go see every movie that has Jonah Hill is in. I mean, I love his white-man fro and and jovial overweight appearance as much as the next guy, but soon or later you have to put your foot down. This movie is so terrible, that I don't even know what the fuck it's about. All I can gather from the trailers is that a couple of guys film animals and do voice-overs ala Bob Saget from his America's Funniest Home Videos days. Oh, and Jonah Hill is in it wearing a pink thong. Now that's comedy!

ZOMG! It's The Weekend!

2008-01-31T15:38:00.000-07:00

I love it when my weekends begin early. It seems to be happening a lot lately, which I attribute directly to the fake-ness of my job. I can't really complain, though. I get to ass-out and sleep-in 24 hours earlier than the majority of the working population.

I got paid today, which combined with having tomorrow off is almost too much awesome to handle. Every time I get a paycheck I feel like I have to buy something. Even if there is nothing that I particularly want or need, I feel as though if I don't run out and make a purchase that I haven't sufficiently justified getting up at 6:30 AM several times week. It's a disease, really.

I started a new project, which is an attempt to decorate my naked walls with cool stuff. It's tough, really. When you're a teenager and you can just head down to Spencer's Gifts and pick up the latest Carmen Elektra poster--problem solved. Now it's not that easy. I bought a Blue Velvet movie poster, but I haven't gotten a frame for it yet, so it's sitting sad and lonely in a cardboard tube in my room. I thought about going for a theme, like buying only David Lynch movie posters, or movie posters from foreign markets, but I couldn't decided if that would be lame or not.

"What are you doing in my closet, Jeffrey Beaumont?"

Speaking of movie posters, I was saddened by latest visit to allposters.com when I found out that the three most popular movie posters were Rocky, Fight Club, and Scarface. So essentially what people are buying from this site are posters featuring the guy from Stop! Or My Mom Will Shoot, a shirt-less Brad Pitt, or a silhouette of Al Pacino holding a gun. The world is a sad, sad place.

I'm not sure what else I am going to get. Any suggestions? I've found that there a lot of cool prints out there, but they are just way too fucking small for the price. I just can't see myself paying $20-$30 for an 11" x 14."

My stomach is growling, even though I had a killer sandwich for lunch. I think I'll go make a smoothie and play some Rez on XBLA. Happy weekend, everybody!

It's motherfuckin' Rez.

Movies That I Will NEVER See - 01/25/07

2008-01-24T19:50:00.000-07:00

Every week movie studios unleash a tidal wave of shit upon us. Movies that are so foul, so abhorrent in every conceivable way that they make me sad to be alive. That may sound melodramatic, but hey, it's fucking true. So in an attempt to get some semi-regular update action going on around here, I thought it'd be fun to bash the terrible movies each week.

For the first installment, we've got some real goddamn stinkers--and by "stinkers," I mean straight from the Bog of Eternal Stench. Really fucking terrible. Shameful. Poop.

MEET THE SPARTANS
They should have called this one Not Another Spoof Movie. Seriously though, when did 300 come out? Please wait while I consult Wikipedia . . . OK, 300 came out in March of 2007--less than a year ago! The immediacy of this shit-fest-cash-in makes it even more pathetic.

HOW SHE MOVE

First things first: No one should go see a movie that has an improperly conjugated verb in its title. And I don't know about you guys, but I'm amazed at the sweatshop-like speed and efficiency movie studios demonstrate when making these things. Don't quote me on this, but I'm pretty sure that 47% of all films released last year involved dancing. So if you just can't get enough of the yard stomping, serving, or stepping up that's already available on DVD, then by all means check this one out.

UNTRACEABLE
Fresh from the success of Diane Lane's other "UN" movie comes Untraceable. But unlike Unfaithful. this Internet-inspired crime thriller looks uninteresting, uninspiring, and just plain unwatchable. Is unscary a word? Too bad.

RAMBO

For the better part of two decades, Sylvester Stallone made a very successful career for himself by playing mildly-retarded tough guys. But some where around . . . say 15 years ago, people finally got tired of his schlock. So in a desperate attempt to regain a fanbase, Stallone has resorted to making completely unnecessary sequels to franchises that have already been ran into the ground. Personally, I can't wait for the next Over The Top. The arm-wrestling genre has been dormant for far too long.

Ambitionz Az A Ryder

2008-01-22T17:35:00.000-07:00

There's something about the persistence of the paparazzi and the immediacy of available information that makes the public feel like they know celebrities. These days A-listers can't even sneeze without making the cover of Us Weekly. And do any of the gossip-hungry masses (myself included,) really know two goddamn things about these people? No, but it's fun to pretend to.

Here's an example: From the photos of I've seen and the articles that I have read, I know, 100%, without hesitation that Ben Affleck is an idiot--a real douchie kinda guy. Not the type of person I'd invite to one of parties. Conversely, through those sources I have come to know that George Clooney is fucking cool. Totally someone that would have a permanent spot on the invite list to my parties.

See how that works? I know this stuff because they told me. The same applies for female celebrities, in this fucked-up-faux-sense-of-familiarity media world that we live in.

A while back, I decided that I would date Winona Ryder, but more importantly, I decided that Winona Ryder would date me. Why Winona Ryder, you ask? Well, for one thing she's fucking gorgeous, she's single, and add to that the fact that she was in some of the hippest movies of my childhood (Beetlejuice, Heathers, etc.,) and bingo. Girlfriend material. But these realizations go beyond the desire to realize a boyhood crush, however. I know that Winona and I would be for the same reasons that I know that Ben Affleck sucks and that George Clooney is awesome.

Your typical female celebrity is photographed incessantly doing everything from buying a cup of coffee to showing the world their cooch while exiting a limo. It's a life they signed up for the moment they entered the biz, so while it may be annoying, they can't really complain about it. This type of coverage on famous femmes like Lindsay Lohan and Britney Spears has totally derailed any possibility of me dating them. I'd do them, to be sure, but date? I think not. After all, anyone who knows me knows that I don't date coffee-drinking-cooch-flashing sluts anymore.

And then there's Winona. Her celebrity status has no doubt waned since her late 80s to mid 90s boom, but that's actually appealing. Still famous, but not an overly-photographed fashionista skank. Which of course means she's more down-to-earth, and way more my style.

I know what you're going to say . . . "What about the shoplifting thing?" And to that, I say who gives a shit? There's far worse things she could be doing, like Robert Downey Jr. type of stuff. So after all these years, the only scandal she has hanging over her head is lifting a few designer scarves. I say that's pretty good.

More important than her lack of scandals, is her lack of baggage. No kids, no ex-husbands, no nonsense. At 36-years-old, that's fucking amazing. My friends and I are 25, and it's damn near impossible to meet someone who doesn't have a baby's daddy or obsessive ex hanging around.

Scroll up and look at that picture again. Damn, damn, damn. Now I have to figure out how I'm going to move to LA to actualize our love affair.

Whoo-hoo! Four-day weekend!

