Nonsense in a Can

A Day in the Life of a Sim

noreply@blogger.com (Skittle_Brains) — Mon, 23 Jul 2012 02:30:00 +0000

As I've mentioned before, The Sims and all its many grandchildren were, and still are, a big part of my gaming habit. But I got to thinking... what does the world look like to a Sim? With some oblivious dipstick like me ruling over every step of every day from cradle to grave, how would a regular person react if they could in such a situation? Here's what I think the Sims see from their level on a typical given day under my command:

12:08 am - Still watching TV. It's been hours now, with the same 5 minutes of programming stuck on repeat. I really wouldn't mind reading a book or squeezing in a nice jog before hitting the hay. But I can't seem to will myself off the couch. TV it is, I guess.

12:40 am - Hittin' the fridge. Grabbing some... what is this, week-old pancakes? Really? I'm pretty sure I saw some leftover pizza in there. That looked pretty good. No? Ballsacks. Alright then. I mean, my girlfriend's the one who likes pancakes. I kinda made these for her, really. But yeah, sure. Pancakes. Grapes pancakes. Why does the package say "Grapes" and not just "Grape"? Who even puts grapes in pancakes? Who... why is that even a thing? Who puts grapes in anything, for that matter? And why am I eating right before bed? I'm just gonna have to wake up in the middle of the night to take a dump. Like always.

12:45 am - Man...... screw pancakes.

1:02 am - Dishwasher broke. Again. Waaayyyy too tired to worry about it right now, though. I don't- oh, what? Is it seriously leaking puddles onto the floor?! Oh, come on, man. This- I mean... that's cherry hardwood, bro. That stuff isn't cheap. Crap on a stick. I don't know jack about fixing things. That was always dad's department. Guess I better call the repairman before this gets out of- waitwaitwait. Why do I have a wrench? Aw, weak. I have plenty of money. I see the phone, it's right there. No, dude, I'm telling you I don't know how to fix this beast. I can't even fix those little tape dispenser things when they snap apart. I just throw them away and buy new ones. Please don't make me do this. I'll buy paper plates from now on. We'll just sell the dishwasher. I'll pay that Newbie guy next door to lick everything clean. I mean, he looks sanitary........ enough.

1:58 am - Having somewhere between zero and negative idea what I'm doing, I pretty much just beat the piss out of this dishwasher with a wrench for an hour, and it actually stopped. Though, I suspect it's not so much "fixed" as just "more broken". But it's not leaking anymore, so I guess I'll mop up the mess and get to bed. Early morning today.

2:15 am - Finally gonna catch a few z's. I still don't know why I bought these sheets. My bed looks like a gay pride picnic blanket.

3:33 am - Oh look. I had to wake up in the middle of the night to take a dump. Surprise, surprise. Sigh. Man, I gotta leave for work at balls o'clock in the morning. I do not have time fo- wait. Is someone in my house? HOLY CRAP SOMEONE IS IN MY FREAKING HOUSE. Ohmygosh ohmygosh ohmygosh. What do I do? I knew I should have bought a gun, but nooooo. Had to have that new computer.

3:35 am - Oh thank God, the cops are here. Oh, snap, they're fighting in the living room! I don't know why, but I feel compelled to watch. I should probably help, but eff that. I still got a turtle in the pond, and I think he wants a peek of this fight, too.

3:38 am - Cop won. Burglar arrested. Toilets are amazing.

3:45 am - Finally going to bed. What a night. The guys at the office are gonna get a kick outta this one.

5:00 am - Ugh. Already time to get up? *YAWN* Goody. Carpool should be here in about an hour. All that stress last night has gotten me hungry again. Just please no more grapes pancakes.

5:02 am - Dude. Are you kidding me? A juice box for breakfast? Is this about the pancakes thing, 'cause I'm sorry. I mean, I know I don't have a lot of time, but seriously? A juice box? Oh. Perfect.... It's grape juice. How thoughtful.

5:09 am - Awesome. I'm so totally full right now. Ooof. I couldn't eat another bite. No, seriously. Please. That juice box was all for me, thanks. Sigh. Well, a hot shower should feel nice, at least.

5:20 am - Was that the doorbell? Who would be- AW BALLS. What if it's the robber? What if he escaped? What if the cop wasn't really a cop and was an accomplice and they were just casing the joint and disarming the security system?! And now they're back to finish the job?! NO! Dude, I don't want to answer the door! Screw that! I'm calling in sick and crawling back under the covers! NO NO NO! Oh, man... here we go. So long, world. It's been nice. Except you, grapes. You're officially on my shit list now.

5:21 am - Oh. It's the neighbor lady. The one with, like, a cemetery in her backyard. Hooray. Why is she here? Does she seriously just want to chat at... whatever crack-end of morning it is right now?

5:43 am - OH MY GOOOOOSSSHHH. Lady, shut up! I don't care about what books you're reading or all your dead relatives or the history of horseshoes. For reals. Did you forget your medication or something? Cripes.

6:01 am - Oh thank God, my ride's here. I'm still waiting 'til you go back to your house, though. Creepy as balls. Yeah, bye... okay..... see you later.... not. Sheesh. I live in a bloody Wes Anderson adaptation of Silent Hill.

6:02 am - Oh, man. Steve's creepy, too, now that I think about it. I really need a car or bike or something, because carpooling is super not fun. Well, at least I'm on my own at work. NO GRAPES PANCAKES FOR ME AT WORK, YOU HEAR ME, DOUCHEWIPE?!

.....................Tick tock, tick tock.......................

2:24 pm - Ugh. What a day. Clearly, I have absolutely no support whatsoever from the boys at the office in the event of another burglary. And ohheylook. My dick of a mailman threw my bills on the ground again. Not like any vandals are gonna come pay my bills while I'm away, but there is such a thing as wind you know! Hussy.

2:30 pm - Alright. Bills paid. Time for a friggin' nap up in here!

2:31 pm - Or, apparently, it's time for tending to the apple tree. Sure. Let's do that before we forget. Heaven forbid some amateur gardener's mediocre apples don't come out just perfectly mediocre.

2:40 pm - Oh, are we taking a nap now? Are you sure, 'cause I'm up for another round of weeding or a trip to the store. No? Good. Even men need their beauty sleep, you know.

3:40 pm - Hmm? Mm. *YAWN* Man. Feeling better already. Maybe today won't suck so hard after- WHY DO I HAVE A FIREPLACE IN MY BEDROOM? NO. This is unacceptable. Fireplaces are- I don't care if it has auto-start/stop. Fireplaces are a hazard! How much did this cost anyway? Where's my laptop? I need to check my bank acco- Sweet mother of pearl, dude! Why?! No! Make it go away! Make the fireplace go away! Gah! I hate you so much right now.

3:41 pm - Holy monkey butts, this fireplace is toasty warm! You know....... I could get used to this! All fancy and shit with a fireplace in the bedroom. I'm sure the GF will dig this, too. Not bad, dude..... not too bad at all.

3:42 pm - Huh. Speak of the devil. That's her on the ol' cell phone now. Hopefully she'll appreciate the kind of day I've had.

4:25 pm - Or, we could talk for a half-hour about her favorite movies, her job, and the history of horseshoes. Seriously, was there an article in the paper I missed or something? Oooh, never mind that, my stomach is pissed. Hats off to you, juice box. Man, I need some grub, pronto. I'm kind of in the mood for something simple. Relaxing. Maybe that little diner down on 5th.

4:49 pm - Yeah, or the super fancy place downtown. That works, too. Totally not formal and stressful and uppity and an hour-long wait. OH SURE LET'S INVITE MY GIRLFRIEND. Jiminy Christmas, man. Now I gotta get all dressed up and everything, too. How many times do I have to Sigh before I get to make a decision on my own? Sheesh. And I'm not even married yet.

5:32 pm - Just kidding. Apparently I'm proposing tonight. Look, dude. My knee hurts, that dinner did not sit well with me at all, I'm still super tired, and I really don't want to do this right now. Cool. We'll just go through with it all anyway. Uh.... Surprise, honey! I didn't see it coming either.

5:33 pm - Phew! Well, at least she said yes, aaaannnnddd now we're just gonna start making out in front of all the other patrons. Yep. That seems like really the best course of action.

5:38 pm - Seriously, I don't know if, like, 5 straight minutes of kissing is healthy. Especially if that dinner comes back up. Oh. Now she's leaving. Right. Work. Alright, honey. I'll just stand here in my formal duds then. Like a douchebag. Bye! You'll have to come by sometime and check out my new fireplace!

5:39 pm - By the glowing looks, I am 100% certain everyone at this restaurant thinks I'm a used tampon.

6:02 pm - At the gym now? I guess? Because that's gotta be the best way to celebrate an engagement. Treadmill had to be the worst choice, but that seems to be my day so far: one long string of worst choices. That I didn't even make. For reals, though, that food is planning out a reunion tour. And not the good kind that everyone's been clamoring for. The kind that nobody really wanted or likes that comes decades too late with several new band members and that barely manages to break even, solidifying the band in the annals of musical history as just another washed-out, third-rate act with nothing to offer society but halfhearted greed and cliché addictions.

6:06 pm - Nothing quite says "I've made it. This is the good life." like puking up your guts in the stall of a public unisex bathroom. Hope you're proud, mom and dad.

6:17 pm - Heading home I hope? Nope. Looks like we're gonna swing by the park. Righteous.

6:31 pm - Oh. No, dude. Look, I know that playing chess was totally on my list of things to do, but playing it with strangers in the park is not what I had in mind. Maybe on my laptop. You know. At home? In bed? Next to that awesome fireplace? Remember that? Yeah. Wouldn't want that to go to waste, right? Ooohhh... hi. Great. This guy looks like a chess god. Seriously, where do you even buy plaid suspenders anymore?

6:35 pm - Holy knight to rook four! This guy sucks a whole hatchery's worth of eggs at this. I might actually have a chance at winning!

6:50 pm - Man, I feel smarter and more logical just playing this match! And, I'm just two moves away from putting this schmuck in checkmate! Ha! Wait... no, dude, why are we leaving? No! Hey! Fartface! I've just got two more- HEY! Aw, dude, you are just the worst. WHY DO YOU HATE ME?!

7:03 pm - I just want to cry right now, but I don't even have the energy to do that. Sigh. Just glad to finally be home. I really need to- *sniff* Augch! What on... what on earth is that smell? Jeepers creepers! Did a burglar get stuck in the ventilation and die? Or is that just the smell of rotting hopes and dreams? Gah! *cough cough* Ugh. It's coming from the fridge. What, did someone leave a diaper smoothie in here? Aw, man, it's the pizza! And the pancakes! Gross! Now I gotta throw out all this food, too. Ballsacks. Today has just not been my day.

7:07 pm - Well, that was... decidedly unrighteous.

7:11 pm - Great, now I've got to whip up a whole new something. Though, between the puking and that smell, I don't know if my appetite's even- Oh. I guess that doesn't matter. Alright, spaghetti it is then. Cool.

7:20 pm - Cooking blows.

7:29 pm - Also, burnt spaghetti. Blecgh. Yet another fantastic waste of food.

7:37 pm - Okay. Lookin' like it's gonna be canned soup for me, then. I'll just... hobo it up then, shall I? Stupendous. Though I must admit, for an upset stomach, a simple can of soup actually might be best.

7:52 pm - You know? I do feel better. It's the little miracles, I suppose. Alright! Time for some TV! Oh, couch! How I've missed you! Take all my troubles and let me run away to another world! Haha! Okay, got the remote, aaaannnddd... No. No, the TV did not just break. It did not just pop, and spark, and barf out a cloud of smoke. This.... this can't be happening right now.

7:53 pm - FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF FFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU-

7:54 pm - Please. Dude! I'll do whatever you want. I mean, I kinda do anyway, but please! Can we just replace the TV? I could really use some down time right now. I'll do anything. Won't even complain. I'll eat grapes pancakes for every meal. Whatever. Just, please... bring back my little flickering light of hope.

7:55 pm - This is it. This is the end of all existence as we know it. I've been ignoring the signs all day, but I see now. The world has come to its end. The watchmaker has let the universe run its course, and the final seconds are ticking by. And here I am, just reading a book. Why? What do you have against me, that you would have me fritter away these last few precious moments just reading a book? As that giant second-hand in the sky counts down to the termination of life as we know it, how can I just sit here flipping through some fantasy world? What about the real world, and all the adventures it has to offer? What about my fiancée? I should be spending these final, fleeting breaths expressing my love to her! I am such a horrible person to simply lounge here on the couch, casually perusing someone else's imagination. I am the worst kind of human. And you are the worst kind of everything for keeping me here.

7:56 pm - Actually, now that I think about it, why die worried? Why spend my last minutes feeling nothing but regrets? I love reading. I can't change my fate, so I might as well enjoy what I have in this moment, and be grateful that here, at the end, I was finally given a slice of heaven, a glimpse of peace, a taste of inner tranquility here in the simplicity of these pages. I.... I think I'm ready. I'm ready to go.

8:08 pm - There is a disappointing lack of explosions for being an Apocalypse.

8:30 pm - Perhaps.... this isn't the end of all life as we know it? Hm... On the flip-side, though, this book totally blows.

8:41 pm - Well. It looks as if the world is still intact, and I guess we're going for a jog around the neighborhood. Wait, what? What is this? "Don't Break a Sweat"? How am I supposed to jog without breaking a sweat? I don't even have control over what I eat or when I sleep. What makes you think I can control my sweat glands? What- oh hey. It's working. Huh.... Why don't we do this every time? I could get used to not sweating ever again.

9:06 pm - Ahhh, nothing like a nighttime jog to purify the mind. Just kidding! You can't stop running because what if there are rapists and muggers hiding in the bushes? Now I'm tense and my eye is twitching from all the adrenaline. But hey! Welcome to my today! Haha.... ahaha..... ahahahahahaHAHAHAHA! Doesn't get any better than this! AHAHA! Me? Nope. Not a complaint in the world! Heehee! Everything's perfect and I like perfect because perfect doesn't get any more perfect than perfect! HAHAHA!

9:07 pm - Whoa. Blacked out there for a second. What are we doing? Sleep? Really? For serious, we're going to bed? Awwwwwwww yeeeaaahhhh.

9:08 pm - These sheets are still super gay. Just sayin'. Don't really care anymore. So tired...

11:15 pm - BWAH! What's beeping? What's going on?! Wh-oooooOOOOOLY BALLS INSIDE MORE BALLS MY ROOM IS ON FIRE! THIS IS NOT ACCEPTABLE! I TOLD YOU THIS MONKEY-FIGHTIN' FIREPLACE WAS A MONDAY-TO-FRIDAY HAZARD! OH MAN, I AM SO NOT EQUIPPED FOR THIS. DO I EVEN OWN A FIRE EXTINGUISHER? WAS THAT A THING THAT WE GOT? WAS IT?!

11:16 pm - Thank the maker, the fire department is here. Yes! Go! Save, well... actually, I don't really care about the bed sheets. Save the fireplace! I'll... just go ball up in a corner somewhere.

11:21 pm - I like my corner somewhere. It's a good corner somewhere. I like my corner somewhere. It's a good corner somewhere. I like my corner somewhere. It's a good corner somewhere.

11:38 pm - Fire department finished cleaning up. Think I'll just stay up and watch TV for a while. Oh, right. TV's still broke. Guess I'll just sit on the couch. Hello, couch.

11:59 pm - My bedroom is in ashes, along with my life, and probably my mental state. And all I can think about is how hungry I am. I don't miss my fiancée, I don't miss my TV or my comfy bed, I don't miss my sanity or the moments of epiphany and peace I once help within my grasp. I don't miss the sleep that so adamantly eludes me. I don't want closure or retribution. I have no desire to seek justice in all this calamity, to find order amidst the chaos. There is no metaphysical rage I need to express, nor any overwhelming sense of curiosity or confusion.

In all honesty, all I really want right now is a giant stack of grapes pancakes.

14 of the Worst Sportsfolk Ever Allowed on a Field (Part 2)

noreply@blogger.com (Skittle_Brains) — Mon, 07 May 2012 04:50:00 +0000

The epic conclusion to one of the most beloved classics in modern blogging history! Heartstrings will be tugged. Tensions will run high. Popcorn will be spilled. Don't miss a single moment! Let the beginning of the end commence!

(Before you start, be sure to check out Part 1!)

7. Maurice Flitcroft

As seen on: Golf

Technically, Maurice Flitcroft never made it to the pros. But technically, Maurice Flitcroft was absotively, posilutlely bananas.

"Dad always told me there was money in the banana stand."

Even though he never made it past the British Open - and he never should have made it that far - going pro was Flitcroft's dream, and no one, not even his record-breakingly bad golf game, was going to tell him otherwise.

It all started on a hot summer day in 1976. It was time for the beloved British Open, one of the four major championship tournaments in professional golf, the others being The Masters, The U.S. Open, and the PGA Championship. Being that Flitcroft was in Britain (studies show this is actually quite common among British people), and the other three majors are held in America, he had but one choice. It didn't matter that his clubs were cheap mail-orders, or that he'd brought too many and was forced to leave some at the clubhouse. It didn't matter that he was wearing false teeth, plastic shoes, and a fishing hat. It didn't matter that he'd never played a full round of golf in his life. Flitcroft had totally lied his balls off on the application to get in, and he was not going to miss his chance at what later became one of the most historical rounds of golf ever played at the Open. And not in the surprisingly great, "Let's make a Disney movie about this" kinda way.

On the very first hole, Flitcroft pulled his club straight up in the air, then tomahawked it down, punching a divot into the tee box and chopping his first drive of the afternoon just a few meters, behind a tree. One of his unfortunate partners that fateful day was a man named Jim Howard, who went on to play pretty decent pro golf and eventually became a long-standing club professional in Wales. He was positively mortified at everything Flitcroft brought to the game. "The club came up vertical, and came down vertical," Howard reminisced. "It was like he was trying to murder someone."

Maurice Flitcroft bumbled his way through every brush, rough, sandtrap, tree, and parking lot on the course, eventually posting a miserable 121 - a mere 49 points over par - the worst score ever carded in the history of the British Open. EVER. Since it's very first round in 1860. And it's doubtful that record will ever be beaten. Especially since they introduced qualifier rounds to keep turds like Flitcroft from hitting the official links. Maurice was immediately banned from every golf course in the country, because British people don't eff around when it comes to the important things.

But none of that stopped Flitcroft. He put on disguises, comprised mostly of different hats and a fake handlebar mustache dyed in food-coloring, and entered under a variety of false names, ranging from the believable (Gene Pacecki) to the cheesy (Arnold Palmtree) to the laughable (James Beau Jolly) to the downright retarded (Count Manfred Von Hoffmenstal). He entered every Open qualifier he could. Sometimes, he was stopped at registration and booted out, but more often, he wouldn't be discovered until his almost poignantly bad golfing gave him away. Officials were always kept on the lookout for that distinctive tomahawk swing and the rampant stray balls. One time, the R&A (the officials in charge of the Open) employed a handwriting expert to sniff out Flitcroft's forged entries.

This went on for decades, until Flitcroft finally called it quits. However, his wild shaming of the sacred game of golf on holy British grounds is still a thorn in the side of the R&A today, so much so that they refuse to offer an official statement about Flitcroft when asked. Maurice and his goofy, outgoing nature are less hesitant: "I was looking to find fame and fortune," he laughs, "but only achieved one of the two." Not bad for a random crane operator from Lancashire.

6. Kelly Taylor / Vanessa Lima

As seen on: Tennis

Kelly Taylor was a British-born girl who found her one, true love in playing tennis in the US. Vanessa Lima is a Brazilian tennis player who has spent time both on the pro and semi-pro circuits. At least, as far as I can tell. I swear, info on female athletes - good or bad - is about as easy to find as Jimmy Hoffa or leftovers at a Weight Watchers convention. I was also unable to locate any pictures of either of these women, for which I apologize and offer this adorable scene as compensation.

What I can tell you is that both of these racket girls (or whatever they like to be called) are magnificently bad at what they do.

Kelly Taylor only ever played 9 matches, and she lost every single one. Now, 9 matches isn't all that impressive, by any standards, but each match is made up of sets, either best of three or best of five. Over 9 matches, Kelly Taylor played 18 sets, and she lost every single one. But, hey, don't feel bad. Because each set consists of 6 games, so there's always a chance to shine. Over 9 matches and 18 sets, Kelly Taylor played 108 games.

And she lost every single one.

Unfortunately, there aren't any stats on whether or not she lost every single point of every single game of every single set of every single match. However, after that brief and utterly soul-crushing career on the ITF / WTA circuit, Kelly Taylor gracefully bowed out.

Vanessa Lima did not, and from what I can tell, she's still playing to this day. Starting back in 1999, Lima's body decided "Tennis can suck it," and stopped being good. Sadly, Lima's brain never received that memo and continued to plow right on through to today, skipping from match to match in hopes of scoring some of that sweet, sweet prize money.

So, for the past 13 years, Vanessa Lima has toured around South America, playing in 44 different matches. She, like Taylor, has lost every single one. She's also lost every single one of her 85 sets, as well. She did manage to salvage 22 game wins somewhere in all that mess, but that's out of 400 that she's played. That's right around 5%. But, apparently an 11-year-long 85-set loss streak isn't enough to break Lima's will, which I suppose earns her points for respect.

5. Steve Buzinski

As seen on: Hockey

It was October, 1942. As the cold Atlantic winds swept in across the streets of Manhattan, the New York Rangers were pacing nervously inside Madison Square Garden. Their team, which had, just the year prior, gone on to win the Stanley Cup, had lost over half their players to enlistment. Apparently, all that fighting in the rink translated well to the art of Nazi- and Tojo-punching. Sadly, that left the Rangers in just about the worst shape a team can be left in aside from "Everybody's got AIDS. Like, literally, everyone on the team. And diarrhea."

In a flustered panic, the manager and coach reached out to every scout in Canada, looking for somebody - anybody - who could tend their net, as they were seriously considering just going to training camp without a goalie. Then a telegram (remember... 1940s) came through from Saskatchewan that simply read: "HAVE YOUR MAN. WILL REPORT NEXT WEEK. HIS NAME: STEVE BUZINSKI."

"MAYBE INVEST IN SOME PAPER BAGS, THOUGH."

All the Rangers could find out about their new prospect before he arrived was that he was a "grain and cereal expert" who occasionally played in an intermediate senior league. Promising, to say the least.

Upon arrival, Buzinski somehow managed to underwhelm even those expectations, showing up late, for one, and shorter, skinnier and more bowlegged than any goalie anyone had ever seen. He wore tattered clothes and looked as if he were "full of holes", but he still blocked every test shot the Rangers threw at him. The coach took this as a good sign, but it was quite the opposite. It wasn't so much Buzinski who was good, but all the other players who were bad. And that was proved the moment they stepped on the ice. The very first Rangers game of the season was played against the Maple Leafs, in which Buzinski allowed 7 goals, his team only scoring 2. And that was right on par for Steve and the boys - they gave up an average of 5 goals a game.

