Wakka-Wakka-Wakka

Yeah, the trip was fun. We had turkey, cake, and me mum got me a copy of Opus for my birthday, which was an extremely good call, as I was unaware that such a book even existed. All through the trip though, I had one preponderance that absolutely refused to leave my range of curiosity: Why the fuck do people act so nonchalant about flying? In an airplane, I mean. Call yourself jaded, I’m calling you motherfucking oblivious to the fact that not only are you blasting through the troposphere at obscene speeds, but 86 other people are doing this at the very same time as you and not only that, but you’re doing so inside of a 25-ton steel dreadnaught. How is this not flabbergasting? I’ve been on aircraft before and it never ceases to thoroughly shock me into a mild stupor.

Before I left, Raff and I went and saw The Polar Express, and we stopped by the Pac Man Cafe and Museum for beef tips and plastic monkey action, which sounds like the name of a furry porno but is, as a matter of fact, not. The experience can only be termed “humbling” in that I had transformed into a gibbering waterhead for the better part of three hours. Q*Bert does that to me.

“Tom Nook Takes It in the Ass For Green Jellybeans.”

This tantalizing bit of hearsay and others like it (perhaps even more titillating) once adorned the commonplace billboard located in the town square of the once-great metropolis of Boomtown. This city, and similar microcosms, could be found in the Gamecube/N64 behemoth venture titled Animal Crossing, known affectionately to it’s fans as “AC”. It’s been a while since I was last at Boomtown, Bad Axe or… whatever other dipshit town name Jay or myself could come up with. My own AC self, known then as “Assman”, moved out some time ago, as Link and his Wind Waker had made their gaming presence aggressively known by that point. Jay’s own towns had mysteriously disappeared, rumored to be lost to the Indian-bartered curse of virtual auctioneer’s oblivion. Indeed, Jay’s reality had met a more sinister end than my own but as of this week, in the month of November in the year of our Nook 2004, the community of Boomtown has seen a rebirth under different management. Pitfalls are being dug, random worthless tasks are being performed, and Mr. Resetti is laying the mole-man bitchfist down on many a ne’er do well right as we speak. Rumor has it that another township shall soon be neighbor to the fair ‘burg of Boomtown, a township now known only as “Jimville”.

I am running a sort of cutesy poll for myself and trying to choose a new name for my human. I obviously don’t want to tread familiar territory, so I’m posting a list of name possibles for you to peruse. If you don’t see any that sound good, make up your own. Choose wisely…

1) Soggy McPeepants
2) Jay Blanchard
3) The Phantom
4) Captain Breezy O’Fartinay
5) The Amazing Papus
6) Mister Whupass
7) Kung Fu Steve
Crotchless Panties
9) Rickety Dick
10) Chuck Hustle
11) SuperJesus!

Three Real Radio references up there. Grah. Anyway, if you can do better, whip it out.

Happy Fucking Birthday

I turned 27 today. I still feel like shit, but much less so than last year. November of 2003 was not at all fun.

It did provide me with one of my favorite b-day memories, though: I woke up that morning, dragged my ass out to the kitchen and grabbed some pre-misery breakfast. I had a long day of slinging pie and stitching pixels at the DAVE School to get through. While I’m munching down on the flakes, Jay comes out and says, “Hey, I think I heard something fall in your closet”. It’s a bit of an inside joke, but that statement is essentially code for: “I got your present right here, bitch… well, it’s actually in your bedroom.” And I go in there, and laying on my bed is a brand-new luchadore mask. Not any luchadore mask, either; it was Psicosis’ mask, who happens to be my lucha of choice! Needless to say, my day was made and I trudged into work with a smile.

Work was nondescript. Nobody at work knew it was my birthday and to top that bullshit off, I stayed after shift. I got to school late, but a few people remembered, if only because I had missed out on the cake earlier that month. You see, the school celebrated birthdays for the month in a sort of all-inclusive party on the 1st, a date that fell on another late shift (noticing a pattern, here?), so I missed out.

Despite the fantastic start, the rest of the day was a pretty fair wash. I drove home, looking forward to a night of doing jackshit, save for mainlining the internet or distracting myself from my funk with a semi-serious gaming binge. I get home, I park my ass in front of the TV, when Bob comes out and tells me that something’s in my room. I figure he got me something else besides the present he had given me earlier in the week, so I go take a look.

To be honest, I know I had been shocked this badly once or twice in my lifetime but the minute I walked into that room, all prior memory of any similar feeling had completely escaped me. My friends had covered the north and eastern sides of my upper room with pages cut from comic books. My favorite comics, to be exact, all past and present: Lobo, Guy Gardner, The Mask, Captain America… it was incredible. I still have the leftover pages for the next house I live in.

Patriotic Doody

So Tuesday has urgently come and gone, like the crest of a busy stream in mid-summer (or a Jewish bull in a flea market). Lots of voices were raised, lots of celebration and mourning to be observed. Truly, one of the most important days and energetic events to participate in for any country, much less one country.

Yes, last Tuesday was Mexico’s bombastic Day of the Dead celebration!

I also heard that there was some election thing going on here in the States, but ah… who gives a fuck.