2008-01-20T11:50:00.000-07:00

I had a feeling that this would be a good weekend on Friday morning when I heard The Real McCoy on the radio during my 20-minute commute. No, not "Another Night," but "Run Away," which I'll argue is a better a song. Those two sentences are probably the most that's been written about The Real McCoy in the past 13 years. Go me.

I'm at a point in my life where doing nothing is fun, but ultimately leaves me feeling worthless. A four-day weekend is an opportunity to set goals, to get things done, to be productive. Granted my goals are usually complete Game A and then promptly begin playing Game B, but hey . . . at least that's something.

Here I am, halfway through this extended MLK weekend and I can't say I've done anything worth mentioning. I had some beers on Friday celebrating a friends birthday, watched a couple of movies and played Rock Band last night with some friends, and--that's it. Oh, and just a word of advice: if you live in an apartment complex above an angry ex-military douche bag whose covered in "Semper Fi" tattoos and has a wife and three terrible kids, you might not want to play Rock Band late at night . . . the noise tends to make said-neighbor quite angry.

I still have two days before I have to go back to work. And hey, two days is a lot of time. That's enough time to perhaps finish Ratchet and Clank or get some more stars in Super Mario Galaxy. Or maybe even make it through all 100 rooms of the Cave of Monsters in Bubble Bobble. Lofty ambitions, I know. Will I do any of those things? Probably not.

I think what I need is a fucking job--no, not a job, a career. Losing that English teaching job to an illiterate party girl has left me feeling more than a little depressed. See, if I had a job, then I would value my time off and actually do things that the non-gaming members of society consider productive! Hmm, that would be something.

But alas, here I am doing nothing. Well, not quite nothing. I am watching the best-dressed coach in the NFL attempt to take his "perfect" team to the Super Bowl. Seriously, as much as I bitch about the Patriots, I love Bill Belichick.

You fool!

2008-01-13T14:30:00.000-07:00

I always start blogs, and then about a quarter of the way through I decide that my writing is terrible and the subject is uninteresting. I have about 27 unfinished blogs--no hyperbole there. I have good intentions, but fuck it. No one reads this anyways, which I always suspected, but had proved to me with the sad, sad results of my poll. After several days, the poll closed with a mere four votes--two of which were from the same person doing the e-version of stuffing the ballot box.

I will eventually continue the best of 2007 nonsense with the movie and videogame winners. I decided that I owe it to P.T. Anderson to see his movie before choosing the best movie of the year. I fucking love P.T. Anderson.

Speaking of P.T. Anderson, doesn't my 'stache make me look strikingly like Daniel Day Lewis in There Will Be Blood?

The First Annual Hashy Awards

2008-01-02T14:30:00.000-07:00

Well I'll be goddamned, if it isn't already 2008! It's useless to talk about time flying, mostly because time had mastered flight before anyone even conceptualized what time is. These days, we use for many things: to measure the increment between oil changes, the duration of a relationship, the amount of shopping days until Christmas, and of course, my favorite, to create a deadline in which entertainment products must be released to be eligible for awards!

The most prestigious award of all is, without a doubt, the Hashy. This is because it's an award based largely on my subjective opinion and slightly biased opinion. Most awards pretend to be based on fair democratic processes such as voting, but we all know that's total bullshit. What you get here is the real deal. It's easy to see without that wool over your eyes, isn't it?

The Hashies cover the visual media only. It's not that I don't read, or that I don't appreciate music, but I feel that my limited exposure to those areas makes me far from an adequate judge of what could be considered the best book or song of the year. So instead, the focus here lies on television, film, and of course, videogames. Get it? Ok, so without further adieu, let's start with television.

SHOW THAT FELL OFF:
Lost
Oh, Lost. True to your title, you have really lost your way. You began life as an intriguing character study with some action and mystery thrown-in. Your first two seasons managed to keep the supernatural to a minimum and the the suspense at a fever pitch. But your third season, which ended in the spring of 2007, was really a dud. The others weren't enough, apparently, you needed to introduce other others. And all those mysteries from the first two season? You seemed more concerned with introducing new ones than solving them. And the final nail in the coffin was the hiatus you went on before starting your fourth season. Just face it, you're out of ideas. It really makes me sad that was once the most intense show on television is now the most egregious example of shark-jumping to be found anywhere. Ten bucks says it all ends up being Jack's dream.

BEST SHOW THAT TOTALLY ISN'T NEW THAT I DISCOVERED:
Entourage
If it weren't for the technological marvel that is HBO In Demand, I probably never would have found this gem. A few months back, the entire first season was available on the In Demand service, and I watched all of them. It's really brilliant. It has the look and feel of a celebrity reality show, only not at all pathetic, and quite funny. And seriously, it's about fucking time Jeremy Piven made a name for himself. It saddens me that a guy who's that talented spent the better part of the last 20 years playing second fiddle to fucking John Cusack--and I like John Cusack! But Piven as asshole Hollywood agent Ari Gold makes the show. I'm on the third season right now, and loving it. Check it out.

BEST SEASON FINALE:
Curb Your Enthusiasm
Holy shit, I was totally not expecting this. But I should have! As much as I revere Seinfeld, Curb has long since surpassed it in terms of creativity. This year's season was no exception. With racial jokes-a-plenty (the David's took in a family of hurricane victims named the Blacks,) and Larry and Cheryl splitting up, it was spot on. But in true Curb fashion, which is where I feel it excells over Seinfeld, everything came to a head in the season finale. I won't give too much away, but seeing Susie finally get hers was the-greatest. Fan service at its best, and truly great fucking entertainment.

BEST SHOW THAT YOU COULD WATCH IF YOU COULD ONLY WATCH ONE SHOW:
The Sopranos
Honestly, what's there left to say about The Sopranos that hasn't already been said? This mafia opus is simply the best written, best acted, best-everything show in the history of television. Sure, the season six part two thing was kind of bullshit . . . just call it season seven! But man, it did just about everything right. Years of watching voyeuristically as Tony lied, stole, cheated, killed, and fucked ended abruptly in darkness. "WTF!," you say? Yeah, some people were pissed, but fuck them. They just don't get it. It was an amazing end to an amazing run. Now I'm just waiting to come into a small fortune so I can afford to buy the rest of the DVDs.

That's it for now. I'll post the results for film and videogames later!

25 & Life

2007-12-28T20:37:00.000-07:00

Seriously, how the fuck did I make it to 25? I really don't know myself . . . by all accounts I should have been dead years ago. But here I am, still ticking and wreaking havoc on society.

25 goddamn years. Holy cow. When I was a teenager, 25 was the big time. It was wife and kids, house with two cats in the yard kind of shit. Boy was I wrong! Here I am hitting the big 2-5 as a career-less college grad that couldn't possibly be farther away from being a family man. But hey, I have a PS3 and a yellow sportscar. Fuck yes!

I've included a photo of myself for you out-of-towners that haven't seen me in a few years.

Here's to 26! Whoooooop! Time to go have some beers.