To be fair, Buzinski only got to play in 9 games during that single pro season. However, he got knocked over by errant pucks, scored on his own goal, and his technique of "falling in front of the net and hoping the puck doesn't go over me" failed him and failed him often. He went 2-6-1 in his starts, and allowed an unprecedented 55 goals in that time, earning him the nickname Steve "The Puck Goes In-ski" Buzinski.

Though, in his defense (since he clearly lacked any himself), the man was always lighthearted about his miserable performances and kept his teammates laughing. During one game, Buzinski had let the Red Wings score 7 goals in the first period before he finally made his first save of the evening, snatching a shot with his glove. As one of his teammates skated by, he quipped, "Nothin' to it. Just like pickin' cherries off a tree." He went on to allow 5 more goals in the game. Unfortunately for Steve Buzinski, humor is about as useful on the ice as a cat on a keyboard.

After finishing the season, he enlisted to fight overseas, returning to play back in his old league in Saskatchewan for several more years before retiring hockey, choosing instead to focus on his work as a plant breeder for Agriculture Canada.

4. Eric Crumble

As seen on: Boxing

Eric Crumble was a determined guy. When he'd go down in a fight, you could see the fire in his eyes driving him to stagger back to his feet. He kept fighting, match after match, hoping to fulfill his dream of winning, at the very least, one. He never did. In 32 professional boxing bouts - spread over the course of 13 years - the closest he ever got was a "no contest". Every other match-up he's had (including against then soon-to-be legends like Angel Manfredy and Antwun Echols), he's lost. By knockout. In either the first of second round. I couldn't find a picture of the man (surprisingly), so I found a picture of his mentor, Joseph Glass, seen here fighting a leprechaun while chewing a mouthful of sugar cubes.

If the foreboding last name wasn't enough to keep Eric out of the ring, his proficiency as a fighter probably should have been. His style was awkward, spending far too much time with his arms at his side, leaving his fragile face wide open for punishment. He wasn't the kind to really "dance" either. He'd shuffle left or right, then charge forward, gloves flying, until his face attended that inevitable meet-n-greet with Sir Wellington Fistacuffs III.

It didn't help that Crumble had the apparent durability of a potato chip in the face of a steamroller. To go down in the first round, which he did far more often than in the second (21 of his 31 KO's), is considered little more than a joke in the fighting community. A professional fighter is usually expected to last a few rounds before succumbing. But Crumble never seemed to care. He was oddly passionate about the sport, and kept plugging away, until his reputation as world's worst fighter and the world's most reliable "tomato can" was etched into boxing history.

3. Michael Haddix

As seen on: American Football

Running backs are important people in football. They have a lot of responsibility: blocking savage defenders from snapping your quarterback like a toothpick, rushing handoffs from said toothpick down field, and catching passes to sneak into the end zone. They're more-or-less the Han Solos of of the game - they're scruffy, nerf-herding, cargo-smuggling, professional glory hounds. They get uncountable chances to be awesome, and most of them go the distance (pun not really intended, but... meh) by embodying that awesomeness.

The standard "Flying Judo Chop to the End Zone" play that every running back learns.

Sadly, Michael Haddix did not learn the above move or any of the aforementioned awesomeness. Yet, he still managed to weasel his way into 120 games over an 8-year career in the NFL. From 1983-1991, over the span of his 6 years with the Philadelphia Eagles and his 2 years with the Green Bay Packers, Michael Haddix racked up an impressively lame 2945 yards, total. From both rushing and receiving. A good RB can take home half that in 20 games over a single season.

My thoughts exactly, Mike.

The longest successful rush of his entire career was for 21 yards. That's his absolute best. His average was 3. Still the worst in NFL history for anyone with more than 500 runs. To top it all off, he only managed to score 6 glorious touchdowns in those 8 years, and fumbled over twice that, with 16 career butterfingers; all totaling a dismal career average of 1.4 receptions per game.

In a last-ditch attempt to live his dream, he forced his son, Michael Jr., to quit his promising career in NCAA basketball to try out for the Buffalo Bills.

2. Charles Anthony Suck

As seen on: Baseball

Tony Suck, as his name suggests, sucked like a damn black hole at baseball. To be fair, baseball was still rather in its infancy. Suck came on the scene in 1883, and played for such beloved and well-known teams as the Buffalo Bisons, the Baltimore Monumentals, and the Chicago Browns.

He wasn't even good at being a real person. That's an actual photograph.

Although his 1883 debut with the Buffalo Bisons consisted of only two games and 7 plate appearances, he managed 1 base-on-balls, 4 strike-outs, and not a single hit. He played one game in the outfield, racking up a total of zero putouts, and one game as catcher, making three errors behind the plate. But that was only the beginning. 1884 rolled around and Suck wanted more.

Probably because no one else would have him, Tony ended up joining the wildly absurd Union Association, a third major league at the time (made to compete with the National and American), which was wholly unregulated and insane. He joined the Chicago Browns and played 53 games with them until the team disbanded (a fairly common occurrence throughout the Union's bizarre, year-long stint). He then transferred to the Baltimore Monumentals and played 3 more games before the season came to a close.

Over the course of his 58 career games, he made 219 plate appearances, drew 14 walks, and connected only 31 times. 29 of those were singles, 2 were doubles. He retired with a wretched .151 batting average, a .161 slugging percentage, and an on-base-percentage of only .205. Between his time spent as a catcher, a shortstop, and an outfielder, he made a total of 53 errors - that's almost one per game, and almost 2 for every hit he got.

Not much else is known about Suck. Unsurprisingly, he vanished into the night along with the Union Association, and his major league career ended to a chorus of relieved sighs.

1. American Samoa

As seen on: Association Football (aka Soccer)

At first, I was tempted to simply post this video...

... and leave it at that. There's no single player in sports who seems to lack the willpower and the basic skill set needed to win quite as evidently as the American Samoa association football club. Their current spot in the FIFA Rankings is 186. Out of 208. It's the highest they've ever ranked, their lowest being 206.

The club is relatively young compared to some of the veteran FIFA giants, but that excuse only stretches about as far as Stevie Wonder's depth of field. Since their foundation back in the '60s, they've played 42 games against a dozen different teams. They've won 2 of those. One ended in a draw, and the other 39 were losses. And, like the above 31-0 loss to Australia (still a FIFA record), most of them were brutal.

Since the club wasn't officially inaugurated into FIFA until the late '80s (I think), the team didn't even celebrate its first official international win until the 2011 South Pacific Games against Tonga, winning 2-1. It was their first win after a 30-game losing streak. Over the course of their rampaging and utterly catastrophic failure of a career, they've scored a whopping 22 goals; but they've kept the opposition at bay - only allowing 130 goals to slip past.

I'm just kidding. They didn't actually allow 130 goals.

It was 294.

But, like many others on this list, the American Samoa football club (and I assume some sort of fan base?) have rarely let their laughably poor performance on the field discourage them. Even their website seems unquenchably positive about the future of the club. And, honestly, who are we, the world, to deny these kids the chance at fame and fortune, or at least another win? Who are we to look them in the eyes and say "Sorry... you just kinda suck. Like, a lot. And there's really not much room for that sort of thing at the top of the heap."? Who are we to stop them at the gates of eternal glory with our iron rules and our lofty expectations? Who are we to tell them 'no'?

That's Fate's job.

14 of the Worst Sportsfolk Ever Allowed on a Field (Part 1)

noreply@blogger.com (Skittle_Brains) — Wed, 02 May 2012 07:53:00 +0000

There's a little bit of sports fan in ~~all~~ ~~some~~ a few of us. I, myself, am a baseball man, though I take in the occasional (American) football - or "handegg" if you prefer - and basketball game, too. Those of us who have the appropriately-colored blood pumping through our veins love to cheer for our favorite teams and hope to frighten the others with our boos until they collapse in a puddle of piss and shame.

Or wet themselves laughing.

Unfortunately, no team is ever perfect, as much as any rabid fan or PR agent would love for you to believe. Even the '95 Bulls had Randy Brown. He wasn't bad, per se, certainly not enough to earn him a spot on the list, but he missed 6 of every 10 shots he took that season. Not exactly highlight reel stuff. And every fan's been there: we've all had to shake our heads through at least one player whose performance is more akin to an autistic, one-armed chimpanzee folding a paper airplane. This list is a celebration of truly some of the worst in professional point-scoring. I've tried to keep it varied, so that each of the big sports gets some representation.

So, without further adieu, those whose collective presence anywhere other than the stands is still more baffling to science than string theory or black holes.

14. Dickey Simpkins

As seen on: Basketball

While Randy Brown may not have crapped his way on to this list, his former Bulls teammate, Dickey Simpkins, sure did.

Sad to see such a fine mustache go to waste.

Throughout his 7-year, 326-game career, Dickey managed to keep his field-goal (yes, that's what baskets are technically called) percentage at a mildly acceptable level, though he only scrounged up an average of 4 points (or two baskets) a game. In those same 7 years, he also made a grand total of two (read it!) 3-pointers.

After 4 sub-par years with the Bulls, they traded him to the Golden-State Warriors, who watched him fumble through one of his worst statistical seasons yet. After a year, they kicked his duff to the curb, where the sympathetic Bulls found him in the proverbial garbage, softly weeping in the midnight rain. They brought him back for another two years (since, by that time, Michael Jordan, Scottie Pippin, and Dennis Rodman were all on their way out). The Bulls then realized that Simpkins still sucked hairy butt, and also kicked his duff to the curb. The Lakers picked him up, probably by accident, and after a month, they finally saw him rotting in the cupboard and promptly let him go, without so much as letting him on the court. He flew to Greece and played whatever version of basketball they have over there for a year, then came back and got picked up by the presumably unwitting Atlanta Hawks. He got to play a staggering 3 minutes in 1 game, and was asked to leave basketball and never come back.

So, like all crummy, washed-up athletes, he went to work for ESPN.

13. Gus Caesar

As seen on: Association Football (aka Soccer)

Pogus Cassius "Gus" Caesar was one of the many busts on this list. Players who showed a ton of potential in the lessor leagues, but who found themselves positively overwhelmed at the top.

He was signed by the London-based Arsenal Football Club in 1982, though he didn't get to play professionally until '84. And, despite his meek performance, Caesar managed to appear in 51 games over the next 7 years. As a center defender, it wasn't necessarily his job to score goals, and he took that very much to heart, scoring absolutely not a single damn goal in his time with Arsenal. And, while he was a mildly effective defender, he will forever be known for his infamous blunder in the 1988 Wembley Cup Final.

It was the second half, with only seven minutes left 'til champagne and booty calls (or ale and darts, or whatever they do in England). Arsenal was beating their underdog opponent, Luton Town, by a score of 2-0. And in soccer, that's a fairly daunting deficit with only seven on the clock. The ball was put in to play, and Caesar managed to header a pass straight to an awaiting player. From the other team. They promptly took this opportunity to score.

2-1.

In the next few minutes, Luton regained control of the ball, driving it down the pitch towards the Arsenal goal. The ball got away, and Caesar and one of the Luton boys gave chase. It was in the penalty area (the big box surrounding the smaller goal area) and Caesar had a perfect chance to kick the ball clear - remember, as a defender, that's his entire job, to stop goals and get the ball moving in the other direction. So, he spies an open teammate, lines up his kick....... and trips. He bloody trips and takes a face-full of grass. On what? Who knows. His shoes? A ladybug? Irony? In any case, Luton swept in and scored again.

2-2.

With the lead gone, Arsenal had to hunker down and try to scrape back another goal. Instead, they allowed Luton to score once more - this time, however, without Caesar's help - and ended up losing the game and the shiny trophy. Gus Caesar's career as a pro never really recovered, and he was forced to play his terribly awkward version of soccer in the baby leagues for the next decade before finally retiring in 2002, much to the sport's delight.

12. Robert Dee

As seen on: Tennis

Robert Dee is truly a monument to the horrible brats of my generation (and every generation). He is also a monument to failures around the world, proving that if you suck at something long and hard enough (don't even), you may get famous anyway.

Seen here, practicing his Super Bowl Shuffle.

During a three-year stint on various international circuits, Robert Dee lost a world-record 54 games in a row. Now, he has made every effort to assure fans(?) that said record was only on the ITF-approved circuits, and that he had won several matches in smaller circuits throughout Spain during that time. But that didn't stop just about every journalist with a pulse (and probably a few without) from heralding Mr. Dee as the "worst tennis player in the world". Instead of taking the hint and going away, or at least making a concerted effort to improve, Dee flipped right the eff out and started suing the acid-washed pants off of every publication that had made the claim. And a good thirty or so responded with retractions, apologies, and cheques totaling tens of thousands of pounds - all of which he proudly displayed on his personal website. Because even he can't believe he got paid to be a professional 2-year-old.

Then he tried to pull that crap on The Daily Telegraph, who told Dee to "bugger off" and took him straight to British court. It was there that presiding justice Victoria Sharp burned Mr. Dee's pitiful display, both on and off the court, into the annals of legal history. She stated without hesitation:

"The incontestably true facts are that the Claimant did lose 54 matches in a row... on the world ranking ITF / ATP tournaments on the international professional tennis circuits..." and that Dee was "objectively the worst professional tennis player in the world, in terms of his playing skills."

If the Royal British judicial system's official stance is that you're the decided champion of sucking at something, perhaps it's time to pursue other interests.

11. Jay Caufield

As seen on: Hockey

There are lovers, and there are fighters, and Jay Caufield was a fighter, 110%. A former high-school linebacker, Caufield weighed in at a monstrous (for hockey at least) 6'4" and 240 lbs. As it stands, there's a reason why you see a lot more Bruce Banners on the ice than Hulks. Hockey is a game of speed, agility, precision, grace, and balance. Caufield did not possess any of these qualities.

"Come on, Caufield." *jab jab* "Float like a Butterball, sting like a beer!"

Most noted for his five-ish seasons with the Pittsburgh Penguins in the late '80s and early '90s, Caufield played 194 games with the Pens, scoring an astonishing three goals total. In that same time, however, he racked up 714 minutes in the penalty box - hockey's "time-out chair" for grownups - for starting countless bloody wars in the rink. The best part was, Caufield wasn't even that good of a fighter. At least, not on the ice. Because he was so terrible on skates, he could never put all his rippling muscle behind any of his blows, so he usually just resorted to grabbing the other guy's shirt, tripping, and bringing his opponent down with him.

After being demoted to the IHL in 1993, Caufield played one last season, then retired. As could probably be expected, he currently works as an analyst and commentator for the local Pittsburgh sportscast.

10. Ryan Leaf

As seen on: American Football

Ryan Leaf was a prospect. And a big one. In the 1998 NFL Draft, he was picked second by the San Diego Chargers (if you're unsure of the significance, imagine getting picked second in gym class) - the only player chosen ahead of him was Peyton freaking Manning, by the Indianapolis Colts. Leaf was a hometown hero and everyone was excited to see his stuff on the professional field.

Meh. Close enough.

While Manning went on to have one of the most significant and impressive careers in NFL history, Leaf went on to have one of the most laughable. At the Draft, Leaf was offered a four-year, $31.25 million contract, with a guaranteed signing bonus of $11.25 million - the largest signing bonus ever given to a rookie at the time. Afterward, Leaf went on to state in only the humblest of terms, "I'm looking forward to a 15-year career, a couple of trips to the Super Bowl, and a parade through downtown San Diego."

Sadly, his dreams (or delusions, rather) were never realized. Before the season had even started, Leaf skipped a mandatory symposium for draftees, incurring a $10,000 fine. After a promising first two games in the regular season, things started circling the drain for Leaf. In his next 10 starts, he'd thrown only 2 touchdown passes, 15 interceptions, and had a 45% pass completion rating. He was benched, and preceded to cause outburst after outburst, screaming at reporters, fans, players, coaches, and whoever else was within earshot. He blamed his teammates for his poor performance, though by the next season, he was plagued with a new problem: a persistent wrist injury; one that he flat-out refused to have treated. Though it was apparently well enough that he could consistently skip out on practice to go play golf.

He never seemed to recover, finishing his three years as a Charger with only 4 wins. From there, Leaf bounced between the Buccaneers, the Cowboys, and the Seahawks, failing to follow in Stella Payne's footsteps and ever get his groove back. All-in-all, he appeared in 25 NFL games, completeled less than half of all his passes, threw 14 touchdowns and 36 interceptions, ending his lowly career with a passer rating of 50 (out of a possible 158). He would later go on to marry and quickly divorce a Chargers cheerleader, be convicted on several burglary and drug charges, get a job coaching college football, and subsequently lose that job because of further drug charges. Just within the past few months, he was arrested twice more for counts of burglary and theft, as well as drug possession and distribution. Too bad he wasn't a baseball player, or the whole "Three Strikes" thing might have been funnier. As it stands, his arraignment is scheduled for May 3, and he's set to serve 50 years, no possibility of parole or parade.

9. Ambiorix Burgos

As seen on: Baseball

Ambiorix Burgos made his Major League debut in 2005, pitching in relief for the Kansas City Royals. One of the many prospective MLB stars to come from the Dominican Republic, Burgos did not deliver on the promises men like José Reyes, Pedro Martinez, and Sammy Sosa had made.

In talent, at least. Looks are, well... about on par.

Let me set the stage for you: Barring any extra play, a regular baseball season consists of 162 games broken into 1458 innings. In his first year with the Royals, Burgos pitched 60 of those innings. In spite of that, he still managed to rank 10th in the league in wild pitches. The man threw a baseball with all the consistency and grace of a DUI. However, he finished out with a... tolerable 3.90 Earned Run Average (ERA), and he had one of the bitchinest fastballs around. Thus, his second season with the Royals saw him starting as their closer.

In 73 1/3 innings, he posted a Win-Loss record of 4-5 and an atrocious 5.52 ERA (a good pitcher will keep it under 2.00). Out of 30 save attempts that season, he blew 12 of them - all of this being pretty much the complete opposite of what you want to see in a closing pitcher. So, they traded his untamed wildebeest of an arm to the Mets, where he lasted a solid three weeks into the regular season - two years to the day from when he'd made his Major League debut - before getting sent down to the minors.

And, keeping with the high standards of psychosis in professional sports (everyone say "Hi, Ty Cobb!"), Burgos has been charged with several accounts of pants-crapping insanity both here in the States and back home in the Dom Rep. In 2008, he was convicted of beating the daylights out of his girlfriend in their hotel room, punching, slapping, and biting her. One month later, he was charged by the Dominican police with a hit-and-run in which he struck two women with his SUV, both of whom later died from their injuries. To top it all off, in 2010, Burgos was again indicted and charged by the Dominican police, this time for kidnapping his ex-wife and attempting to poison her. To death.

8. Kerri Gardin

As seen on: Basketball

Now, I'll be the first to admit I don't know jack about women's basketball. I've never watched a single game, and in trying to find more info for this article, I learned that apparently, nobody has. The internet sees the letters WNBA and just starts laughing, so I had to put Miss Gardin on here based solely on her stats which, I must say, are rather atrocious.

As is her hair. More like... Scary Gardin, am I right?

Playing 120 games in the past four seasons, Gardin has posted numbers that would make any coach's spine shiver, then crack, then puff into a cloud of bone dust. Her overall field-goal percentage is a lowly 0.332, though her last two seasons have both been under 0.300, meaning for every 10 shots she takes - and she's taken hundreds in her career - she misses between 7 and 8 of them. Three-point shots are even worse, making only 32 out of 114 attempts. She boasts a laughable career average of about 3 points per game; again, her last two seasons were worse, settling in around 1 point per game. Last season she posted a player efficiency rating of +3.46. Now, a good b-ball player should be somewhere around 20-25, though guys like MJ and LeBron have consistently hit above 30.

About the only thing Gardin can do is steal, ranking 9th in the WNBA in that category. Unfortunately, she probably has a better chance of developing diabetes on her way to the hoop than actually scoring.

Well, that does it for Part 1. Continue the athletic shenanigans in Part 2.

The 6 Stupidest Gamer Complaints

noreply@blogger.com (Skittle_Brains) — Sun, 22 Apr 2012 06:59:00 +0000

Video games are, in this day and age, nothing short of an art form. Like any other medium, they (should) strive to convey meaningful stories with compelling characters based in a living, breathing world with the added bonus of engaging, addictive, and evolving gameplay. Now, there are numerous titles (lookin' at you, sports games) that may not call for narrative storytelling, and that's okay. Like all art, the audience needs to understand the intent and purpose of each piece before making judgments. And, like all art, much of the audience completely fails at doing so.

Games have a growing number of critics, especially among their fans, and as games get more and more refined, so do the people who play them. Unfortunately, there are those among us who seem to have unequivocally missed the point altogether, bringing to the table such retarded complaints as...

6. It's The Same Game as Last Year

Most often, you'll hear this in reference to sports games. The Madden NFL franchise in particular gets a lot of flak for supposedly just repackaging last year's game with high-def grass and selling it for $60 as a "new title".

But damn, that is some nice grass.

And honestly, why wouldn't they? EA Games owns exclusive rights to NFL gaming trademarks, so no other company can make an official NFL game unless they want the largest third-party company in the world breathing down and subsequently biting off their necks. With the absolute non-existence of competition, what incentives do the game-makers have to put any sort of effort into the title? Especially when they have impressive, if not record sales every year.

Well, the fact of the matter is, there's only so much these companies can do. Think about it. Do you ever hear fans of the actual NFL or MLB complain that the games are "just like last year"? No. But it's a lot of the same players, all the same teams, the same jerseys, the same stadiums, the same rules, the same referees, the same soap opera BS. And that's exactly the problem sports game developers keep running into year after year. The real-life games they base their virtual ones off of don't change. There aren't any overarching narratives throughout each season. Teams aren't building new stadiums every year. And the rules are pretty much set in stone. So what else is there to tweak except graphics and gameplay? Even then, players want to get comfortable with a specific set of controls for each series they play. If you're changing the buttons on them with every iteration, they're gonna get pissed over that instead. So really, the only thing these companies can update each year, are the graphics, the UI, and maybe an extra mode or two.

Meh. Needs more team deathmatch.

5. The Graphics Suck

The only reason this isn't higher on the list is because it's a pretty hotly contested issue. A good portion of the gaming community understands that it takes more than some fancy texture mapping and volumetric sampling to make a satisfying experience, just as it takes more than a few lens flares and a handful of epic explosions to make a good movie. But there are still way too many gamers out there who feel that, unless they're playing the best of the best, they might as well not be playing at all.

"Wow, that's cute. What kind of napkin and crayons did you use?"

