If you haven't watched it already I invite you to either 1) jump in front of a truck or 2) take a look right here.
Regarding video games there is a lot to be said and a lot I will leave unsaid. Suffice to say they have been an integral part of my life for about as long as I can remember. From age 5 when I figured out how to pwn this crappy ascii game on our vintage 1982 64k ram and no hard drive computer, to the three gut wrenching attempts to make it over the first goomba in the original mario brothers, to the epic struggle to beat Street Fighter II with Zangief... They have always been close to my heart and have inspired a number of fantasies and fictions that no doubt linger on in my writing and thinking.
Regarding alcohol I don't do a lot of drinking anymore but when I do a nice warming glass of red wine usually takes the edge off and an ice cold beer is still very much welcome to the tastebuds. But my favorite liquor drink remains "The Naughty Brown Cow" as first decanted by my good friend Tom.
Naughty Brown Cow Recipe:
1 oz Kahlua 1 oz Silver Rum 4 oz Chocolate milk
Shake with ice and to make the milk nice and frothy and then serve on the rocks. It's heavenly. Actually its better than heaven because it's real!
Regarding people who post first I think I am with the majority on this one: death by melon baller is far to kind a fate
Now I know some of you will stumble over here from youtube thinking something along the lines of 'man that guy is a dick' or something but I wanted to share a little about my philosophy of humor (for Krensharpaw) and to explain my point of view.
If you've read Malcolm Gladwell's book "Outliers" you know that it takes about 10,000 hours of practice to really become world class at something like playing an instrument or a sport. The more you do it, the better you get. Easy money.
However for things like writing, and stand up comedy there's probably some distinction. Being a good, or at least an interesting writer demands more than practice. You have to have experience of your own, insight into the world, a unique perspective or a story to tell that is rare among people. Its almost a meta-talent and any number of factors can influence quality beyond putting pen to paper or fingers to keyboard.
And I think humor is very much like that. It's not simple, it's very nuanced and very context specific. Jokes that are topical and awesome in one culture fall flat as hell in others. Like writing I think humor can be influenced by a number of factors and there's always the element of practice for delivery if nothing else.
But when it comes to when it is appropriate to make a joke or who to make a joke about I draw very little distinction. If the opportunity presents itself I feel compelled to make the joke regardless of who will find themselves the butt. Be it a good friend or a respected elder or some prole on the street...humor should be blind to its subjects.
Nothing informative today just a tired little announcement that my entire body has decided to counter the nasty microbe invasion of my throat by repurposing all of my vital organs and systems into squeezing my skull and producing inhuman quantities of mucus. I can speak, barely, and every word hurts like a fistful of caltrops raking around my trachea.
However I am grateful that even my shitty employer based medical insurance covered the visit and the anti-biotics to MURDER AND DESTROY the microbial malcontents for a measley 30 dollars. Thats probably the amount of money I have saved by eating mostly liquid and coffee for the past 72 hours so it all works out well.
If I had gone to the emergency room it would have cost me like 1 grand without insurance and 150 with. Remind me again why universal health care is such a bad idea?
Last night I lay down to sleep after a long day of rollercoasters, beer and video games. It was Tristan's bachelor party and I, for the first in a very long while, know what it must be like when Alex crashes out after a long day of playing.
Even as my head rested on pillow I could literally still feel the jolts and jerks of our days activities. The right spiraling downward motion of Afterburner, the time-stopping lurch of Drop Zone and the bone shattering tumult of The Hurler rocked my vision like phantom waves after a long day at the beach.
It was a good day, full of thrills and excitement. It was a pleasant evening as well full of beers, shuffleboard (of all things,) and the aforementioned video games. Splashing virtual zombies was nice but the most fun for me was the unique joy that comes from getting a headshot on a galloping giraffe during "Big Buck Safari"
And that all made for a fine Saturday, I was pretty well beat up and worn out. My pelvis still feels slightly detached by the wooden roller coasters but the lift in spirits more than counterbalances the physical damage.
And today, a bonus! While tightening that damned errant nut that always makes the back right wheel of the push mower fall off every 1.5 yard mowings or so I got to placate my hero complex. And yes, I have something of a hero complex.
Perhaps I should preface. One of the redeeming virtues of humanity is that altruism comes naturally and often a sense of well being and purpose follows it. To a degree I suppose that's where the HC comes into play.
Without blowing my own horn I have to mention that this stems almost purely from psychology classes and the statistical apathy that also comes very naturally to most people. It's a bit like the woman who was stabbed to death in broad daylight and no one intervened. I hate stories like that and strangely part of me wants that opportunity to be the person who DOES intervene.
Today I got my chance, well, one chance among the many moments that come and go throughout life. I was dragging the mower out onto the driveway when I noticed a boy walking down the street with a large white pipeish looking thing with a pointy end. It looked a bit like a spear made of PVC pipe and just seeing it brought to mind some of the more dumb and violent chapters from my youth.
I watched boy #1 join up with a friend, we'll call him boy #2 down the road. They were shouting at someone further up the road who I would soon learn was boy #3.
What played out was that boys #1 and 2, each much bigger/older than boy #3 proceeded to chase down the smaller boy and use the big white pipe thingy to hose him down with water. Tears and crying shot out of boy #3 and he fled down the road, coming towards me and past the house, while boys #1 and 2 gave chase on foot.
Enter boy #4, armed with a pipe wrench, that's me. As the boys made it just about even with the driveway I stopped their punk asses in their tracks with a little use of what I call "the Dad voice."
It's not quite screaming but it's pretty close to how state troopers sound after finding a severed head or a bag of cocaine in someone's trunk. Long story short, the chase ended not with the merriment of beating the crap out of boy #3 but with two shattered egos limping back home to mommy.
Bless their hearts. I should have made them mow the lawn for me it was hot as fuck today.