I Hate Television

2007-12-19T17:44:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow is my last day of work for several weeks, and I must say, the prospect of being even less productive than I already am has me more than a little excited. You can be damn sure I'll partake in choice activities such as: getting drunk on Mondays, wearing my Pac-Man pajama pants all day, and waking up and playing Mega Man 2 before I even brush my teeth. Yes, kids, it's true. I still live in a fantasy land.

I've already received news that several card-carrying members of the Cool Club will be making their way to The Pass to celebrate gift giving and savior birthing. Hanging out is always fun, but going out . . . not so much. Over the past several months I've transformed into a semi-agoraphobic caricature of my former self. I'm not sure what exactly the problem is here. I'm positive that it's not because of maturity (the first paragraph completely kills that theory,) but perhaps it's due to boredom. You know, same places-same faces kind of shit. Yes, we'll call it that for now. But regardless of my lack of enthusiasm about going out, I am excited to see these cats again. I really fucking love these guys and their new common law spouses. Things should be fun.

I suppose that I should touch on the abomination that aired last night on MTV. Of course I'm talking about the last episode of A Shot at Love. I always had my doubts about the legitimacy of that slut's claims about being bi-sexual, but last night was just disgusting. I mean, she chose Bobby!? I guess in the entire time that she's been working on her career she's never ever been to a college bar, beach, frat party, sporting event, or Hollister store in her entire life, because if she had she would've found love years ago. Guys like that idiot are a dime-a-fucking-dozen. Poor Dani. Oh well, she was too good for that show anyways.

In gaming news--I recently finished Mass Effect, BioWare's latest science fiction dialogue-simulator for Xbox 360. It started off a little slow, but I gotta say I ended up loving it. I had my angry Annie Lennox-look-alike soldier destroy everything. And that's really the core of its brilliance, the choices to be a total dick and blow everything up or a benevolent saint and save everyone are real choices that you feel have real weight. It has a spot on my top five of '07 list, and had it been released in any other year, it would have been a major contender for my GOTY. A distinction that is not at all coveted, but definitely should be.

Which brings me to my next point. I'm holding off on making my real decision about game of the year until I play Rock Band. Now I know that the chances of me changing my mind on the early winner are slim to nil, but I'll still give it a chance to be in the running. After all, it's Christmas!

Addicted to Tequila

2007-11-27T10:35:00.000-07:00

I mentioned in a previous post that my latest television obsession is the so-bad-it's-good A Shot at Love With Tila Tequila. My DVR currently holds all the episodes to date, and come tonight will get another one. I'm so excited!

No, but seriously. Around here we get together and watch it each week and are continually amazed by it always manages to outdo itself. I think just about the only thing left that would surprise me would be if someone got shanked during eliminations . . . you know what? That wouldn't even surprise me. At this point I expect it.

For those of you who actually have lives (and those that try really hard pretending to,) you might not know who or what Tila Tequila is. Lucky for you, I can sum up her entire life in one run-on sentence, here goes. Tila Tequila is a four-foot tall bug-eyed nude model with an amazing body and a goofy laugh who pretty much made a name for herself by being the number-one friend whore on everybody's favorite networking site: Myspace.com.

Bug-eyed, naked and all over the Interwebs.

The premise of the show is just as ridiculous as her "career." Tila, a long-time slut, has found her life of thousands of sexual encounters to be unfulfilling and is looking for love. Yes, LOVE. Like many other celebrities, finding love is easiest for Tila by moving 16 people into a mansion, keeping them drunk 24-7, and making them compete in humiliating contests, in which the losers of said contests end up getting eliminated. Man, sure beats a lifetime of soul searching and dating . . . These celebrities have it so easy.

By far you've gathered that it's pretty much the exact same premise as all of the other C-List celebrity dating shows out there, and it is, with one exception. Tila Tequila is bi-sexual, so on this show she's got men AND women competing for her "love."

Of course I put love in quotation marks because it's bullshit. Even a heartless cynic like myself who can count the amount of people I've said "I love you," to on one of Homer Simpson's hands knows that no one here is in love. But hey, these delusional frat boys and lesbians make for some damn good TV!

The appeal is really hard for me to pinpoint exactly . . . I mean, arousal from watching girls makeout is something that I outgrew when I realized that getting two girls to kiss was about as difficult as making toast. And seeing the female contestants prance around half naked can't be it, either, because even before they started getting eliminated the girls were only about 40% as hot as the girls on other reality shows . . . There's the fights, I do enjoy those, and there's already been several.

I suppose it's just the way the show so unabashedly embraces everything that is awful about reality television in each one-hour episode. There is a reason that reality TV has become so popular, and it's because people love the escapism of watching other people's "problems." Nothing can get rid of the feelings brought on by a shitty day at work quicker than watching some clown eat Rocky Mountain Oysters while wearing a Speedo all in the name of love.

It's good stuff, really.

This is my plug for A Shot at Love With Tila Tequila. A show that I shouldn't love, but do. And a show that you probably don't watch, but should.

Giftmas

2007-11-26T19:03:00.000-07:00

Pretty much from the time you can walk, up until you're old enough to buy cigarettes, Christmas TOTALLY kicks ass. The combination of gifts and a lengthy vacation from school make it the best thing ever. Over the years I've still managed to maintain some level of excitement about the holidays, mostly by trying to hold onto what made it so exciting when I was a little kid.

This past weekend was an unexpected jump start to the season for me. Not only was EVERYONE in town, but I went shopping on Friday and enjoyed the unexpected snowfall on Saturday. Now I'm ready trees, lights, lavish gifts, and gluttony.

The snow as seen from the passenger's seat of my father's Jeep.

Even as I've gotten older I've strayed away from asking for "practical" gifts. Sure, sweaters and pants are great, but nothing beats a ridiculously fun gift that really don't need. Three years ago I wanted Metal Gear Solid 3 and Metroid Prime 2. Two years ago, I asked for the original Guitar Hero and an extra guitar. Last year it was the Wii and Twilight Princess. Take a look at this year's totally awesome and totally unnecessary gift:

Please excuse my mediocre cellphone-photography skills.

Yes, that's what you think it is--Rock Band for PS3. The lucky winner of the Gift That Still Manages to Make Me Feel Like A Kid Award for 2007. Lugging this bulky, 40lb son of a bitch around the mall for an hour wasn't fun, but the resulting hernia will be totally worth it when I get to try to simultaneously drum and sing R.E.M.'s Orange Crush come Christmas morning. Yes!

If all this sounds a little materialistic, it's probably because it is. Having never subscribed to any of the religious aspects of the holidays, the season is pretty much just fond memories of giving and receiving gifts. There's also lights, food, family, the occasional snowfall, candy canes, and TV Christmas specials. Think of everything that Charlie Brown hated about Christmas and you'll get a good idea of what it is that I love about it.

I'll leave you with this photo of my three-foot-tall tree, as it illuminates my apartment with the electric-synthetic joys of Christmas that we all should embrace.