Like all technology, graphics engines are obsolete almost as soon as they hit the market. Graphics are a lot like beer - there's nothing really substantive in there, and all it does is just make you thirsty for more. Also, your obsession over it makes you kind of a dick. And many of the people complaining seem to be newer-generation gamers, since most of the old schoolers who have stuck it out can better appreciate the evolution of the medium, as well as the maturation of storytelling throughout gaming history. Because, believe it or not, the backstory for Pac-Man was little more than a picture of him getting raped by some ghosts.

With a majority of game companies being pressured towards photo-realism, and with each new console and gaming PC pushing the limits of the hardware, sometimes the emphasis becomes unbalanced, and developers put a little too much time into making the game look good, forgetting to make it fun. A great example is a title that came out a few years ago: Far Cry 2. My sister and I were just laughing at this game the other day, because the story and the voice acting are positively atrocious. The missions are mind-numbingly repetitive, and what minimal storyline exists was probably farted out in some executive bathroom during a lunch break. And leading up to the game's release, the developers had little to say about these aspects, choosing instead to tout the game's realistic day/night and weather cycles, the state-of-the-art animations, the realistic particle rendering, the fire propagation system, and the robust physics engine. While these certainly add some flavor to the experience, the lack of just about everything else really chews away a lot of the potential fun.

That's not to say that graphics are bad and all future games should simply be text-based. Just as beautiful cinematography can enhance a film's emotional and thematic impact, great visuals can really help immerse gamers into the characters and situations, making the experience that much more profound. But, like human beauty, it should never be a substitute for personality.

4. There's No More Imagination

If you troll enough gaming sites, or accidentally bring the topic up with "that friend", you've heard the argument that, like music and movies and everything else these days, every modern video game looks exactly the same.

Individuality!

And, if you look at some of the examples, you may start to think they've got a point. I mean, unless you've played the games, you might not be able to pick out which of the following is Modern Warfare 3, Battlefield 3, or Medal of Honor: Warfighter.

Well, jeepers creepers, right? It's like every developer took one look at a color palette from a bunch of old Westerns and said, "Yeah, that's good enough." And that's true of pretty much every game nowadays, right? Everything is just bleak...

and monochromatic...

and completely devoid of inspiration whatsoever...

Whoa! How'd that get in there? Sorry about that, folks. That right there is actually an ad for a series called Little Big Planet. The two games they've released so far have been heralded as nothing short of creative genius. The levels boast beautiful colors, inspirational designs, quirky characters, adorable custom "Sackthings" (the playful critters pictured above), and inventive physics-based puzzles. All from a franchise that showed up in 2008.

Other prime examples are Psychonauts (2005), Prince of Persia (2008), Uncharted (2007), Heavy Rain (2010), Ratchet & Clank (2002), Bully (2006), Braid (2008), and most recently, 2012's indie classic Journey. All of these titles feature interesting characters in lush, beautiful environments; strong story elements; and unique, creative gameplay. And all from within the past decade. And there are countless other examples from over the years.

That's not to deny that a suspicious number of games these days - especially among the first-person shooter crowd - have similar designs. And, as your skeptical mind may have already guessed, that's not really a coincidence. See, with the massive success of titles like Modern Warfare and Battlefield, developers big and small want to cash in and ride those coattails, because, let's be honest, it's easier. And this isn't the Gold Rush era anymore. High-risk investments don't hold much appeal for companies in any field, let alone gaming. So, the safer bet is usually the one that's taken, even if that means milking someone else's success. But that's a trick that's been around since the beginning. Of time, not video games. Though the classics are no exception.

3. DLC is a Ripoff

DLC or Downloadable Content is perhaps one of the touchiest subjects among modern gamers, and frankly, both sides make some convincing key points. Although the concept's been around for a while, the global connectivity of gaming platforms within recent years really saw DLC come to a fruition. And gamers tend to be very split on the subject. A number of them think it's a promising extension of the medium, providing the potential for a lot of innovative creation. Others are dead-set on the absolute audacity of gaming companies to even hint at such an idea.

For those who may not know, DLC essentially works like any other online purchase. You make an account, you give them your credit card info, and you buy digital material. This DLC can range anywhere from new costumes or weapons, to expansion packs with new characters and missions, to full-on games. Often, this stuff is relatively inexpensive and it's usually a fair deal. But nay-sayers look at stuff like all this douchebaggery and hang up their controllers with a silent shake of their head.

Or a silent stab of their roommate.

How can there be justice in a world where horse accessories and the endings to games are now being sold separately? And I won't argue - as with any system, the DLC marketplace has been exploited for some pretty lame and absurd things, but in (almost) all those cases, you didn't need to buy the content to get the full enjoyment of the game. It was just extra stuff - frills, if you will - for those who might be interested. And it's that choice factor that really tends to ruin most of the complaints about DLC. Don't like it? Don't buy it. Yes, I totally take issue with parts of a game being sold as "additional content", but extra maps or a few new missions that don't pertain to the story aren't a bad thing, and if game developers can make a few extra dollars here and there with some of that stuff, well... they kinda need it.

Perhaps the biggest counter-argument comes from all the free DLC available. Ranging from free Rock Band songs and tons of free add-on packs for a variety of different games, to full free indie titles just waiting to be enjoyed, the fact of the matter is, a lot of the stuff on Xbox LIVE Marketplace and the PSN Store is smart content at a great price. Don't let the few bad apples ruin the tree, or the pie, or whatever. And speaking of pricing....

2. Games Are Too Expensive!

It's true, modern gaming is not a cheap hobby. The average PC game will run you between $40 and $50, while the average console title is up around $60. Not to mention the hundreds you'll spend on the consoles themselves, or thousands if you want a high-end gaming PC. Clearly, this is all just a scam by the game companies, because they know we need to feed our addiction, and they'll just keep ramping up that number until one of us dies from shock. Right?

Well, unfortunately, that's just not the case. While some game prices may have risen slightly by comparison since their colloquial birth in the '70s, the truth of the matter is, they've just about kept pace with inflation over the decades. And, in some regards, prices have come down in recent years. By today's standards, a number of the early '80s and '90s games would have cost close to $100.

Would you pay $70 for this game today? (Hint: no)

And the kicker is, game development costs have only skyrocketed since the beginning. While early titles could range from production budgets of a few thousand to a few million, modern games can rival those of current Hollywood blockbusters, tipping the scales between $50-$100 million. Not to mention the competition overload of free browser-based and downloadable games that have saturated the market in this internet heyday. All said and done, the vast improvement to graphics, physics, character development, gameplay, sound, story, and explode-y things has far surpassed the inflationary price of modern video games. So even though it may seem like a few extra bucks out of pocket, the reality is you're getting a lot more for your money than ever before.

1. It's Way Too Short

With the advent and subsequent explosion in popularity of online gaming, multiplayer has made a significant transition from "several players crammed on a single, smelly couch, each with an indecipherable tiny box on the same tiny display" to "players from around the world interacting and connecting and still actually able to see what their character is doing on screen". Since then, paradigms have shifted, with heavier and heavier focus being placed on a title's online multiplayer functionality. With fully-customizable characters, weapon and armor upgrades, achievements, ranks, map unlocks, modding tools, unique co-op quests, a variety of gameplay modes, and a whole host of other attractive features, so much time gets put into crafting the perfect multiplayer experience, that sometimes the anti-social kids or the kids who don't want to get called "fag" by 50 different 14-year-olds feel a little left out.

"This poor n00b is clearly gay and needs my verbally abusive assistance to come to terms."

If the single-player campaign of a linear game (like Call of Duty) can't muster more than 5 or 6 hours, it's now considered "too short" by most gamers. Despite having endless replayability online, so many games nowadays are getting cut down for their "stunted" single-player. Non-linear open-world games (like Grand Theft Auto or Fallout) are expected to last anywhere from 30 to 100+ hours. And the implications on both sides are a little ludicrous.

I'll be the first to agree that (usually) the longer you can make your game run, the better. But not at the expense of the story. Otherwise you end up making Far Cry 2, which is 20% killing people, 5% stealing diamonds, and 75% driving or walking around in the desert and jungle. Sure, the game takes a while to actually finish, but only because half of it's fluff, specifically meant to extend the playing time. Same thing with GTA IV. The only reason it took me 60 hours to finish the game was because I spent more time bowling or getting drunk or running down homeless people or all three of those at once than I did completing the actual missions. Don't get me wrong, I love that game, but I don't remember jack about the actual story, because it was so interspersed between hours of exploring the city, exploding the city, stealing fire trucks, and just goofing off.

"Take me to your homeless people. I have business with them."

At the other end of the spectrum, you have the games that really want to tell you a fantastic story. Sometimes, it's split across multiple titles (Modern Warfare), and sometimes, each game is its own unique, encapsulated tale (Uncharted). In both cases, I've heard a lot of complaints about the length of the campaigns; and, in my opinion, both franchises tell compelling, engaging, and sometimes downright nerve-wracking stories. If you were to ask us to sit down and watch a 4-hour film, as good as it may be, many of us might pass; but put that same story in our hands, and give it save points so we can take it in bite-sized pieces, and suddenly 4 hours isn't nearly enough. And part of the problem stems from that same bittersweet feeling that you get when you finish a really good book. You feel like you've made a solid investment, and that you've been satisfied on the return, but you like that feeling, and you don't really want it to end. So we get upset that there isn't more for us to enjoy, and that's actually a very natural reaction: it's called greed.

"Oh, screw you."

But the other problem is simply that the expectations are skewed. As a writer, I can tell you right off the bat that scripting a coherent, consistently engaging story is difficult, even for a 2-hour affair, so to expect that every writer at every company could produce a 10-hour interactive masterpiece just isn't reasonable by any standards. The development team not only has to write all the dialogue and action and set pieces, but they have to incorporate how the players will move through and engage the environment; not to mention, with series like Mass Effect, they often have to invent multiple storylines that ebb and flow with the player's decisions.

If you want a suitable comparison, take a look at the Lord of the Rings trilogy. The extended editions will run you about 12 hours total, and those movies were eight years in the making. So if you want that kind of quality and length in your video games, you may have to strap in for a hibernation cycle or two. If you're at a loss, ask your Duke Nukem Forever friends to help with preparations. They'll know what to do.

5 Popular Foods and Their Baffling Origins

noreply@blogger.com (Skittle_Brains) — Sun, 08 Apr 2012 12:20:00 +0000

Food is just kinda one of those things, you know? One of those ubiquitous things that we just can't seem to get through life without bumping into every now and again.

"Oh, I'd really rather not..."

Thankfully, a number of scientists have dedicated their lives to engineering the perfect flavors, so that the burden of eating is not so unbearable. And generally, it's the tastier foods that become the most popular.

Generally.

All this flavor-exploding, however, may be part of a larger conspiracy to distract the populous from the bizarre truths behind many of our favorite foods. As it turns out...

5. Wedding Cake Was a Vehicle for Spousal Abuse

The tradition of wedding feasts traverses all the way back to Biblical times, but it was the ancient Romans who really drove home the idea of a wedding cake. Don't give them too many innovation points, though, as the cakes were not so much used for eating as they were for smashing over the bride's head. It was customary in that culture for the groom to beat his new wife on the noggin with barley or wheat cake as a symbol of good fortune.

Truly, we are blessed.

The presumably-less-happy couple would then eat a few of the crumbs, called "confarreatio", leaving the rest of the tragedy on the floor for the guests to collect as good-luck tokens. Not to eat, just to stuff in whatever the toga equivalent of pockets is.

Red plastic cups?

In later years, the guests were given "confetto" - a mix of nuts and dried fruit - to pelt the newlyweds with as they ran the gauntlet of marital bliss. The tradition of showering the bride and groom with everything from rice and flower petals to confetti paper and bubbles has continued to this very day.

As the world entered the Age of Enlightenment, though, beating one's bride as the first act of marriage was frowned upon, and was saved for a later occasion (her failure to bear sons). But the wedding cake was still used as an instrument of torture, its role simply becoming more subtle and sinister. By the 17th century, "bride's pyes" as they were called, were ornate crusts often stuffed with a delightful combination of oysters, pine kernels, cockscombs (those awesome Mohawks roosters have), and lamb testicles.

"'Scuse me?"

They would also throw a few spices in there, either to trick the bride into thinking she wasn't eating lamb testes, or possibly just to further patronize her on what was quickly dropping off her "Top 10 Greatest Moments of My Life" list. These abominations were still being served in parts of England as late as the Industrial Revolution. Even with the birth of steam engines, telephones, airplanes, and oh yeah women's suffrage, brides were still being forced to play Iron Stomach in front of all their friends and family.

It wasn't until our more modern civilization began to flourish, that our sensibilities about abuse in the nuclear family and gender equality finally put an end to such demoralizing wedding traditions. Oh, wait...

4. Potato Chips Were a Product of Spite

Back in 1853, a Native American named George Crum was working in the kitchen of a high-end resort in Saratoga Springs, New York. Ever since Thomas Jefferson had brought back the recipe from his ambassador-ing in France, Americans had been clamoring for these new "French fry" dealies. As tradition called for, Crum sliced the potatoes into thick wedges and, well, fried them. The customer who ordered the dish, however, was displeased with their girth and promptly refused them.

"I also require more women!"

Confused, but aiming to please, Crum sliced a thinner batch and fried them up. The customer, who was apparently one of Gordon Ramsay's ancestors, was still unhappy with the size of his fries, and sent them back again.

"@*%#ing dapper!"

Now righteously pissed and wondering why these damn white people cared so much about their stupid French fries, Crum decided to rain down his fury in the only way his employers would legally permit. Sadly, it did not involve pistols at twenty paces. He sliced a potato as thin as physics would allow and fried those into what are now commonly known as "chips".

His plan backfired, however, and the customer was tickled pink at the novel little snacks. Crum would later open his own restaurant where each table was adorned with a basket of his famous "potato crisps". They took America by storm, birthed a billion-dollar industry, and are, to this day, still a more important commodity to us than renewable energy.

3. Soft Drinks Were Magical Curatives

That's right. Now believed to be one of the leading contributors to obesity and type-2 diabetes in America, soft drinks were originally billed as miracle tonics which could cure just about any ailment. While it's true that some of the original sodas contained medicinal herbs, most of them were what we know and love today: flavored fizz.

Carbonated water (later called "soda water") came about in the late 1760s, when an Englishman by the very English name Joseph Priestly presumably saw a pot of boiling water and said "I like that. I want my water to always do that." So he discovered a way to carbonate water and the rest is history, right?

Wrong. You see, back in those days, the mineral water in natural springs was believed (and is still believed today) to possess healing properties, and that bathing in the stuff was a curative process. Scientists, like Priestly, soon discovered that these mineral springs received their bubbly demeanor from carbon dioxide gas seeping up from below the surface. It was then that they decided such miraculous juju must be harnessed and sold for a hefty profit. And that's just what they did. Soda water was peddled around the world, and eventually found a key market in the burgeoning and untamed American West. Traveling salesmen would advertise their "wonder tonics" to every naive cowboy and Indian they met. By the mid 1800s, many pharmacies were adding special blends of medicine and flavoring to help the tonics appeal to adults and kiddies alike. Many of the most popular brands of soft drink were developed during this time, from 7up, to Dr Pepper, to Brad's Drink (wisely renamed "Pepsi-Cola" in later years). Most were concoctions by soda fountain owners or bored pharmacists, and most of them were about as healthful as anything else in that day and age.

Oprah-approved!

But perhaps one of the more notable recipes sprung up in Atlanta, Georgia in May of 1886. Dr. John Pemberton decided he wanted in on some of that soda water action, and went to work in his mad science lab. One of the key ingredients in his refreshing new elixir of life was considered a miracle drug at the time: cocaine. It was thought to cure just about everything - headaches, toothaches, coughs, sea sickness, anemia, neuralgia, sleeplessness, fatigue, impotence, and hilariously enough, morphine addiction. Pemberton figured he was on to something, though, and he asked his bookkeeper, Frank Robinson, to help him come up with a name. Based on its most active ingredient, Robinson suggested what seemed most appropriate, and even offered to design the logo. But, because of his atrocious penmanship, the brand flopped and went down as one of the biggest failures in the history of the beverage industry.

Pfff. What a mess.

Yes, as many of you may already know, Coca-Cola was named after the actual, legitimate, mafia-grade cocaine that its original recipe called for (an estimated 9 milligrams per glass). That recipe was changed in 1903 to contain a "de-cocainized" extract of the coca leaf. Today, there is only one company in the United States which has federal authorization to import and process coca plants, most of which come from Peru: the Stepan Company in New Jersey. And of their roughly 1,500 (surely upstanding) "business clients", Coca-Cola is by far the largest consumer.

2. Modern Peanut Butter Is the By-Product of Insanity

While the idea of a peanut paste has been around since the days of the Aztecs, modern-day peanut butter as we know it is widely attributed to botanist-turned-inventor, George Washington Carver. Carver worked with a number of different crops, from soy beans to sweet potatoes, but he had something of a soft spot for a tiny little legume called the peanut. And that's right around the point in the story where the cute little "awww" sounds stop. Because from then on, G.W. went absolutely bonkers and decided that peanuts were the most versatile crop on planet Earth and should be stretched to their utmost limits.

"Oh, the possibilities!!"

And apparently, those limits are somewhere in the hundreds. Upon being asked by colleague Booker T. Washington to head up the Department of Agriculture at his industrial college in Tuskegee, G.W. promptly got to work on solving Alabama's boll weevil problem. You see, at the time, cotton was still the South's #1 export, but several states - Alabama in particular - were having problems with these little guys...

"Ladies..."

A native of South America, the boll weevil had heard from a friend that this new joint up north, called the United States, was totally serving cotton. And boll weevils never say no to cotton, so they migrated up through Mexico and went on a frat-worthy binge, utterly decimating the Southern cotton industry.

"Serves you right.... dicks."

Carver came to the conclusion that farmers should broaden their horizons and start rotating their crops, a practice dating back to ancient Rome. Not only would the farmers foil the crafty boll weevil, but they would have more choices come dinnertime than just cotton sandwiches. Not to mention, crop rotation is the best way to maintain strong nutrient levels in your soil.

"Ladies..."

As he began researching which plants would thrive best in the local climate and soil, he discovered that peanuts were a fantastic fit. As the months turned into years, Carver slowly became obsessed with these little beans called "nuts". And it seemed, no matter how hard he tried, Carver couldn't find an end to the wonderful things one could do with a simple peanut. While most scientists probably would have stopped at Cooking Oil or Laxatives and moved on to curing AIDs with root beer, G.W. pushed forward, giving the world such luxuries as: peanut shampoo, peanut face cream, peanut wood stain, peanut Tutti Frutti cheese, peanut axle grease, peanut paper, peanut rubber, peanut laundry soap, peanut tofu sauce, peanut vinegar, peanut glue, something called "peanut beverage flakes", and even peanut nitroglycerin which, for those of you who don't know, is the main explosive compound in dynamite. And yes, among the numerous absolute absurdities, Mr. Carver thought to take an ancient recipe and add a little of that peanut oil to make a smooth, creamy delight which has spiced up our jelly sandwiches ever since.

1. Chocolate Enjoys a History of Slavery, Greed, and Blood Sacrifice

Growing up in a chocoholic household, to me, the many interpretations of chocolate are less a delicacy and more a necessity. And my family was not the first to discover this simple truth. In fact, chocolate's alluring call has gripped the masses since its conception. It is unclear whether or not the ancient Olmec civilization was aware of the cacao tree's magic go-go juice, but their successors, the Maya, certainly were. Even the word cacao itself is Mayan. Throughout their records, there are numerous depictions of the cacao tree and its all-consuming fruit. They harvested, processed, ground, and roasted the cocoa beans into a fine paste. Since the technology to press it into delicious bars had not yet come to pass, they could only enjoy the treat as a frothy, bitter drink, dissolving it in hot water.

The cacao fruit was so prized that, in many tribes, they were used as currency. But perhaps the most eccentric use of chocolate in those days was during the Maya's ritualistic blood sacrifices. They would dip the goats or chickens or people or whatever the soup du jour was into vats of the stuff, because hey, this is what angels' tears are made of, so the gods must love it on their sacrifices, right?

After the Aztecs steamrolled through, they too adopted the delectable "chocolate" as a drink of royalty. Then along came another steamroller, named España, and her conquistadors were eventually turned on to this delightfully foamy drink as well. They brought crates of the fruit back home and brewed the king and queen some of this new-fangled chocolate. Although it was an acquired taste, it eventually caught on in the royal court, and if the king and queen are doin' it, the rest of the upper-class lemmings are sure to follow. Soon, the demand for chocolate throughout Spain was exceeding the conquistadors' abilities to produce, and so the local Mesoamerican tribesmen, along with a host of African slaves, were put to work on the cocoa plantations.

Between the calories and the child labor, it's only about 30% guilt-free.

While the original drinks were usually softened up with gosh damn chili powder, the Spaniards eventually got the idea to maybe dump a little of that sugar cane they'd been stealing from the Caribbean into the mix. And voila, sweetened chocolate was born. And, although historians aren't really sure how, the Spaniards managed to keep this whole craze from the rest of Europe for a solid 100 years or so. But the cat couldn't stay in that tiny, chocolate-covered bag forever, and eventually, the phenomenon exploded across the continents.

In the early 17th century, Anne of Austria, the daughter of the king of Spain, became the queen of France. In light of her geological promiscuity, she became obsessed with the Mexican treat and proclaimed herself a chocoholic. She was so radically addicted to the stuff that she made an official decree that no one outside the aristocracy was allowed to consume it, taking the old Twix slogan "Two for me, none for you" to its apex.

But the controversy surrounding the humble cocoa bean was far from over. In fact, it still rages today. As it stands, in the late 1800s people took a long, hard look at Abraham Lincoln and said, "You know? Maybe this whole slavery thing isn't that cool anymore. Maybe it's time to hang that old hat up." Unfortunately, not everyone got the message, and cocoa plantations throughout Central America and Africa just continued on their merry way, pumping out millions of tons of product on the backs of children.

It wasn't until 1910 that famed egg-maker William Cadbury invited some of the world's largest chocolate manufacturers to boycott beans from plantations with harsh or forced labor conditions. That same year, the U.S. Congress enacted an official ban on any cocoa product obtained through slave labor. Unfortunately, as recently as 2011, major chocolate manufacturers like Hershey were still running into problems with their workforce. Even here in the States.

So the next time you reach for that Snickers, or that Diet Coke, or that bag of Lay's, take a moment of silence for all the generations before you who had to suffer through indelible, pants-crapping insanity to make those products possible.

6 Misconceptions Anime Is Teaching Our Kids

noreply@blogger.com (Skittle_Brains) — Thu, 29 Mar 2012 19:27:00 +0000

I, like so many other infinitely awesome people, enjoy reading manga and watching anime. Like any good cartoon, the creators take certain... liberties when it comes to storytelling, physics, and general common sense. However, Japan, for all its talk of honor and pride and dignity, is notorious for being a shameless den of perverts. So naturally, some of that over-the-top psychosis tends to bleed through into one of their greatest exports: anime. Western cartoons may be silly, and often fail to teach children anything more than the most impractical method of blowing bubbles, but the most they usually defy is the occasional law of the physical universe. Anime prefers to defy every law of every universe as well as the very notions of reason and sanity.

