Pergo

So I was reading an article in the paper, and it was on about how we ought to build on our strengths and focus on those rather than our weaknesses in order to get through the daily grind. And I agree fully, I think that mankind should try and reach it's fullest potential. However it quoted a book written by Tom Rath and there was a statement in there that makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. Tom Rath said "You cannot be anything you want to be - but you can be a lot more of who you already are."

You cannot be anything you want to be - but you can be a lot more of who you already are.

Let that sink in a moment. Now he does have a valid point, instead of trying to force ourselves to do something that we're not very good at, we are much more productive at playing to our strengths, and I agree in the most basic sense of the phrase. Sure we can be more productive, but that also creates complacency, boredom, and stagnation if you're simply stuck in one thing. Where's the spice of life? The Adventure of Risk? I can see his perspective, especially coming from the Boy Scouts. When I was first made a Senior Patrol Leader in my community troop it was because I had developed those skills at a younger age, and my father was a great leader as well so I took from his example. A person might have suggested that I was a natural born leader but I disagree, I developed those skills through my upbringing. Regardless, as an SPL I was tasked with asking the boys to perform certain duties we had in the troop, especially during camps. One specific outing that comes to mind was our trip to the National Jamboree in 05. And when I made the assignments for my senior staff, I played to their strengths. Andrew was extremely organized and fantastic at keeping files together for one thing or another, so I appointed him as my Scribe. Stephan was similarly very organized and resourceful so I asked him to be my Quartermaster. Andy, while we disagreed a great deal on leadership styles, was very amiable and could reach people differently, and after a manner represented half the troop we were contingent with, since half of us were from different districts. And we ran like clockwork, because everybody played their strengths and did it well.

So yes there is wisdom in that.

Let me draw another example for you. I'm not an athletic person, ask anyone what knows me. I hike and enjoy the outdoors sure, but I'm no sports jockey by any means. So when I wanted to longboard because I wanted to snowboard because I thought it was cool and I was living in the Rockys, I was breaking VASTLY new ground. I had never done anything like it before in my life! But I wanted it so I went out and did it, and it was difficult. I spent the first week just practicing balance and mounting the board, nevermind taking it out at all and riding it proper. After I thought I had a handle on the situation, I tried coasting down the driveway into the street, and the minute I hit curb I was tasting asphalt. I took it easy and it took months. I started doing long stretches on sidewalks, not knowing that was actually step 3, I was supposed to try it in parking lots first since they're much smoother. That was where I went to post-sidewalks so I could practice carving and dismounting and whatnot. When it became too cold to board anymore I was happy with my progress. I changed something about myself, and it started with desire.

Now Tom definitely could say, "Well that's easy, obviously you have a naturally well developed center of gravity, and you're a natural longboarder, it's in your blood."

But I simply don't agree with that. You can't be whomever you want, WITHOUT DESIRE. That's the key, not this stagnant and non-progressive school of thought that tells us we don't have to change or improve. We're so complacent in the thought that we should just accept ourselves. While we should be happy with ourselves, don't get me wrong, we should always want to stretch ourselves too. Go out and do something you didn't think you could do. Another example, my hands are really small for being a tall dude, and it's really uncomfortable trying to learn the guitar. I do it anyway. Because I want it. If I wanted to be an astronaut, I could. Desire is your key, not acceptance. Because complete acceptance is simply a form of defeat, submission, surrender. It limits us because it gives us the sense that we cannot be anything more than we already are.

Ask yourself why the powers that be might want that of the lowly folk.

Operator Out

I Love My Sisters

Living in Utah has made me privy to some ideologies that make me nuts. Maybe that's the wrong word, but I don't want to call them heresies either because that's a bit harsh. Here's my qualms.

I'm tired of women being blamed for the wrong deeds of menfolk. Lately there's talk of the reasons why men take advantage of women and it being because of their apparel. Friends of mine that are women roll their eyes each time they're asked what they learned in Relief Society on the first Sunday of each school semester, because consistently, every year, Bishops and other priesthood leaders make it a habit of warning them to dress modestly because otherwise they are distracting to the men and cause them to have inappropriate thoughts. Two reasons why you should never listen to this fallacy. Number one, God has never said this is why he likes it when women are modest and chaste. He said it in the scriptures Jacob 2:28 For I, the Lord God, delight in the chastity of women. And whoredoms are an abomination before me; thus saith the Lord of Hosts.

In fact this entire time Jacob is yelling at the menfolk for acting like prepubescent teenagers without a single braincell because they're breaking the tender hearts of their wives.

Additionally this makes menfolk to look like nothing but sex crazed rage beasts! That we don't have deeper thoughts that what's under a shirt, so women better wear an iron maiden and a turtleneck for good measure because you don't want to give men the wrong idea.

Now certain prophets and apostles have mentioned that this is an added benefit of chaste and modest women being it helps the men, but instead members of the church have this infuriating habit of taking a few words and making it doctrine. It's like when my sister was being taught in Young Womens, over and over and over again, get married in the temple at all costs, that's what you want, get married in the temple. Instead it should be BE WORTHY to get married in the temple, be READY to get married in the temple, but you have people going in that ought not to and then after their married never go back!

Here's my humble opinion. Women should be chaste and modest not because men are pigs, but because it makes God happy. And if there's anyone that you should care about is happy, it's Him. If you upset the whole world, it matters little if you've at least made God happy, because frankly only He matters.

Now men, stop being pigs. And I mean this in the sense that some of us say, "Well I can't help it, it's in my nature." Yknow I'm tired of our society perpetuating a culture of acceptance in the sense that we simply let things go for that same excuse, 'I can't change who I am and I should be proud of who I am.' The natural man is an enemy to God, and that's the laziest excuse I've ever heard. What you're giving is a thoughtless cop-out to allow yourself to be whatever you want regardless of how damaging it is around you. Whatever you naturally are is found when you're living to your fullest potential. And what's worse about this lie of "I can't change who I am," is people around you start to believe it because it's easier to rationalize than be hurt. I had a woman whom I was very good friends with tell me she doesn't blame her husband for leaving her and her kid. "It's the natural order of things, the male of a species is supposed to procreate as much as possible, it's a survival tactic, and he can't do that if he's tied down. I have no shame in that." I gagged. Maybe it was a survival tactic when we were still classified as Afarensis! Before we had cogent sentient thought and feelings and emotions. What is wrong with a world that's ok with zero accountability and complete and total acceptance of everything, for good or ill? You're talking about entropy and I believe in a higher power than that.

