centurion73

My Colbert Dream

Thu, 28 Aug 2008 18:05:01 GMT

This started out as an email I was sending to some friends, but I decided this was worth coming out of my slump and making a journal entry for. Enjoy.

I woke up this morning out of a very odd dream. In this dream it seems that I somehow bumped into Stephen Colbert while out on the town, so naturally the two of us sat down to chat and have a drink. I informed Stephen that since I had bought and read his book that I too, was America (although to a lesser degree), and that as America, I wanted to give something back to the man who had given so much to me. Understanding that people like Stephen are probably even busier than I am, I thought he may find it handy to have a way to excuse himself from mundane tasks or boring people. The tactic was easy. Whenever someone asked him to do something, he could just respond that he was already doing it... for America. For example:

Query: "Honey, can you take out the garbage?"
Response: "Sorry, I would, but I'm already too busy taking out AMERICA'S garbage!"

Query: "Hey buddy, got any spare change?"
Response: "Sorry friend, but I'm already changing America!"

Query: "Can I ask you a question?"
Response: "First off, you just did. Second, I'm already answering the questions that plague America!"

And so on, and so forth.

Needless to say, Stephen thought this was a wonderful idea and asked me to take on a supporting role on his show. Then for some reason I was in some sort of executive bathroom, one where the walls and floors are that black "executive washroom" tile. There I was, using the urinal when Stephen comes in, laughs, pats me on the back and says something like "Well hello there Jason! Where's Chester?". I kind of laugh and look around and go "Well he's not down there!" after which we both laugh and the dream ends abruptly.

I don't know why it took such a wierd turn at the end, except Chester was barking at someone outside when I woke up, and I did have to pee. In any case, I'm pretty sure it doesn't make me gay.

Just thought I'd share before I forgot the whole dream entirely.

Feel free to use my Colbert America tactic for getting out of things you don't want to do. People may not believe it coming from you as readily as they would Stephen, but I have a solution. What I plan on doing is keeping a copy of his book "I Am America (And So Can You!)" with me at all times so that I can just pull it out, show someone the cover and say "And I did.". That should take care of it.

Oh and on the chance you haven't read it, it really is a good book.

Age of Conan: RP Adventures in Hyboria

Wed, 28 May 2008 16:42:44 GMT

I present for your entertainment, the adventures of Mayor McCheese, Bear Shaman. I can't take credit for any of this at all, but it was far too awesome not to share. Enjoy!

Episode 1: A New Hope
The origin of the Mayor, a washed up drunk left for dead on a beach.

Episode 2: Making Friends and Influencing People
The Mayor struggles to adapt to his new surroundings.

Indiana Jones Review

Fri, 23 May 2008 22:16:33 GMT

The best thing I can say about this movie is that Kate Capshaw was nowhere to be found. My friend Mark summarized his thoughts by saying "I feel like my childhood was just dragged out of the closet and raped". There are plenty of reviews of this movie out there to be found, so I won't even waste more of my time with it.

Fuck you George Lucas. Stop making movies, and just die already.

Age of Conan: First Impressions (Retail)

Wed, 21 May 2008 16:34:47 GMT

I FINALLY got AoC loaded and running last night after fucking around with it for most of the evening. Rolled Brimmstone, Cimmerian Conqueror on Omm. I had thought about running a Dark Templar dedicated to the snake god, Set, but I don't want to deal with the ERP implications of that just yet. I had to turn the graphics way down to play, but it is still enjoyable. It is a whole different look than WoW, but once they support DirectX10 fully and when/if I upgrade my video card, I can see where it would look incredible. I also had to turn off shadows at my level of settings because they were projecting out from NPCs like 15 feet in various directions, which creeped me right the hell out. Character creation was simple, yet you can really fine tune a lot of things. I'm told that female chatacters even have a breast slider, much to the delight of boys/men everywhere who have no idea what real tits look and feel like from personal experience. I myself had a slider for "Posterior", so I cranked that bitch up to give the ladies something to look at. Old Brimm is sporting scars from a bear on his chest, which is an international symbol for "Don't fuck with me, cause I've seen some shit", and my eyeline is blacked out like when Conan and company snuck into Thulsa Doom's palace in the movie. Hairstyles varied between "Fantasy Mullet" and "Lead Singer of an Emo Band", but I managed to find one that matched my savage spirit! I found a beard I like too, so pretty much I look like a really buffed up and pissed off Jesus. I'll turn your other cheek, with my fists! This whole look is complemented by the fact that the start of the game should be called Age of Loincloths. I've looted like 5 different styles of loincloths so far from my enemies, which not only begs the question "WTF is up with all these loincloths?" but also "Why the hell am I killing people and trying on their underwear?!". Finally I settled one one made from alligator skin, as it had the perfect combination of raw sex appeal and a hint of danger.

The melee system takes a bit of getting used to. The whole thing of picking where you hit adds another dimension to it. One thing that seems odd to me is that you have a finite number of bar slots in which to drag your abilities (like 10 or so), and I don't think you can use abilities that are not on your bar. Unless this changes later on, I can already tell at higher levels that this will mean a bit of strategy will be involved in selecting your bread and butter abilities. My friend Alex interviewed one of the game developers last year for his website and the guy told him that AoC was originally designed from the ground up as an Xbox 360 title and that the decision to take it to the PC came later. Maybe keeping things on the interface limited in this way is a result of that. I've managed a couple beheadings and chain kills so far (completely by accident I assure you), and I can't wait to learn how to do it on purpose. Supposedly you can parry attacks too, but I'l be damned if I figured out how. I just hit things. You can also double tap your movement buttons to dodge in different directions. Should be fun once I get the hang of it. The other thing I really like is that your health and stamina (think mana for melee) bars seem to refill quickly post-combat. I didn't have to worry about downtime between groups of enemies at all really. Even their bandage skill requires no actual bandages to craft and keep with you. The skill boots your health regen when you put points in it, and I guess they just assume you are smart enough to slap a band-aid on yourself after taking a beating.

The abilities themselves seem pretty varied and fun, even at lower levels. I basically have sweeping strikes and slam (including knockback) at level 5, and my version of battle shout lasts FOUR HOURS instead of 2 minutes. They've integrated the ability to swap between two different weapon sets on the fly, meaning that archers can pew pew and swap out for close combat or that a melee class can go from sword and board to dual wield or 2h easily and without mods. This is pretty cool I suppose given that some of your abilities will only function with certain weapon types (I have one that only works with 2handers for example).

The interaction with NPCs is pretty neat so far, as the camera goes into a kind of "RP Mode" closeup of your conversation, and the NPCs actually talk to you. If you've played games from Bioware like Knights of the Old Republic or Jade Empire, then you know what I mean. Your dialog options are numbered, and you can normally pick from a few different choices. Again, this seems like something I've seen way more on consoles (but then again I am not a huge PC gamer). I actually kind of like it tbh, as it feels more like you are talking to an actual person instead of just a quest giver (lol immersion). Plus, the first thing I had to do was rescue a runaway whore who was chained up and being used as a sex toy by some savages, so points up front for sweet ass fantasy babes! Once I set her free she admited that she had no coin or items to reward her with, but promised we could come to some sort of umm... arrangement once I entered the main city. Not sure what to think of my little Cimmerian soldier having a barbarian booty call awaiting him, but it is certainly better than getting 10 silver for some kobold ears.

The inventory system is nothing radically new, although I really like the fact that quest items and crafting items have their own tabs and have nothing to do with the available bag slots of your main inventory. Supposedly crafting in AoC can be done on the fly anywhere, so no more running back and forth or an alchemy lab or forge. More time to kill shit that way!

Oh, and I should mention the music is pretty good as well. It fits the setting without being a distraction, and it seemed to ramp up into "combat mode" when I was in the middle of clobbering some fools with my heavy jungle club. I'll probably continue to play with the soundtrack rolling just to see if it continues to be decent.

That is about all I had time to really notice in about one hour of actual gameplay. I haven't really tried interactions with other players yet as I just got to a point in the game where I can actually see other players (everyone starts out solo). I'm looking forward to running with a few more people. Who knows? Maybe I'll even get a guild started. I already have a good name for one that fits the game world perfectly...

"Set On My Face"

Oh yeah, I'm a badass!