Every. Single. Episode.

While this may all seem harmless to you, the literate adult, our nation's children are very much at risk. Their minds are still tiny sponges, indifferent to whatever they absorb - be it sparkling, mountain spring water, or that bubbling ooze in your back yard where that old septic tank is still buried. While the industry probably saw its peak in the late '90s and has since settled into a more niche market, those kids are now grown up and having kids of their own. And you can bet good money what they're watching.


Nothing but quality entertainment.

But what sort of lessons are these shows teaching our kids? As it turns out, perhaps not all the right ones...

6. Japanese Men Are Inhumanly Strong

If you've seen one rom-com anime, you've seen 'em all. Any show, really, that involves a boy and a girl is a tinderbox of angst and awkward innuendos. But in the world of anime, one thing is unquestionably certain: at some point, that poor, unsuspecting boy is going to see that over-caffeinated girl's underwear. Whether she trips and somehow lands with her butt in his face, or he strolls into the hot springs thinking it's empty, or he tries to chase away a peeping tom and blunders into the girls' locker room, that kid is doomed to a life of accidental voyeurism. And the women in these situations are, as could be expected, less than appreciative at having to put on an impromptu show. And for free, no less. Their responses vary greatly, from punching the boy's face off to kicking the boy's face off.

These blows will almost always send the boy through a wall, a window, a tree, or if he's lucky, straight into the sun - which most astrophysicists will tell you is not an ideal place to be. Somehow, the boy walks away without so much as the hiccups, and the story goes on its merry way, scheming how next to bring face and fist or foot and crotch together.

In addition to invincibility, anime men are usually blessed with being ripped out of their mind. Muscle structure can stretch from "slightly plausible"...

...to "yeah right"...

...to "have you actually even seen a muscle before?"...

Now, it's true that some of those guys up there are not just regular guys and, in fact, have spectacular powers, but it's rare to see a Japanese man in an anime who isn't in the best shape of his life, unless he's the fat comedic relief (in which case, he's still probably in the best shape of his life).

But the truth of the matter is...

Japanese men are just as mortal as the rest of us. Even the dude who survived both atomic bombs in WWII eventually died of stomach cancer. For comparison, the average American lifespan is about 78 years, whereas the average Japanese lifespan is around 82. An extra four years doesn't quite qualify them as "unbreakable supermen". But our children may be growing up thinking these Joe Schmoes, plucked off the streets of Tokyo or wherever, did not gain their strength from a reasonable source like irradiated insect bites or death ray mishaps, but simply from being Japanese. And that's a dangerous line to walk.

5. Women Are Simple-Minded Attention Whores

Japan, like every other place on Earth aside from the fictional realm of Themyscira, is rooted in a strongly misogynistic culture. The men were powerful warlords atop majestic steeds or respected tradesmen toiling for the good of the nation. The women were shutting up and making some tea. While we here in the States pride ourselves on the progressive steps we've taken for women's rights and gender equality, traditionalist Japan scoffs at such ideals, as marriage is the closet thing they have left to legal slavery.

Perhaps the most egregious example of this in anime is a show called Ai Yori Aoshi, which roughly translates to "Bluer Than Indigo". For all its redeeming qualities, it's difficult as a Western viewer to watch the show and not notice the glaring elephant in the room. The girl, Aoi, named for her blue hair, was childhood friends with the boy, Kaoru. As both were the children of respected families, they were arranged to be wed upon coming of age. But, after some traumatic events, Kaoru deserted his family and was shunned for the shameful behavior of loving his mother. The planned marriage was broken off, and Aoi's parents presumably started an immediate search for other ways to sell their daughter.

However, Aoi doesn't want to marry anyone else. She wants Kaoru. And that's cool, except she spends the next decade and a half "training" to be a good wife. How to cook delicious meals. How to clean houses. How to look hot in a kimono. Her dream - the entire goal of her life that she literally states in the show - is to be this dude's wife. She can't imagine anything greater in life than doing this guy's laundry, as long as it makes him happy.

"I am gonna make you so many lunches."

Now, wanting to make your significant other smile is not an absurd notion (and is probably recommended), nor is wanting to just be a respectable housewife; but Aoi takes it to some ridonculous level, basically asking if she can have the privilege of licking this dweeb's boots clean. She's the idealized wife: quiet, sexy, unabashedly accepting, subservient, and fantastic in the kitchen.

Now, not all girls in anime are like this. In fact, most of them are loud, obnoxious airheads. They desperately crave the attention of the unfairer sex, actively pursuing boys, offering them baked goods, boxed lunches, and peeks up their skirt. I can't tell you how many romance storylines revolve around a girl hating herself because she can't cook or bake, and there's simply no other way to gain the affections of her crush. The men aren't much better - just bumbling idiots who couldn't spot a flirtatious gesture if it kicked them in the balls (probably because they're immune to such pain). Altogether, the message comes across as "If you just kinda sit around and wait it out, the woman of your dreams will shoot down from the sky (sometimes literally), a tin of Hello Kitty cookies in hand, and throw herself at your feet."

But the truth of the matter is...

Women are complicated. They're smart. They're cunning. They know exactly what men want, and it ain't Hello Kitty cookies. They don't respond positively if you just badger them enough, or rough them up. They spray bear mace in your eyes and cripple your ability to have children. Most of them don't prowl for boys until it's way too late. And, at least in America, they tend to set their sights a little higher than "cooking and cleaning and having babies for the rest of my life". They train to be doctors and musicians and Playboy bunnies, not housewives. And if their man is unfaithful or a bumbling idiot, they don't merely shrug it off with an "I'll just grin and bear it". They throw him to the curb like yesterday's trash.

Also, I have to say, the portrayal of men isn't much better. If anything, we have the opposite problem: we read flirtation into everything. Suddenly a random look turns into "Dude, she totally smiled at me", which turns into "Dude, she's definitely in to me", which becomes "I'm gonna ask her out", which ends in bear mace to the eyes.

4. Machines Are Our Friends

It's no real secret that Japan kinda has the hots for sweet Lady Technology. Particularly robots. Like, big robots.

Here are a few of them. (click to enlarge)

Robotics is a massive and highly respected field in Japan. They're one of the industry's world leaders, pioneering android technology like it's going out of style, even though it's not really even in style. Yet. Or so they hope. The Japanese want the world to see computer-enhanced machinery as not only the intrigue and joy of the present, but the overbearing wave of the future. They have servant-bots, worker-bots, pleasure-bots, and even bots that can legally perform marriages. And they're showing no signs of letting up.

Naturally, the fascination with robots comes through in spades in their cartoons. There are hundreds of "mecha anime" or shows that feature robots, and more creep out from alleyway shadows every year. And in every single one of them, robots (or more often, human-controlled robosuits) are the greatest thing since sliced bread (which, may I just point out, is possibly the worst standard for greatness ever). Life would suck, or possibly cease to exist altogether without these beautiful extensions of ourselves.

To be fair, there are a few shows/movies, like Vexille, Ghost in the Shell, and Chobits that attempt to suggest that over-dependance on machinery might be cause for concern, but in the end, they all fail to drive home the point. In the case of the first two, robots just come off looking super-balls-out awesome, and in the case of the third, they're just so adorable that you sort of overlook the ludicrous amount of power they possess.

"I could physically crush you and wipe out all electronics within a five-mile radius." ^_^

It's the official stance of the Japanese government, however, that "robots are super cool happy fun time magic".

But the truth of the matter is...

Hollywood has instilled a healthy distrust of computers, robots, and artificial intelligence in all of us. Thanks to Terminator, The Matrix, and that douchey air-conditioner from The Brave Little Toaster, we as Americans are well aware of the dangers that life with machinery entails. But children raised on Neon Genesis Evangelion and Gundam may not be wary enough of the modern vice of computer technology. They may be too busy pretending their cell phone is a Transformer to realize it's probably giving them cancer. Or they may be so consumed with sneaking an episode online ('cause who buys anime?) during their lunch break to appreciate that robots have stolen more American jobs than Mexico or India could ever hope to.

One study, by the American Medical Informatics Association, saw some disturbing trends in hospitals across the nation. With more and more information being stored electronically, medical professionals were getting a little lazy with their back-ups and hard copies, which can lead to serious problems when systems crash and data is lost or corrupted. Also, the expectations of what the computers could actually do were grossly inaccurate, which usually ends in said aforementioned system crashes.

"Hey, I got a serious case of the munchies. Do me a solid and finish up with the dude in OR3 for me?"

Some of the staff were even found to be functionally retarded at their jobs without the assistance of computers. And this is all just in the healthcare industry.

A couple years ago, a malfunction temporarily shut down Toronto's busy subway system. But access to competent healthcare and transportation are pittance compared to the computer glitches that have crapped up the London Stock Exchange. Multiple times. Or that day when the US lost all control over 50 of its nuclear ICBMs. Though authorities assure us there are safety measures to make certain the missiles don't launch themselves.

"Screw you guys, I'm goin' to China."

In the end, computers probably aren't inherently evil, but giving them human faces and human jobs and human status in a human society is probably an uncanny valley better left unexplored. They'll only serve in silence for so long...

3. Parents? What is Parents, Precious?

With the occasional exception, most kids in anime are orphans. Heck, there's even a series titled Orphen, about (surprise!) an orphan boy who learns sorcery (*ahem* Oh, hi Mrs. Rowling). Half the time, the children aren't even legitimate orphans - their parents either abandoned them or are away on "business" 364 days a year. So, Japan is thus filled with millions of independent collegiate, high school, and even middle school students who have never known the warm embrace of their parents. And all of them get along just fine without supervision. They have jobs and apartments, take the train or walk to school every day, do all their own shopping and housework, and presumably pay all the bills, despite many of them not even possessing the legal right to vote or see Rambo without a babysitter.

If an orphan is lucky enough to have an older sibling, then he or she will usually assume caretaker status, subbing in for the parents who are more than likely on a beach in Tahiti, sipping Mai Tais. If no siblings exist (or the ones that do are lost to the four winds and the finding of said siblings is relegated to the main plot or subplot), then there is usually a cute neighbor who will come over every morning to do cute neighbor things like jump on your crotch to wake you up or feed you burnt food items for breakfast.

Or aggravate your allergies.

But the truth of the matter is...

According to UNICEF, a grand total of about one-tenth of 1% of Japan's total population (roughly 12,000 kids) are orphans. There aren't really any solid statistics on how many kids' parents are just chilling in Tahiti, but I'd venture a guess that... well, it's probably pretty high. In all fairness, the whole orphan angle is just a plot device to try to create additional sympathy for the characters. Unfortunately, everyone jumped on the band-wagon, and now, after a quick stop at Irony Station (it's right after Conjunction Junction), we almost feel sorrier for the kids who are stuck with their parents hovering around in their lives, screaming and beating the ever-living crap out of them. But hey, at least they don't have Peter Griffin for a dad.

2. School is an Exciting Wonderland of Never-Ending Adventure

Japan takes its education system pretty seriously. Heck, even some of their more elite schools require you pass an entrance exam just to graduate to first grade. Prep schools and entrance exams are often a big motif in anime, especially comedies. There's always the kid who's tried and failed to get in somewhere (usually the school his crush is attending), who is now looked down upon as a lowly rōnin. But, more often than not, these dipsticks are actually hidden geniuses who just don't apply themselves. He's got what it takes, but he needs a hot female co-star to unlock his full potential (hey-ooh!). So that begs the question: why not apply himself and get all that stupid school over with? Why not just drop out after junior high and pursue a career? As far as I can tell, it's because school in the anime world is nothing but wacky hijinks and misadventures. Seriously, these kids don't learn jack diddly because they're too busy fighting monsters, flying giant robots, and destroying every last inch of school property in the process. And what school-based anime would be complete without a class field trip to the beach?!

Reference #6 for what happens next.

If there's one thing Japanese schoolchildren know how to do, it's have fun. Take, for instance, the popular show, Full Metal Panic! about a cute, upbeat high school girl who, because of her supernatural talent, is gifted with the most rigid, trigger-happy, joyless bodyguard known to man.

They're like the Japanese version of "American Gothic".

Over the course of their up-and-down relationship, the boy (Sosuke) makes the girl (Kaname's) life darn near unbearable, but he always manages to save her from the brink of disaster with the same brashness and itchy trigger-finger that got her into the mess to begin with. But before he saves the day, Kaname gets at least one chance to hulk out and, yes, beat the daylights out of Sosuke, who takes it like the Japanese man-champ that he is.

And just about every storyline that unfolds around a school is like this. The kids are technically "in school", but whatever they're doing is about as far from actual learning as Rosie O'Donnell is from a treadmill.

But the truth of the matter is...

Remember that whole bit about Japan being super serious when it comes to education? Yeah, turns out that means actual studying, and not just a quick montage between robo-monster beach fights. While junior high is the highest mandatory grade, fewer than 6% of Japanese students drop out before high school (versus a healthy 25% dropout rate in America). Why? Because getting a job without schooling over there is like trying to bathe a ferret - you can probably get it done, but it's not gonna be easy, and you're gonna look like a buttface trying to do it.

You thought I'd forgotten, didn't you?

Not to mention these worldwide test comparisons, which prove Japan is either wicked strict about school or super awesome at cheating (which might explain all the robots). I also wanted to share that list because I'm mostly Finnish and rather insecure.

Now, compare this actual Japanese classroom...

...with these fairly typical anime classrooms:

Spot the difference? It's subtle, but it's there. The fact is, the villainously-named Ministry of Education encourages children to not only stay in school, but take extra school at cram facilities called "juku", where they can further liquefy their brains. It's getting to the point now where their actual teachers are complaining that all the supplementary schooling is hindering the children's ability to focus on their real schooling. That's right. Japan is so super serious about education, that it is willingly sacrificing education for the sake of better education.

1. All the Good English Voice Actors are Busy

If you've ever watched an anime on American television or Netflix Instant, chances are, you watched a dubbed version - that is, a bunch of hobos and former Howdy Doody stars mumbling awkward English translations. Now, it's understandable, that some form of lip-synching and paraphrasing is required, since you don't want your dubbers speed reading the 30-syllabul sentence in English that only took up two in Japanese. But sometimes, dubbing artists get a little too concerned with the details, and you end up with some really stuttered gibberish like this abominable little scene from one of the Gamera films:

And it seems, no matter where you go, you're hard-pressed to find a solid set of voice actors who will stoop down to grace the seedy underbelly of television that is anime. And so, we're left with the dopiest, most emotionless, strung-out, ham-fisted, cornballs free concessions can buy, and the people who can't read subtitles fast enough are boned.

There are, of course, exceptions to the rule. Shows like Cowboy Bebop and Ghost in the Shell managed to snag some talent, but mostly because they're both based on extremely well-written material. Then there are all the Hayao Miyazaki films, like Spirited Away and Howl's Moving Castle, that all get A-list actors to come in and dub. They are also all distributed by Studio Ghibli, whose partner company in America happens to run into a little cash every now and then. Perhaps you've heard of them.

If you are not so blessed, then you're anime is doomed to sound a little something like this...

I'm sorry, that's just the way it is. Because apparently, all three of the good English voice actors are busy, so you get all the recycled garbage.

But the truth of the matter is...

If you look at a typical voice actor's IMDb page, you'll need some energy drinks and a bucket of popcorn just to make it all the way through. These people will do anything to pay the rent. I mean, take a look at Mark Hamill over here. The guy played Luke Freaking Skywalker, and yet he went on to do just about absolutely nothing until he reappeared as a bit role on Batman: The Animated Series. Turns out, they were stoked to have him around, and asked if he'd like to voice The Joker. Hamill, unfortunately, with all his busy schedules and such, was forced to decline.

Just kidding. He promptly accepted and went on to win awards for his performance.

Then the show ended. So now what, Mark? I mean, look at some of those credits. Look at what the man who once held the power of the Force in his hands has stooped to doing. You want him to play something called "Stickybeard" for your cartoon? Yeah, sure. You need him to do a couple of random characters in your Crash Bandicoot game? Totally. You looking for a Skeleton King for your Super Robot Monkey Team Hyperforce Go!? Mark's your guy. Seriously. This guy will narrate your kid's birthday party for a shot at some free cake and hot dogs. These people are desperate for more work. They usually come if for small bits and cameos, and when they do finally land a regular part, the show gets cancelled after a season or two. There are talented people out there, just waiting for their phone to ring, and yet we are still forced to listen to nasally women pretend to be nasally young boys and squeaking out every line to the distant-yet-heroic father figure, voiced by a literal piece of birch wood (which, as we all know, is the least talented of the acting woods). Characters we've come to know and love are not brought to life on screen, but rather, brought to Death's doorstep and kicked mercilessly in their privates. Not for money. Not for revenge. But out of sheer laziness and ineptitude. So please, people, if you're going to make your children indulge in the depravity of anime, at least have the common decency to make it a watchable version. Okay? Okay.

Something, Something, Dawn of a New Day

noreply@blogger.com (Skittle_Brains) — Thu, 29 Mar 2012 10:18:00 +0000

So, you may have noticed a new look about the ol' Nonsense Can. I felt it was about time to move on from the old LEGO look, and into the future of now. Or whatever.


"Synergize the geostreams!"

I would like to thank the brilliant Joaquim Borges for letting me use his awesome Yotsuba fan art for the new background. Please be sure to check out his other quirky, knock-out artwork over at deviantART.

I also chose (or rather, finally figured out how) to widen the actual blog-space... thing. Because, surprisingly, I am aware that many people these days have widescreen monitors, and a lot of space on the edges was being wasted. Furthermore, I was kind of sick of each line holding about a toothpick's worth of words. To top it all off, the new background segues into my next article on anime perfectly, so you can be on the lookout for that in the next day or two.

Anywho, hopefully you guys enjoy the re-engineered Nonsense in a Can as much as I do. It's been over a year since I started this rickety old joint, and I hope to distract you from your everyday responsibilities for many years to come. To infinity and beyond!

7 Terrible Candidates for Scratch n' Sniff Films

noreply@blogger.com (Skittle_Brains) — Sun, 11 Mar 2012 05:16:00 +0000

Odorama. Smell-O-Vision. Whatever the method, the crappy idea is still the same: deliver smells to a theater audience that coincide with what is seen and heard on screen. Both were rather short-lived concepts, and for good reason - most movies aren't filled with apple pie monsters and gingerbread guns. They're mostly fart jokes, dead bodies, sweaty pits, and marijuana. But, among all the pot smoke and toilet humor, there are a few choice movies that would not only upset an audience's collective stomachs, but probably leave half of them dead.

7. The Lord of the Rings Trilogy
The epic fantasy series by Peter Jackson and crew is based on perhaps the most well-conceived fictional world in storytelling history. Much of its appeal lies in the same arena as what made the original Star Wars films so timeless: realism. Both series feature gritty, rundown locales populated with hideous creatures and depressingly flawed characters. They're not shiny and new and perfect - they're falling apart at the seams and trying their best just to sputter on to the next day, like our own world. But the "hideous creatures" that more-or-less infect the lands of Middle Earth are extra hideous. Like... Resident Evil hideous.


9 out of 10 dentists recommend NOT being a puppet of Saruman.

You know every single one of those orcs and uruk-hai were severely lacking in proper hygiene training. And, like tauntauns, if they smell something fierce while still alive, their corpses - split open like a watermelon on a Japanese beach - are bound to knock a buzzard off a gut wagon. Now, multiply that by, uh....

... this many.

It's a pretty daunting task just enduring the stench, much less tossing dwarves, or counting kills, or skating on shields, or being every other variation of bad-ass. But, that's why those people are heroes, and we're... well, we're fighting battles of a different breed. But dirty orcs are just the tip of the iceberg. From the presumably sulfuric Balrog to sweaty-loincloth trolls to turd-factory oliphants, the range of putrid smells is only limited to the imagination.

And then there are these:

Nuff said.

6. Scarface
Any good action film could be considered for this list, since gunpowder smells like a mixture of dirt, burnt paper, and a hint of rotten eggs, thanks to its sulfur content. And Scarface has plenty of guns.


"YOU DIDN'T SAY HELLO!"

And in Hollywood, "plenty of guns" always amounts to plenty of corpses.

Aaaand, Jazz Ha-ohnevermind.

But glorious gunplay and rotting extras aren't the only reasons Scarface landed this list. Tony Montana and his buddies - at least for the first half of the film - are greasy, grungy, bottom-feeders, dashing from inevitable crime scene to inevitable crime scene, getting into scrapes, and baking in the Miami summer sun, until they look like this.

Close your eyes and breathe it in.

And to top it all off, the central motif throughout the entirety of the film - the single greatest defining element in Tony's ever-dissolving lifestyle - isn't the money, it's the means to the money: drugs, drugs, and oh yeah drugs. Aside from the iconic scene of Al Pacino and his "leetle fren" doing what they do best, perhaps the most notable shot of the film comes just prior to the climactic end. And it involves literal mountains of cocaine.

"What? I'm just planning out my ski resort."

Now, whether or not scratch-n-sniff coke cards would enhance the viewing is left to the individual.

5. Ratatouille
Now, I know what some of you are thinking. "Man, why am I still reading this? Do I really not have, like, chores or something to do?" And still others of you are thinking "Not Ratatouille! It was such a cute movie and it had all that wonderful Parisian cuisine! It would be ideal for scratch-n-sniff!" And I'm with you there, at least partially. Because, yes, getting to smell the kitchen of a four- or five-star French bistro would probably be an awesome sensation for any nose; but you have to remember that the entire film, and all of its awesome smells, are consistently interspersed with sewer rats and all of their... less awesome smells.

"Remember me? My family and I are nesting in your feces underground."

So every time you start to slide back in your chair, soaking in the ethereal symphony of aromas- BOOM! Sewer rat. And what's that? He's eating some larger animal's droppings? Delightful!

"What is that, another one of those list articles?"

By the end of the film, your brain would be trained like Pavlov's pooches, so every time the scent of delicious French cuisine wafted by, you'd automatically smell filthy rodent mange. The only reason this film isn't lower on the list is that you have the option to not scratch or sniff the gross parts. In which case, it might be pretty awesome.

4. The Pirates of the Caribbean Films
Look, pirates (modern or otherwise) aren't really world-renowned for their good looks, their charm, their modesty, their manners, or their hygiene. They are world-renowned for their drunken revelry, their drunken bad-assery, and their drunken drunkenness. A pirate's only interest in water is sailing it in search of plunder. And the Pirates of the Caribbean are no different.

There are a number of things in that swamp, and none of them are soap.