Anything Box

2007-11-16T16:44:00.000-07:00

For the past few weeks, the only disc that's been spinning in my 360 is The Orange Box. For those of you who aren't in the know, The Orange Box is Valve's love letter (or love package?) to FPS fans everywhere. It's a collection of five games, all of which could easily be packaged and sold separately and make Valve truckloads of money. When describing all that you get by purchasing this collection, I get so enthusiastic that it's hard for me not to sound like the guy on TV hawking Magic Bullets at 3 AM. It's SO GOOD and you get SO MUCH for money.

I completed Half-Life 2, and Portal, and I've put in a little bit of time with Team Fortress 2. All of which are brilliant, but so far the real stand out has been Portal. It's an extremely short and extremely satisfying first-person puzzle game. It's like a nugget made with the finest quality of meats, although unlike most nuggets, it really is satisfying. It's three-hour life span ensures that the game (which is built around a single concept) never gets old. It's an experience that you really must experience, and one that anyone with the necessary hardware to run it would be stupid to pass up.

I feel that Valve's generosity towards gamers is going to spoil us in the long run. Think about it . . . All the overweight virginal gamers eagerly drop $60 on a single product that gets them less than 10 hours of entertainment. Yeah, gamers do that OFTEN. In my case, once or twice a month. But depending on the age, weight, and number of years gone without touching a woman, that figure could increase to three, four, or even FIVE games a month!

Now that's a damn shame . . .

I know it's unlikely, but I hope that Valve's experiment in value and quality OF quantity sends a message to the rest of the industry to stop sticking their dicks in our collective asses and show us some respect.

The spirit of The Box has me giddy, and when I'm giddy I enjoy posting blogs with lists. So! Here I've put together a list of the most famous boxes in the history of boxes. Enjoy!

5. I actually hate this particular box, but its fame cannot be denied. Since 1951, Jack in the Box "restaurants" have been fattening Americans with its over-priced mayonnaise-laden menu. Seriously, they put mayo on the motherfucking breakfast sandwiches! Pardon me while I go throw up at the thought of eating an egg and cheese biscuit with mayonnaise on it.

4. In addition to ditching a boy band, making two amazingly successful and equally amazing albums, and fucking Jessica Biel, Mr. Timberlake thought he needed to prove to us again how awesome he is with an SNL skit. The Dick in a Box video became and Internet/pop culture phenomenon and even won an Emmy . . .or a Grammy. Or an Oscar. Who knows, but that video sure is hilarious.

3. Sure, you can say that me listing Microsoft inaugural gaming device as a cop out, or bias, but then I'll just give you the finger. One could argue that the 360 is more famous, but you can't deny the impact of this monstrosity here. The 87-pound beast came equipped with a hard-drive, four controller ports, and all the network gizmos necessary to bring online gaming to us console folk. I still have mine!

2. Having a shitty day? Well, you can blame this bitch. According to myth, Pandora here was beside herself with curiosity when told not to open a box by a deity or something. Having no self control, she opened it anyways and let loose a set of evil, plagues, death, and destruction upon the world. The legend doesn't say, but I'm sure rush-hour traffic, waiting in line at the bank, and those decals of Calvin peeing on various logos were in the box, too. Thanks a lot, Pandora.

1. OK, don't pretend like you weren't expecting this. The Orange Box is sooooo fucking good that I simply couldn't resist mentioning it again. Five games! Five fucking amazing games! Stop reading this nonsense and go buy the fucking thing already.

Vertically Scheduled

2007-11-06T16:29:00.000-07:00

When I first created this blog as an alternative to the voyeurism and self-importance that is Myspace.com I had good intentions of keeping it up to date. But like most endeavors I pursue these days, my efforts have been half-assed at best. Since my last update, a whole SHIT LOAD of stuff has happened--so here goes:

My friend Richard and I moved into an apartment together a few weeks ago, and so far the results have been somewhat of a mixed bag. Living with Richard is great; so don't go mad with the prospect of gossip, those of you who know Mr. Rodriguez, but there have been a few other issues . . . First of all, getting the Internet hooked up has been a battle worthy of a Tolkein novel movie adaptation. The motherfuckers over at Time Warner have their heads so far up their asses I'm amazed that they haven't sunk themselves into chapter eleven. I'm serious. Getting put on hold, and transferred, and put on hold again, and transferred to a guy named Fernando, then switched back to some woman, etc., etc . . . Now multiply that scenario by two weeks and raise it to a power of frustration capable of launching you into a murderous rampage and you'll get an idea of how I feel. It's sad to admit a dependency on the Internet, but you know what? That's just how it is today. I don't only use it for Halo/Team Fortress 2 playing, but for communication, and podcast listening, and hardcore pornography downloading, and so on. Today is the first day it has been working, and I'm crossing my fingers that it doesn't fuck up again.

In addition to the Internet Wars of 2007, we have began a squirmish with our downstairs neighbor. PIcture the most awful, buzzed headed, ex-military tattooed white trash dad in the universe, and you have our neighbor. You see, I suppose either the shell shock of war or several years of raising SHITTY kids has made our "friend" very sensative to noise. The first night we had everything all set up we had a few friends over. We didn't have the TV in the living room yet, so we instead played my iPod in one of those little speaker dock things. Well, the next day, Colonel Tattoo stops Rich and I and tells us to keep it down. Ok . . . whatever. Fast forward two weeks, we have some more people over. This time we have the TV in the living room and the surround sound set up. Anyways, the kids come over and we start watching Entourage (brilliant show, by the way,) and all of the sudden it sounds like our floor is going to collapse out from underneath us. Apparently General Dickhead thought it was too loud, and in his combative conditioned response decided to bang THE SHIT out of his cieling. Not once, not twice, but SIX TIMES! It shook the couch I was sitting on. Ok, I know Richard's speakers have the ability to to be ass-rockingly loud, but we were watching Entourage. Not motherfucking Transformers or something. Jesus. I hate his face and his ugly kids.

What else is new . . . well there's the Halo 3 thing. I suppose not supplying the interwebs with more material about "the most successful entertainment product" in history makes me a terrible person, gamer, and even a worse blogger. Halo 3 is an amazing game, but it isn't the industry-changing experience that Combat Evolved was. The single player campaign is exceptionally fun, yet laughably short. The real value comes from the multiplayer, which is really more like a competitive sport than a videogame. But yeah, if you have a 360 and enjoy a good round of shooting, pick it up.

In other news, two weeks ago was the insane Daft Punk/Vegoose music festival in Las Vegas. By a combination of chance and personal awesomeness, I managed to see both Daft Punk's first US show (Coachella '06) and their last (this here Vegoose thing.) Being pushed up against so many shirtless, dirty, sweaty hippies may have given me a mild case of ringworm, but I don't care. It was AMAZING! Those of you that are unfamiliar with the work of this Parisian robot duo are doing yourself a GREAT disservice. Go buy the Discovery album and look on Youtube.com for some videos of their live performances. The rest of the weekend was amazing, too. Walking around and drinking yards of stawberry daquiri while occassionally stopping to shop/watch a water ballet was a blast.

That's about all I've got so far. I need to head out to my teacher classes pretty soon. Hopefully tonight will end early enough for me to catch the new Tila Tequila. Yeah . . . I know. Don't say anything.