Ok I'm done ranting. But sisters try and see my point of view. Be modest because it pleases God. He's told us that much. Not because of what menfolk may think if you dress otherwise. And menfolk, stop blaming your carnal urges on womenfolk and how they dress. It's called read a book. Do some pushups. Meditate, something that will get your mind off it, and you'll be a better man for it.

Operator Out.

We hate haitus..es..ies? Haiti? No that's a place. We like Haiti.

It's been almost a year since I last wrote. Shame that, since I've written a gripload of things in my journals and whatnot. Though nothing's happened since I last talked to you in March. Absolutely jack. Yeah I wouldn't buy that either, but I'm not going to regale you with tales of my triumphs over the krakens and giants of our day. Instead I'm going to try and entertain you. Because who want's to hear the boring drivel of a twenty something who's mildly miserable yet rioting at life? IT'S CALLED FREAKIN LIFE.

 Aiight (which is the proper spelling, just so we're clear) so you right now currently have something in your possession, an object, that is near and dear to your heart. Why is that? Right now on my keyring I carry a blue carabiner, which if you don't know what that is, then we don't deserve to be friends. Seriously, GET OFF MY FOLLOWERS LIST. Actually I'll tell you, it's a little clip that climbers use regularly to attach things to themselves like rope, a harness, other climbers, more rope, their chalk bag which helps reduce moisture in their hands, and rope. Like a frak ton of rope. You can get them in every truck stop if you look hard enough, and while you're at it get a Slim Jim.

So this carabiner I got while on an adventure and it was what carried my Nalgene bottle at my side so it was easy to access. Iteresting that adventure was because drinking water became as natural as breathing, it was just part of how you moved and thought. So afterwards I used the clip to carry random things on my backpack during my mission. That makes this carabiner almost a decade old. After the mission I landed a job I didn't deserve at a credit union and it carried my vault keys, because I was constantly forgetting them. Same thing at a bank I worked at back home, and now again at a new credit union I'm working at. And I look at this crummy thing, the paint's almost gone, should've broken by now, but the spring is as tight as it was the first day, and I think, I'd be really sad if this thing broke.

WHY? And I had more thoughts. We place emotional value in everything around us. Well maybe not everything, but we personify and anthropomorphize (YES THAT WAS IN MY IMMEDIATE VOCABULARY STICK THAT IN YOUR JUICE BOX AND SUCK IT) a lot of our everyday objects that if damaged, lost, or stolen elicit an emotional response.

My brief stint in an Anthropology course taught me a piece of the puzzle. Perhaps it's because we're extremely social creatures and can't stand to be alone. That when human interaction is stifled by one reason or another, we place emotional value in something around us that is stable and constant. It's been proven that we need interaction, but I found that interesting, that it could be the source of our best friends, the everyday objects that mean something to us and no one else.

Food for thought!

Since we're on the topic of anthropology, there was something else that caught my eye, there was an article about a city or town or neighborhood that was seeing increased crime in areas where children lacked a paternal figure in a family social circle. And I thought, well yeah, there's no competition, of course the upstarts are going to try and usurp authority to create an idyllic environment their minds have cooked up, pieced together by their desires. Additionally the lack of training from a wiser and older leader creates an entropic youth. Where's my proof for the hypothesis? Look at your teenage years, I don't know about you but it was freakin chaos for me. Without a guiding figure, which don't get me wrong my father is much more to me than simply a figure head, I would have been lost in the foray of finding one's self. Give your old man a hug, is all I'm suggesting.

Aiight Operator Out.

Back to the Shaduf

So I asked myself what the draw was to listening to music so much and I had a theory a long time ago which I thought I'd use for one of my stories, or a campaign in Gamma World. It goes like this, so before there ever was anything, there was light, and the light could sing. And it was the most beautiful music ears had ever heard, save for the fact no ears existed. Soon, from the light came darkness, because the darkness wanted to take the music for itself, hide it, so only they could listen to it. A feud began, between the light and the dark, and in the dust of their conflict rose planets, and plants, and beings, and eventually man. Because these forms of life were begotten of both light and darkness, they responded to the song, they yearned for it, they sang themselves. It's the conflict of light and dark within us, that wants to set the music free, give it back. I've got more, I'll continue this next post. I was invited to go rock climbing with my siblings, and I dunno, I mean yeah, I'm capable, I can do it, but it's so uncomfortable, and I really don't get much fun out of it, plus I'm outta shape, it would just be an awkward uncomfortable experience. Another side note, I've decided to label myself as a recovering gamer, meaning I've not picked up a controller in weeks now. Reason is, 1. They really are a waste of time 2. They're a gateway to other temptations 3. The only games worth playing are full of unrighteous things and 4. When I die, there will be hundreds of awesome games that will come out after I'm six feet under, and there's nothing I can do about it. Now, bear in mind, I ain't looking to be this, Ricky Righteous/Peter Priesthood, mostly because that fetcher doesn't exist anyway. But I've made my decision, I don't want to play video games ever again. My nicotine patch is MineCraft, a builder simulator rendered in 16 bit graphics. It allows me time and space to create things, build things, and that I think is a worthy game. Here's to bronzing our controllers!! Speaking of Minecraft, observe my first and most awesome build, Castle Greyskull. The interior was incredible, and I loved building this. it's a 1:41 scale replica of a human skull, and I'll tell you what it was a bugger, getting built, but it was done. Lower half was done in survival, so I kept falling to my death, getting blown up by creepers, but I convinced the server op to let me have creative mode just so I could finish the build. You can't see it, but the rear cavity where the brain should be is actually just glassed over so there's an open room exposed to light, and I have a small waterfall and park with trees in there. IT'S THAT BIG. My active server switched map seeds because we all wanted to do something new, what with so many folks contributing now, and I like the new map, offers some exciting twists and turns. When I first logged, I ran about not knowing where to go, and it was already getting dark, the monsters in game, mind you being much more difficult than in updates past. I find a small mine where somebody started off, and I thought 'yeah, I'll hide here for the night, check it out,' and as I close the door, a bunch of zombies come right up on it, start banging on it. I'm thinking, nah, he ain't gonna get in I'm safe. I say I might starve in team chat, and the op comes and gives me bread, then disappears again, and suddenly, zombie busts through the door. I wig out and go all FISTS OF FURY on the zombie, and finally get him down, but not without him getting a few hits on me. I pull out the bread to eat it, and ANOTHER ZOMBIE walks through the now open door, so what do I do? I beat his undead chain-mailed brains in with the baguette I have in my hand! Not sure I like zombie bits on my bread though. Aight, Operator Out.