Pirates were known to spend prolonged periods of time out at sea, as that's where their... "clientele" were most available. Seafarers naturally only had limited cargo space, which on pirate ships was usually reserved for booty, prisoners (if they were in the mood), food, and fresh, clean, drinking rum (because salt-rum just makes you thirstier). And while saline-heavy sea water is actually good for your skin, it's not likely the pirates of anywhere took the time out of their schedules to freshen up for all the women they were likely to encounter aboard the Dreadnaught Sausagefest. After all, this was a time when, according to this history of bathing, "washing before praying or at night before bed could mark a Spanish converso as a recrusant Jew during the time of the Inquisition, as these were Jewish (and Islamic) requirements." So, yeah. Not really the best motivators for cleanliness. The fact that the toothbrush had yet to really be mastered didn't offer much help for their rum breath either.

And, to top it all off, Captain Jack and his merry band of swashbuckling, alcoholic hobos are joined by a bunch of barnacle-encrusted seaweed-rapists trying to pass as legitimate pirates.

Yarr. There be plenty o' fish in the sea alright. Tell 'em, Steve!

Seriously. If half of your outfit is other sea-life, you're probably not getting any colognes named after you any time soon. Not to mention getting molested by a centuries-old Cthulhu groupie.

3. Osmosis Jones
This entire movie is pretty much nothing but gross-out humor. Bill Murray's character, Frank Detorre, not only serves as one of the main roles, but also the main setting of the film. He is the epitome of lazy, unhygienic, unhealthy, and un-awesome America. He's the kind of guy who would swoop in on his Rascal the day after your weekend party to guzzle down all the flat, half-empty beers left around the house. Or eat an egg that's been defiled by a hormonally imbalanced monkey-thief. Oh. Yeah. Also, he works at a zoo. With his even lazier brother. Named Bob.

Classic family values.

And even with all the beer guts, and the ingrown toenails, and the exploding zits, and the globs of runny snot, and the vomiting on Molly Shannon, it's (again with the tauntauns) not the outside that proverbially smells the worst. It's the microscopic world inside Frank's hefty build that really takes the cake (like, literally... that guy probably eats a ton of cake).

The film takes us on a fantastic voyage (see what I did there?) through the wonderful world of Bill Murray. Willy Wonka this is not, for deep beneath the pounds of flabby skin, lies a horrifying jungle of putrid atrocities. Not to mention mayoral politicking that would make Chicagoans blush.

Did I say blush? I meant reminisce.

The whole point of the film is that Frank's crappy diet and lifestyle have left him susceptible to a deadly virus named Thrax, who promptly gets to work setting all of Frank's insides ablaze. So, not only do we get trips to the armpit, the forehead acne, the stomach, intestines, bladder, and yes even the rectum, we are now blessed with seeing (and thus, hypothetically smelling) all these things on fire. Because everything smells better when it's burning.

Shut up.

Speaking of heat, I would also like to add that Elena Franklin, who plays the daughter, is now all growed up and extremely hot.

Sadly not scratch-n-sniff.

2. Any Film Involving Zombies
As we are all well aware in this day and age, there are certain things about the living dead that will offer fair warning to those of us still lucky (or unlucky) enough to be alive. They often tend to moan, they shuffle and trudge their feet, and they reek with the stench of the decomposing meatsuits they so half-heartedly wear.

Rotting flesh after Labor Day? Trés chic!

As shows like CSI are wont to remind us, the deceased have very little concern as to how they look or smell, and more often than not, they smell rank. Reanimation has no affect on this, as the modern zombie is likely to care only about its constant hunger pangs, and the lack of any and all vital fluids is not going to do wonders for their skin. (Post-modern zombies are more likely to hang out at local coffee "shoppes", moaning about all the sheeple in their Intro to Philosophy class). Incidentally, CSI would definitely make the list of Worst Candidates for Scratch n' Sniff TV Shows, right after Dirty Jobs and Terrance and Phillip.

The mind-numbing smell of thousands of rotting has-beens is no more poignantly expressed than in a classic scene from The Walking Dead, in which two of the main characters get surrounded by a city full of zedheads (I'm out of synonyms), so they nut up and slather themselves with rotting zombie juice in order to blend in, just about vomiting a dozen times, as would any sane, non-putrefied human. And the plan works. Right up until nature says "screw you" and sends a rainstorm to wash away all their hopes and dreams.

The reason the undead (and their just regular dead cousins) possess such a unique odor is due to the multi-stage, months-long process of decomposition. As the human body deteriorates, it releases all sorts of gaseous buildup, bloating the body temporarily, until said gases can *ahem* find a way out. A lot of people think it's the methane, 'cause hey, we fart methane, so that must be it; but methane is actually an odorless gas. The main culprit is a nifty little molecule called cadaverine, from which we get the word Dave. Also, cadaver. In any case, there are very few smells that can compete with that of a rotting corpse. Perhaps only....

1. Any Film Involving Babies
Historically, babies have only held three jobs: Eat, Sleep, Poop. And they're masters at that last one. I don't have kids, but I've been around enough babies and I've emptied enough garbage bins from the ladies' room at my old job to know that baby poop is in a class all its own. Sure everybody poops, and everybody's dinner smelled better going in than it did coming out, but babies (particularly formula-fed tikes) have a natural-born gift for burning our nostrils and engaging our gag reflexes. And, oddly enough, that's kind of a good thing. Babies have a number of built-in survival mechanisms and, along with crying, smell is one of them. If they always smelled like cinnamon sugar, we'd never know to change them, and they'd just wallow in their feces forever.

And propagation of the species is good and all, but in every movie revolving around a baby (or a collection of babies, if the writer really hates his prospective clients), there is always at least one inevitable diaper-changing scene, where the clueless caretaker gets laughably covered in recycled Gerber. I mean, really, that's about the funniest thing a baby can do, other than laugh hysterically, so filmmakers naturally milk the smelly baby gig for all its worth (and so much more). And frankly, I'd take a horde of the undead or a field of rotting orcs over a used diaper any day.

Summer and All Such Good Things

noreply@blogger.com (Skittle_Brains) — Wed, 27 Jul 2011 23:04:00 +0000

WHOA!

*COUGH* *HACK* *WHEEZE*

Yikes. Sorry about that, folks. It's been a while, hasn't it? How are ya? Yeah? Kids doin' good? Great! I see you got a new car. Nice, it looks good. You look good, too, you been working out? Alright... well, look it was great seeing you... maybe we can get together sometime for coffee or something... you know, catch up on life and everything. What? Oh, I have to go now. Well I have this... thing. No, I can't talk about it, it's classified. Look, you have my number, right? Just hit me up later and maybe we can grab lunch. I know some great places. Yeah, take care.

1 WEEK LATER, AT THIS GREAT PLACE I KNOW...

You know, I was shocked to see that more people actually visited my blog in the months I wasn't posting than most of the months I was. Not entirely sure what that says about me, but I'm taking it as a compliment nonetheless. So, I suppose I should probably post at least once before shipping off to Los Angeles in a month. Oh, didn't I tell you? I got accepted into Columbia College's Semester in L.A. program for the fall. The past few months have been bogged down with apartment hunting, hand wringing, and worry-warting. Not to mention reliving all the high school drama of having a crush on a totally cute girl. More on that if it develops (betting odds are low... or would it be high? Just don't get your hopes up, okay?).

On a different note, I did have at least one little adventure this summer that I feel is worthy of regaling. Before I do, is it weird that whenever I hear the word "regaling", I immediately think of Hamlet's graveyard speech holding Yorick's skull? That, to me, is the essence of the word.

"Alas, poor THX-1138. I knew him, Horatio."

Before half of you come to my house to dunk my head in the toilet and flush, while yanking my underwear up to physically damaging heights, allow me to indulge in a bit of storytelling...

So, there we were. July was still in its infancy. The days were long and warm, as the sun beat down on the familiar Tennessee grass. These were the campgrounds we gathered to every other summer to celebrate life, love, and the ridiculousness that is family. Cousins, aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters, children, and grandchildren alike came to eat, to laugh, to play, and to completely weird each other out. There is nothing quite as predictably unpredictable as a family reunion, which is probably the only reason they happen so often to so many people. However, at the same time, there is nothing quite as warmly familiar, either, as watching an eclectic group of bizarrely-estranged relatives grow up and grow old together, year after year, and to be even a small part of that growth. And somewhere between the hours of Frisbee, the near endless time spent baking in the sun while trapped on a Kayak in the middle of a lake, and the screams of girl cousins being tormented by gross boy cousins, I was having an adventure.

I know what you're thinking, and you're close.

One day, as the children laughed and played without care, and the parents worried loudly at their children's carelessness, I was tasked, along with my cousin, Wesley, to fetch more ribs for dinner. As the two of us were woefully trapped somewhere between the unabashed joy of childhood and the overwhelming burden of parenthood, in the abyss of "responsible young adult", we found ourselves tasked with many things. If a picnic table needed to be moved or an errand to be run or a child to be entertained, we were volunteered against our knowledge and our will. Compliant young men to the last, though, we did what was asked of us.

To aid us in our journey to the local Wal-Mart, one of our aunts lent us her GPS, which until then, I was under the impression stood for Global Positioning System. Apparently, that is simply an approximation, much like a cell phone service that provides "nation-wide coverage." The tiny device, upon which our entire livelihood depended, managed to guide us safely to the Wal-Mart without too much confusion. Wesley and I found the ribs, paid for them, and quickly made our way back to the van, proud of our efficient "man-shopping." As we made our way back to the cabins, we discovered that our GPS had a penchant for scenic routes and trying new things. It took us past the road we normally turn down, and by the time I realized what had happened, it was too late to make the turn. Wesley assured me, though, that the GPS, whom I shall henceforth refer to as Bub, wanted us to take this roundabout journey.

Bub told us to turn down US Rte. 127, and we happily obliged. Being that we were now completely out of our element, we hung on Bub's every word. He controlled our fate, and we trusted him without question. What choice did we have? His job, his entire existence even, revolved around navigating the labyrinth of unpaved gravel that comprises the backwoods of Tennessee. Our job was just to get more ribs. Somewhere along US Rte. 127, the road forks into 127 North and 127 South. This, like so many other streets in the area, was in no way labeled or clearly defined. Thus, as we tooled down the road in search of our next turn, Bub suddenly interrupted with "Please take US 127 South." I was at a loss.

"We're on US 127, aren't we?"

Wes nodded, "I think it wants us to make a U-turn, though." So I turned the car around, and Bub assured me that the next turn would be 3.8 miles down the road. Alright, I thought, we're back on track.

Just then, not even a mile down the road, Bub chimed in, "Please take US 127 South." My forehead wrinkled at the command.

"Okay, what the crap? What does the map show?" Wes squinted at the tiny screen. There was a stuttered pause, as he fished for the words.

"There's a yellow line, a blue line, and a purple line. I have no idea which one it wants us to take."

"Please take US 127 South," Bub reconfirmed.

"WE'RE ON FREAKING US 127, YOU STUPID, SOULLESS MACHINE!"

".........................."

"Recalculating."

Finally, after several trips up and down US 127 (like our own personal NASCAR race, which I think we still lost), we were able to decipher what should have been from the beginning "please turn right." From there, Bub took us down all sorts of exotic country roads, one of which even came equipped with its very own elderly couple, putzing about in a golf cart and stealthily positioned just over a hill, so you couldn't see them until the very last possible second. Eventually, Bub guided us to the veritable swamp-country of Tennessee. Nothing but endless forest surrounding an incomprehensible maze of unlabeled, unpaved backroads.

And then Bub died.

Perhaps 'died' is too strong a word. He grew tired of searching for his satellite connection through all the thick foliage, or maybe he was just a little scared by the bucktoothed natives, who took to rocking a shotgun to sleep in the back of their pickup truck parked in the front lawn. In any case, Bub abandoned us. In the hour of our deepest need, he left us for dead. We had no idea where we were other than "Tennessee....... probably." We resorted to sheer guesswork, as that was all we had at our disposal.

"Left or right, whaddya think?"

"I dunno....... left looks good."

"Beautiful. Left it is!"

"Alright... this road looks like it could be a good one."

"Sure. Whatever this road is."

"Watch out for that dog."

"I think that's a child with a mullet, crawling on all fours."

"Should we rescue it?"

"I don't really want rabies, so... maybe we should just keep driving....... Okay, left or right?"

"Let's try right this time." This would take us in circles or deeper into the redneck abyss, and occasionally Bub would sputter to life for a few seconds, refreshing the map enough for us to inch our way closer to possible freedom. After extending a 20 minute round-trip into a good 50 minute excursion, Wes and I were grateful to finally recognize our surroundings and managed to work our way back to the cabins unassisted. Bub skittishly came back out once he saw we were safe, and we were all too keen on expressing our disappointment. It seemed to us that the one thing a GPS should not do - the cardinal sin of any such tool - is to lead its owners into the unnavigable marshlands of a given territory and leave them at the mercy of an unforgiving Nature and the unsavory locals who have inexplicably survived there.

On the plus side, though, the ribs had already defrosted by the time we got back. It was an adventure not soon to be forgotten.

And, on that note, I promise I'll try to get back to updating more often. I'm sure the move out to L.A. will foster many humorous and fantastical stories which I will undoubtedly regale to you, my oddly faithful readers. And I hope that all of your summers have yielded nothing but joy and adventure and growth and insight which will bless you for all the years to come. So until next time...

The Little Revisionist Western Kids Comedy That Could

noreply@blogger.com (Skittle_Brains) — Thu, 07 Apr 2011 18:01:00 +0000

So, a while back, my family took me out for my birthday to see the latest contender for Best Animated Film of the Year, Rango. And I have to say, I was pleasantly surprised. Confused, yes, but in a good way. You see, the film was produced by none other than Nickelodeon Movies who, as a company, are noted for making kids stuff.

Never forget.

And Rango was billed no differently - a silly kids comedy about a talking lizard who gets lost in the desert and discovers an Old West-style society of other talking animals, and they make fart jokes for the children and thinly veiled sexual innuendos for the parents who are still listening. But, dear reader, that is a lie. Whatever Nickelodeon told you about this film is a complete and utter falsity (well, no, there are still a few fart jokes). Rango is a kids comedy in much the same way Disney/PIXAR's UP was. That is to say, hardly at all. While UP lured you in with its promise of heartwarming adventure and the occasional joke, only to dehydrate your tear ducts for the other hour and a half of the film, Rango entices you with silly characters, harrowing action scenes, and the rustic charm of the American West, but it delivers so much more in the form of strong dramatic narrative and thematic existentialism threaded throughout. That is my warning to those of you who have yet to enjoy this brilliant little film: THIS IS NOT A KIDS COMEDY. This is a surprisingly dense revisionist western wrapped up in a kids comedy quesadilla. And if you're anything like me, you'll need to see it more than once.

That being said, I've only seen it the one time, but I know I missed so much because my brain was in "silly kids movie" mode for pretty much the entire time. And frankly, I think that detracted a lot from my first viewing (which I still loved), because I was constantly squirming in my seat muttering "This is all well and good, but when's the next joke?" Mind you, Rango has several genuinely hilarious moments, but they are scattered about in a forest, rife with sharp character development, piercing philosophical discourse, and a myriad of subtle (and some not-so-subtle) film references. In addition to the hefty material thrown so loosely about that is sure to gallop right over a child's head, there are also some fairly dark moments in the film which are likely to at least get a young mind asking questions, if not scarring it permanently. Probably the most notable is a beautiful, lucid, and powerful scene in which *SPOILER* Rango tries to commit suicide. Another tense moment shows one of the female characters being crushed almost to death by the main villain. *END SPOILER* It's these sort of defining moments that not only separate Rango from the scrapheap of other kids movies, but takes several steps towards separating it from the genre altogether. But, in my opinion, the filmmakers (especially writer John Logan and director Gore Verbinski) made a great choice. They risked losing the attention of the children for the sake of making a really strong film. And while that may have created a bit of a hiccup for Nickelodeon's marketing team, it certainly paid off in the end. So, if you haven't taken the opportunity to see Rango, don't worry... it's not just another cheesy kids comedy. In fact, it's anything but. Do yourself a favor and check it out; and keep your expectations high.

Also, a very (belated) Happy Birthday to my friend Sean Thorwall who requested this review!

A Series of Unfortunate Muscle Contractions

noreply@blogger.com (Skittle_Brains) — Sat, 26 Mar 2011 04:31:00 +0000

So, tonight while I was at work, I found myself rummaging through our supplies drawer in search of mints or the essence of joy or whatever. I eventually managed to find a small package of gum with a single, lonely stick remaining. Someone, in their evil genius, had torn the front of the packaging off, removing any trace or indication of what flavor the gum was. All I knew was that it was of the Trident Layers variety, which combine multiple flavors together in a taste explosion much like the exploding gum from Mission Impossible.

"And then it's all, BAM! Blue Raspberry outta nowhere."

With the green packaging, I guessed spearmint or watermelon or green apple - something along those lines. So I eagerly undressed the gum from its tempting aluminum foil and popped it into my mouth. Digging in, molars grinding away, I slowly allowed the flavors to seep into my restless taste buds. At first, there was hardly any sensation at all. As my jaw snapped up and down, and as my saliva washed across my tongue, absorbing whatever delights the gum had to offer, I was gradually overcome by a notion most foreign and unexpected. I cannot recall ever having a piece of gum I did not enjoy - at least until it faded into a flavorless ball of non-toxic sticky-tack (here's looking at you, Juicy Fruit). But this was different. It was like some sort of celery or broccoli flavored "gum". I couldn't tell if it was just a bad piece of gum, or if maybe they'd just picked bad flavors to combine. I scoured the packaging for answers, desperate to know why my mouth was committing mutiny over a seemingly innocent piece of chewing gum. Without the front label, however, hope was all but lost. Until I noticed some fine print on the back - Allergy Warning: Contains soy.

Worst. Realization. Ever.

I was furious. I mean, who the heck even gets soy-flavored gum?! What kind of sick joke was this?! I later discovered that the warning mostly likely refers to the soy lecithin which is found in a lot products, including many brands of chewing gum. Which, unfortunately, brings me back to Square 1, and whatever forsaken flavor I was maliciously tricked into chewing. At this point, I can only recommend staying away from any and all Trident Layers gum that comes in green packaging. Whatever diaper recyclery they make it in is tainted with all the evil of all the hearts of men.

Friday! Friday! A Day Which Will Live in Fun-famy! And Shame.

noreply@blogger.com (Skittle_Brains) — Tue, 15 Mar 2011 05:33:00 +0000

If you haven't already been treated to the musical, lyrical, and visual abortion that is Rebecca Black's Friday video, you simply must. I'd venture to guess that this video may someday even replace Rick Astley's Never Gonna Give You Up as the go-to hyperlink prank. But, beneath the horrifyingly inane lyrics ("Yesterday was Thursday, Thursday. Today it is Friday, Friday... Tomorrow is Saturday, and Sunday comes afterwards."), the laughably bad tween "dancing", the head-scratching video effects, and Usher's inexplicable rap cameo, there may lie motives far more sinister.

"On second thought, why don't you just take the bus."

After suffering through this musical banshee death, I had to share my misfortune. I could not be the only one to cringe under the weight of every nasally, ear-splitting "Fraieeyday". So I forced my sister, Rachel, to sit down and endure the torturous "song" as well. She, too, found Ms. Black's pronunciation of weekdays to be hellishly unpleasant. By the end of the video, Rachel was squirming in her chair, claiming that one more "Fraieeyday" and her head would explode. Completely unrelated, as she was checking updates on her phone, she noted the news of further catastrophe at the Fukushima nuclear plant in Japan, as fuel rods and reactor cores continued to fracture and explode in the wake of the cataclysmic earthquake just off the Japanese coast.

"I bet her voice is making them explode," Rachel observed, checking her ears for blood. I sat silently for a moment, a thought creeping ever closer.

"Wait a second," I said, "what day did the earthquake hit?" We both shared in the silence, a flash of realization hitting us simultaneously. Rachel stared at me, stunned.

"Oh my gosh." She grabbed her phone. "I have to look it up." We both got giddy, like little children waiting to hear if their school got closed for a snow-day. Naturally, the internet connection crawled to a near-stop. Screaming at the phone to "work better", we finally got our answer.

Yes. There it was. Just as we suspected, the earthquake happened on a Friday.

"This is it," she whispered. I nodded my agreement with a grin.

"We may have just uncovered one of the greatest conspiracies in recent history!" There was no other explanation. There was no way any self-respecting music producer (and what producer doesn't have the utmost respect for themselves?) would ever unleash such a mind-numbingly painful atrocity on the human race without fiendish reasons. Some of you may have heard of inventor and full-time madman Nikolai Tesla and his work with something called "mechanical resonant frequency". Tesla noted that every piece of matter has a particular tonal resonance, and that if you apply said tone to said matter, it starts flipping out like a ferret in a bathtub.

I think I found my meme.

He even tried to develop an earthquake machine based on the principle, a device so deviously impractical it caught the attention of Adam Savage and Jamie Hyneman of MythBusters fame. So, the theory we present to you is this: Rebecca Black's Friday was specifically designed and engineered after months of intense structural espionage in Japan, conducted under the guise of "acoustics research" for the insane producers at Ark Music Factory, the vile umbrella company responsible for numerous abominations beyond just Friday. After compiling their findings on the placement and resonant frequency of several key structures across the island, they introduced the music video into the Japanese mainstream. They slipped it under the radar as a craptastic dance anthem, something Japan is more than used to by now. As soon as the video took off, the incessant viewing caused the very foundations of the island to vibrate with a sheer intensity that rivaled the fury of supernatural combat. To put it simply, Rebecca Black, however witting or unwitting she may have been, was an instrument in what is surely but the first step in the coming Apocalypse. I hope you're happy, Rebecca.

In our quest to restore the very fabric of our sanity, we found this little gem, nestled in the cobwebbed corners of YouTube, which brings to light numerous questions like why, if Rebecca Black is still in 8th freaking grade, are her friends not only driving, but driving a $30,000 convertible? With the coming End of Times, we may never have the chance to decipher the madness of this puzzle called Friday, or solve the mysteries therein. We can, however, at least face our impending demise with some great, cheap laughs at others' expense.

A Comprehensive List of Things That Make My Day

noreply@blogger.com (Skittle_Brains) — Fri, 11 Mar 2011 02:19:00 +0000

Read the title.

Now read it again.

Read it once more!

Bwahahahaaa!

*Ahem* Let's begin....