Beardly

2007-09-30T19:19:00.000-06:00

It's hard to relate the process of beard growth to those that lack the testosterone and appropriately-located follicles to experience it, but I'll try. You see, my job this summer was pretty strict about the facial hair . . . Even peach fuzz was cause for reprimand. But since my internship (or should I say internment?) has ended, I have totally let myself go. Free of the facial-hair regulations of the refinery, I now have some quality Chia-esque action going on, and despite the itchiness and my general homeless appearance, it feels fucking great.

I have always been an advocate for the beard, not only for style reasons, but also because shaving FUCKING SUCKS. The idea of gliding a hand-held instrument equipped with not one, not two, but THREE razors along my jugular has never sat well with me. I sympathize with you ladies out there, I really do. Because the amount of surface area you all have to shave is several orders of magnitude greater than ours. But keep it up, cause I don't like hairy bitches. Just Kidding!

Kind of.

It's funny, too, how something that sucks as much as shaving is a right-of-passage that so many kids look forward to. I don't really get it. I was never gung ho about the whole thing. When everything that those 1970s videos they showed us in gym class started happening to me, the desire to shave was furthest from my mind. In fact, my first "razor" was an electric--a method that I still embrace today for that permanent five o'clock shadow look.

From puberty to my 20-somethings, I thought it'd be fun to take a look at great moments in Michael Hash Facial Hair History. Think of it as a retrospect that celebrates the basic human right to be hairy as well a guide to facial hair done right. Here goes:

Here we have the Post-Scruff. When combined with a t-shirt and an unkempt looking coif, it is UNSTOPPABLE in the clubs. Beat that, Mystery.

Oh, the Handlebar. Nothing SCREAMS jackass like this pro-wrestler/NRA member popularized classic. When displayed on the beach, it even manages to attract drunken-patchy dopplegangers. Go figure.

Yeah, this totally isn't me. It's some teacher-that-subbed-for's sad husband. This 'stache/glasses/feathered hair combo is the perfect example of what NOT to do.

What we have here is the Winterly, a perfect example of form and function in those cold winter months. Note the completely unnecessary UTEP headband and matching plugs.

The Lincoln tells everybody, "Hey, shaving is for suckers and I am NOT cool with slavery." Which are obviously good messages to send to the world. Snappy clothes and a shiny cardboard hat can really jazz up this particular look.

The Amish look is perfect for those that have a high level of contempt for mustaches and a fondness for butter-churning. Just remember to leave the horn-rimmed glasses at home.

So throw away your Bics and Shicks, because growing and maintaining your facial hair is fun and easy. Well, once you get past the Kevin McDonald Kids in the Hall sketch stage of growing it out, anyways . . . .

Road Rage

2007-09-23T19:42:00.000-06:00

I was driving home from the far-side of town on Saturday night when an act of road rage got a little out of hand. I drive a very small, very light, very easily destructible car, mind you, and the perpetrator of this vehicular harassment was in a large, heavy, OLD Jaguar. I'll spare the details of my attack, but just know that the incident involved high-speeds, wet roads, and sudden breaking. In all seriousness, I was a little shook up by the whole thing.

Driving a car allows for moments of empowerment and freedom that can instantly turn into feelings of fear and helplessness, which some films have managed to recreate flawlessly. Almost getting destroyed by the clearly insane driver of a Jaguar got me to thinking about the best car-related horror movies out there. So queue up these classics on your Netflix with these classics, and please folks, if you see me driving on the freeway, don't try to kill me.

Duel, 1971
Duel was Steven Spielberg's first feature-length film which originally debuted on television in the 70s. But unlike today's Amy Fisher/Hallmark Hall of Fame piece of shit Lifetime Network movies, Duel was very (read VERY,) good. The film is about a greasy little businessman driving through what looks like Arizona and getting terrorized by a big-ass semi truck. There's some really good Hitchcockian paranoia mixed in with the visual flair that helped make Spielberg such a Holly Wood big shot. It's
available on DVD, and VERY worth checking out.

Breakdown, 1997
I love it when really good low-budget movies succeed. Breakdown did just that in '97, coming out of nowhere and knocking people on their asses with its oh-so-intense man on a mission to save his wife from psycho redneck truckers story. Clearly drawing inspiration from Duel in its opening scenes, Breakdown takes a sharp turn into what can be considered action movie territory. But even the explosions and gunplay never distract from the feeling of dread you get when Kurt Russel's wife disappears ten minutes in.

Joyride, 2001
So if Breakdown and Duel made baby (a baby that would likely grow up to dress in all black and hurt little animals,) it'd be Joyride. Joyride is a great movie, but it's certainly entertaining. The truck vs car Duel dynamic plus the relationship aspects Breakdown multiplied by slasher movie violence is the formula for the film's success. So if you can stomach Paul Walker's school of Keanu Reeves acting technique for a couple of hours, it's definitely worth your time.

BioShoXXX

2007-09-03T22:47:00.000-06:00

The first drop of the 40-days and 40-nights-caliber storm of big games this fall has landed upon us. And I think the biblical muse I'm channeling would agree with me and say, "And it was good."

Ken Levine and the boys and Irrational Games gained their industry notoriety back in '99 with the release of System Shock 2. According to Wikipedia, the game was technically impressive, played well, AND was scary. Which are all things that most games today developed on fancy-pants Cell processors fail to achieve.

Being a console gamer, I completely missed out on the collectively decided awesomeness that was System Shock 2. But lucky for us console-types, visionary PC designers are making the jump to the console space and making some fucking amazing titles and--hopefully--some profit for themselves as well.

In pre-release interviews, members of the design team were adement in stressing that the game is a shooter. I suppose this was done to ensure sales, because typically ambitious abstractions fail to compete with regurgitated genres on the best-seller charts. It's sad to see a product that will likely be remembered for everything it accomplishes outside of combat be undersold as a shooter.

Though shooting is the vehicle that drives the BioShock experience, it is definitely not its strongest point. In fact, when compared to the Halo's of the world, BioShock is mechanically imprecise. But that doesn't make it any less fun. What BioShock lacks in solid shooting mechanics, it makes up for it's level and character designs.

The plausible impossible underwater city of Rapture and its inhabitants really suck you in. Each room is meticulously detailed and radically different from the next. This isn't your standard gun-metal hallway after gun-metal hallway typical sci-fi shooter level design here. There are constantly new things to see and nooks and crannies to explore.

Rapture is populated by several classes of citizens, all of which are rather creepy and decidedly fucked up. The main enemy characters are called Splicers. Splicers are essentially insane-mask-wearing-lead pipe-wielding-bible-hymn-singing psychos that lurk in the shadows and hunt in packs to take you down. They vary in degree of difficulty, and have a represent a moderately impressive AI behavior. There are times when they will retreat to save their own skins, but that's about the extent of it.