Being Poetic Sans the Poetry

My dream home is a aged cottage on the northeast coast in New England, probably somewhere in Maine. The cold granite shores that break suddenly to icy sand, grey and tough. I can see deep green grass on a mossy knoll just on the other side of a dark treeline, though midday it may be. The smell of bark and earth clings to the air whilst churned on the saline wind, almost refuse in odor. The structure was white once, as was the dancing picket fence, though patches of paint have since been stripped away, by time's grave temptations and Poseidon's mighty breath. Concrete crumbles softly in the twilight, aggregate made loose or visible in the heavy rains, motions of dancing lime in the patches of dry mud where small creeks once dwell'd. Great panes of poorly made yet highly sought windows distort vision into the gloomy bright of the cottage interior. The door, faintly red, character, brass knob rough with thousands of strands spun across its surface, listing a little to the left, loose when handled yet secure when closed. Two stories, the second with a loft and a faux light tower, where mites and creeping things tend to dwell, a musky nook of chilling warmth to rest and read and dream and look over the crashing deep, seemingly within reach. Why is it, we're attracted to such old and desolate things? Have you ever noticed, we cling to familiarity even in the absence of nostalgia. I travel past scenes of decrepit homes and hamlets and ask myself, who lives there? In their towering heaps, their crusty exteriors, moss grown canopies and debris strewn roofs. What patterns rest on their curtains? How cold is their kitchen on a early spring morning? What scratches are on the floors? Do their floorboards creak in protest or sigh softly as they slowly molder to sawdust? Linoleum and yesteryear's sparse carpets. Knicknacks and bobbins and familiar things, heirlooms that lose value in a generation. Have you ever noticed government buildings built in the last thirty years resemble prisons, but in the last ten they resemble Frank Lloyd Wright attempts? I have been very pensive as of late. Walls built. Wars won. Triumphs made. And dragons slain.

Battleship Pegs and The Realization You're Smart While Dumb

So first off: Did anyone else notice that the bombs the aliens used in Battleship resembled the pegs you use in the boardgame. NOW YOU KNOW. In other news, as I was burying myself in some Sherlock Holmes post gift ripping when I got a disturbing text from a friend. He informed me that he was playing a simple sidescroller with a younger relative of his and made a startling discovery. At a particular instance, the younger relative had extreme difficulty in conjuring what to do to beat the instance. After 15 minutes, the boy finally got it, but it spoke to the problems I addressed in another article. The handicap we've given modern gamers by making gameplay grossly over simplified with extensive and implicit instructions or tutorials is causing the generation gap to widen. What only perpetuates the problem is the rise in popularity of the FPS and the casual game. While I personally believe the popularity of Angry Birds was merely a fluke, there is still something to be said about the highest grossing video game genre on all aspects. Which is 'ew.' My point is, we really are neutering the creativity of our generation by making games so simple and easy, we don't encourage gamers to puzzle at all. And whether we're fond of the notion or not, gaming has risen in such popularity that it's become a solid part of mainstream culture. If it continues to trend the way it has, gaming will become an integral part to the development of children in the first world (sometimes called More Developed Countries or MDCs). That in mind, do we really want to bog down our kid's minds with simple physics slush or do we want to help them expand their minds while still enjoying games? Do I have to ask? PS I hate Angry Birds. Stepping off to the side, I want to close with another interesting pattern I noticed. Pixar seems to have a fixation with the big and the small, old and the young. The dichotomy works insanely for them, but what's the deal? Think about every one of their shows. Finding Nemo. Toy Story. Wall-E. Every single one of them. Seriously what's up with that? OPERATOR OUT