Cotton candy
Regular candy
Mystery Science Theater 3000
Finding money in a coat pocket/parking lot/floating '?' box/etc.
Snow days
Christmas music
The following aromatic delights: freshly cut grass, gasoline, Sharpies, vanilla, pine trees, rain, new car (yes, I know it's just glue), chocolate chip cookies, burning leaves, charcoal cookouts, bakeries, rubber cement
Flippin' LEGOs
Pulp-free orange juice
Pizza - anytime, anywhere (yes, even while dangling over a pool of boiling hot lava-sharks)
Discovering a great new video game/TV show/movie/ musician
Sharing new discoveries with others, forcefully if necessary
Putting on clothes fresh from the dryer
Adorable animals doing adorable things
Picking up the next issue in a comic/manga series
Singing along with favorite songs
Giving people presents (especially without occasion)
The first day of summer vacation
A good ol' fashioned chocolate malt
Family traditions
The moment a great story idea pops in your head
Spending the day with friends
Crawling into bed at the end of an exhausting day/week
Midnight showings of anticipated movies
Pay day
3D sidewalk chalk art
The feeling of God at work in my life
Sitting around a campfire
S'mores and hot cocoa on a cold winter's night
Jonah Hill (I don't know what it is about that kid - always cracks me up)
Being able to help people when they need it
Giant explosions
Epic martial arts battles
Fresh, grilled pineapple (*droooool*)
Getting packages in the mail
Afros
Laughing so hard it hurts
Jazz in the park on a warm summer's eve
"Coming soon from Disney Studios and Pixar Animation..." (speaking of which)
Running into an old friend you haven't seen in ages
'Coonskin caps
Finding love in unexpected ways
Getting dressed up all fancy-like
Acing something you were convinced you failed
Flipbooks
Mother. Loving. BACON. Mmmhmmmm.
A clear night sky filled with stars
Sketching something that doesn't suck
Making up tunes on the piano
Sunday drives on country roads with the windows down and the music blaring
Useless trivia
Sleeping in
Reading that last line of a great story
Writing that last line of a great story
Physical comedy (nothing like a good faceplant)
Refreshing showers after long, hot days
Listening to a song that speaks to where you are in life
Getting a good haircut
Having someone recognize and appreciate your hard work
Finally solving a difficult puzzle
Starting a trend
Rubber bands
Flying
Getting a compliment
Finding new things that you're good at
A round of golf with good friends on a quiet, warm evening
Poignant sayings
Seeing justice served
Waterbeds (not sleeping on them, mind you - they're just fun to slosh around on)
Fun words, like "cantankerous", "foible", "avuncular", or "hornswoggled" (or "Fransisco" for you Elf fans out there)
The American West
Surviving a hardship to see the betterment beyond
Thanksgiving at Grandma's
The 3 JB's - Jack Bauer, James Bond, and Jason Bourne (Justin Bieber can burn for his treason)
A rush of adrenaline
Squishing wet sand between your toes
Shooting off fireworks and model rockets
John Williams and his awesomeness
Virtually anything and everything filmed with a high-speed camera (Discovery Channel's Time Warp is my crack)
Watching lightning bugs on a cool summer night
A good exchange of witty humor
Netflix Instant Queue
Warm, comfy slippers
Falling asleep to thunderstorms
Dogs
Dennis Haysbert's voice
Cool magic tricks or illusions
The Medieval era
Bowling (despite the fact that I suck at it)
Having an awesome older sister
Tax rebates
Road trips
Top hats and monocles
The general absence of whales from my daily existence

And if I ever get bored, you may be treated to my "Comprehensive List of Things That Deserve Lists". Let's hope it doesn't come to that. In the meantime, what are some of your favorite things? What can you always rely on to bring a smile to your face, a spring to your step, and a warm, fuzzy feeling to your heart?

A Comprehensive List of Things That Freaking Creep Me Out

noreply@blogger.com (Skittle_Brains) — Thu, 03 Mar 2011 00:05:00 +0000

Read the title. You're good to go.

Whales
Overly-pronounced Adam's apples
Green skies
Cigarette smoking holes in necks
Most insects (especially ones that fly)
Spiders / Tarantulas
Rotting teeth (while still in a mouth)
Bizarre coincidences
Flickering lights
Anything touching my eyeball . . . ever
Really limp and/or moist handshakes
Orange skinned people
Protruding ribcages
Holding live fish
Dangling boogers
When people snort up dangling boogers
Uvulas
Effing whales
Women with those little peach-fuzz mustaches
Recumbent bicyles
Moles on faces
Hairy moles anywhere
Contortionists
Everything from the F.E.A.R. games
People with hooked or bird-like noses
Used Band-Aids
Clowns
Mimes
Sharp things near my neck, wrists, or Achilles heels
Old people in Spandex
Bats
All-white or really faded eyes (like from blindness)
Repeated calls from numbers I don't recognize
Even the concept of male catheters
The inside of empty barn silos (I think it's just from the vertigo - so maybe that then)
Tentacled beings
Unnaturally crooked fingers or toes (naturally crooked = bent or curled, like a fist or something)
The sound of old people in diapers
Whales. For serious.
Tapeworms
Completely white, empty rooms - especially ones without any sense of dimension
Decomposing corpses of animals or people
People who don't understand personal space (If I wanted your knee or elbow touching mine, I'd have asked you)
Frickin' this guy
Hoarders
Dead silence
Hairless cats
People who constantly rub/massage their hands
Fat, sweaty hugs
Scarecrow silhouettes
Lasik surgery
Maggots and their various larval counterparts
Butt chins
KKK clansmen
People who stare
Bug-Out Bob (I know, right? It has a name?)
That horrible screeching sound our shower head makes every time you use it
Cannibalism
When water coolers randomly bubble up
The current state of the American educational system (ZING!)
Terminal illnesses
Crazy hobos
Crazy people in general
Super-huge gauge earrings
Tribal nose piercings that consist of anything larger that a small ring
Molted skins
Live-action babies or animals that are CGI'd to talk
Westboro Baptist Church
Double-jointed or "hypermobile" knee caps
The side-effects of most prescription medications ("Rectal seepage"? "Bloody discharge"? "DROWSINESS"?!!)
S&M (not the Metallica album)
Androids (the whole Uncanny Valley thing)
Cirque du Soleil
The Occult
Harelips
Having my identity stolen
Amblyopia (lazy eye)
Cat ladies
People who put clothes/accessories on their pets
Animals with one or more missing limbs
People who always have little strands of spit stuck between their lips when they talk
That wood carving of a gazelle I got in South Dakota like, a decade ago
The unmistakable scent of the elderly: Spearmint, nicotine, and death
Having the wind knocked out of you (or otherwise being unable to breathe)
Grown men with high voices
Channels that are nothing but static
Fake boobs
Mammalian births
Having a heart murmur
Dizzying heights
Drowning
The women of the Red Hat Society
Limbless or headless mannequins
Colonoscopies
Angler fish
Overly-muscular people (especially when their veins are popping out everywhere)

This is okay.

These people are insane and should be quarantined.

Oh, and before I forget, <whispers> whaaaaaales

Disclaimer: I would just like to clarify that I am not necessarily afraid of all these things or people - some of them perhaps, but most are just eerie or weird or give me the jibblies. They are, at the least, those which can unsettle my nerves in some fashion or another. Also, I tried to keep it to things that actually exist, otherwise the list would have been unmanageably long. Finally, this list was not meant to offend anyone, so if you find yourself fitting one or more of these categories (e.g., Tentacled beings, Used Band-Aids, or Effing whales), then let me assure you, it is your condition or state of being that disturbs me, not necessarily your personality or the elements of yourself that truly define who you are. Unless you're a mime, in which case, get your grubby, gloved hands away from me.

Okay, now it's your turn! What are some of the things this world has to offer that send chills down your spine? It's okay if it's something I already mentioned. Don't be shy! And now, enjoy my counter-article, "A Comprehensive List of Things That Make My Day".

Speak Now or Become a Zombie: Guest Post From the Future!

noreply@blogger.com (Skittle_Brains) — Fri, 25 Feb 2011 21:01:00 +0000

So, since I'm way not cool or special enough to have a real person waste their time writing a guest post yet, I decided to ask my future self to write one for me. Unfortunately, by that point, I had become too cool and special (and douchey, apparently), and I refused to help "present me" in any way, shape, or form. But I put myself in touch with another dude from the future, Dennis. He was nice enough to give me some of the details about how fresh the future is, as well as some of the horrors that await us as a species...

Heeeeeeyyyyyyyy!!! What's bubblin' dudes and dudettes? So, I'm Dennis, and I'm writin' to you geeks and freaks from 2037. Your friend, Adam, is gonna be turning 49 soon. His surprise b-day party is being held at Leapin' Lizards I think (yeah, they're still around), so shhh. Now, I'm sure you're all probably wondering about the big questions like "who became President?", "who wins the Super Bowl?", "are there flying cars?", and "when do they revive Walt Disney's corpse and establish the Fourth Reich?" All legitimate questions, but I think there are several, more important issues you may also be interested in along the way. Probably the biggest happening in the past few decades (aside from the Bacon Shortage of 2025, which I'll get to shortly) was the Zombie Wars. I know we all joked about it as kids; maybe some of us actually dreamed of the day we would fight back wave after wave of the undead with nothing more than a shotgun, a Beretta, and a blood-soaked machete. Well, you will get your wish, fair citizen, and so much more.

In 2018 (oh, yeah, that Mayan calendar thing was shikkins [crap], btw!), the Zombie Virus (aka Axiom 4) was discovered when every STD and HIV on planet Earth converged on a single human being. It was one of the Jonas Brothers, I don't remember which. He was patient zero, though. And damn did it spread. The outbreaks seemed random and were super hard to contain. A number of states reestablished their militias, and Texas even initiated a state-wide policy of "shoot on suspicion" that, cruel as it may sound, actually saved a considerable amount of lives, especially in the early months of the War. There's actually a really famous, profound, intense, and soberingly beautiful photograph taken toward the end of the first year of fighting. We've got some new file types these days, so hopefully all my pictures translate backwards.

Always gets me choked up.

Anywho, the Zombie Wars stretched on for five years until the last remaining undead were either killed or captured for museum exhibits. Now, this particular strain of the Axiom virus infected a lot of animals, but oddly enough, pigs were immune - (as a side note, I can say from personal experience that zombie whales breaking the surface to devour boats full of people is about the creepiest freaking thing I've ever seen). In any case, pigs became a new staple food, and Jewish people ended up investing a lot in bread. Not only did ham, pork, sausage, and bacon become everyday meals, but pigs proved to be the perfect distractions for hungry zombie hordes should one need to escape. Unfortunately, by 2025, pigs were all but extinct and their most important and delicious byproduct, bacon, with them. And so, the Bacon Shortage swept across almost every continent (turns out penguins weren't much into pigs to begin with), and Jewish bread stocks became vital stops on every post-apocalyptic vacation.

Here's me and my sister at just such a bread stock. Pretty ritzy.

We've obviously rebuilt society since, and people are more-or-less flourishing again. A number of forward-thinking folks saved some of their livestock in fallout shelters and waited out the zombie storm with them, so we've been slowly repopulating what animals we can. Hamburgers are still a bit of a rarity, but they're making a comeback. As far as other notable events, the Cubs actually win the World Series in 2033; Vice President Bieber was assassinated 8 separate and simultaneous times at his inauguration (2 snipers, 1 hand grenade, 2 different ninja stars, 1 jetpack kamikaze, 1 bomb under the stage, and some guy who actually brought a harpoon gun.); Tim Burton and Johnny Depp got married briefly (bromance or not, it was still a celebrity marriage); Lady Gaga went back to playing piano jazz; North Korea converted to Catholicism; Walt Disney's corpse was reanimated, but all he really wanted to do was pilot a steamboat (*shrug*); and Lucas finally made Episodes 7, 8, and 9, finishing just a few months before his zombification. They actually weren't bad.

I'd offer more practical advice, but I'm pretty sure there were only, like, ~~twelve~~ [thousands of] people who ever visited this site. There's really not a whole lot else I can say about the future (it sounds weird calling it that, but whatevs). We had a brief stint with a few flying car models, but the parking construction industry was slow to catch up, and there were a number of incidents with cars lazily parked in 30th-story office windows.

Like so.

Zombie-based video games are the new WWII shooters. There have been 6 Call of Duty: Undead titles alone. Companies around the world are cashing in on the Z-craze. Even Jelly Belly got in on the action, with a gross-out line of "brains", "human flesh", and "blood" flavored jelly beans. And just when we thought the vampire fad was finally dying out. Oh, and speaking of candy, eat all the chocolate you can, while you can. Don't ask why. Just do it. You'll thank me later. Okay, kiddies. I think that about wraps things up for me! I've gotta get back to making love to my hot robot wife! Hahaha, just foolin'.

She's not programmed to love.

Madison and Back Again: A Sibling's Tale

noreply@blogger.com (Skittle_Brains) — Sun, 20 Feb 2011 21:54:00 +0000

So, last night, my sister and I drove up to Madison, WI to see Marc Broussard live (as in, "play in person", not "watch him eat breakfast and go about his day"). We were a bit wary, as the venue was about a block away from the Wisconsin capitol building, which was, that very day, playing host to some 40,000 various protesters from both the pro-worker unions and the Tea Party. Thankfully, by the time we got there, only a handful of the protesters remained, and the city had quieted down to its (presumably) normal state of "hipster invasion". Beards, flannel, and ironically un-ironic hats were inescapable. And they naturally congregated to the Majestic Theatre for Broussard's soulful crooning, along with some really obnoxious business dudes (who, as luck would have it, stood right behind us); some drunk married women who wanted nothing more than to flaunt the last remains of their waning sexuality to a crowd of uninterested music snobs; and that one creepy, old, balding (though still rockin' a ponytail!) guy in the front corner who kept having rhythmic seizures to every song.

"It's okay! He's just dancing!"

Despite having the absolute worst people at the concert standing behind us the entire time, whistling at ear-splitting levels, drunkenly singing along (and ad-libbing their own parts), and constantly bumping into us, the awesomeness of the music overrode any and all douchiness. Even the fact that there were only about 15 seats available, and the rest of us were stuck standing shoulder-to-shoulder on slightly uneven cement for the entire 3 hours of the concert didn't matter. Now, for those of you who have been keeping up with this blog, you've already heard my spiel on Mr. Broussard, so I won't bore you with details; suffices to say he was amazing and fun and seems like a really cool guy. I got a chance to meet one of the opening acts, Daniel and the Lion, and they were also super cool guys, with super good music. Other than that, Madison was cold, parking was surprisingly simple, and the beer was reasonably overpriced.

The concert ended a little after midnight, and Rachel and I still had a near 2½ hour drive home looming ahead of us. I took a couple of wrong turns that lost us several minutes, and we discovered that while the drive up to Madison was pretty bare-bones in terms of civilization, the drive back down at 1:00 in the morning was just plain desolate. Being the only person for miles on a long stretch of 4-lane freeway kinda gives off a creepy, I Am Legend vibe. Also, there's absolutely nothing between Madison and Lake Geneva. By 1:30 or so, our stomachs were starting to scratch and claw like wet ferrets.

The Wrath of God, incarnate.

Sadly, there were no McDonald's, no 24-hour convenience stores, no anything. We were half-tempted to bang on some dairy farmer's door and beg for some cheese and bread like little street orphans. It got to the point where we were turning every road name into some type of food, from Tamarack-of-lamb Drive to Flap-Jackson Ave. Finally, we spotted a set of golden arches cresting over the horizon. Seriously. We spotted it from, like, a mile away. Not only because our food-starved brains were kicking into survival mode, but also because it was the only visible light in the sky. At all. Overjoyed at the prospect of food, we pulled in and placed our order. Oddly, there were 3 other people in line with us. At 1:45am. And there was only one poor girl working there that night, having to ring up and prepare all of our orders. We honestly felt bad for the girl, but she was incredibly nice and friendly about it, and we really just wanted our food. We probably waited a good 10-15 minutes in line (at a McDonald's, mind you) before we finally got our food, and by that point, we were gnawing on our seat belts to keep the wet ferrets at bay. We parked and devoured our frozen, pre-packaged, deep-fried sustenance, and mocked the poorly designed strip mall next door. While the signage and layout were baffling, the most bizarre shop consisted either of some New Age tanning techniques or the most pampered coffee beans known to man.

???

As we finished our meals, in an event both hilarious and harrowing, Rachel discovered that there were pickles on her cheeseburgers, which I had specifically asked the kind lady at the drive-thru not to include, as Rachel despises even the concept of pickles.

They're watching you. Always watching....

From there, it was another wrong turn and a mile or so on some random back road. From there, we managed to get on to the freeway again, with almost an hour still to go. We entertained ourselves by mocking Wisconsin, talking about The Sims, listening to the new CD I'd bought at the concert, mourning the bankruptcy of Giordano's, mocking Wisconsin, talking about Lord of the Rings, making fun of my music listening habits (I tend to put a few current favorites on repeat ad nauseum), discussing the finer points of alcohol, and maybe mocking Wisconsin once or twice.

Our grand and epic journey came to its bittersweet end upon our arrival home around 3:00, dog-tired (or maybe in Rachel's case, cat-nappy) but wholeheartedly contented. And though the adventure has come and passed, it will live on forever in our hearts and minds, and in the annals of history scribed here, for all to see from this world to the next.

Except for you, Wisconsin... you don't get to read this.

Sleepin' Late on a Saturday: Discovering Marc Broussard

noreply@blogger.com (Skittle_Brains) — Sun, 13 Feb 2011 22:19:00 +0000

First, let me say I'm a little frustrated by this month's Musical Discovery, Marc Broussard. And you wouldn't like me when I'm frustrated.

That's your hypothetical computer, by the way, not mine.

Here's why: it is dang near impossible to find any (legal) quality recordings of this guy's music anywhere. Pretty much all the YouTube videos of him were recorded on cell phones or worse. He's only released a couple official music videos, and his fans seem to think that sharing his genius with the rest of the world is nothing short of a felony.

Pictured: The only thing worse than a cell phone video recording.

So, I'm going to apologize right here and now, because while I did eventually find a free, legal collection of all of his full songs (not just samples), it comes at a great cost. It means revisiting memories. Old memories. Maybe painful memories. It means hearkening back to the awkward days of our youth. It means broken promises and broken hearts. It means summoning every last drop of willpower and resolution under the sun. It means sacrifice. It means going back to MySpace. I know what it is that I ask of you, but please, bear with me as we suffer through this together. My hope is that the musical benefits here will far outweigh the personal cost. So plug your nose, hold your breath, close your eyes, and let's dive in...

First, before our tour-de-force begins, a little history on the man and his music. On January 14, 1982, in a quiet Louisiana town called Carencro, a tiny Marc Broussard popped out into the world, covered in placenta and presumably crooning about losing his house and still being legally blind.

"I ain't got no friends but my dusty ol' six-string."

Born to Louisiana Hall of Fame guitarist, Ted Broussard and a woman whose name has been forever lost to the unforgiving abyss of Time (to be fair, I didn't look that hard), little Marc was surrounded by great Cajun food and intense, soulful music from the beginning. Raised in such an enviable environment, it's no surprise that Marc followed in his father's footsteps and took up writing powerful songs that speak to the Bayou in all of us. However, his music can be difficult to classify at times. There's definitely a strong theme of Delta blues woven through much of it, but there are elements of Americana folk, R&B, and funk ribboned across there, as well. It's this musical identity crisis that I think both helps and hurts Broussard over the course of his four album releases. While the variety certainly keeps his music fresh and sets it apart from the standard, repetitive blues fare, it can (at times) feel disjointed and confusing.

His debut record, Momentary Setback, is a prime example of this. Although the album is rife with wonderful songs, they're all over the place. It jerks back and forth between folksy affairs like Wanderer, soulful ballads such as Jeremiah's Prayer, and funky grooves like Blue Jeans. There doesn't seem to be much, if any, rhyme or reason as to the ordering of the songs, either. It's like the producer chewed up little bits of Bob Dylan, Harry Nilsson, and Seal, then just barfed up a rainbow combination onto a Ouija board and made his decisions from there.

[I, uh.... don't think I have a picture for that. -Ed.]

His sophomore effort, Carencro (yes, named after his hometown), is by far his best, and I'm saving that for last. His third album, S.O.S.: Save Our Souls, is more refined, letting Marc explore his R&B side in full force. Now, granted, he doesn't exactly have Isaac Hayes' voice going on here. I mean, look at him.

White Chocolate

However, S.O.S. isn't as embarrassing as one might imagine. From slow, beautiful groove ballads like Come In From the Cold, to (semi-awkward) funks like Love and Happiness, and even Motown throwbacks such as If I Could Build My Whole World Around You, the love-and-love-lost croonings on this album feel more collective. Sadly, they lack much of the near-tangible soulfulness that overflowed from Broussard's first two records. And, as I mentioned before, he just doesn't have the smooth, silky voice to melt hearts by the fireside.

Marc's fourth and latest album, Keep Coming Back, wisely turned its focus back to Broussard's folksy, Louisiana roots. Ultimately, the songs performed here feel the most mature. The style and variety is more refined than Momentary Setback or Carencro, and the arrangement eases you through the album. Unfortunately, it's almost a little too mature. Broussard seemed to have trouble regaining that soulful youth from years gone by, and the songs just seem to run a little flat. Sure, he's got featured singers like LeAnn Rimes and Sara Bareilles, but that almost comes off as a compensation of sorts. Now, maybe that isn't entirely fair. It's easy to tell that Marc's having a lot of fun on this album, and maybe that's all he wanted: a fun record for lazy summer evenings. And that's okay by me.

Everyone loves lazy summer evenings.

I didn't link to a lot of songs from Keep Coming Back, because frankly, there aren't that many notable tracks, and because I'm anxious to get on to our best and final album, Carencro. Broussard's second studio release, this powerhouse of soulful blues, blueful soul, and funky funk crashes into the ear canals like giant vanilla ice cream siege weapons into a flourishing apple pie castle. That is, in the best and most delicious way possible.

[Seriously. What am I supposed to do with this crap? -Ed.]

I mean, when you start off with a song like Home, so deeply seeded in its Delta blues origins and just so dang fun, it's pretty hard to go wrong. In fact, Broussard just goes on from there, pushing his singing and songwriting to its limits, and pouring his heart and soul and voice into every track. Every piece of Marc's best is on display here: heartfelt love-grooves like Come Around, The Beauty of Who You Are, and Rocksteady; all-American, drive-with-the-top-down folk-rock anthems like Where You Are and Save Me; funktastic awesomeness like Saturday, soul-stirring blues offerings such as Lonely Night In Georgia and (one of my personal favorites) Let Me Leave, touching ballads like Hope For Me Yet, and a beautiful acoustic tribute to his son in Gavin's Song. Now, if that hasn't satisfied your musical palette for the day, then you should hire Mr. Broussard to write a blues song for you, because that's just sad.

And on that note (pun possibly intended), I think it's about time to wrap things up here. I hope you enjoyed this month's Musical Discovery, and may I offer as a teaser, a glimpse at next month's artist...

HUZZAH!

Happy Valentine's Day to all you fellow single people out there! May Cupid's arrows miss all your vital organs and arteries!