In addition to Splicers, there are the Big Daddies and Little Sisters. In a nutshell, Big Daddies are big and scary and mean and Little Sisters are ugly bug-eyed little girls that walk around poking corpses. Big Daddies are the steadfast guardians of the Little Sisters that will protect them at all costs. Each battle with a Big Daddy is as unnerving as it is exhilarating. When fired upon their docile yellow-lit helmets turn a fiery-red and they charge at you with screen-blurring speed. These fights are amazing at first, but wane in excitement as the game progresses due to their necessity and the game's they-won't-attack you-until-you-attack-them-mechanic. I often found myself completing the game's narrative-related tasks and ready to move on to the next section when an on-screen reminder prompted me to go back and kill the Big Daddies.

I'm well aware that I'm nit-picking, but when a game succeeds on so many levels it forces one to focus on the minutia. BioShock's only failings are its constant reminders to the player that it is, in fact, a videogame. The art direction, sound design, and story are all brought down by the conventions of the medium. Menu screen shuffling that disrupts the action, on screen prompts oblective prompts, a GTA-esque directional arrow, and the final "boss" encounter are all examples of how ambition like this can only go so far given the boundaries of the videogame language.

But is good? Fuck yes it's good, I'd even go as far as to call it great. A definite must-buy that you will not regret going $60 in the hole for. Gaming experiences like this are rare; when cinematic videogame envelope is pushed just a little farther. BioShock could very well go down as this console generation's Metroid Prime, and a higher praise than that I could not give it.

Maybe in Retrospect I Should Have Said "Country"

2007-06-24T16:14:00.000-06:00

Among the hardcore, it's been unanimously decided that Donkey Kong Country was not a good game. The fanciful pre-rendered characters and backgrounds made for some of the most delicious eye candy around back in '94, but has since become inedible.

What Rare Ltd achieved with the original DKC was precisely what they set out to do, which was prove that the SNES was capable of major graphical feats, and could still be a viable competitor against 32-bit machines. There was a skeleton of a game there, for sure, but its apparent now that the Brits simply read the platform game Cliffs Notes, threw in a bunch of big words, and got by with an A.

The smoke and mirrors used made it easy for me to forgive the game's lack of depth (the fact that i was 11-year-old helped too.) I remember when that mysterious VHS tape in a leaf-covered box came in the mail. I was totally blown away. The propagandists at Nintendo Power really knew how to put together a promo video. The whole thing was less than 20 minutes long, and showcased only a tiny glimpse of the gameplay. But the graphics--my God, the graphics--aroused me more than the Playboy magazines under my older brother's bed.

Being the income-less 11-year-old that I was, I was forced to beg my mom for the game. It's release was slated for November, which meant I would have to wait until Christmas. Damn Nintendo and their marketing prowess . . .

Needless to say, it was a very happy Christmas, indeed. I played the game backwards and forwards. I made it my goal, my mission, my LIFE to find all the hidden bananas and bonus stage barrels. I remember playing the snow level over and over . . . you know the one, where the snow fell lightly at first and then became thicker and thicket as you progressed through the level? Yeah, that's the one.

The immediate success of DKC warranted a sequel, and Rare had a quick follow-up ready for release just one year later. This time around, they lacked the "holy shit!" factor that the original had. The visuals were simply cleaned up, but the gaming community's reaction barely registered on the Richter scale. Sony had released the Playstation several months earlier, and gamers were already beating off to the jagged polygonal race cars of Ridge Racer and blocky humanoid combatants of Battle Arena Toshinden. Suddenly it seemed hard to care about a monkey jumping on reptiles and collecting bananas--especially considering the game's title character wasn't even playable.

The blokes at Rare must have come down with a case of Mad Cow disease, because the direction they took with DCK 2 made no sense. Removing Donkey Kong, perhaps the most recognizable figure in videogames next to Pac-Man, and replacing him the with the ridiculously designed Dixie Kong is a travesty. Dixie is essentially Diddy Kong in drag, and her long blond ponytail acts as a sort of auxiliary appendage, capable of lifting barrels over her head and tossing them at enemies.

Dixie's hair also gave her the slow-descending ability, which had become a platform game staple in the years following Super Mario Bros. 3. This occurred when Dixie spun while falling, turning the ponytail like the propeller of a helicopter. It all makes perfect sense.

Besides the superfluous Dixie, Rare began what would become its downfall: collecting tons of meaningless bullshit. In addition to bananas, in DKC 2 you collect banana coins, Kremlin coins, balloons, golden letters that spell out the word "KONG," and feathers. It's a cheap way to add longevity and replayability to a game that Rare eventually perfected.

I played DKC 2 quite a bit during its initial release, but never owned a copy. What it lacked the charm and uniqueness, it attempted to make up for with lame characters and frustration. It amazes how that DKC 2 is widely regarded as the best the game of the franchise. Because even now that I am old enough to realize the original game's flaws, it still has that nostalgia factor going for it, which counts for a lot.

Despite its shortcomings, DKC 2 was still wildly popular, and like any entertainment product that returns even a $1 profit, a sequel was made. By now, the whole monkeys grabbing bananas while shooting out of barrels schlock had gotten really old, and I never knew a single person who owned the game. And get a load of the character designs here: the shit-fest Dixie returns, and this time instead of Diddy or Donkey, she's brought along Kiddy Kong. Yes, Kiddy Kong. Words cannot bring justice to the loathsome feelings I have for this character, so I'll just wrap it up here.

It's sad to think that the game that single-handedly saved the SNES from an early grave went down in history as such a dud. If Rare had just managed to squeeze an actual game in between all of those graphical tricks, then the SNES could have went out with a well deserved bang.

T9--The "T" Stands for "Truth"

2007-06-21T18:01:00.000-06:00

Being the socially awkward poor conversationalist that I am, I immediately embraced text messaging as my preferred method of communication so many years ago. At first it was a little weird . . . New rules of etiquette had to be established. Is a text impersonal? It's too late to call, but is it too late to text? I just met this girl, would it be weird if I text her before I call her? Etc., etc., etc.

Years later, I still text more than ever. In fact, there are some people that I have never once spoken to on the phone, yet have carried on lengthy full-text conversations with. In fact, texting is so important, that when I left ass raping T-Mobile, text plans were the FIRST thing I took into consideration.

Texting to the degree of intensity that my friends and I do requires the use of T9. You know, predictive text--that magical little function that makes texting fast and easy. According to Wikipedia (also known as the never-wrong fountain of knowledge,) T9 is short for Text on 9 Keys. This program not only makes texting easier, but just so happens to reveal some eerie truths about life. The validity of these truths is proven by the fact that certain combinations of key presses form words that are linked together in ways that defy coincidence. Here are a few examples:

4663=GOOD=HOME
This is an easy one. Home is GOOD. No matter if it's your childhood home, or the new home that you've made for yourself, everybody loves their home. And that is . . . good.

5477=LIPS=KISS
Ah yes . . . the infamous kiss/lips example. Once in a drunken rage of chauvinistic stupidity I sent Bob a text bragging about a makeout conquest that read, "I'll lips anything that moves!" The rest is history.

2665=BOOK=COOL
This one used to ALWAYS infuriate me. I say "cool" hundreds of times a day, but when the fuck do I ever say "book?" Well, that was until I discovered that books are in fact cool. Yes, the genius of J.K Rowling has helped me to become a literate member of society and a regular reader of books . . . that are cool.