Bicycles and Money Laundering

Sun, 18 May 2008 17:48:01 GMT

The good news: I went out and bought a new bike yesterday! After doing a little research, I came up with an affordable option that was designed for the type of riding I like to do. The Giant FCR3. I had always been a Trek guy when it came to straight mountain bikes, but after seeing the Giant up close and finding some great customer reviews about it online, I was pretty close to switching. What sealed the deal for me was the call I placed to my local Trek dealer who, despite not even selling the FCR3, said that component for component and in general construction that the FCR3 was almost identical to the Trek 7300. He went on to say that the Giant was a great hybrid bike and that he's heard nothing but good things about it. When a salesman pitches me on a product he doesn't even sell, then I think I can be pretty confident that he's being honest. I wasn't really looking to shell out $500 at this point (even if that is modest for a new bike), but I figure the money I'll save not smoking (at $4.50-$5.00 per pack per day) should pay for it over the course of a couple months. Now I'm just waiting on them to build it. Hopefully it will be ready today. Renting bikes is one thing, but riding your own, and having it fit for you specifically is another. I can't wait to take it out for a few miles.

The bad news: I get busted for money laundering, only instead of getting 10-20 in the federal pen, I get to try to salvage my wallet and its contents from the washing machine. Apparently I should take time to wake up in the morning before I start taking care of my to do list. The damage wasn't too bad, but it ruined a couple of pictures that I had (which I am pretty pissed about). The remaining contents are all spread out on my back patio as I type this; drying in the sun. Everything is just neatly lined out in rows: wallet, money, social security card, pics that I could save, etc. It looks like some CSI autopsy of how I murdered my own belongings. At least it wasn't my phone.

My Travel Habits & The Good Guy

Fri, 16 May 2008 22:37:06 GMT

I like to travel, yet I tend to dislike groups of people. I'm not anti-social or afraid or nervous in groups or anything, I just don't like large crowds that slow me down and get in my way. Beyond that, I generally hate sitting next to people on planes that feel the constant need to gab about shit I don't care about. Note to anyone who make occupy the seat next to me: I don't care about your kids. I don't care about your sales presentation. I don't care where you are from, or where you are going. I don't care how long you've been married, or if you are flying home from having an affair and you just need to tell someone. What I do care about is getting that huge metal coffin we're trapped in on and off the ground as quickly and safely as possible. Beyond that, I just prefer it if people eat their peanuts and keep to themselves.

Because of this, I try to quietly pass the time I am in the air as best I can. I'll sleep if I can, and if I can't I'll listen to music (or pretend to by just having my earphones on to discourage conversation), or I'll read. Since I was taking an unplanned trip to Washington DC this week, I decided to pick up a new book at the airport bookstore. After scanning the shelves for a few, I landed on the Bestsellers section and saw Dean Koontz's "The Good Guy" in the #1 spot. I'm not really a Koontz fan or anything. I consider a lot of his horror to be cheap knockoffs of Stephen King, but this one sounded different:

According to the back cover it was a "pulse-pounding thriller that starts with a terrifying decision: Help -- or run. Timothy Carter is an ordinary guy who enjoys a beer after work. But tonight is no ordinary night. The jittery man sitting beside him has mistaken Tim for someone else -- and passes him an envelope stuffed with cash and the photo of a pretty woman. 'Ten thousand now: You get the rest when she's gone.' Now everything he thought he knew -- even about himself -- will be challenged. For Tim Carter is the one man who can save an innocent life and stop a killer as relentless as evil incarnate. But first he must discover resources within himself that will transform his idea of who he is and what it takes to be ... The Good Guy."

Ok. Reluctant hero? Check. Damsel in distress? Check. Mystery and suspense? Check. A killer who is "evil incarnate"? Check. Sounded like it would at least give me something to do while crammed into a middle seat for the next few hours, so I picked it up.

To be honest, I enjoyed about the first two-thirds of the book. The whole concept of being mistaken for a hitman, and put into a situation where you can just walk away and let an innocent person die, or risk your own life to save another is pretty intriguing. I like the character of Tim Carter, a "normal" everyday brick mason who goes from having a beer at the local pub, to being on the run for his life from a hired killer. It was entertaining. I always like that kind of thing. Put normal people into extraordinary situations, and you really can find out what they are made of.

I especially admired the character of Krait, the obsessive-compulsive, megalomaniac hitman who not only was ruthless in his pursuit, but who also had a creepy fucking oral fetish when it came to his victims. This guy literally takes up pages of text either dreaming of what he'll force his next victim to choke on, or looking back fondly at what he's forced down the throats of his previous targets. It may have been a little over the top, but it definitely got the whole "this son of a bitch is insane" point across.

All things considered, the book is paced rather well. Between two flights and a brief layover, I had read all 447 pages by the time I touched down in Baltimore. The problems I have with the book all came about in the last third of it when all the loose end started to be tied up. I'm not a fan of giving away spoilers, and I'll try to keep it to a minimum, but the way the ending of this book was handled was cheap and unsatisfying in my opinion.

First off, it turns out that whole mystery behind why someone would want the girl dead is a pretty thin excuse for political intrigue. The majority of the book is spent trying to figure out the motivation for why someone would put a hit on her, and when you finally discover it, it just feels slapped together with scotch tape. Certainly Koontz could have come up with something better. I've seen X-Files episodes that were more plausible.

Also, our "normal" hero isn't quite so normal after all. Turns out he's really a war hero from the Gulf War with a Congressional Medal of Honor who saved innocent civilians in a valiant last stand. So much for him trying to "transform his idea of who he is and what it takes to be The Good Guy". He was a boyscout the entire time. He may have been down in the dumps a bit at the start of the book, but it wasn't like he was some heartless bastard who underwent some major change under stress or anything. When this is revealed later in the story, it is handled in such a cheesy manner that I wish the book would have come with crackers. To be honest, I think it cheapens the entire concept of the story. It is far more compelling to me to see someone who is a complete bastard find the strength and compassion within himself to become a hero when the chips are down, rather than someone who was always good from the start. If you want a small example of what I am talking about, then check out Dustin Hoffman in the movie Hero.

Maybe I was expecting too much from the #1 Bestseller in the country, but come on. Everything is wrapped up so nice and neat at the end of the book that it was pathetic. The only thing that would have made it more so would be to have the hero in a white cowboy hat ride off into the sunset with the woman he saved. I'm not saying that the good guys shouldn't win, but if you want to make it convincing, then you need to put your work in and not take shortcuts full of cliches. Overall it felt like a book that was written to be a Bestseller, like watered down top 40 music often is, rather than a real legitimate and intelligent piece of fiction that *deserved* to be a Bestseller. It was a real let down, and I certainly wouldn't recommend it to others.

If you want to read a far, far better book about what normal people are like under extrodinary circumstances, then I'd suggest you pick up Cormac McCarthy's No Country For Old Men. I loved the movie, but I may have enjoyed the book it was based on even more. It was a far better story all around, and when it was over I didn't feel like it needed to be twisted up in a bubblegum wrapper like I did with the Koontz book.

More on my actual DC trip soon. I am pretty worn out from my trip still, and I need to feed.

Redbelt

Sat, 10 May 2008 18:23:07 GMT

The movie Redbelt snuck up on me. Until recently is was nothing more than an obscure poster on the theater wall; one I walked past several times to and from Iron Man. The only thing that got me to take a closer look it at all was that the poster featured martial arts (which is a neon sign that ways "LOOK HERE!" for anyone with a minimum amount of testosterone), and the fact that it featured the actor Chiwetel Ejiofor. While I cannot even begin to pronounce his name correctly, I've seen his performances in supporting roles in Inside Man, Amercian Gangster and as the cold-blooded villain in Serenity. I was curious to see how he'd handle a leading role, but I didn't know if my curiosity was worth shelling out money on a ticket for.

I promptly forgot all about it until yesterday, when I stumbled over the fact that it had hit the threaters while figuring out what I wanted to do with my Friday night. I decided to poke around and see what Rotten Tomatoes had to say about it, as they are my first line of defense when it comes to wasting my time and money on utter crap. Not only was I surprised to see mainly positive reviews, it was there that I also learned that the movie was written and directed by David Mamet.