The Obligatory Moments

Every gamer has their moments, and every gamer/writer has their moments post. This is mine. I was conjuring the intrinsic value of video games and the stories they tell. More importantly, the lessons they tell. And as I was pondering, I thought "That's all well and good, and I've harped on that for years." This time around, I want to be able to just, reminisce. My gaming history didn't start with an NES or Atari. My first game was Crash Bandicoot 2. That crazy marsupial, I'm still unsure if bandicoots are such a thing. Chasing down Cortex wasn't the hardest of levels but it was certainly satisfying to bring that madman down, after throwing me to the strangest fiends I had seen yet. But this was only the beginning. Fast forward to the moment I finally beat Songi in that blasted forest in Legend of Legaia, wiping his lackeys across the ground on their faces. A minor instance, I know, but satisfying all the same, it was so difficult and I had no clue how to play RPGs. When Kairi was separated from Sora I was choked up, after everything we had been through defeating the Heartless. But some of the greatest moments were shared whilst playing with friends. During an all-nighter, my roomates and I played Halo 3 through the campaign on Legendary. I gotta go into detail for those unfamiliar. The whole area is breaking up. In order to prevent the Gravemind, essentially a sentient fungus that assimilates all sentient life (hence it's sentient...ness), Master Chief has to cause a wildcat explosion triggered by lighting the unfinished halo installation on the Ark. As the installation breaks up around you, you're forced to race across falling platforms in warthogs avoiding falling bits of the installation and the various enemies trying to escape as well. In four player coop, you have two jeeps, but if one falls and dies, that team has to wait until the other stops at a checkpoint near a new jeep for them to rez again. This only happens twice. So my friends and I are leapfrogging to the end, we've passed the last checkpoint, we're trying to reach the ship before the halo ring goes up. A platform explodes and sends the other team sailing. My gunner and I are it, trying to reach the end, we're all tired, we want to go to bed. And someone shouts, "Do a 360 into the ship." Soon it becomes a shouting match "Don't do it! You suck at driving! Just get there!" Ignoring it all, I race down the final hill to catch speed, hit the jump, and just before I run out of ground, I jerk the wheel, slam on the brakes, and start to spin, clearing the platform. In mid air as we near the ship, I pull a 180, and it still looked classy. Suddenly, the cut-scene, and the room explodes as we cheer. We made it and did it with style. I miss those kinds of moments. The moments when waves of Locust are chasing us down in multiplayer, and during the 25th wave, both my team mates die, and from the other room they hear me shout "you've got to be kidding me!" Or the long winded discussion my roommates had about the end of Mass Effect, and disagreeing completely on the character of Saren, when finding out months later, the reason their opinions differed entirely was because their choices had led to two completely different Sarens. These moments make gaming epic, when all else fails. And I love it. Whether it's killing dragons, successfully tanking for a crew from across the world, or laughing at something stupid with my siblings, games offers a chance to connect over story telling like never before.

Fallout 3 vs. New Vegas: Endless Tunnels or Endless Possibilities?

As far as video games go, I was a late bloomer, so my first dungeon crawler wasn't Diablo or Morrowind. My first was possibly at it's most basic, Gauntlet: Dark Legacy. Unbeknownst to me, this would be the beginning of a beautiful love/hate relationship between me and the 'endless RPG.' My absolute favorite of the genre has to be Bethesda's Fallout ensemble; the early PC versions, the nearly unforgivable ten year hiatus, and the two sudden installments creating a Jim Jones cult following, Fallout 3 and Fallout: New Vegas. Bethesda is better known for it's previous fantasy titles, the Elder Scrolls, more recently being Morrowind and Oblivion. Admittedly, Fallout 3 was most certainly my real 'first dungeon crawler' despite total lack of dungeons. I knew little of the game, and just in discussion with a random passerby, I learned that Fallout was something to devour, being somewhat of a journeyman RPG connoisseur. Like a babe crawling between the American and German trenches of WWI, I stumbled in the the bright and heavy laden future that would be my addiction. The first thing you notice upon exiting the introduction of the game (I'll leave that portion to discovery) is complete and utter destruction. The haunted skeletons of burned out homes lined a short street littered with retro 50's space cars and trash (I recycle every tin can I see in real life as a result of this game. What boggles my mind is if they're made of tin, why are they all rusted?) The asphalt is crumbling, the vegetation is brown and sparse, and there were no signs of life anywhere. After checking to be sure I was supposed to be in DC and that the beginning of the game didn't start somewhere in Arizona, I discovered that the crouch option was toggled and not held and I proceeded to crawl my way through the entire game, because I'll admit, I was freaking out. Knowing that game developers, like amusement parks, always try and direct the flow of traffic to begin to the right, I mustered as much rebellion to the developer's plans as I'm capable of, and veered to the left, towards a decrepit brick schoolhouse. It seemed harmless enough, and once I realized I could walk in the front door, I readied my 10mm pistol and ventured forth, not knowing what to expect. If the entrance way of the school didn't seem to scream, “Run away or you're going to die,” enough, the rest of the building sure did. Dirty mattresses and dead bodies everywhere made that nervous flutter of fear rise in my soul. What followed were my shouts of terror as some horrific apparition started firing on me. Pleading to God, Allah, Buddha, anyone I tried to fight back, knowing nothing of the aiming system or of the battle engine. Nothing to heal myself with, nor anyway to defend myself (Link had a frigging shield and I get just a gun and my face??) I proceeded to turn everything within my peripheral vision into Swiss cheese, before collapsing in sudden death from my attackers. Many days of loving devotion later, I was rewarded with a high-powered mini-gun. Once again, peripheral vision, Swiss cheese, me standing triumphantly on a pile of the bodies of my enemies. A good portion of my time was spent in DC's underground, the writhing subway system spanning a good half of the available map. If 60 hours could be spent above surface, it would be no problem at all to spend at least 30 below in dead office buildings, subways and factories. Without fail, a quest would last much longer than anticipated as my ADD kicked in randomly when I would spot something of interest off in the horizon. The thrill of scavenging everything I could was enough to ignore the slightly disappointing color palate or the regular glitches, but to someone with a more artistic eye, the bland landscape could easily grind on the senses. The audio appeals to personal preference. Either I could switch to the radio and listen to Billie Holiday, or I could shut it off and take in the nothing blowing through the speakers, giving me a pure sensation of being IN the wasteland. Needless to say, I loved both. The only thing I hated about the radio was the station with the Enclave on it, because the Enclave are pretentious jerks. What irks me is Bethesda deemed it necessary to offer a horse in Elder Scrolls, but neglected such courtesy in Fallout 3. Gimme a car. A bat. Maybe a flying flaming bat of death. A rabbit. Something. Sure, the fast travel function was handy, but how am I going to find a new source of income if I keep skipping the spans between two settlements? On another note, despite the fact that though my avatar looks like they're about 5'11'' and 120lbs, I can carry in excess of 200lbs. It's obscene how quick it is to reach that limit, with no real alternative forms of storage beyond finding somewhere you can hide it all and remember where it was. Nevertheless, gold was struck and Bethesda knew it. So they asked the masses what they could do to improve their next installment, New Vegas, and the result was an interesting mix between two of Bethesda's masterpieces, the Fallouts and Elder Scrolls. More color was definitely on the top of the list, and though the developers added red rock landscapes and the colorful neon of the Vegas Strip, the signature, bland undertones native to Nevada's sprawling desert were still prominent. The map is definitely much smaller, and there are much fewer 'dungeons' to crawl through, but to compensate for lost space, New Vegas incorporates lost time. Quests are longer and have more conditional or optional ends and means allowing me to customize the experience directly to my tastes. The perks are more comprehensive, and it is somewhat easier to specialize in more than one skill making the game ultimately more fun. The addition of the survival skill and campfire remedies was also a nice touch, though I had a hard time devoting any time to them. Then there's the sheer insanity of the game. I didn't have enough trouble with Radscorpions in Fallout 3, so hey, lets have a nest of GIANT radscorpions waiting right outside the first town! Super mutants hiding in a ski lodge, led by one that resembles Ron Perlman, drunken stupor and frivolity on the mind-numbing strip, and I even found the holy hand grenade at one point (PS, that grenade? More effective than the mini gun. MUCH more effective.)The hair-brained antics and colorful characters easily made me forget the sparse number of Vaults and tunnels. New Vegas starts off fast paced, and you certainly hit the ground running, or perhaps better put, hit the ground bleeding, dying, buried and dug up by a friendly cowboy robot. When you start off, you're certainly punished for deviation from the beaten path as ruthless mutant animals quickly swarm you. On the other hand, sticking to the story quest allows you to branch out quickly and with valuable reward. Before you step onto the strip, you have to perform a 'credit check', which really means dropping a lot of caps (the Fallout form of currency) to bribe the gate guards (not friendly cowboy robots). Instead I chose to get a false passport from The Kings, a gang whose every member looks and talks like Elvis himself and resides in The Kings School of Impersonation. What followed were a number of favors to the different factions in the gritty out-lands surrounding the city of lights, which surprisingly resembles the ghettos of Vegas pretty well. One such 'gopher' mission led me to find a lost caravan in a cave that was inhabited by ROUS, or Rodents of Unusual Size if you haven't seen The Princess Bride. Excited I embarked, and found the cave quickly, skulking in the shadows, picking them off when I could without alarming all of them to swarm me at once. I found the caravan, grabbed the loot, was about to exit, when I saw one of those things perched on a ledge, and thought, if he can get there so can I. So I promptly shot him, and made my way up, finding one of my favorite parts of the game, the special weapons. Each weapon has it's own, lets say, master weapon. The best shotgun, the best .357, the best rifle, etc. I found the Ratslayer, a black varmint rifle marked with a rat skull and tick marks, with a scope and suppressor. Setting my stats so I was a sniper, this was a treat. Once I ran out of rats to slay, I decided it was retribution time for those blasted Radscorpions. Along the way, you're bound to find all sorts of other weapons to add to the appeal and ultimately the lunacy of the game. So if you're looking for some good old scavenging for parts to your Railgun (which sounds like a oncoming freight train when fired) but willing to spend upwards of 2 hours doing so, Fallout 3 is your game. Conversely, if you want a vibrant tale riddled with decaying casinos or bipolar super mutants, give New Vegas a try. Both are a favorite, both have given large hours of great entertainment, and both have made me confident that if the apocalypse happens in 20 years, it's going to be bad, but hey, at least Elvis makes a comeback.