5437=KIDS=LIES
Oh children . . . Always LYING. And parents too, always lying to their kids and lying to themselves about being good parents. It's a vicious circle of lies that's existed ever since the first monkey man made sex with the first monkey woman and proof, once again, that T9 knows all.

2625=ANAL=COCK
This one just makes me laugh.

Pac-THIS

2007-06-19T23:17:00.000-06:00

Arriving right in between the Space Invaders quarter-shortage-inducing craze and the medium-evolving Donkey Kong was Pac-Man. It's colorful graphics and extremely simple gameplay made it appealing to everyone from overweight children to successful businessmen. I was too young to experience the pop culture phenomenon that ensued firsthand, but its reverberations can still be felt today. To many, the word "videogame" brings to mind a mental image of the little yellow glutton cruising around mazes and avoiding ghosts. It's synonymous relationship with the medium is particularly amazing given the fact the game is almost 30 years old.

A couple of weeks ago, original Pac-Man developer Namco revitalized the series with the release of Pac-Man Championship Edition on Xbox Live Arcade. Arriving just as the Halo 3 Beta was drawing to a close, Pac-Man CE was like a gift from a benevolent God that I'm still not quite sure that I believe in (though the quality of the game sure does make a strong case for the existence of the big guy.)

Pac-Man CE maintains the charm of the original visually, with extremely simple character sprites that would've been right at home on an arcade board in 1979. The mazes were jazzed up a bit with a glowing vector-graphics effect that works extremely well. The entire maze is still contained within one screen, and thanks to the dominance of HD TVs it's a widescreen.

The gameplay has only a few subtle differences that when combined create a fast, frantic experience. For example, in the original, once all of the dots were cleared within a maze the action would stop. The player would be rewarded with a much-needed rest before the screen would black out and a new maze generated. In CE, the maze is divided into left and right sections. When all of the dots on one side are cleared, a piece of fruit appears on the opposite side. Eating the fruit replenishes the dots on the opposite end and in some cases changes the layout of the maze. This is done seemlessly, leaving absolutely no break in the gameplay.

Games can be played in a variety of modes, which vary in five or ten minute intervals. The timer and score chasing make for a perfectly old-school arcade experience. I can't really do the game any justice here, the incredibly addictive gameplay must really be played to be fully understood. But if words are your thing, there's no shortage of enthusiast press on Pac-Man CE. Everyone from 1up.com to Penny-Arcade has covered has covered the game at length.

If you have a 360, buy it. If you don't have a 360, then you should just go ahead and end your life right now.

Grand Theft Autonomy

2007-06-17T23:30:00.000-06:00

There's only one thing in the entire world that I hate more than AIDS and cancer. It's all around us and we see it everyday. No one is safe, really. It can happen to your best friend, your brother, your sister, your primo, prima and abuelita . . . . and it can even happen to YOU. I'm of course talking about pandemic of losing yourself completely when in a relationship that's spreading like a proverbial wildfire.

No doctor of medicine or expert of psychological pseudo-sciences can explain it. How does a grown man, with a fully-functioning pair of testicles instantly lose them when he meets a girl? Where do they go!? Jesus Christ . . . you'd have a better chance of finding Amelia Earhart and Jimmy Hoffa on the same day than you would your friend's manhood.

And before the ugly finger of misogyny gets pointed in this direction, it must be said that it goes both ways. All too often smart, fun-loving, and ambitious women are mercilessly molded into boring, reclusive, non-text-message-answering dopplegangers of their former selves.

Is it really worth it to lose yourself? The only thing we are born with, that is ours eternally and unquestionably is our-motherfucking-selves. Why would anyone willingly give that away? Perhaps its a combination of things . . . like loneliness, low self esteem, and the temptation of the all powerful FUCK--dangled over their heads by a string like a carrot leading a donkey.

Whatever the case may be, it saddens me greatly. Every time I witness a case of grand theft autonomy, a little piece of me dies inside. Each and every person can give their friends, loved ones, strangers, and lovers SO MUCH if they could simply be themselves.

I leave you all with lyrics from the ever-wise REO Speedwagon and their 1987 hit That Ain't Love. It's an inspirational "fuck you! i'm better off without you" ballad in the tradition of I Will Survive. Here goes:

You tell me what you think Im feelin', you know why I do what I do
Why should you listen to a word I'm sayin', when it's already so clear to you
You tell me 'bout my bad intentions, you doubt the very things I hold true
I can no longer live with your misconceptions, baby all I can say to you, is

That ain't love, I believe you've got the wrong emotion
That ain't love, at least it doesn't feel like love to me
As long as I say what you wanna hear
Do what you wanna do, be who you want me to be
You think that's love, well baby that ain't love to me

Not to be Confused With That Robin WIlliams Movie

2007-06-17T23:24:00.000-06:00

Strolling through Target for no reason is one of my favorite pastimes. There's something about all that red and the curious Target-smell that brings my comfort. I can almost always find a CD, DVD, videogame, or solid-colored Mossimo shirt that I don't need, but end up buying anyway.

During one of my recent Target constitutionals I wandered into the toy section. Now, usually I stay away from there, given my disdain for screaming children, terrible parents, and the general disorganization of the merchandise (due in large part to the screaming children and terrible parents.) So against my better judgment, I cruised into the toy section to see what kids are playing with these days. My findings made me a little sad.

Toys today are terribly boring. First of all, there is a line action figures based on people with regular "manly" jobs. You know, like cops, fireman, construction workers, etc. I don't know about you guys, but the idea of playing with a toy based on an under-paid blue-collar schmo does not sound all that exciting. There was also your standard licensed fair, such as Spider-Man toys, Shrek toys, and other toys based on high-budgeted PG-13-rated films.

It was all just SO boring. It made me think about how awesome toys were when I was little. Toys that were fun, and creative, and worth throwing a fit in public for. So let's reminisce about a time when children's shoes were bereft of wheels, a time when Saturday morning cartoons were a big deal and punctuated by commercials for toys that didn't suck . . .

Every once in a while, toy-designers like to get together and create a toy that reminds fat kids about how much the world hates them. During my youth, that toy was the the PogoBall. This rubber inflated ball and plastic foot-stand was definitely not for the hefty. And even those that were blessed with not-so-big bones got very little "pogo" out of it. Jumping on a PogoBall felt a lot like jumping while weighted down by an inflatable ball and plastic stand.

Boys love action figures--not dolls--action figures. Action figures with big fucking muscles and guns and mean looking scowls on their faces. I was lucky enough to be born in era that saw the release of a line of action figures that not only fulfilled my masculine fantasies of warfare and destruction, but my culinary ones as well. The Food Fighters were surely the result of brilliant focus group testing that managed to tap into kids love of both fried foods and Rambo.