For anyone unfamiliar with Mamet, he's primarily noted for his playwriting and for his unusual style of dialog. To put it simply, he writes dialog that actually reflects the way people speak to each other, especially in tense situations. Unlike most pre-packaged Hollywood dialog, Mamet's characters will trail off mid-sentence as an idea occurs to them, they'll interrupt each other, and often their dialog will overlap. Reading an excerpt of his dialog isn't easy, and I can't imagine being an actor and sitting down to actually learn the lines when you've spent your career being spoon fed neat, clean sentences. The end result for those who can pull it off however, is usually fantastic, and far more "natural" than what you'll hear in most plays or movies. The idea of Mamet doing a martial arts action flick seemed just odd enough for me to bite. I had to see it just to satisfy my own curiosity.

I hate plot spoilers, but the basics of the story are simple enough on the surface. The official plot summary from the film's producers is spot on and pretty straight forward.

"Set in the west-side of Los Angeles fight world, a world inhabited by bouncers, cage- fighters, cops and special forces types, Redbelt, is the story of Mike Terry (Chiwetel Ejiofor), a Jiu-Jitsu teacher who has avoided the prize fighting circuit, choosing instead to pursue an honorable life by operating a self-defense studio with a samurai’s code.

Terry and his wife Sondra (Alice Braga), struggle to keep the business running to make ends meet. An accident on a dark, rainy night at the Academy between an off duty officer (Max Martini) and a distraught lawyer (Emily Mortimer) puts in motion a series of events that will change Terry’s life dramatically introducing him to a world of promoters (Ricky Jay, Joe Mantegna) and movie star Chet Frank (Tim Allen). Faced with this, in order to pay off his debts and regain his honor, Terry must step into the ring for the first time in his life. --© Sony Pictures Classics"

As I sat down to watch Redbelt, I was pretty much prepared for a Rocky knock-off with mixed martial arts instead of boxing. What I got instead was a drama about a man trying to hold onto ideals such as integrity, honor, loyalty and compassion while constantly being confronted with easy options to sell out his principals. I won't say the movie is perfect. Some of the plot events are pretty predictable and almost cliche, but they are all grounded just enough by the dialog and performances to seem plausible. True to form, Mamet's writing and directing did not disappoint. I came in expecting that. What I didn't expect was how powerful some of the scenes would be where Mamet chose to not let the audience actually hear the dialog at all. Those moments when the actors are just far enough away to be out of hearing range were still great, and perhaps they were made even more so because you couldn't hear what was going on, you just had to watch the events and the outcome.

When the final scene went dark and the credits rolled I was just stunned by how good the movie actually was and how it all ended. Summer is upon us, and there are tons of high budget Hollywood blockbusters coming out or on the horizon. That said, if you get the chance between all of those to sit down and watch a simple, good movie, then I'd highly suggest Redbelt. It did not disappoint.

Back in the day

Tue, 06 May 2008 16:56:53 GMT

On a recent visit home I came across a couple of old photos I had from my days in the Navy. Parts of me don't even remember who this guy is anymore. In other ways it seems like only last week that I was aboard ship and sailing around with some of my friends; getting into and out of trouble and trying to have as good as a time as we could while serving in the military.

First off, let's take a look at me during basic training.

Ahh, young Jason. Eighteen years old, and while by no means innocent, naive in ways that only an eighteen year-old can be. To this day I still have no idea what I was smiling about. Maybe it was just because picture day in boot camp was an easy day, and as long as I was busy doing that I couldn't be getting yelled at and made to do push-ups. I wasn't a trouble maker back in Boot, well not really, but I never learned to keep my mouth shut (big surprise). I did fine at physical training and excelled in class work. Most times I just shut up, did my work and tried not to stand out too much. Every once in awhile though, I'd pop off with something and get made an example of. Not that I really minded in the end much. It was probably having to do all of those extra disciplinary exercises that got me to the point that I could coast through the final physical testing for graduation.

I remember how serious they wanted me to be, like my cousin was in his marine boot camp photo. It was the only photo in my life where I was strongly encouraged *not* to smile. In the end, that is probably why I did.

Young Jason, there is so much I have to tell you. So many things I need to warn you about, and yet tragically, I cannot.

Fast forward a few years and we have Jason at 20 or 21 (can't recall which) in his natural habitat.

This one was taken in a bar I no longer remember. I don't even remember which country it was in to be perfectly honest. I remember these guys though, and that is all that really matters I suppose.

From Left to Right:

Me - I wish I could say I was older and wiser in this photo, but I really can't. Older, less naive, but with a larger chip on my shoulder than I had before. I liked my clothes and coffee black, my drinks strong, and my women like my cigarette lighters; disposable. I was at that age where I thought I was the baddest motherfucker in the room, even if deep down I knew I'd get my ass kicked. I drank a lot. I didn't go out of my way to start shit (most of the time), but I never backed away from trouble either. I was not the nice, cuddly person I am today. Not by a long shot. In retrospect, thinking on some of the situations I put myself into, it is a miracle I am still alive. I rolled the dice a lot then, even when there was no reason to.

Joel - Joel was a cool guy and a good friend. He was from Oregon originally, and like all people from the Pacific Northwest, he was avant-garde in some liberal fashion (or trying to be). Joel was an artist. I remember we'd hit coffee shops in San Diego after going out all night, and he's sit there with a sketch pad and charcoal drawing the people as they came in for their morning fix. I also remember that he was on some sort of meds for some chemical imbalance or something; nothing too serious or anything, but enough that it made his alcohol tolerance practically nothing. Once we were drunk and surly and got kicked off the trolley. Joel promptly passed out in some bushes about thirty seconds later, and I had to literally carry him three miles back to base and our ship. I remember his Mom was French, and he used to say how growing up was tough when all your friends knew your family had tea and scones in the afternoon. I always laughed at that.

Last I heard from Joel was after he got out. He finished some technical degree, and moved to New Orleans to do IT support from some company there. That was over a decade ago. I have no idea where my friend is now, but I hope he is doing well.

Eric - Eric was a hot-tempered redneck from Virginia. He had an accent that made molasses seem fast. I think Eric joined the Navy mainly to get out of his little town more than anything. He just never wanted to be that guy working 3rd shift at the local factory, punching a clock day in and day out. He was a good guy to have at your side in a scrape. Never asked any questions, and he never complained or cared about who started it. He was just there if the odds didn't look even, and he saved my ass more than once. He had a quiet, subtle sense of humor that could surprise you. I remember once we were in this Mexican strip-club (aka whore house) and these ladies of the establishment slid into our booth to make small talk and size us up (or size up how much we had on us at least). This one was fairly pretty and once she heard Eric talk she asked him where he was from. He said "Virginia" and she laughed and asked, "Birhinia? Does that mean you are a birgin?". Eric just smiled that country smile and said "Honey it does if it means I get a discount.". I still get a kick out of that.

I kept in contact with Eric for a few years after we were out. I visited him when he went back home to Virginia a few times, and he came up to Cincinnati to hang out with me. It was fun, but it was never quite the same. It is odd. You all get thrown together in an environment where all you have to count on is yourself, the guy standing next to you, and the chain of command. You don't have any family around, so your friends become your family. These guys were like brothers to me at one point. After it is all over though, when you see them in the civilian world, it all changes somehow. I knew we'd always be friends. If he somehow called me today and told me he needed help, I'd be on a plane within 24 hours. That bond we had though, that common ground was gone, and it just felt odd somehow talking to him about our day jobs and lives outside the Navy.

The last time I spoke to Eric he was marrying some chick he had knocked up in his home town. She already had two kids from a previous relationship, so essentially he was going from single guy to father of three overnight. In order to cover all the expenses and prepare for that life he took a new job; 3rd shift at the local factory.

And last but not least we have,

Thorpe - If Thorpe ever had a first name, we never heard it. Thorpe was a mouthy little smartass from San Francisco. He was a quick witted little son of a bitch, and often it was him who got us into a lot of our trouble. He was funny as hell though, and he was our friend, so what can you do? Can't ever leave your wingman. I could tell several stories about Thorpe that come to mind (including the time he fired off a .38 revolver at a party and shot the host's fish tank), but I think the one that really sums him up the best is the last time I saw him.

Our ship was getting ready for a Western Pacific Tour (WestPac) to the Persian Gulf when I got my discharge papers. I had about three or so weeks of working and waiting to do on base after my ship left, the majority of which I did while assigned to TPU (Transient Personnel Unit). TPU was divided into to basic sections. There was a section for people like myself who were either getting ready to leave the service, or who were just waiting on new orders or for their ship to come in. The other section was for people being processed into or out of the brig (naval prison).