Despite my Nickname, I claim the title to world's greatest wingman

Lemme begin by giving you some quotes what mean something. These come from my antics in my Brit Lit class, since everyone in there is a bore and don't want to speak. When talking about the The Tragical Dr. Faustus, I quoted Arcade Fire's Laika, "If you want something, don't ask for nothing. If you want nothing, don't ask for something." I thought this was a good connection given Faustus had no clue what he wanted to do with the power, it was enough for him to have it.

"Not all treasure is silver and gold mate." We all know what that's from. Some scholars believe when doing a critical analysis of literature that X marks the spot, and it never changes. The book is the map, and X is where you ought to end up, and if you deviate, you don't find the treasure at the end of the map. Which is where I contend with Jack Sparrows admonition.

"If wishes were horses, we'd all be eatin' steak." Jayne Cobb from Firefly puts it plainly, when studying "The Vanity of Human Wishes" by Samuel Johnson talks about the frailty of human luxuries, and if we aren't careful, it's our pampered lifestyle, not our governments that will bring us ruin. Brave New World is the spiritual successor to this epistle.

Now for my Wingman story. So sure I can't navigate relationships myself, I'm a train wreck, but bah, who cares? I can be the bomb when it comes to helping my brethren out. Shortly after talking up a good friend of mine at school this morning (she was worried about her writing, and it was sloppy, but we both know she can do better, and I told her so, to not be afraid or worry) I was walking out, and there were these two bros, chatting, when a cute girl passes by and they all say hi to each other. The one bro who looked shy watched her go, with that look like "Man I wish I could talk to her." I stopped and looked him in the eyes and said, "Dude. Just go get her number already." He hesitated not knowing what I meant, and I pointed back at her, "GO. Get her number dude, what are you standing here for?" He ran off and caught up with her, and I exchanged nods with the other bro before striding out. SUCH IS MY LIFE. AND IT IS CHOICE. OPERATOR OUT