Jealous of Mattel's success with Food Fighters, rival toy manufacturer Playmates applied similar focus group testing and released the Barnyard Commandos. After all, the only thing kids love more than snacks and blowing shit up is petting zoos and, well . . . blowing shit up. The Barnyard Commandos added some much needed drama to the chaotic, pointless fighting of their food counterparts. The Commandos were divided into two factions: the R.A.M.S. and the P.O.R.K.s. This gave many-a-child their first taste of how cute and cuddly a race war could be.

I barely remember these rosy-cheeked pastel rodent abominations known as Popples. I know I had the orange one and that there was a tie-in cartoon show, but I can't recall how or why these things existed and what the significance of their ability to turn into a ball was. But I do know that pulling the fabric flap down to make a Popple into a ball was really fucking hard for a four-year-old.

What were some of you all's favorite toys when you were kids?

The Pied Piper of Pixar

2007-06-12T20:01:00.001-06:00

Browsing around my usual entertainment news sites I've been seeing more and more buzz about Disney and Pixar's latest computer-animated concoction Ratatouille. I'm somewhat susceptible to internet hype, but there was something about this movie that was bothering me . . . then I realized it.

Pixar is not perfect.

Pixar is the studio that is single-handedly responsible for the motion picture industry's phasing out of traditionally animated films. Toy Story was absolutely out of this world when it debuted in 1995, but was it as mind-blowingly awesome as Snow White and the Seven Dwarves in 1937? Probably not. And call me old fashioned, but I was a little sad when Disney put thousands of Korean sweatshop workers out of a job and completely stopped producing traditionally animated films. Especially when its last attempt was the abysmal Rosanne Barr-voiced Home on the Range . . . . but the traditional vs. computer-animation debate is one for another time.

Like many of you out there, when I think of Pixar, warm memories of the first time I saw Toy Story on the big screen, the amazing animation techniques used in Finding Nemo, and the decidedly grown-up approach they took with The Incredibles are recalled. These thoughts make it easy to neglect the more forgettable attempts that the uber-successful studio has thrown at us over the years.

A Bug's Life was Pixar's sophomore entry into the world of full-length animated films. The technology had come a long way since Toy Story, but that did nothing to help the film. A Bug's Life ended up being an unimpressive take on the Seven Samurai plot, remembered more for its competition by another computer-bug flick Antz than its own merits. Ask anyone to make a list of their favorite Pixar movies, and unless they're a entomologist or a retard A Bug's Life will most assuredly be at the bottom.

Then along came Monsters Inc., which had the misfortune of following up the near-perfect Toy Story 2. Conceptually it was pretty cool. Taking the "there's a monster in my closet" idea and focusing it on friendly monsters that harvest children's screams to power their city. And they even managed to get Billy Crystal away from Academy Awards hosting gigs and Analyze This sequels long enough to lend his voice to it. But even a cool concept and a washed-up comedian couldn't save this film. The single best part was Boo, the child character that was literally voiced by a child spouting nonsense into the microphone. One viewing was enough--and it's anybody's guess as to how it went on to make $250 million. I'm thinking it was the lack of cg-toon competition back in 2001.

And finally we have Cars. A movie that trailered so poorly that I never even bothered to see it. But I didn't really need to, because I was sure I'd seen these characters before. Oh, that's right . . . they're complete knock-offs of the Chevron Techron cars from an ad campaign that first debuted over 10 years ago. Seriously, what the fuck? After The Incredibles proved to audiences that animation can have a narrative with the sophistication of a live-action film and the heart of a family film, this G-rated fluff piece was an abomination.

This brings us back to Ratatouille. A movie that, from what I gather, is about a rat that dreams of being a chef. The sad thing is, the plot of the movie is SO BAD, that it must immediately be followed by, "it's the new movied from Pixar!" in order to spark any sort of interest in it. Which is what brings me to my original point: Just because a movie is stamped with the Pixar logo, it does not mean that it is an immediate classic worthy of your $8.75.

People need to get away from having a pleasure-induced seizure every time a studio or director with a semi-consistent track record releases a new movie. I was happy as shit when the over-advertised, over-done, overly-long, complete waste of time and talent that was Grindhouse tanked at the box office. It had Quentin Tarantino's name on it, but that didn't mean I couldn't smell a rat . . . or in this case a Ratatouille (sorry, I couldn't resist.)

What They Don't Teach You in Biology Class

2007-06-11T21:18:00.000-06:00

I often ask myself--what differentiates human beings from the animals? Is it our ability to reason? Our opposable thumbs? Our advances in art and technology?

Hell no. It's our ability to spice up our lovemaking with more positions than just "doggie style."

Look at all these sad quadrapeds . . . just humping away for millions of years in JUST ONE POSITION. The thought alone makes me want to end my own life.

I mean, it's totally effective right? If your goal is simply to reproduce like our four-legged friends here, then that's fine. But think about the monotony. It's so sad, because even if they wanted to they couldn't do it. For example, if an elephant ever wanted to get a little freaky and get on top, it would literally destroy its partner. Now that's fucked up.

So yes folks, be thankful that you walk on two legs instead of four. And the next time you want to try something new with your partner, say a silent prayer for the animals out there that have been damned to an eternity of boring sex.

Il Grande Finale

2007-06-11T19:47:00.000-06:00

Every one seems to be furious about the ending of HBO's The Sopranos.

"What the . . .?!"

"I want closure!"

"After eight years you give us this?!"

"That's a cop-out!"

And to these naysayers, I say nay to you! Wake the fuck up and appreciate the gift that David Chase (in his infinite brilliance) has given us.

The Sopranos was a trail-blazing television drama. It took the mythos of the Italian mafia and modernized it, and gave a more intimate look into the personal lives of its members. It was extremely brutal and unpredictable. Unlike other television dramas, the characters met their end in shockingly bloody ways. It was always a little sad when one of your favorite characters got "whacked," but by that same token, it was EXTREMELY satisfying when one of your LEAST favorite characters got what he deserved. The threat of death was imminent, and helped the show remain true to its source material.

Tony was the heart of the show. A complex anti-hero that over years has proved himself a liar, murderer, adulterer, drug-user, gambler, racist, and misogynist. Seems like he certainly deserves to die, doesn't it?

Yeah, he probably does. Or maybe all the good things he has done, and all the good things he may still do means that he shouldn't die.

There is no right or wrong or answer here, and the ending that Mr. Chase chose let's us make up our minds about the future of Tony Soprano.

As fans, we become extremely attached to fictional characters. We relate to them, empathize and sympathize with them, and enjoy watching their growth over the course of a series. But we are always at the mercy of the invisible Hollywood writers as to what happens to our favorite characters. And why is that? How come a group of creative writing majors that sit in a room all night smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee together get to decide how everything will end?

The ending is a fair one. It's a realistic one. It deftly avoided dramatic cliches as it set them up. The mysterious angry guy in the windbreaker? Meadow out in the street? All the pieces were there for a catastrophe . . . or not.

I was shocked by the abruptness of the finale, and given the medium I thought that perhaps the cable had gone out at the worst possible moment. But after dwelling on it for a while I realized that ending was the smartest possible way for the show to end.

Kudos to you, Mr. Chase. Now it's time to start buying the rest of the DVDs.