I had been there for a couple days after my ship had sailed, and was coming in from my work detail one afternoon when I looked over and saw Thorpe sitting there in civilian clothes and handcuffs. I just stood there stunned for a second, and he just smiled up at me and said "I told you bro, this cat won't do Pac". Sure enough I remember him saying weeks before that he'd rather go AWOL than have to go to the Gulf for six months. I just didn't think he actually meant it. I laughed a little and asked him what the fuck he had done. The short version being that the night before the ship was to leave, he cleaned out his bank account, transferred a lot of it home, and got good and shitfaced with the rest and passed out on a beach. The next afternoon, after he knew the ship had left port, he grabbed lunch at Del Taco and strolled back onto base. He walked up to our pier, and with drink and taco in hand, asked the gate guards "Hey man, where'd the Reid go?". The guards just looked around confused for a minute and informed him that the ship was gone on a WestPac for six months. Thorpe just looked back at them with this pissed off expression and said "Gone? What do you mean gone? Fuck man. I told them I was just going on for some tacos! Can't believe they left me." That was how Thorpe turned himself in to the MPs, and by the time I saw him he was already two days in custody while the brass tried to figure out what in the hell to do with him. We sat there and bullshitted for a few more minutes until they came to haul him off. I never saw him again. I have no idea what happened to him, but I have a feeling I should look over my shoulder every time I am in Vegas. Never know when or where he could pop up again, but that would be the first place I'd look.

Days go by and turn into weeks, months, and years and yet I still think of my old crew from time to time and laugh. There were about a dozen or so more that weren't in this photo, but these three were my regular partners in crime. I doubt I'll ever hear from any of them again, but I still raise a drink to them now and then for old times sake.

My Inner John Malkovich

Mon, 05 May 2008 15:25:19 GMT

Some aspects of my personality I cannot fully explain. We all have things like this I suppose; little quirks or idiosyncracies that make us each unique, even when many times we can't explain them or how we even got them in the first place. I recently stumbled upon a new one of mine, and I thought I'd share it as it is pretty odd even for me. Recently when I get pissed off about something, I've begun to hear an inner John Malkovich start yelling "MOTHERFUCKER! MOTHERFUCKER!" with a Russian accent. I don't literally "hear" John going off his rocker, I am not that crazy, but I do get a flashback to this scene from the movie Rounders. (If you haven't seen it, then this will be a huge spoiler for you, but I have to link it.)

I don't know if this inner Malkovich will be a permanent thing, but for the time being at least I can't get ticked off without laughing a little bit to myself.

And John, if you are reading this, I loved your performance you Son of Beech!

Iron Man

Fri, 02 May 2008 08:25:14 GMT

Two words: Iron Man.

Two more: Fucking awesome.

Much to the surprise of some of my friends, I didn't read comic books when I was growing up. I watched cartoons like other kids, but I never really got into the whole comic thing. I knew the headliners like Superman, Spiderman and Batman mainly because their either had their own movies or their own cartoons. I may have heard of Iron Man and knew a bit about the character: Billionaire playboy turned superhero who flies around in a metal suit blowing shit up. That was pretty much all I knew, but it was enough. When I heard this movie was coming out I had a mix of boyish excitement and nervous dread. An Iron Man movie could either be very very cool, or very very horrible. My first question of course, was who is going to play lead head.

The answer was Robert Downey Jr., and I can honestly say once I heard it I was intrigued. I had long been a half-hearted fan of Downey ever since I first saw his drug addict performance in Less Than Zero; a movie which would ironically describe long periods of Downey's life. Downey was this somewhat insane and unpredictable Hollywood cat. He was Johnny Depp before Johnny Depp was, although with a lot more drug and criminal baggage (or at least his was more public). In addition to this he was by all accounts, a complete asshole. Right or wrong he was at least up front about it, and that at least I always admired. I mean, who better to play a ruthless, cold, sarcastic, egotistical weapons dealer than Robert Downey Jr.? I think the trailer speaks for itself.

Even as cool as this all seemed, however, I had to know if it would live up to the hype. After seeing the movie I can honestly say it does, and then some. It is dramatic and cool without taking itself too seriously. There are a lot of comedic moments, mainly Downey's, that just work. The script, the performances, the special effects, the direction and even the pace of the movie are superb. I'm not one to geek out when I'm at a theater, but I can honestly say I was alternating between laughing out loud, clapping, cheering and just sitting there staring in amazement. I think the best compliments I can pay the movie are these: First, I was so into the story that the special effects took a back seat, which is very impressive considering what an effects-driven movie this is. Second, I'd pay to go see it again, tomorrow.

If you are even remotely interested, or if you just want to feel like your money is well-spent when you go to the theater, then go see Iron Man. Now.

Women are smart

Fri, 25 Apr 2008 17:14:54 GMT

This is no revelation for me or for millions of men around the world, but it is true. It never ceases to amaze me how even after 30 years on this planet I still can stumble onto things that women have already figured out long ago. Take for example, the Two Towels. For years I just figured that women used two towels after bathing only if they had long hair. I mean, why dirty two towels when you don't have to? It just means more laundry, and who wants to do anything to make even more laundry? Then today, for what has to have been the 5th day in a row, I was annoyed because I couldn't manage to get my (short) hair dry after a shower. The light bulb finally went on about ten minutes later. I know it isn't rocket science, but the fact that I have never in my life until now even given the slightest thought to using a second towel amused me.

I am sure I could go on and write hundreds if not thousands of examples of ways women are smarter than men. I am sure there are bookshelves filled with the subject. Maybe I'll jot some things down and post them from time to time. For now however, I'll go with the old saying that a picture is worth a thousand words and just post this instead:

No woman would roll around with this kind of car window.

As a guy, I understand the need to repair things on my own, regardless of if I have any skill to do so or not. I may end up calling a professional anyway (my Mother's influence), but better that than spending a whole Saturday trying to fix something only to make it worse. I still have that manly instinct, but I try to use some common sense to counter it.

This guy obviously doesn't.

I stopped next to this dude at a red light and I had to take a picture. Don't get me wrong, I admire that some thought and creativity went into this make shift repair. He knew ahead of time that the purpose of a window was visibility, so in his mind, using duct tape alone would just be stupid. He knew he'd have to bust out some clear tape to make a starboard porthole with. On the other hand, it is a widely known fact in the maniverse that nothing provides structural integrity like duct tape. You have to appreciate the fact that in his mind, he was Han Solo, and this was his Millennium Lumina. To him, duct tape is like the force. It has a light side, a dark side, and it holds the universe together. Unfortunately for him, "Solo" is exactly the word used to describe his social life. Just as no woman would have this kind of car window, no woman would be caught dead in that passenger seat either.

Just a tip guys: Don't do shit like this.

There Will Be WTF?!

Wed, 09 Apr 2008 21:38:26 GMT

I finally decided to get around to posting my thoughts about a couple of my favorite movies from last year, No Country for Old Men and There Will Be Blood. If you are a fan of epic cinematography, incredible acting, and stories and characters that explore just how dark the human soul can be, then each of these movies have a lot to offer.

See for me, it isn't ghost stories or horror movies that disturb me. True evil, in my opinion, exists in the hearts of men. Men who are nothing more than flesh and blood, yet who leave behind almost any trace of their humanity in the pursuit of their goals. True evil lives among us, yet is beyond the average person's comprehension.

That is what these movies play on, and that is why both of them are excellent if a bit difficult to watch.

If my comments on each seem a little thin, it is only because I hate giving away spoilers and because the trailers say a lot for themselves.

No Country for Old Men

No Country for Old Men is a phenominal story about what happens when normal people find themselves thrust into extraordinary circumstances. Llewelyn Moss (Josh Brolin) comes across a deal gone wrong in the desert, including two million dollars. Sheriff Bell (Tommy Lee Jones) is trying to restore order, and bring safety and sanity back to his small Texas town. Anton Chigurh (Javier Bardem) is the man that neither of them is prepared for, a freelance mercenary hired to recover the money at all costs. At. All. Costs.