Life around us

Just in case you didn't catch my last post there, hope sustains me. I was smiling today while driving, thinking about yellow cars. Right, so I went to this Dole Mansion in Crystal Lake for an employee recognition dinner, which I think is nice, since I only been there for a few weeks. You should see this venue though, it was amazing! Maybe I'm easily entertained, but the detail in the woodwork and the floors were so nicely done. Apparently this chap built the place back in the 1860s pre civil war as well as 1000 acres around it right there on the lake. Apparently it was also used as a ice distribution center, catholic school, and is now a reception hall and school for the arts. I highly recommend a quick visit. If nothing but for the views, I mean the sunset from their windows was picturesque. And I've always said sometimes the time immediately before or after a sunset or sunrise can be magnificent too. I want to organize a group or something that collects places like this, small places and photos of them, that have bits of information about the venues. Kind of like a vagabond explorer's league that finds little places like this that have some significance to the community, but no one would otherwise find it unless you were from the area. New goal. Never attend a place without a camera and take only ONE good picture while there to capture its magic. I'm a little fried at school, but what can you do, I mean it is supported by the state of Illinois. I am excited at the advent of Movember and NaNoWriMo. I'll have you know, my stache is coming in nicely. I look slightly less reputable, but no matter. I've been saying it for months now, I wear my glasses and I look socially acceptable. I'm going to wait a spell before I really run the gun on NaNoWriMo. Sunday will be my first real input. Feel like there should be a picture here. HOKAY, story time. "We're losing altitude," muttered the Captain. The storm heaved around them like a giant with a head-cold. "She's not gonna hold out at this level, we're gonna have to land." The Captain checked his instruments again, not realizing his co-pilot was listening. The wind howled outside the cockpit, wailing in protest at the metal bird strained in the maelstrom. "This ain't our first and won't be our last, just hold out." "Engine two is gone!" exclaimed the co-pilot. Another howl of protest shrilled in their ears, and the Captain shifted in his seat, straining to hear the sound again. He nodded making up his mind. "Stewardess, please find a way to calm the passengers." "They're getting unruly sir." "I understand. The may need something, give them something to eat." The stewardess sighed heavily. "Yes sir." Grabbing armfuls of drinks and salty snacks, she heaved another sigh as she stood at the cabin door, the roar getting louder. In a cacauphony of sound and motion, the tiny stewardess roared over the cries of the passengers as she entered the cabin and closed the door behind her. "ALL RIGHT YOU MISERABLE GOBS, THIS IS HOW WE GET REPAID FOR FLYING YOU UP HERE?!" A few sweating passengers looked up wearily from their crankshafts and pedals, wheezing in exhaustion, their brows shimmering in their sweat. Grandmas, children, and young couples alike all pumping as hard as they could to keep the engines going. A few walked about handing out ladles of waters\ to other passengers. "I KNOW YOU SORRY LOT HAVE PAID YOUR WAY, BUT IF WE'RE GOING TO LIVE THROUGH THIS, YOU CAN'T GIVE IN!" she shouted over the din, throwing drinks and snacks around, grubby sweaty hands reaching. "THERE MAY COME A DAY WHEN YOU SCUM SUCKING PUKE DRINKERS MEET AGAIN IN HELL, BUT TODAY IS NOT THAT DAY." A few passengers heaved throaty laughs and grunts. The electricity began to grow. "ONE DOES NOT SIMPLY DROP AN NOBLE CRAFT SUCH AS THIS BECAUSE YOU PUTRID WORM WARTS DECIDED TO GIVE IN." More grunts and a few 'hear-hears' sounded, and a particularly round granny tied her scarf over her brow, baring her false yellow teeth. "WE WILL NOT FLY QUIETLY INTO THE STORM! WE'RE GOING TO GO ON! WE'RE GOING TO SURVIVE! TONIGHT WE FLY HOME TO DALLAS TEXAS!" Suddenly the humid, rank cabin exploded in cheers and roars as every passenger pumped their crankshafts as hard as they could. The plane righted itself a bit as the second engine coughed back to life, while the stewardess stayed back to shout more encouragements to the rest of the crew. Making her way back to the cockpit, she paused a moment to compose herself, tucking some stray stands of hair back into a bobby pin, flattening the front of her suit, and wiped the sweat from her brow. Clearing her throat as she opened the door, the Captain looked back and gave her the thumbs up as she reported raspily, "All the passengers are settled and ready for re-entry." OPERATOR OUT.

The Craziness of the Day

Yknow as I think on it, I should be going bonkers. Lemme give you my list for a second, so with school, I'm taking four classes, which, while I don't necessarily have midterms or final tests, I still have a ton of papers that I need to write. In addition I'm a student senate rep for the Creative Writing Club, and in the student senate I've been voted in to be the Ethics Board Chairperson, and as such should be organizing the group to meet, but no one is responding to my emails. I'm working round 20 hours a week, barring of course when I have conferences and things for student senate like this weekend. At church, I'm the branch clerk, so my Sundays start early and late, and I'm enrolled in institute. This is aside from the various activities like FHE, firesides, and conferences that happen throughout the months. All the while trying to impress a gal that lives an hour away from me. I should be going mad! I should be hearing voices, shouldn't I? Five hours of sleep, hardly eat any food because the food pyramid hates me, I should be wearing a white jacket of sorts! But I'm not. You know what sustains me? Hope. Hope that everything works out right. Hope in the gospel, that it will bear me up. Hope in the atonement, that Christ will help me in all my afflictions. Hope that I can find strength in my peers at church. And I can say all that because I know it's true, it's not really something you ought to say in "spirit voice" or with choked back tears. It's all real. The gospel is true, therefore, it will help me, therefore, when I should be tearing my hair out, I sit here in front of this mountain of stuff I gotta do, I can shrug and say,"Meh. I can do this." I think that's part of what it means when it says With God All Things Are Possible. Another story for you. So my good friend Rick and his fiance got married last spring, and they wanted to have a wedding singer for their reception. They had everything in place, including the singer, but at the last minute the guy cancelled, and they were scrambling for someone to replace him. While they were at a karaoke club (they don't drink but they like singing) they heard this guy sing a beautiful Taylor Swift song, which happened to be their song. So they asked the guy after he was done if he'd be willing to do it, they could pay him and everything, and he said of course, he had nothing going on Saturday since he was a court judge. He asked if they needed to be married as well, and they said they had that handled, just if he could sing. Well this guy wasn't a member of the church, so he shows up to this wedding reception smashed. Completely hammered. And he gets up there, shouts some obscenities, and starts scratching nails on a board, I mean his voice was awful, it was the worst singing I had heard. So the moral of the story is, Don't Book a Judge by His Cover. OPERATOR OUT.