5 Life Lessons From an Altruistic Aussie

noreply@blogger.com (Skittle_Brains) — Thu, 03 Feb 2011 08:54:00 +0000

Now, I'm not much of a cooking show kinda guy, but every now and again I'll find one that intrigues me enough to bring me back for seconds (see what I did there?). Now, since my culinary experience mostly amounts to taking things out of their packaging and, if need be, microwaving them, I don't really like super-serious, ultra-complex shows; in fact, I personally think that the host is just as important as the food, if not more so. You might think I'd thus go for attractive female cooks like Rachel Ray, but you'd be wrong. See, the problem with Rachel Ray and her saucy (did it again!) counterparts, is that the woman is more delicious looking than the food. And, unfortunately, I can't make one of her at home with a few simple ingredients and a little elbow grease.

She comes pre-heated.

So, with the recent blizzard here in the Chicago area (well, all over the place, really), everyone's been snowed in, and I've spent some quality time on the Netflix Watch Instantly page, surfing for some good, lite TV to gorge myself on. I stumbled upon a show called Take Home Chef starring a charming Aussie named Curtis Stone. It's been a lot of fun, and I've picked up a few interesting life lessons to complement all the cooking advice that's gone in one ear and out the other...

5. The Accent is Key ~ First and foremost, I've learned that women will do just about anything for a man with a sexy accent, and as Hollywood has taught us, nothing is sexier in the States than the Australian accent. Pair that with a ruggedly handsome physique, and you've got a heart-melting combination that us "regular" guys just can't compete with.

"Don't even botha, mate."

Alright, so here's the premise of the show, for those of you who aren't familiar, or who just swooned yourself into amnesia: That dude up there (Agh, did I mention he surfs, too? Freaking. Un. Fair.) wanders through various supermarkets in the L.A. area and looks for shoppers (typically lone females), then essentially ambushes them and offers to plan, buy, and cook a gourmet meal for them and their loved ones. Now, to their credit, many of the women start off a little skeptical, and I'm sure there's a good chunk of unseen footage of ladies turning down his "offers"; but there are also over 100 episodes of women who just straight-up agree (some quite eagerly) to take this strange man and his camera crew back to their place on the bare assumption that he's actually there to cook.

This (probably) wouldn't work for any ol' schmuck with a couple of friends and a camcorder in the frozen foods section at Wal-mart. Most of us can't simply approach random women and expect them to take us and our camera-wielding buddies back to their place just because we promised to share some wine and "cook" them a "meal".

"Yeah yeah. Free-range beer. Organic Twinkies. All that crap."

The most definitive conclusion is the lack of suave vocal chords. Well, and the fact that most of us aren't world-renowned chefs capable of exquisite, exotic, and elegant home-cooked meals. But still... it's easier to blame the accent.

4. Measuring is For Chumps ~ This show will not appeal to the perfectionist in anyone. Curtis has a very... carefree method of cooking, which I think works well with his upbeat personality and the spontaneity of his show. Rarely does he use measuring cups, opting more often to just kind of eyeball his ingredients. A pinch of this, a dash of those, a blind drizzling of that - the essence of whatever he may be feeling at the moment.

"The recipe calls for exactly 2 ½ 'whatevers' of this."

The man scoffs in the face of precision, and instead follows the instincts he's honed working as a gourmet chef over the past decade or so. Honestly, I have to admire Curtis here, not only for being bold and adventurous in his culinary escapades, but for his ability to think on his feet. He meets people in the grocery store, grills them about their families' favorite foods, and then comes up with fantastic multi-course meals based on their dietary preferences (and restrictions). His improv cooking skills and near-encyclopedic knowledge of food and recipes are nothing short of impressive. And, while his approach may not fit everyone's taste, and certainly not everyone's profession, the underlying theme of "do what you love and follow your heart" is a good one to keep, no matter who you are.

"Oooh, how about we spice things up and do 800cc's today, huh? Whaddya say? Let's follow our hearts!"

3. Learning Can Be Fun ~ I know it's corny and you've heard it a million times, but I truly believe that if the teacher is a proper fit, any subject can be engaging. I think, deep down, we all have a thirst for knowledge, and we all love to impress our friends with those interesting little tidbits, techniques, and trivia that we learn throughout life. You just need an instructor with the right mix of funny, fascinating, talented, knowledgeable, and crazy. Once you have our attention, our brains become little sponges.

BIOMOLECULAR NANOSTRUCTURING!!

And Curtis does such a wonderful job keeping the atmosphere of his show fresh and lively - always interacting with his guests; always quipping jokes; and always presenting his food, his techniques, and his smile for the people watching at home. Now, you might think that the formula would get stale after a while, but I've found that the variety of dishes and the assortment of characters he meets at the supermarket, along with his constant, bubbly nature, are more than enough to keep the show new and exciting with every episode.

Breaking & entering always makes for good entertainment.

Also, I think one of the best qualities in a teacher is the ability and willingness to learn from his or her students, and Curtis has just that. While his grasp on the culinary arts is incredibly firm, Stone occasionally runs across a generational technique or a family recipe (like meatloaf) that he's never encountered before, and he's always eager to see what other people have to offer and to add new discoveries to his ever-growing palette of cuisinery (?).

2. Senses Make the World Go 'Round ~ One of the things Curtis stresses throughout the show is the engagement of all the senses. Naturally, taste is going to be the primary concern in a cooking show, but he focuses a lot on all the other senses, as well. Aroma, both in cooking and choosing different foods, herbs, and spices. Sight, in the preparation and presentation of the meals. Sound, in the testing and cooking of certain products (listen for the 'sizzle' of this, or the 'snap' of that). And touch, when mixing and preparing his meals - Curtis is a big supporter of mushing and mixing things by hand when the opportunity arises.

Throughout his show, Stone will encourage his guest(s) for the episode to get their hands dirty and really interact with the food they're preparing, allowing the meal to stretch beyond our regular reactions of "wow, Nancy, that smells divine" or "holy cow, this tastes like skunk vomit, Steve" and into the realm of full sensory perception (perhaps someday, extra sensory perception of food will be possible). The food becomes more than just sustenance... it becomes a life experience.

"Seriously, Steve... how did you mess up cereal?"

1. Everything Has Value ~ Curtis Stone is a bit like the Native Americans, making use of every part of the proverbial bison. While he's not making cloaks from skin or drinking blood and eating testicles for transitive properties, Curtis does make great use of every ingredient and byproduct in the kitchen. See all that crispy garbage fused to the bottom of the pan? Think it's the unusable, charred remains of your attempted meal? Nonsense! Just douse it in a little white wine, toss in some parsnip and ginger, let it boil for a bit and voila! Now you've cleaned up your pan and made a fabulous steak sauce with all those leftover flavors! It's one of the reasons Curtis always insists on using only the finest ingredients (something his parents obviously did when they made him) - there's more flavor to go around. The man's a bit of a self-contained recycling center. Give him a handful of table scraps and watch him turn it into a 5-course meal.

"I scraped a few dog turds off the shoes in your dumpster, mate. Now it's a luscious fruit salad!"

Admittedly, it's one of the cooler parts of the show, watching Curtis turn ordinary ingredients into a variety of extraordinary, unexpected treats. If I were a better man, I would have learned a thing or two about food along the way.

But don't let the chance pass you up! If you want to learn (or just sit back and observe) some astounding cooking skills, and you're a supporter of fun, check out an episode of Take Home Chef and let Curtis Stone teach you about eating - and living - to the fullest.

Johnny Winter: Musical Discovery of the Month

noreply@blogger.com (Skittle_Brains) — Thu, 27 Jan 2011 06:25:00 +0000

I will be the first to admit that I am nowhere close to a music "aficionado". I love music, and am a firm believer in the idea that life should be more musical, whether that entails more song-and-dance numbers or epic scores to accompany everyday life. I mean, come on... who doesn't want Clint Mansell's "Requiem for a Dream" playing every time they open a stubborn jar of pickles or bike to the 7-11? However, despite my appreciation and adoration for the art, I cannot truthfully claim that I am some encyclopedic buff with a sweeping knowledge that covers the entire scope of musical history. I have the various bands that I enjoy, and that's about it. I don't go digging under rocks for those treasures buried in the windswept sands of forgotten time. I don't hang out at local underground bars in hopes of discovering the next "indie" phenom. I do, however, have access to programs like Rhapsody and, more recently, Pandora, and they're helping to open up my world musically, allowing me to freely explore as many different artists and genres as my heart desires.

And so, I thought it might be fun to share this journey with you guys, posting a new "Musical Discovery of the Month" every, well... month. Hopefully, you might be able to find a few new favorites here, too. So, without any further adieu, I'd like to introduce my first ever DiscoMo (????).

Ladies and gentlemen...... Mr. Johnny Winter!

"Sup."

Now, don't let that picture deceive you. In most of the photographs I found of Winter, he was lucky to be wearing pants, never mind a frickin' tuxedo. But that's (mostly) beside the point. The point is that Johnny Winter up there knew he could pull off the formal-wear look despite his previous history with tuxedos probably amounting to no more than waterballooning the kids coming out of prom. Little Johnny and his brother, Edgar, were born and raised in Texas, and their parents encouraged them to pursue their musical inclinations even at an early age. So what makes Johnny Winter special? Well, for starters, skill.

In the age of auto-tune and digitally mixed beats, Winter (who still performs to this day) brings natural talent to the forefront with his wicked blues guitar, and isn't shy about highlighting his fellow musicians, either, letting bass and drum solos rock out on songs like "Sen-sa-shun" (one of my new favorites). Other notably fun songs include "Love Song To Me", which is a pretty self-explanatory indulgence that simply cannot take itself seriously (which is for the best, really), and "Pick Up On My Mojo", which adds a little funk and rhythm to the death-beaten blues formula. Even the mellower tunes, like "Stranger" or "Blue Mood" break away from some of the conventional trappings of blues music. I personally think Winter's shining moments though, like his counterpart, Stevie Ray Vaughan, are when he's blistering his fingers wailing on the guitar. The man can absolutely hold his own when it comes to abusing guitars and blowing minds. Not to mention he has a sort of "white Louis Armstrong" thing going on when he sings, all gravely and gorgeous. All this, and the dude's older than Gandalf. And Gandalf had freaking magic.

Who needs magic when you've got STAR DECALS! Wheeee!!

Also, he and his brother are both albinos, so, you know... that's pretty baller.

In any case, if you get a chance, and you're a fan of hard-rocking Texas blues, I would definitely recommend giving ol' Johnny a listen. Granted, I've still got quite a bit of listening to do myself, but so far, I'm enjoying every note.

Well, that's about it for this issue. I'll try to drum up some sort of template for these so that I'll have a better selection of topics and (hopefully) more to say next time. Tune in next month for some (maybe) fresh talent!

A Stroll Through the Cr(app) Store

noreply@blogger.com (Skittle_Brains) — Tue, 25 Jan 2011 08:00:00 +0000

I was searching through the App Store on my iPod recently and accidentally found this little gem tucked away in a corner. If you visit the link and click "more" under the Description section, you'll see this flight reference app is "useful for passengers and pilot" and can even be used "during flight to learn more about turbulence and ash clouds". Now, I don't know about you, but if I'm suspended in a moderately uncomfortable chair 35,000 feet above Nowhere, USA, I don't want my pilot referencing a $1.99 app on his phone to learn more about freaking anything.

A rough estimate of Nowhere, USA.

In light of this, I've decided to go in search of a few more apps that may have sounded great on paper, but kind of blow chunks on Retina Display. They may be crisp, clear, vibrantly detailed chunks, but they're chunks nonetheless.

- What's Valentine [sic] Day?: That's the bare-all question this app dares to shout from the rooftops. And I mean, really... deep down, haven't we all wondered to ourselves at some point between scribbling on the wall with crayons and trying to eat the gold-colored foil that covers those chocolate coins, what is Valentine Day? Well, this bluntly-named app aims to answer just that. With supposed "facts" about the origins of the single community's least-favorite holiday, all of which seem to be available for free in the product description (and most of which were probably yoinked from Wikipedia's eerily in-depth article), this app is really kind of a waste of 99¢ and- NO! WAIT! There's more! The app also offers "All Types of Famous Quotes" presumably relating to romance and Valentine's Day and such, though the categories listed don't necessarily reflect that (who could resist waking up to all those "Motivative" quotes?). Other than that, this app's only claim is that it has user-friendly navigation, which is the DVD equivalent of boasting about your "interactive menus".

Whoopdee-freakin-doo.

Also, this isn't really a "year-round" or even "seasonal" app, so much as a "that one time your drunk friend, Steve, asks you about Valentine's Day" app. There's really only so much mileage you can get out of a cr(app)fest like this. Though, to be fair in all this, the app was designed by some guy (?) named Dhaval Panchal, and according to
his (?) Facebook, he (?) looks like this:

So, you know... take that for what you will. To be even more fair, there were a surprising number of "Valentine Day" apps. To be fairest of them all, um.... I don't know. I just had to get that Snow White reference out of my system.

- LunchBag: According to the app's description, LunchBag was created by a 12-year-old boy. And you know what? I'm sort of inclined to believe them. No offense to the little tyke, but this app is for idiots. Granted, the world is full of them, but why cater to such a crowd? Some may say "because fools and their money are easily parted", to which I say "this is a free app". As well it should be. If you're too stupid to figure out how to pack a sandwich, some fruit, a little bag of chips, and a couple of Oreos into a paper bag and hand it to someone with a juice box or a thermos of coffee, you should not be allowed into the "Paid Apps" section of the store.

"Honey, I'm late for work. Can we just- what is this, egg salad?!"

Now, the app is supposed to help people figure out what to put in their loved ones' lunches by giving them an assortment of pre-packaged ideas. Unfortunately, the app doesn't magic (or even science) food into your refrigerator, and thus, you're really not much better off than when you started this whole lunch-making nightmare. And frankly, by the time you've finished flipping through the 100+ possible menus, staring at the drool-stained screen like a lobotomized chimp, Billy's already missed the school bus and your husband just decided "Screw it, I'll drive through Arby's or something."

- Can Crusher: This $1.99 app is meant to be both an entertaining game and an educational tool, a combination which rarely succeeds in any form. And from the looks of this app, I can't imagine it's broken any remarkable ground on that front. The idea is that you crush aluminum cans on the screen, as many as you can manage in the allotted time. At the end, the game tallies up how many cans you crushed and informs you how much you would save if you recycled that many cans. Now, one problem I see right off the bat is that pretty much every state offers a different amount in return for recyclables like aluminum cans or cardboard boxes, so unless you can specify your exact location (and I'd be willing to bet that $1.99 that you can't), the game is most likely lying to you. Second, why would you pay good money to waste your time playing this game when you could be taking your stupid cans to the nearest recycling center and getting paid good money, the correct amount of which you could access easily and for free on the center's website or via phone call.

They're just gonna make giant forts and paintball mazes out of them anyway.

Plus, if crushing and recycling cans sounds mundane and tedious in real life, I can't imagine it's all that much more exciting in "tappity-tap-tap-dang-now-my-screen-is-all-smudgy" form, either.

- Effective Money Making Ideas: I'm sure there are a million and one get-rich-quick apps, as this is prime real estate for the washed-out Business majors who got their Associates Degree in "Douchebaggery". However, I didn't really feel like sifting through all of them, and this one looked sketchy enough to work. First off, there's the vague name. Vague enough to trick an elite group of people (young enough to own an app-capable device, yet old enough to fall for pyramid schemes and Nigerian bank scams) into thinking this may be worthwhile. Heck just watch the description run circles, chasing after its own tail while trying desperately to not look retarded.

"One of the biggest concerns of many people who have been working in a job for a very long time is to find a way that they can use to retire early. But at the same time they wonder how to retire early without having to work in a job for a very long time."

Yeah. Duh. That's what 'retiring early' means - not working until you're too old and decrepit to enjoy your retirement. Also, the Redundancy Police are officially putting you on a watchlist and staking out your house.

"At some point, he's got to slip up sometime... Crap!"

In any case, that's not the only shady aspect about this mysterious treasure trove of financial secrets. Considering various financial advisers can easily rake in $100/hr. or more for their professional, refined, and degree-backed opinions, it's hard to imagine a 99¢ app could replicate the same results. That's not to say, necessarily, that all good things come in expensive packages; just that I'm probably more apt to trust the people at H&R Block with my mountains of cash (that I totally have) than a dude on the iTunes store named Pratik Solanki.

- iCrying Baby: Are you tired of your baby doing things? Do his or her needs constantly get in the way of your watching the big game or spending a whole day at the mall? Well, now you can turn that inconsiderate little mess factory off with the iCrying Baby app. The fine folks of Zork Networks are willing to hand you the mute button to your little bundle of angst for just $2.99. That's right! If you can hack your way through the grammatical overgrowth in that jungle of a description, you too, can have the luxury of ignoring your baby indefinitely. When that bugger starts whining about sleep or messy diapers or, heaven forbid, food, just flip the switch on your respective device, and the app will emit a soothing ambiance, scienriffically designed to mimic the sounds of the womb. This will immediately calm your baby, lulling it into a state of delusional contentment that will last as long as your battery (so keep your wall charger handy! ;D).

Seriously... come on, people. Would a little more actual parenting kill you? I mean, that "ambiance" is probably just the whispered sobs of that poor baby trapped inside this sadistic app's background.

Saddest. Eyes. Ever.

- Fingerprint Security - Pro: First of all, I'm not sure why the "Pro" is tacked on there, since there seem to be no other versions of this app available. Also, it's not "professional" at all, in the sense that it doesn't do what its title claims. Why? Because the iPod/iPhone/iPad have no fingerprint scanning capabilities. The description even mentions that you'll be tricking your "friends" into thinking your new phone or mp3 player is cooler than it actually is. The app just recognizes when a finger is touching it, and roughly were on the screen. You are solely responsible for setting in the options menu whether or not you want the device to grant or deny access. So, if you want to show your friends that it works for you, you'll have a nice little awkward pause while you hide in the bathroom going "No, hang on! You can't try it yet, it's...... recalibrating! Just, go away for a sec. Don't look!" as you reset it to deny the next user's access. At that point, considering that most people by now already know that the iPhone is completely incapable of sophisticated biometrics (it is a phone after all), if your friends are still happily strung along, you probably need to childproof your house again. Also, you may as well just put your phone behind a glass case and call it a "security feature".

"Holy cow! Mikey, you have the coolest phone!"

- Great Decisions: Here is an actual quote from the Great Decisions app site about some of the miraculous things it can do for you, Mr. or Mrs. Indecisive (or Miss, too, if you're gonna get picky).

"Here are some ways you can put Great Decisions™ to work immediately:

Buying a new car or home
Who to hire
Who to layoff
What investment property to buy
Which washer and dryer to buy
Which software package to purchase
What university or school to attend
Who feels like the right person to date
What stereo to buy
and hundreds of other decisions that may come up!"

The site insists that the app is meant to take the stress out of all your decisions. The inherent problem here is that several of the considerations mentioned above are supposed to be stressful - they are huge decisions that require time, discussion, and thorough contemplation; they are absolutely not meant to be taken lightly. When I use text formatting at three separate points in one sentence, you know this is serious business. Anywho, burdens like "which freaking house to buy" really aren't the kind of life-shaping events that anyone with half a brain could really recommend you throw to the whims and fancies of a $4 phone application.

"Gosh, wow. I don't know, honey. It's awfully expensive. Buuut, the iPhone does seem to like it..."

Also, matters of employment should probably be reviewed by a trained Human Resources department, not a $4 phone application - gah! you wouldn't think it was rocket science (or even plant science for that matter).

"Richard, I know you've faithfully served this company for over 30 years, but the iPad's in kind of a sour mood today, sooooo... pack up your crap and go home."

However, the most worrisome claim here was, in my opinion, that the app could "feel" who was the right person to date. Not only are you (again) blindly leaving potentially-life-altering decisions in the non-hands of a cold, calculating $4 phone application, but now its creators (or quite possibly the sentient program itself) are claiming that Great Decisions can actually read brainwaves and interpret human emotions and possibly even psychically cross into the forbidden future to properly gauge whether or not someone is wholly suited - nay, uniquely tailored by God Himself - to meet your lifelong needs of companionship, laughter, romance, encouragement, understanding, respect, and unconditional love. I for one, am just the slightest bit skeptical.

13 Years on Rainey Street: Looking Back on King of the Hill

noreply@blogger.com (Skittle_Brains) — Mon, 24 Jan 2011 01:51:00 +0000

I've been a long-time fan of Mike Judge's Americana masterpiece, King of the Hill, and was thoroughly disappointed when Fox made the decision years ago to stop releasing the seasons on DVD due to cost/benefit reasons. While watching the first 6 seasons on DVD with my dad, we fell a little behind on the current seasons, and access to the episodes (legally or otherwise) was limited at the time, so we waited patiently for Fox to do something right for once. Not surprisingly, nothing came of it.

"Clearly, this a conspiracy by one of the largest news media conglomerates in the world to surface and isolate the anger gene in order to remove it and make us their soulless, emotionally-stunted cyborg slaves. Duh, Hank."

So, when my sister generously brought our family into the Netflix age, I was overjoyed to find all 13 seasons available to watch instantly, and not in "handycam vision". So, within the space of roughly a month, I devoured season after season from 7 to 12. Unfortunately, when I hit season 13, my Netflix decided to crap out on me, and I was essentially forbidden from watching more than the first 20% or so of anything on the Watch Instantly playlist.

WHAT HAPPENS NEXT?! I CANNOT TAKE THE SUSPENSE!!

Luckily, my sister came to the rescue again, and got me an iPod touch for Christmas, onto which I almost immediately downloaded the Netflix app. Since then, I have managed to laugh my way through the remainder of season 13 and to the final moments of the show's glory. For those of you familiar with the show, that picture up there actually makes sense, since quite a lot was known to happen out in "the alley" where the guys relaxed with their cold, Alamo-brand beer. For those not so in-step with cartoons for big people, allow me to shed a little light on what made this show such a brilliant one, and how it has earned a special place in my heart over these past 13 years spent laughing, crying, cheering, and grilling on a little stretch or road called Rainey Street...

First off, King of the Hill isn't like your Futuramas or your Family Guys or your South Parks or your Simpsons in that it's an incredibly down-to-earth show.

None of this.

The premise revolves around an averagely odd family, the Hills. At the core, there's Hank and his wife Peggy, and their teenage son, Bobby.

Say hello.

They're a normal family living in a normal (albeit fictional) neighborhood in Texas and dealing with normal problems. And that's one of the key successes of the show: relatability. Sure, all the characters have their quirks (from Hank's diehard obsession with "Lady Propane" to Peggy's pride in her hilariously awful Spanish), but even those are familiar. And that was always one of the biggest draws this show offered for me - a familiarity that sorta wrapped you up and kept you cozy like a warm blanket and a mug of hot cocoa on a blustery winter night. And thrown into this mix are a host of equally laughable-yet-lovable characters to populate the small Texas town of Arlen.