It is no surprise why this movie won Best Picture, Best Director (Coen Brothers) and Best Supporting Actor (Javier Bardem). It is ruthless, beautiful and intense. It is just one of those movies that makes you sit on the edge of your seat when you are watching it, and that sticks with you for weeks after.

There Will Be Blood

First off, Daniel Day-Lewis is insane. I don't mean his characters. I mean HE is insane. No other actor I know of throws himself as fully into his roles as he does, and it shows on screen. There are any number of people who can play a role, but Daniel Day-Lewis becomes these people. It is incredible and intimidating to watch. This is probably a lot of the reason he completely carries this odd picture from beginning to end, and why we won Best Actor for his role as Daniel Plainview, ruthless prospector turned oil tycoon.

And I mean Ruthless, in every sense of the word and with a capital "R". How someone can be as charismatic as Plainfield is, and yet be so full of pure hatred and not have an ounce of humanity in them is what makes this movie incredible. Set in a time period spaning from the 1880s forward to the 1920s, it a remarkable movie filled with stunning images and set to chilling music that help compliment Lewis' acting. There Will Be Blood is a documentary of greed, cunning and evil showing just how far one man is willing to go to quench his thirst for power and money.

Both of these movies are filled with moments that make you just stare in amazement or recoil in revulsion. I would highly recommend watching both movies if you are even slightly curious or interested. They are each very good movies. Just don't watch them back to back.

Sometimes it Rains

Tue, 08 Apr 2008 17:35:36 GMT

Nothing will wipe you out like a couple of nights of restless sleep, or no sleep at all. Last night, after tossing and turning for awhile, it looked as if I would finally be able to drift of and get some rest. There was a storm blowing in, but it seemed for a long while that we'd only catch the edge of it. The thunder wasn't the kind that cracked and split the night air, rather it was a deep bass that seemed to roll across the sky, lapping against some unseen shore. The rain was pleasant enough. Big, fat drops plodded and plopped outside my window with a staggered cadence, as if an army of thousands hadn't quite learned how to walk in step. The crickets refused to acknowledge any of this of course, and instead tried to hold the storm at bay by singing louder and even more frantically. I would have thought them silly, but how many times do we do the same thing in our own lives? Try as we might to ignore it or push if from our thoughts, we can't stop the inevitable from happening anymore than they can. We know there is a storm brewing somewhere on the horizon, and that sooner or later the false calm we try to wrap ourselves in will shatter, yet we turn a blind eye to it. Personally I believe it is better to meet the storm head on and face it, rather than sit and hope it will blow over, only to hear...

Sirens.

The piercing howl puts an end to my twenty minute nap. 2:30 in the morning. Why can't tornadoes come around at a decent hour? I am Ohio born, but I've lived or worked almost everywhere in the United States. I've dealt with hurricanes in Virginia Beach and South Texas, wild fires and earthquakes in Southern California, not to mention the treacherous winters of the Northeast states. The one thing I've never gotten used to though are tornadoes. Lucky for me this part of the country has more tornadoes each year than any other in the U.S., so I have plenty of opportunities to face my fears.

So here we are, trapped inside a meteorologist's wet dream. Three seperate storm fronts hitting us back to back to back. Winds are sustained at 70mph with gusts much higher than that. Hail the size of frozen turkeys pelts everything in their path. I turn on the TV hoping to get some sort of update, and it is nothing but local TV weather guys all scrambling for their fifteen minutes of mediocrity. One channel has Doppler 8000 surface to air tornado defense radar; codenamed: Viper! I've served on warships who have had actual weapon systems that are less pretentious than this thing. Apparently the Viper system is so advanced, not even full time meteorologists know it's secrets! The one feature they seemed to all love however, was Vortex Vision. This amounts to giant, cylindrical, spinning blobs that fill the screen everywhere a cloud rotation has been spotted, blocking out any and all useful information like town names or storm projection paths. Neat!

At first I am really trying to pay attention to their broadcasts, after all, they have lots of computer images and geometric figures, and they can even write on the screen like John Madden! After awhile though, I realize that they are pretty much just guessing and getting 99% of their information from the National Weather Service anyway. The only real reason I stay tuned in (other than my fear of tornadoes, of course) is that the other 1% of their information comes from "Storm Chasers".

Apparently, all you need to be an official "Storm Chaser" in Oklahoma is broadcasting equipment (the shittiest microphone and camera that Radio Shack's sale bin has to offer), a pocket thesaurus (for looking up as many versions of the phrase "lots of rain" as possible), a Mobile Command Center (a 1970 AMC Gremlin with a lightning bolt painted on the door), and a parka. These guys really are the stars of this late night reality show, and it made the threat of a potential tornado fun! One guy fell in love with the word "copious" and said it copiously every five seconds to describe everything he saw. Another chaser literally got lost and had to swallow his embarrassment and admit it live on the air when they asked his location. Yet another just stood in the same spot the whole time with a crappy camcorder and sent back "exclusive live footage" that amounted to an almost completely black screen which would burst white sporadically during lightning strikes. This guy was my favorite because not only wasn't he bothering to actually "chase" a damn thing, his comms with the guys in the studio were constantly broken. This led to him just repeating the lead meteorologist's name over and over again as if it was some sort of rain chant that could protect him,

"Dave? Dave? Dave can you hear me? Dave? Dave? Dave are you getting this? Dave? Dave?"

It was classic.

Finally at a little after 4:30am things started to calm down. No reported tornadoes, just lots of hail and wind damage, a tired man and a very nervous dog.

Not the way I would have chosen to spend a Monday night, but just like those other storms we face in life, sometimes you just have to make the best of it until it all blows over.

An Average Day. Giant Hotdogs, and a Police Chase!

Mon, 07 Apr 2008 18:25:49 GMT

My job is a pretty good one in most respects. As an independant contractor, I have the freedom to set my own hours and act as my own boss. I have clients to satisfy and someone to report to, as does everyone, but it isn't like I have to get up at 6:00am every morning, put on a suit and drive to an office. I've been there and done that, and it's nice to have a break from it, even if one day I find my way back there again.

My average day consists of looking over my project list for the various oil and gas companies I contract with, and then determining the scope of each job. Some can be handled online. Some require a visit to one of dozens of courthouses in various counties in Oklahoma. Some days I sit at my desk at home and go through photos of property documents for hours on end. Most of my meetings are handled via telephone, email and the occasional business lunch. The end goal is always the same... Find out where there is land with oil on it. Determine if the mineral rights have not already been claimed. Sell that information to my clients. It may not rank up there on my all time list of challenging and rewarding career goals, but it does have it's perks.

One such perk, is getting to see the horrors that lurk within small town America.

Take for instance...

CREEPY ASS HOTDOG GUY!

Click for a closer look... if you dare!

One minute I am getting gas, and the next I happen to glance across the street to see this... thing. As hideous as this photo is, it fails to fully capture the experience of standing face to face with this six foot nightmare. While he may indeed be a mascot of good times and cheap food for the residents of Claremore, Oklahoma, I certainly didn't find anything about him appetizing.

First off... I don't know about you, but I don't find his stance or his general demeanor to be remotely comforting or inviting. I don't know if you can see it from this angle, but his legs are bent at the knee and he is thrusting his giant, puckered hotdog anus outward towards the camera. Those eyes and that facial expression just make him look like a deranged criminal in my opinion, an impression that is only made worse by the way he is squeeezing his ketchup and mustard bottles in his iron-like, four-fingered grip. It's as if he is posed in a silent warning. If he'd do this to himself... just imagine what he'd do to you!

I guess the Dr. Frankenfurter behind this monstrosity must have also thought he was a bit "over the top", as it looks like he threw in a couple details just to lure people in. First and foremost, someone had the bright idea to swaddle him in an American flag. Now I may not be the most patriotic person in the United States, but I served my country, and I really don't think ol' Glory should be serving as the devil's bun warmer. Moving down though we see something even more devious. Apparently it was determined that nothing says "I'm not here to kill you" like bright blue Converse and white tube socks! Why Converse? Why even have shoes at all? Well it goes without saying that you just can't have your hotdog showing his bare feet. That would just be gross and in poor taste.

It was probably the shock of it all that made me speed back to my computer to post this entry. Speeding so fast in fact, that I blew by a motorcyle cop doing close to 85mph in a 60mph zone. Now I don't hate cops. I just hate being a reason for them to do paperwork.