Far too long

Forgive my hiatus, but I figured I'd jump back in and enter something, eh? I find it ironic of a sort that I'm posting following another church dance, but that's the way of it. And lots has changed. Every now and then my mono rears it's ugly head, so I get laid low, but otherwise I'm in good sorts. With my gall bladder getting cut out (they wouldn't give it back the hosers!) I can't eat many sorts of foods without getting sick, so I'm dropping weight like a bad habit. And I used to complain about being busy, being involved, and shoot I used it as an excuse, but never before have I been so tied up. I even laugh at the idea that I balked at spending money for gas to visit a gal that lives a ways from me, because almost every weekend I find myself on the way to Glenview. ADVENTURE!!!! I've since taken over Chicago, ran in the rain twice, once right on the lake shore, killed ninjas, flown in an x-wing, been paralyzed from poison darts repeatedly, saved Skyrim, killed the Lord Ruler, found an illustrator, submitted for writers competitions and danced. That's right I actually danced at this last one. I dressed up as Dr. Crane from Batman Begins and no one got it, prolly because I'm still fat, and everyone guessed I was Mitt Romney. To which I replied, no I'm actually Obama. I'm stoked for Movember and NaNoWriMo next month. Be sure to check my facewebs for updates on both, I'll be trying to keep regular on that. Before I close this post, lemme tell you a story from my highschool days. At the time, my cousin Billy and I were real close, and my junior year we did a double date, where he and I took gals to each other's school dances, since he went to a different highschool. He was having a hard time finding a gal though, so we're walking about at the grocers, and he sees Jean Schmidt who goes to my school. She was kinda cute I guess, but she had a crush on me since Junior High and I found her annoying. Billy can't stop staring. She comes over and talks a bit, I try to be offhandish, Billy is being dumb, and afterwards he goes nuts. "You gotta get her to go with me!" I laughed and told the idiot to ask her himself, and think nothing more of it. A week later Billy is pounding on my door yelling at me because she turned him down. Apparently, all week Billy had been trying to talk to her and finally she said she wouldn't go with him because she's pregnant with my child! So he comes over and chews me out, and finally I go, "Billy, Jean is not my lover! She's just a girl that claims that I'm the one, but the kid is not my son!" OPERATOR OUT

Captains Log. Save for the fact that I'm not a captain, or The Captain, I'm just the Man at Arms

Went to a dance tonight. And frankly I was kinda nervous, last I went to was a luau right after my mission, and it was awesome. I was on top of my game, dancin a bunch, askin a gal every slow dance if she'd like to, standard protocol, yknow? Wasn't in the mood frankly. Got too tired of it after a while, yknow, 10 PM hit and felt like, forget it. Am I jaded to the whole scene? Not that I care, I don't need any more distractions, and frankly I couldn't pay the gas to see anyone anyway. But made me ponder a bit.

To those that still read this, I will be trying to post regularly again. I was inspired to get back to this, for the sake of writing randomly again, thanks to a gal from Chicago. So there's a point to this, I'll share some points of wisdom I've written on the last page of my five subject notebook that seem, well, noteworthy.

We would do well to learn from others and apply their truths to our own.

Those quizzes that supposedly test our attention to detail and/or intelligence really tick me off for two reasons:
1.) We are so overwhelmed by marketing and information in our society, it's near impossible to retain it all, it's no wonder so many people are autistic.
2.) I never do well on those stupid things anyway, indicative of my laziness and stupidity apparently. Frankly, it's my opinion that taking the test in the first place is a better indicator of those two traits.

Are we the diseased ones and the autism is normal?

Art is subjective and undefined. ALL art.

Culture, context, and environment literally has an effect on the shape of the folks that live there.

Define politically correct: Politically comfortable.

Subliminal Message

It's confirmed that along with all the subliminal messaging of the media, an underground conspiracy has also been underway. What's popularly being called 'freemanic paracusia,' a psychological disorder where everything you read is voiced by Morgan Freeman, has the masterminds of marketing hard at work to control our thoughts. Candidates that didn't make the cut were Vern Troyer, John Heder and Barbara Walters, but interestingly enough not Mr. T or William Shatner. When media expert Tom Green was asked in an interview why this was,
"Well Freeman is God anyway, so everyone kinda figured that'd work."

source xkcd.com

The Seven Degrees of Paul Bettany

One of my favorite movies of all time has to be Ironman with Robert Downey Jr. and a bunch of other actors and actresses OH Gwenyth Paltrow how could I forget. As I was watching the second movie with my siblings, they made the connection that the voice for the computer VI was none other than Paul Bettany, the guy that was Jeffrey Chaucer in Knights Tale (another favorite) or the albino priest in Da Vinci Code (oddly enough he's always naked at some point or another, has anyone else noticed? Maybe he likes being naked in movies.) Long story short, I love that actor. And he's in nearly everything either as a voice over or as an actor, like Kevin Bacon, kinda like that other british actor (you know who I'm talking about)

So now I view Jarvis the computer as a floating blue naked Paul Bettany (the source of more than a few nightmares) and the brain synapses started firing. Paul Bettany was secretly the actor for the naked blue glowy guy for Watchmen.

Unrelated he also bears a striking semblance to the last replicant in Bladerunner. Or rather the replicant bears a resemblance to a Harrison Ford/David Bowie crossbreed I saw on Skywalker Ranch (because that's what they do there, breed obscure celebrities for their movies, why else would they call it a ranch. (I've never actually been to Skywalker Ranch, I just saw a documentary on it whilst watching Robot Chicken. The cross breeds were running freely in the pastures))

I began to question the origins of David Bowie because as I think it and by process of elimination, he's probably Paul Bettany too. So not only was Paul Bettany in everything, but he was in EVERYTHING. I realized after a nightmare about JFK last night, bolt upright in a cold sweat, Paul Bettany IS DAVID BOWIE.