Quickly I scanned for a way to break line of sight with him and duck off the highway. Everyone knows a cop can't ticket you if he can't see you! It's in the rules! He hadn't hit his lights yet, so I guessed that there still may have been time.

Whoosh! I am changing lanes and off the first exit I come across, checking the rear view.

All clear!

I am so clever. My quick wits have saved me again!

And then I look ahead of me... a red light. Dead stop. No where to run.

I check the exit ramp. I am so busy looking behind me that it takes me a minute to see where I am. As I look forward again I notice another cop, and then another, and then another. All of them coming from this building across the street.

Tulsa Police Department.

"Fuck".

Thirty seconds go by like an hour, and when the light finally turns green I coast through at barely an idle. No one seems to pay any attention to me, and I take the back way home; slowly.

That is how my luck works on an average day. I manage to get out of trouble by the skin of my teeth, even when my own "cleverness" takes me out of a bad situation and drops me into an even worse one.

I suppose it is better to be lucky than smart.

The Freshman

Sun, 06 Apr 2008 17:24:29 GMT

I enjoy a good mafia movie. I suppose if I were to generalize beyond that a bit further, I would say that I enjoy crime as a theme on film and on TV. I guess I love not only the suspense and drama, but the characters. The best of these, in my opinion, are the ones that exude strength and charisma. The ones who, regardless of their morality (or lack thereof), determine their own destiny through a force of will. The code they follow may not be one that everyone can understand, but they follow one all the same.

I can list dozens of excellent movies and shows that fall into this category. My favorites range from Goodfellas and the Sopranos all the way up to one of the best movies from last year, No Country for Old Men. The king of them all however, has to of course be The Godfather. A good friend of mine just watched it for the very first time in her life the other day and I was so jealous. How great would it be to watch a movie like that for the first time? How must it feel to step into that story from the beginning and let it take you in, without any notion of what was around the corner? Hell, I wish I could have been there in person to watch it with her. That has to be the next best thing. A movie like that is always one best shared with friends, especially if they are new to the experience.

Which brings me to today's journal entry.

With the Godfather under her belt, she said she gained a whole new perspective on some of her favorite movies and tv shows. With that in mind, I thought of another lesser-known movie that plays heavily upon The Godfather legacy and combines it with a brilliant comedy.

The Freshman

While the combination of Brando and Broderick may sound out of place, it is exactly that fact that makes this movie work so well. The whole premise of the movie is about what happens when an average film school student from Vermont stumbles into the "family business". Aside from classics like The Godfather, Apocalypse Now and On the Waterfront, this has to be one of my favorites of Brando's performances. Watching him parody his own earlier performances is just fantastic, and it really allows you to get a glimpse of his sense of humor as an actor. On the Broderick side of things, this is definitely a role that seems tailor made for him. His portrayal of a fish out of water is spot on, and it summarizes everything I enjoy about his acting.

It may be a little tricky to track down, but if you ever have the opportunity, it is a great way to spend a fun evening. At the very least you'll never look at a Komodo Dragon the same way again, I promise you.

Arrivederci!

Sailor Jerry!

Thu, 03 Apr 2008 22:35:56 GMT

I love rum.

I just really enjoy it. Maybe it's because it harkens back to the days of sailors of old. Hoisting mainsails, firing cannons and battoning down the hatches. Perhaps it's because it has ties to the naval tradition of my grandfather and WWII, where the booze was stong, exotic island women wore grass skirts and men got tatoos of anchors on their forearms. Hell maybe it reminds me of my own naval days, many of which ended with nights by a campfire on various beaches, friends by my side and a bottle in my hand.

Of course it could just be that I really just like rum. Regardless of why I enjoy rum above all other spirits, I have recently discovered I have a new favorite: Sailor Jerry

I stumbled upon this little gem while on a recent fishing trip. The weather had turned rainy and cold, and knowing that nothing prevents pneumonia like a strong shot of fine whiskey, we headed out to the local liquor store.

At first I thought I'd be boring and just grab some Bacardi. It was the safe choice, and it's a decent rum. But then I looked up and saw this exotic brown beauty sitting on the shelf, not only that but it had an exotic brown beauty swaying on the bottle! Anchors aweigh my boys. A pirate's life for me! I grabbed it thinking it would be a novelty and nothing more.

Once I took my first sip, however, I was smitten. Sailor Jerry is a spiced rum, according to their website, it is a "92-proof blend of caribbean-style rum with vanilla, lime and other spices". That certainly explains the auburn color of the liquor. A more delicate palate than mine could probably taste all of the spices they mention, but the one that sticks out most to me is cherry. I don't know if they just age it in cherry barrels, or if they simply infuse it with the flavoring, but it really stands out. The end result is a drink that anyone, even those new to rum, can really savor. My hard drinking days may be long behind me, but even still this is a liquor that you can really sip and just let roll around on your tongue for awhile. It's strong without being overpowering, it's smooth without being watery, and it has a distinct aroma and flavor that goes down well on the rocks or in a cocktail.

Once the trip was over and I came home, I had to find out more about Sailor Jerry and how I had managed to miss out on it thus far. What I found out was that Sailor Jerry was more than a rum. It was a culture. A culture that had its roots in the original Sailor himself back in the days of WWII and the tatoo scene of Hawaii.

Apparently the original Sailor Jerry was a hard as nails son of a bitch, a quality I can appreciate. He left home at 19 to join the Navy and see the world. During this time he was impressed by the artork and intricacy of the asian art of tatooing. At some point he decided to open up a tatoo parlor in the Chinatown disctrict of Honolulu, and the rest was history. Here are just a few quotes from his biography:

"He's the man many see as the father of the deftly crafted, boldly lined, balls-forward Old School Tattoo. The kind fueled by the devil-may-care appetites of men far away from home."

Hell yeah!

"He traveled around the world, not only getting his first tattoos, but also gaining exposure to the art and imagery of Southeast Asia. This later became a crucial influence when he opened his first tattoo shop in Honolulu's Chinatown, ground zero for swaggering sailors, drunken soldiers and whoever else wasn't afraid to hang around volatile levels of testosterone."

I am unafraid, Sailor Jerry!

"The Honolulu Tattoo district was designed to accommodate a time in men's lives when they drank heavily, paid for women, and imprinted their biceps with pictures solid and resonant enough to last a lifetime."

I like my women free and clean Jerry, in every way, but other than that I am right there with you sir!

"As with the work of any great artist, every one of Sailor Jerry's designs reflects an extra level of depth, some detail that communicates more than the content would indicate (and) depicting the romance and optimism necessary to sustain a life at sea."

Believe me, it takes some fucking optimism!

"The biggest thing missing from such a life, of course, is breasts - and the individuals behind them."

Can I get an AMEN?!?!?

"Buxom maidens are a centerpiece of old-school tattooing, and they were Sailor Jerry's specialty. Jerry's girls are not waifs, they are zoftig creations, with luscious thighs, shapely calves and highly pert boobs. Yet its their eyes that stand out above everything - eyes that are playful, knowing and aware. Even when they're shut, you can feel the presence behind them. It's easy to see how they can get under a man's skin. They're alluring enough to look at everyday, until death do you part, leaving them behind to spark lively conversations at your wake."

... Well great. Now I want another tatoo.

According to their sources, the rum's flavor was directly influenced by Jerry's aka "The Man's" tastes and experiences, and the kind of rum he loved to drink. So not only do you get to enjoy a fine and wonderfully flavored spirit, you get a tiny window into the man, the myth and the legend that is Sailor Jerry.

I cannot say it strongly enough. This is good booze. If you ever find yourself with a chance to sample any, I highly suggest you do. You'll never want to drink some bullshit rum in with your coke ever again.

Some people are just born bad. I know I was.

Wed, 02 Apr 2008 19:43:39 GMT

Nature versus Nurture. Good versus Evil. Between psychology and religion you can fill entire libraries on the subject. While no one can deny that we all have the capacity for both and that our actions on any given day can slide up and down that slippery scale, I really believe that underneath it all, we are what we are. Sometimes it's good. Sometimes it's not. Some people are just born bad.

Everyone has a choice on how they choose to act. We come across 1000 different forks in the road every day. What should I say to this? How should I react to that? What are these choices based on? Do we really each have an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other? Do we follow the morality our parents try to instill in us? Do we make "good" choices because we're good people deep down, or is it only because we fear some sort of reprisal, like going to jail or hell or losing our friends/family/loved ones?

Is a person good or evil based on their choices and actions, or because of who they are in their heart?

I don't think people can tell you what type of person you are, because they really don't know. I don't think the person you "want" to be factors in either. A death row inmate can "want" to be a saint, but wanting doesn't count for shit. I think that the answer can only be found inside our individual gut reactions. That first, basic instinct that kicks in when we're confronted with a choice.

I know if my own life I've wrestled with this over and over again. Time and time again though, I come to a conclusion and a fact that I just have to accept. Deep down, I'm just no good.

I've been thinking about it recently, mainly because of this Amy Winehouse song, specifically the chorus.

I cheated myself
Like I knew I would
I told ya, I was trouble
Ya know that I'm no good

The rest of lyrics may not mean much to me, but these lines for me are so familiar. They serve not only as an "I told you so" to not only whoever else is listening, but also to the person saying them. It's just this matter of fact acceptance of the the way this person is. Kind of like saying, you can pretend and try and work as hard as you want, but under it all you know the kind of person you are and what you are capable of.

For example, I was always a rotten child. My Mother called it being "into everything". I was that kid who got in trouble again and again, and when I was confronted about it and asked why I did the things I did I would just say "I dunno. It seemed like a good idea at the time." The sad thing is that, out of all the crap I pulled as a kid, I probably only got caught for about 10% of it - if that. And the times I did get caught and had to say I was sorry, the only thing I was really sorry for was getting caught. When I was asked if I "learned my lesson", I could honestly always say yes, I had. I learned not to get caught next time. I can look back on my childhood and I can point out things that were stupid to do, but I have a really hard time thinking of one thing I truly felt remorse for.

This kind of behavior only intensified as a teenager. Certainly my experiences with sex, drugs and alcohol weren't based on peer pressure or idle curiosity. I knew what I wanted to do and I made choices to do them based on my instincts. Even my temper was ruled by that instinct. I was never that guy in high school that talked big and got into 10 minute pushing and yelling matches in the halls with someone, and then threatened to "kick their ass" at some later date and time. If I wanted to punch someone, I just did it right there on the spot without saying a word. I didn't think about getting in trouble. I didn't think about the right or wrong of it. I didn't *think* at all. That's the whole point.

I remember once when I was a sophomore I was dating a girl who was a senior. She wasn't anything particularly special, but she was attractive and fun enough to spend time with. I remember that she kept having trouble with our Varsity quarterback. You know the type? The jock who dogs on the smart chick in front of his friends, but who really just wants to fuck her, and because he doesn't have the guts to act on it or because he gets shot down, he turns into an asshole?

Well at some point she got tired of it and told me about it. I remember going up to him between classes one day and just point blank telling him to back off and leave her alone. I was always a big kid, but I was never the biggest or strongest and this guy was larger than I was. Not only that but he was surrounded by a few of his football buddies who were bigger than he was. He laughed at first and informed me in so many words that he and his friends would beat the shit out of me. And they easily could have. It isn't like I was an ultimate badass or anything. I remember shrugging and just telling him that it was ok, I'd just come back again tomorrow... and the day after that, and the day after that. I remember saying that he could kick my ass 99 times and it wouldn't matter to me. I had nothing to lose. But on that 100th time, if I got him down, I would hurt him in ways that would make even catching a football hard again - not to mention trying to actually throw one. The thing was, I wasn't talking shit. I wasn't acting tough. I didn't give a shit about the consequences. I was willing to push it past a limit he was willing to go, and we both knew it - right there in that moment. I walked off and he never said so much as "hi" to her again.

I never really ran into anything in high school like that I couldn't handle, either with my wits or my fists. Now I am not saying I never had my ass kicked. I have, and I deserved it each and every time. (I personally believe every guy should have his ass kicked at least once just to knock the chip off their shoulder.) But for the most part no one messed with me. I wasn't the biggest or strongest or best. I was just the meanest. It wasn't based on a choice. It was just who I was underneath.

Ok, so just so you don't think that I mean good or evil is all about being some macho punk or acting like a badass or something, let me share another personal story.

My Grandmother died of cancer when I was 18. I loved my Grandmother. She helped raise my sister and I after my Mother divorced our Dad, and continued to play a huge part in our lives even after my Mother remarried. She was a great lady. I could spend hours talking about why and still not cover the half of it. I mention it only to illustrate how much she meant to me.

Now a few weeks earlier I had split up with this girl I had been dating. We were complete opposites, and it was the smart thing to do. The only thing I would miss about her honestly was the sex, which even for my novice teenage self, had been pretty damn good. She was a pretty girl with a great body and large breasts, so yeah, on that level alone she'd be missed. We were barely on speaking terms at the time, but she found out about the funeral and came to pay her respects.

So here I am at the funeral, surrounded by friends, immediate family and the kind of extended family that only comes out of the woodwork when someone dies. I feel like shit for obvious reasons, but I am also kind of pissed off. Pissed that a lot these people with their sad little half-smiles and encouraging words are just so insincere, at least from where I am sitting. Where were all these people during her cancer treatments? Where were they in the last few months and weeks she had before she died? I'd have traded any 10 of them just to have my Grandmother back for another 10 to 20 years. Fuck them.

And then there is this girl there, and she's honestly sad and actually trying to be a good person and say a couple nice things to comfort me even though we're split up. My Mother is a wreck. I mean in a state of complete anguish and emotional breakdown. I know I should feel worse for her than I do myself, but my heart isn't working right. I'm listening to the sermon, and I should be crying - I should be feeling something - but instead I catch myself sliding my hand over to this girl's lap where she takes my hand to squeeze it. Pretty soon all I can do is think about how hot she looks in her black dress and stockings.

Ten minutes later, the sermon concludes and everyone is lining up for a tenth round of sympathy exchanges and I just can't fucking handle it. A better person would be overwhelmed with grief. A better son would stay by his Mother's side and be strong for her. A better guy would realize that this girl is probably in a vulnerable state because she still cares for me and she thinks "I" am the vulnerable one. That guy would do the right thing and just thank her for coming and hug her and say goodbye. But not me. For some reason, I look at this like the perfect opportunity to drown my sorrows, so to speak, and get laid. Which I do. Two hours later she is dropping me off at my car in the church parking lot and we never speak again.

What can I say? I know that story makes me a complete bastard; cold and heartless. I knew then, just as I have always known, what the right thing was to do when given a choice. I chose to do the wrong thing instead. I chose to go with my instinct. The sad thing is that I wish I felt bad about it. Even now looking back I can't seem to "feel" much of anything. I won't stress over it because it's long gone, and because I just know the kind of person I am.

I cheated myself
Like I knew I would
I told ya, I was trouble
Ya know that I'm no good

Luckily for me, even the rotten apples can still act like good people if they choose to. It just takes work. I find that being good is vastly harder than being bad. Being bad is just so much more fun in the short term, but being good has a lot more rewards in the long term. Rewards like lasting friendships and relationships, something I never really experienced earlier in life and that I am happy to have now. I think I can honestly say that everything good I have in my life is there because I went *against* my nature instead of embracing it.

I still have that same inner voice I always have, and I certainly don't need encouragement or temptation to be bad. There is a saying I heard... "Water water everywhere and every chance to sink". That is probably a very simple, yet eloquent way to put it. But these days I think about the consequences of my instincts before I act on them. I try to be nice. I try to be patient. I try to care. I try to think... "What would a good person do?".

I may never totally be "good", but maybe if I try to act like it long enough, some of it will rub off on me.

April Fools! Jokes, Spoofs, and Things That Should Be.

Tue, 01 Apr 2008 20:53:15 GMT

April Fools Day! You have come again at last!

I have always been a fan of April Fools Day. Not only is it a day where everyone takes themselves a bit less seriously and we pay homage our collective sense of humor, but it is also a day that celebrates the mocking of the gulliable and the stupid. In essence, it is the Day of the Dick, where laughing at someone for being a complete tool is not only tolerated, but encouraged.

This pleases me.

There are literally thousands of pranks being played in the media today, and thanks to Wikipedia, we have the ability to see the list of reported pranks for April Fools' 2008. Some of my obvious favorites come from Blizzard, with their addition of Tauren Marines to Starcraft and the new console version of MOLTEN CORE!