So my question to you all is: Does that mean David Bowie likes to be naked too? And if so

GOD HELP US ALL

(doesn't he just look like a John F Kennedy waiting to jump out of your closet with a tire iron and destroy your spleen? HE DOES TO ME)

Musings of the Mononucleoid

I've decided it's time to count my cards and throw in the towel. I am one of them. The asthmatics, the albinos, the bubble boys. SO I've devised some new hobbies. Longboarding is freakin awesome, but I hurt each time I try. Swimming is what got me the hydrocodon in the first place and hiking looks like it'll do the same.

Model building. I'm building an airplane. Probably working on learning the guitar, which is a sexy hobby. Probably continue writing scenarios for Gammaworld, maybe work on models for those as well, and holy crap I need a life.

I just read in a book by John Hodgman (READ IT IT'S AMAZING) and he says that it is confirmed that Charlie Sheen did the voices for all the dinosaurs for the Jurassic Park movies. Hence why I'm morbidly afraid of John F. Kennedy, NO DOUBT A SKILL HIS FATHER TAUGHT HIM.

GET ME A HAMMA

That's what I would say if someone offered me a job as a dental hygienist. Just saying. Yep folks, still unemployed. Getting desperate. I just might dress as a taco and dance outside the Mexican restaurant.

No shirt no shoes no service is such a friggin lie. If a woman walks in a convenience store topless and no shoes, SHE IS GETTIN WHATEVER THE HELL SHE WANTS.

"Here are the keys. Will you marry me?" Because you know those fools behind the counter aren't getting any.

Sat in a car for hours today. It sucked. Not because I was in a sweaty seat for hours, but because of the reason for the trip. I miss that dog, I just couldn't say anything around my girlfriend. She's probably going to read this at some point, but by then, her pain might have been lessened and my promise would be fulfilled. I wasn't negative at all today for her, and it was semi refreshing, but I felt like crying with her. I feel awful, because I know my guilt. I hope she knows it too.

Bit of a change of pace, eh? Changing it up again, yknow, I have grown to hate car trips. Because I feel like I ain't had a rash that bad since I was two in diapers. Sweating in the same seat for hours!! It was gross AND painful. Got to thinking about that. No wonder toddlers hate those things, watertight whitey tighteys! Freak, I'd run around the place starkers too if I knew what was coming to me!
"Bobby, here's how life goes, you're going to sit in a plastic bag and when someone notices you've been sitting in your own excrement for an hour or two, then someone will switch it out."

Those hippies might have something about those cloth diapers...

What is thy bidding my master

I'm about to kneel and owe my allegiance to this burger joint wearing a hooded cloak. Had one of the best burgers ever. The Boston. Pastrami, swiss, carmelized onions and mushrooms in a arterial sclerosis bliss. It was like entering a pastrami lined heaven of no vegetable goodness.

Titleless, why do I need a title?

Working at the pizza parlor, this lady walks out with her kids. Names have been changed to protect the fact that I can't remember them.
"Bobby, that's why you go to college" lady pointing right at me.
I wanted to throw my towel at her.
"LISTEN LADY! I am GOING to college and you know where that's going to get me? THE SAME PLACE!"

Also, i was thinking, isn't Clue by Parker Brothers up for a revamp. I had an idea. I call it
APOCALYPSE CLUE
see colonel mustard is this Terry Hogan beast of a dude with a giant mustache, rippling muscles and a gatling gun, Ms Scarlet will be this red ninja, Mr Green will be this lizard zombie man thing, Mrs white will be a white cloaked witch with a flail and a human skull, prof. plum in a lab coat splotched with purple blood stains and his purple hair slicked back straight up in the air, and mrs peacock will be this woman bird, TALONS LOTS OF TALONS.

Haunted house, wild cards thrown in at each turn that are represented by ghosts or zombies or mutants or ghost zombie mutants. IT WOULD BE GREAT!!

I'm gonna write an email to PB right now :)

As I sit

I'm conjuring what to compose about, because as you know, I'm not writing, I'M COMPOSING. Music, as much as I love it, I don't think it carries over much, unless you count the hard rock I'm listening to. I've also got Bioshock 2 paused for a moment, the endless fish swimming by becoming annoying. It's too late to keep going on this game, but I've ended up so close I almost have to. I've been applying at all sorts of places, and even considered doing a freelance bit for Game Informer. That should be interesting, if I'm even considered for the deal.

I'm writing to consider the implications of my last blog. I offended folk, I cussed a great deal, I signed on for ads to be on my blog so I can see a slight trickle of cash in my pocket. and yet. I'm rather indifferent about the ordeal. I stand by what I said about everything and everyone. I don't seem to really care if I offended anyone. All the same, it's not like I didn't think things through.

Writers block. Is it the same as lack of motivation? I feel like it is. That seems to be the only thing between me and commercialism paying for my spa trips to Hawaii. If only I was on the streets and had a better way of organizing my ideas on paper. Or rather written format. I just feel like I have nothing good to write. Regardless of various friends and do-gooders around me assuring me otherwise, I haven't found anyone that has experience in the matter, willing to read something that isn't refined from a student with paper saying they're qualified to write. Can you qualify something like that? Is it quantifiable? The artistic muse, the desire to create, even if it is something as garish as my written prose. Should I not be allowed to express myself, regardless of how poorly, if I don't have something signed by some faceless entity, assuring anyone that reads it that I am qualified to do so?

Doesn't kill my desire to learn the craft, rest assured, I still need an education. But it's almost like identification anymore, not so much education. At least that's how it feels. I'll write about it once I reach the other side.

Don't feel cynical today, so don't expect to laugh. Though I am dreading the moment I set foot in that pizza parlor. Sure is going to be a joy to start up working there again. For crying out loud, I'm a trained banker, not a dough flinger. But there is humility to be had, I'm sure.

Droll. That's what this is. Does anyone care this is written? There's no real value to this, you're not getting a laugh. You might at some of my earlier ones, to be sure.

I weep for my species. Especially if I'm the sample. Good heavens, leave it be.