****

Aside from pranks and jokes however, April Fool's is a day to look at some of the (in)famous spoofs that have made their mark on us over the years. One of my all time favorites is the film This is Spinal Tap, the rockumentary satire that is widely considered to be an instant classic. I cracked up the first time I watched it, and it's still a great movie to sit down and watch when I need a laugh. It's brilliant in that it completely mocks every aspect of the Rock and Roll lifestyle, yet still manages to be musically sound. I always loved the fact that while I can laugh out loud at scenes like the Stonehenge set piece being made 13 inches tall instead of 13 feet, or make fun of some (most) of their lyrics, that I can still appreciate their music for being actual rock and roll. On a scale of 1 to 10, Spinal Tap goes to 11.

****

Unfortunately, there is a dark side to today, in that there are several things out there in the world that SHOULD be jokes, but that are sadly very real.

I lived in Southeast Texas for a couple of years and one night my friends and I were heading the the liquor store on a beer run. My friends ran inside and I hung out in front of the store to have a smoke. As I was standing there, a couple other guys pulled up in this beat up piece of shit and I caught about half of their conversation about how "...after we get some beers we need to go get a little Tranny Honey..."

Tranny.

Honey.

Those are two words I never thought I'd hear put together in a single sentence, and the last place on Earth I expected to hear them was Texas. I mean, these guys didn't look like the type that wanted to ride eachother bareback, but I guess you never can tell. All I knew at the time was that I didn't know what the hell they were talking about and I was glad I didn't. I just wanted to get the hell out of there as fast as possible.

It wasn't until a few weeks later that I happened to stroll inside an auto parts store for some new wiper blades that I came across this little beauty staring back at me from the 3rd shelf down... Tranny Honey. Go ahead, click it. Just take my advice and don't spend too long searching for it on google. You may not like what you find.

****

More recently, I read a news article about how over the counter paternity tests are now on sale at your local drug store! So now ladies you not only can find out if you are knocked up, but you can also determine who the father is on your own! (Honestly I think if you have to ask in the first place, you need help that can't be bought from a drug store, but hey... you go girl.) I have no idea what they are calling this product, but if it were me, I'd call it "Baby Daddy?" or "The Maury Povich Home Game". Personally I think this would be an awesome sponsorship! They'd just have to make sure they included this clip in the kit for any negative results...

Hello again LiveJournal! Exercise and Surf Guitar!

Mon, 31 Mar 2008 17:15:48 GMT

After neglecting my sad little corner of the internet, I decided to come back and liven things up a bit. I completely forgot about you LiveJournal. Sorry about that. While I can't promise it won't happen again, I'll see what I can do in the meantime to make up for it.

I'm back on an excercise kick recently, and it feels pretty damn good. I don't know why I procrastinate about it so much, because I always feel better after doing it. I'm not running marathons or benchpressing Volkswagens... yet... but I am doing something consistently and I'm happier for it. The treadmill has been my good friend as of late and we've shared not only time and sweat, but my music collection as well. This has given me an opportunity to get reaquainted with some of the tunes I had shoved away in the dark corners of my iPod.

Today's Artist Profile: Dick Dale, King of the Surf Guitar

What I already knew about Dick was what most other people knew... he's that Pulp Fiction guy. Not an actor, but the artist behind the song from the opening credits that was all the rage back in 1994 when Tarantino released the film.

Miserlou is probably he most notable work. Here he is ripping it up on stage in a 1996 performance. The picture quality is shit, but you can definately get a feel for the music and how he is perfectly willing to reinvent the song again and again each time he sets foot on stage.

What blows my mind isn't how much I love this song and pretty much all of Dale's work, but that he's been rocking this way since the early 60's... and that he's done it sober and drug free the whole time.

Surf guitar. Drug free. Since the 60s. It took me awhile to let all of that settle in. I guess when you can shred like this guy can, you don't need another high. I think it comes through in his music when I stop to think about it. It's raw. It's passionate. It's literally like riding a wave on the guitar; which I suppose was the whole point.

He helped give birth to a genre that is a fusion of styles, born of his middle-eastern musical influence, and whose appeal lasts even today. If you take the time to really listen to some of his songs, you can hear all the fast guitar work that you'd expect from a hardcore metal band, the soul and sex appeal of the blues, the free form exploration of jazz and the rough, and raw edge of rock and roll all rolled into something full of intensity and verve. That's probably why Dick can take anything and make it cool. Even Hava Nagila (a Jewish folk song) and Riders in the Sky (an old country ballad) sound kickass when he starts ripping them up.

It's pretty astounding to me that as cool as this whole genre is that it was pretty much swallowed up whole by the whole British Invasion and almost lost. Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against The Beatles, The Rollings Stones and The Who, but if their timing was just a bit off then perhaps Dick Dale would be a name as recognizable as Pete Townsend or Keith Richards.

Regardless, this is still the kind of music that even today makes everything you do seem cooler. It doesn't matter if it's a Tarantino flick, having a few drinks with your friends, or just doing a couple miles on the treadmill. Dick Dale reminds us that somewhere out there, the sun is shining, the waves are peaking, and it's always summer.

Aloha!

Warcraft Lore

Sun, 11 Nov 2007 19:56:10 GMT

I came across these great videos which can help to explain the lore of Warcraft.

Volume 1 - The Coming of the Burning Legion

Volume 2 - Medivh Speaks to Thrall in a Dream

Volume 3 - Medivh, The Prophet's Warning to Lordaeron

Volume 4 - Arthas' Betrayal

Arthas v Illidan

Volume 5 - Grom Hellscream's Redemption

Volume 6 - Archimonde Destroys Dalaran

Volume 7 - The Defeat of Archimonde at the World Tree

World of Warcraft Trailer

Shadow of the Necropolis

The Burning Crusade Trailer

Volume 8 - Illidan Returns with Naga

Black Temple Trailer

Volume 9 - Warcraft Lore 9: Arthas Becomes Lich King on Frozen Throne

Wrath of the Lich King Trailer

Best App Ever

Thu, 20 Sep 2007 17:33:41 GMT

This was a fake app to my old guild. We had a member with out of control OCD who played a troll mage and HATED the fact that we called him Beastmage, and made fun of his snorting and wallowing. My first app was just under the alt "Beastmage", and it was deleted practically on the spot by the guy. Rather than let the matter rest, I waited a couple weeks and returned with this second effort. It went over really well. Hahaha!

Name: Beastmage 2.0
Class: Mage
Spec: Beyond your comprehension
Armory link: Armory? *snort* How quaint...

Guild History
Current guild and reason for leaving: The only guild I have been a part of is the Galactic Triad. In the future, they will reign supreme over all they see. Unfortunately, they also develop an uncontrollable addiction to pork rinds. I was forced to flee. *snort*
All previous guilds: None
Have you been in any leadership positions in your previous guilds? No
Why do you want to join BO? I have returned *squeal* because I have seen the future and you cannot hope to defeat Illidan without me! I also heard many of your members love Cyboars, and I am the deadliest Cyboar of all! *wallow*
What do you have to offer BO? What do I have to offer?

WHAT DO *snort* I HAVE TO OFFER?

I THINK THIS SAYS IT ALL!

KNEEL BEFORE ME FLESHLINGS!

I WILL DESTROY EVERYTHING IN MY PATH!

(as long as I have a shadow priest in my party...)

I will answer no more questions. Resistance is futile. You will guild me, or you will feel the wrath of my PORKLAZERS!

I AM MURLOC

Tue, 17 Jul 2007 23:33:40 GMT

Level 70 Elite Tauren Chieftan's newest song. These guys are playing live at Blizzcon this year. Should be a blast if this is any indication. LOL

Evidicus

Tue, 26 Jun 2007 19:34:04 GMT

I've mentioned that I now play a Blood Elf Warlock in World of Warcraft, and I've linked some of my DPS tests here for my reference. I have not, however, actually posted any screenshots or info about him... until now...

Robot Chicken Star Wars

Tue, 26 Jun 2007 07:47:31 GMT

I have no idea why I've been on a Star Wars spoof kick recently, but here is one of my favorite clips from the recent Robot Chicken Star Wars.

Vader Sessions

Thu, 21 Jun 2007 05:53:21 GMT

Priceless! LOL