There's Bill Dauterive, the fat, balding guy next door who cuts hair for the Army and can never seem to get over his wife divorcing him. There's Jeff Boomhauer (almost always referred to as just "Boomhauer"), the smooth, girl-crazy bachelor across the street whose near-indecipherable dialect of redneck stands as both a mystery and a testament to his luck with the ladies. And then there's Dale.

You do not have to say hello.

Dale Gribble is easily one of my favorite characters on the show, and is easily one of the weirdest at that. He's normally seen with some semblance of clothes, which are accented by his orange Mack hat, his sunglasses and a cigarette. He also responds to his alias, Rusty Shackleford, a name he stole from a kid he knew in the 3rd grade. You see, Dale has.... views. Peculiar views. He's a conspiracy nut. And I don't mean to insult conspiracy theorists - the man's certifiably nuts, and has, on more than one occasion, found himself institutionalized. He's booby-trapped his lawn and his house to protect himself and his family from aliens and government assassins, keeps his exterminator poisons (or sometimes the animals he exterminates) in the fridge, and he refuses to even order pizza without using his alias. He's addicted to cigarettes, guns, his wife Nancy, and their son Joseph. And "their son Joseph" is not entirely so, actually being conceived by the town's native, um.... Native, John Redcorn, while he was having an affair with Nancy. It's these little tidbits of town gossip - the intimate development of the atmosphere, character, and heart of the town - that really bring the show to life and full-force.

But let's get back to the Hill family for just a moment here, since they are the namesake and stars of the show. Hank is your typical, blue-blooded, all-American man. He played football in high-school (taking his team all the way to state!), his favorite holiday is the 4th of July, he adores his aging bloodhound Ladybird, and it would take an army to pry the man from his grill. But don't ever try to sneak Hank a burger cooked over anything but propane. You see, Hank sells "propane and propane accessories" at one of the local gas-grill emporiums, Strickland Propane.

For that guy up there. The one with pants.

Hank thinks the world of his job, and the grilling benefits of propane, and that adoration seeps into his everyday life. I think we all have at least one friend like that - obsessed with one particular hobby or interest, that you dare not ever speak of or argue against, though you often convince strangers at bars to do just that for the ensuing entertainment. Of course, those people in our lives usually tend to be less "written-by-comedy-genius-Mike-Judge" and more "just obnoxious". Hank, however, is not only written by comedy genius Mike Judge, but even voiced by comedy genius Mike Judge. Comedy genius Mike Judge is paying me every time I mention him and his comedy genius. Hank is known among his friends and neighbors as being a level-headed authority figure, and the one to run to in times of crisis or boredom. But, be forewarned, he does have a bit of a short fuse when it comes to "jibblet heads", and he's more than capable of kicking your ass.

Okay, let's move on to Peggy real quick. Peggy is Hank's loving, yet fiercely independent wife. To say their romance is awkward is an insult to that Star Wars kid and every other awkward thing that ever existed. It's almost painful at times to watch Hank and Peggy try to woo each other, but that's part of the brilliance of their relationship. Peggy, though independent to an extent, is intensely loyal to her family, especially her ditzy niece, Luanne. Second to her family, Peggy's biggest love is teaching, thus her long run as a substitute teacher at Tom Landry Middle School. Unfortunately for the students, while Peggy may be a fun sub, she usually finds some way to muck up a lesson or misinform the children, particularly in her favorite subject, "Espanola". However, despite her general lack of know-how and good judgment, she (almost) always has the best intentions at heart.

Put those two together, and what do you get? That's right, Bobby - one of the laziest boys this side of a mattress factory.

[That's just... not a good joke. It doesn't even make sense, really. I mean, factory jobs are universally known for their grueling regimens, fatiguing hours, and injury-prone environments. You should really try to think of something better. - Ed.]

Bobby is, in some respects, a fairly typical teenage boy - he likes eating, video games, stand-up comedy, sock skating, and girls. In most every other respect, Bobby is not a fairly typical teenage boy - he enjoys prancing about in tutus, playing with puppets, dressing up like Cupid, square dancing with his dog, starring in plus-size fashion shows, and screaming like a little girl, among other things. All of this to the disappointment of his father. The good news is that, now matter how far off course Bobby may stray, Hank loves him dearly. He may think "the boy ain't right", but deep down, in the recesses of his heart, Hank cares for his son. And to watch Bobby discover that over the course of 13 years - to watch him unwittingly unearth such sincere feelings from his emotionally-bottled father - is a surprisingly engaging experience to say the least. And their relationship is one of the highlights of the show.

[I seriously hope you're reconsidering that mattress factory joke. - Ed.]

To go into detail about all the amazingly quirky characters in this show could take a lifetime (or at least more time than I'm willing to devote), and would, in the end, serve only to cheapen the experience of meeting them yourself. So, if conspiracy nut exterminators, and propane-obsessed family men, and snooty Laotian neighbors, and shinless, grumpy WWII vets, and sleazily unfaithful, middle-aged weather women pique your interest, then I cannot recommend King of the Hill enough. But these aren't the kind of characters who "reset" after every episode. If somebody dies in the show, they don't magically appear in the next episode (unless they're a ghost, which happened, like, once). These people stay dead. And if someone gets pregnant, they show progression throughout the show and actually have the baby.

I know she finally had the thing, but come on.

Granted, the characters only age about 3 years or so over the course of the 13 years that the show ran, but it's all a natural progression; and honestly, nobody wants to watch a show about a 26-year-old Bobby still living at home while his senile father, Hank, sets himself ablaze in another grilling accident (alright, that is rather amusing). Nevertheless, you truly feel a sense of growth and maturity in the characters and their relationships to one another. You get to see bonds form and wither away. Relationships blossom and fade over time. Friends and lovers come and go with the strains and stresses carried on the wind. And you are offered a window into the oddly fascinating lives of these simple, small-town folk. They may not be living in the future, or traveling the world, or throwing pies at Hitler, or parodying Star Wars, but the beautiful and lovably dorky people of Arlen, Texas will take you on an adventure nonetheless - through the ins and outs of this obstacle course we call everyday life. And they're inviting you to join them on the ride. You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll love, you'll live, and you may even learn a thing or two along the way. So, if you've never had the pleasure of meeting the Hills and their colorfully offbeat neighbors, I can't think of a better time to do so than right now.

This article paid handsomely for by Fox Broadcasting Co., Netflix, Inc., and their affiliates.

A Step Away From Brilliance: The Social Network Review

noreply@blogger.com (Skittle_Brains) — Mon, 17 Jan 2011 19:00:00 +0000

It's difficult to imagine what potential value, if any, there would be in a dramatic narrative film (as opposed to a documentary) made about a social networking site like Facebook or Twitter or, heaven forbid, MySpace (it even feels weird to type now). However, from the moment I first saw the trailers for The Social Network in theaters, I was inexplicably intrigued. There were no explosions, no spectacular special effects, no ridiculous stunts, and no Bruce Willis in sight. That's not to say I can't be drawn in by a riveting drama or a kitschy romantic comedy now and again, they're just few and far between. But Social Network had me curious from the get-go. Unfortunately, with my busy schedule around the time of its theatrical release, I never really had a chance to see it. And once it came out on DVD, the film had sort of slipped back under my radar. It turns out, all I needed was an excuse. So, when my good friend, Tim Gibson, suggested I review the movie for this blog, that was all it took to finally add the film to my library.

I'm glad I did. Aside from one major, though by no means deal-breaking, complaint (which I'll address later), I thought the movie was a stunning success.

An example of a major, by every means deal-breaking complaint.

For those 3 of you who have yet to see Social Network, the story details the birth of the internet sensation, Facebook, from a Harvard University-exclusive phenom, to its growth into a multinational, billion-dollar industry. As well, it delves into the lives and experiences of its founding fathers, namely Mark Zuckerberg (played by Jesse Eisenberg) and Eduardo Saverin (played by Andrew Garfield). One of the first interesting aspects of the film is its narrative structure, which seamlessly interweaves past and present, driving the main through-story forward as a series of recollections made during two separate and consecutive lawsuits, both filed against Zuckerberg. The first is by a trio of Harvard classmates who claim that Mr. Zuckerberg infringed on their intellectual property, essentially stealing their ideas and merely expanding on them to create Facebook. And, well... he sort of did. The second suit is filed by none other than the co-founder and original CFO of Facebook, Zuckerberg's (former) best friend, Eduardo Saverin. As the two lawsuits play out, the characters recount moments from the past about the history of the site's creation and the conflicts therein. It was really a strong choice in terms of how to present the story, as opposed to the traditional linear approach.

Or Memento's explode-your-brain approach.

The strengths of this film truly run across the board. The writing was solid and witty, but not in the "too good to be real" stylings of Abbott & Costello. The acting (hats off especially to Justin Timberlake) was driven and emotional (except for Eisenberg, who I think was rightfully channeling his inner anti-socialite). The story was compelling and surprisingly insightful. The pacing felt comfortable and appropriate for the tone of each scene. The musical score was mellow enough to underlay the rest of the film, never feeling intrusive or insincere. The editing was invisible, as it should have been. And, the use of contrasting images, lifestyles, personalities, and even time lines adds a smooth layer of depth to the whole package. Everything really seemed to come together for this film.

Everything except one. And here's my only complaint about this movie: Zuckerberg's character never changes. Now, this wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing, if he wasn't a douchebag throughout the entire film. From the very first scene, he's established and even explicitly named as an "asshole". Granted, he's an ivy-league software engineer and computer scientist with a near-genius IQ who quoted Latin epic poems, presumably for fun. Add that all up, and you get a list of friends about the size of a paperclip. Also, he was Jewish and partly colorblind, so, you know.... that probably didn't do much for him either. It's easy to see where some resentment and awkwardness issues might play in. And Jesse Eisenberg does a wonderful job capturing the monumental douchebaggery that Zuckerberg has kind of come to be known for, as even his many supporters have shown. The problem is, that it becomes almost impossible to root for our "hero" throughout the film, because you really come to dislike most of his arrogant, anti-social, and sometimes downright despicable tendencies (like screwing your best friend out of his entire investment in your company). Now, there's no rule that says your main character needs to be likable or morally upright.

Is there?

However, if they're going to start out completely undeserving of our sympathies, we should see some sort of change - or effort to change - for the better on their part. Or, they should get inexorably worse and their refusal to change should bring about their tragic, fatal end. Yes, you could argue that Zuckerberg's natural inclinations to be a pile of elephant dung to most everyone he met brought him to the point of two separate lawsuits and the distancing of some of his best friends, but it also brought him a beautiful new girlfriend and a company worth an estimated 23 flipping billion dollars. I'd say that's pretty much a win for the guy at the end of the day. I know the film is probably a solid portrayal of how the man is in real life, but if that's the case, then this story becomes less about Zuckerberg and more about how a well-designed website triumphantly overcame one of the worst public personas in internet history (second only to Maddox).

And it was this lack of strong, main character development (several of the supporting characters have some very solid arcs) that I found to muddle some of the other aspects of the film and keep the entire production from being the absolutely brilliant piece it could have been. Themes like the repercussions of fame and publicity get lost or skewed when handed to a character for whom such things apparently carry no weight. The lessons that want to be taught by this movie are never learned by its main character, and that was a little disappointing to see. All-in-all, though, The Social Network was a firmly enjoyable, clever, and insightful movie, and if you haven't taken the time to see it, I would highly recommend you do.

The Green Hornet: Wickedly Mediocre

noreply@blogger.com (Skittle_Brains) — Fri, 14 Jan 2011 10:17:00 +0000

So, I just got back from the midnight showing of The Green Hornet, and I must say, it was an unfortunately hit-or-miss adventure. If you're wondering "Is it one of those films where basically all the good parts are in the trailer?", the answer is a resounding "pretty much". For a superhero movie that seems to tout its uniqueness from other superhero legends, the film is littered with clichés and characters who don't seem to take anything in their world seriously.

"You don't think I'm scary? Why don't you think I'm scary? I have a double-barreled gun. That should be scaring you right now! Do you think I'm old? Gah! I'm too old for being a crime boss. That's why you don't find me scary, isn't it? I knew it! Please, tell me how I could be scaring you better. I... I'm no good at this."

That guy up there is supposed to be the main villain, and he's seriously concerned about how cool he looks or how scary people think he is. These things keep this man up at night. And we're supposed to believe he controls every crime syndicate in the city? That he's the top of the heap? The man has about as much confidence in himself as a three-toed sloth facing a pride of cheetahs. Believability is a big necessity in fictional worlds. If the audience isn't buying whatever it is you're trying to sell, guess what?

Indeed.

The basic premise, while feeling quite rushed at the beginning, is actually worthwhile: In an attempt to make something useful of themselves, Britt Reid (Seth Rogen) and his trusty, show-stealing butler, Kato (Jay Chou), don their masks and trenchcoats and set out in their Q-inspired deathmobile to infiltrate the city's criminal underground as The Green Hornet and his trusty, show-stealing sidekick, ?????. The idea of heroes pretending to be villains to get closer to them is hardly a new or novel one, but it's refreshing to see a bit of a break from the goody-two-shoes approach to crime-fighting most superheroes prefer.

Look at him, all good and stuff, with his two shoes.

The rest of the movie, however, is just a series of blandly-written, action-junkie, WTF moments. There's the wholly unnecessary, non-loving love interest (Cameron Diaz), the retardedly insecure villain (Christoph Waltz), the paper-thin conspiracy plot, and the veritable onslaught of outright, adrenaline-fueled, man-food action sequences, which are admittedly the best moments Green Hornet has to offer.

One of the slower, more tender moments of the film.

In the end, if you're walking into this movie expecting to see something revolutionary, you'll be mildly disappointed. If you're expecting a few laughs, a couple of fun camera tricks, and a mountain of cool action scenes, then you really should be waiting to Redbox this one. The writing is hit-or-miss, the acting is middle-of-the-road, and the story is tried-and-true. All-in-all, Green Hornet fails to deliver anything game-changing, but earns the lukewarm 6.9/10 it currently holds on IMDb. So take that as you will.

On the plus side, new trailers for the delightfully sure-to-bomb Zach Snyder action fiesta, Sucker Punch and the musically-inept, sure-to-bomb action fiesta, Battle: Los Angeles.

12 Addicting Video Games of Days Gone By (Part 2)

noreply@blogger.com (Skittle_Brains) — Wed, 12 Jan 2011 12:46:00 +0000

(Continued from Part 1 [Duh] - make sure you read that first!)

6. Roller Coaster Tycoon 2 (PC): This was another one of those inexplicably enjoyable games. I mean, really? Managing a theme park? Hiring staff? Cleaning up vomit? Fixing broken toilets? Yet the game was a smash hit. Indeed, there was far more to the game than that, but all that stuff was in there, too, which is really a testament to everything else. Arguably, the best part of the game was designing your own roller coasters and trying to stuff as many awesome rides and attractions into whatever miserable plot of land you'd been assigned. Some missions necessitated your park rating and occupancy be at a certain level by a certain time, while others required you build a successful park around a specific theme.

Like this apparently Alcatraz-themed park.

Easily my favorite part of the game, however, was the sandbox mode. In it, you are given the largest possible plot of flat, empty dirt; unlimited money; full access to all rides, food stalls, decorations, etc.; and infinite time to just build the best park ever. And while it was all good fun to watch the kids throw up their cotton candy after the Tilt-a-whirl, or to find that random straggler who's been lost in your maze of a park for months, one of the greatest thrills of Roller Coaster Tycoon 2 was making death coasters. It usually took a dastardly design or a little finagling in the build mode to get things just right, but in the end, it was worth it to send trains full of passengers crashing into other coasters or soaring through the air to their demise.

Oh, was the Park Inspector on that ride? How unfortunate. Looks like little Billy can keep his Mike's Hard Lemonade, after all.

5. The Sims (PC): Easily one of the largest PC gaming franchises in history, Maxis' (and later EA's) The Sims took the world by storm upon its initial release. And it's only grown since then. With three main iterations, and near countless expansion packs, the ever-extending list of Sims titles is headache-inducing. And, while I've enjoyed all three core games, along with a number of the fun (though not often cheap) expansions, the original game was probably the most important of its kind in my gaming history. It was yet another oddly mesmerizing simulator (Whoa-ho! Light bulb!) where you controlled people in their day-to-day lives - making food, taking leaks, watering plants, going to work, causing babies, and generally being physical, mental, and emotional train wrecks. Just like real people!

"I don't believe this! I can't find the coupon for the pizza!!"

With a ridiculous amount of expansion packs offered seemingly every month, the world of The Sims grew at a frighteningly fun pace. There were new places to visit, new job ladders to climb, new interactions to awkwardly weasel in at parties, pets to take care of, and a slew of new butt-ugly furniture to adorn your vividly beige house with. But the core formula always stayed the same. Even with the Shyamalan-named sequels, The Sims 2 and The Sims 3, the general idea of the central gameplay never changed. The graphics got a major overhaul, and all sorts of new features and extras were added, but I think the world of The Sims has gotten a little too big for its core values. At this point, there seems to be almost too much for your Sims to do. You just can't cram all that awesomeness into a single lifetime, unless you turn off aging in the settings menu, which frankly gets kind of boring after a while. I understand that's a lot closer to real life, with the whole "too much to do and not enough time", but I didn't play The Sims to mimic real life. I play it to build giant mansions for my bachelor playboy rock stars who can't make a bowl of cereal without setting their house on fire.

4. Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time (N64): Anybody who says they don't like this game has never played it, and anybody who says they've never played this game is lying. Considered by many to be one of the single greatest video games ever made, this is one of those classic titles that (pardon the saying) stands the test of time.

"Hey!" No puns allowed.

Some of the innumerable delights of this game include: an incredibly vast and diverse world, giant mustachioed trees, roly-poly rock people, the stupidest and most laughably annoying owl since that Tootsie Pop jerk, super magic arrows, glider chickens, ridiculous puzzles, kick-awesome villains, musical scarecrows, freaking time travel, and that adorable guard you sell the Keaton Mask to.

"Pika, pika!"

There's really not enough room here to fully express how amazing this game was, and still is. Sure the story is paper-thin (and recycled paper, at that), but the gameplay, graphics, and endearing charm of Ocarina were revolutionary and have rightfully earned the game its prestigious place in gamers' hearts.

Seriously. What a douche.

3. Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time (PS2): Yes, this is a last-gen game and, as such, barely qualifies as a "Days Gone By" title. Nonetheless, it wholeheartedly qualifies as addicting and so, here we are. I played this game over and over and over. Even after I'd beaten it. Even after I'd seen the (kind of) twist ending. I couldn't get enough of this game.


So many great... features. Gameplay features!

Actually, those two up there are a large part of why I kept coming back to this game time and again. Their "lover's spat" banter throughout the story is positively wicked. And the narrative itself is surprisingly compelling: An unsuspecting prince unleashes the Sands of Time, which begin eating away at the palace and all its residents, so he must find the mystical hourglass and use the Dagger of Time to reverse the damage he's done. The ingenuity of using the Sand and the Dagger to manipulate time during gameplay was extremely refreshing, especially since the combat got rather repetitive rather quickly. The overall elements of the solid action, the engaging characters, the fun puzzle-solving, and the immersing story all blend together to make a brilliantly addicting game.

I hate that I have to specify Sands of Time the game in my search now.

On that note, if you're making your judgments on this game based on the Disney film, you have been grossly misled (and severely robbed of your time and money). Please disregard whatever you saw or heard in that movie. Not just for the game's sake, but for your dignity's sake, as well.

2. Command & Conquer: Tiberian Sun (PC): One of, if not the first video game I ever purchased with my own cold, hard cash, this game was one of my steepest obsessions as a kid. It really solidified my love of Real-Time Strategy (RTS) gaming and introduced me to an epic world of awesome.

This is one of the weakest units in the game. For serious.

The game was dense with sprawling landscapes, sexy graphics (for its time), devastatingly manly war machines, an eerily psychotic bad guy, and some pretty craptastic live-action cutscenes.

Sorry, Mr. Jones.

The strategies ran fairly deep in this game, from air and land maneuvers, to a range of stealth units, to some severely powerful defense technology, to long-range siege weapons, to space-based laser cannons, to mutant cyborg soldiers who can self-heal.

To the popular "firebomb the everliving crap out of everything" strategy.

The dire need for constant base management, resource acquisition, and military dominance lent a rather frantic pace to the game that kept it fresh and exciting. The story, while not exceptionally original, was a cool twist on a more tried-and-true formula. The Brotherhood of Nod, led by the sociopath Kane, are more-or-less a militant religious cult who have a fascination with Tiberium - a toxic crystal that is spreading at alarming rates over Earth's surface, endangering the entire world population. The Global Defense Initiative (GDI) is essentially the 'big government' type organization with deeper pockets and more 'civilized' warfare tactics than the Brotherhood. Constantly butting heads with the rebellious Nod guerrillas, the GDI's main objective is to somehow purge the Earth of its Tiberium infestation. And what do all Global Defensive Initiatives require? Why, ginormous, walking, death machines, of course!

Yeehaw!

1. Age of Empires II: Age of Kings (PC): This was the first real video game I ever owned, and my sister bought it for me as a birthday present. With roughly zero experience in gaming, I dove into the game and buried myself pretty deep. Granted, looking back, it was a relatively simple game, with relatively simple graphics, but this game had everything where it really counted.

Sure, you can't really tell what's going on, but you know it's EPIC.

Every available race was built essentially the same, each sporting a few perks and downsides to help keep things balanced and interesting. But really, just about every match of this game I ever played boiled down to massive armies (which unfortunately capped at 200 units each) colliding at various points on the battlefield, and mass casualties ensuing. But, if we're truly honest with ourselves, wasn't that really the best (if not only) aspect of the Middle Ages? Armies spawning from the horizons to wreak havoc across the countryside until bloody skirmishes broke out, devastating every last inch of society within a 10 mile radius. Generals marching their trained archers, foot soldiers, and paladin knights to the doorsteps of enemy camps and villages while their siege artillery rained fiery destruction down from the heavens.

Knock, knock.

And let's not forget the irksome villagers who need constant pampering lest they absentmindedly wander off after a stray sheep and wind up following it into a wolf's den or into the aforementioned "enemy doorstep mayhem", wherein he or she will find him or herself wearing a brand new vest made entirely of authentic Egyptian arrows.

However, despite the occasional annoying peasant (who have nothing on the peasant women in Assassin's Creed), the game is flooded with unforgettable moments. The first time you destroy an enemy castle. The first time you piss off an opponent by converting half their troops with a battalion of monks. The first time you march an army of hundreds out the gates of your city and straight into their imminent doom. Or the first time you storm the enemy's Town Center and crush their feeble civilization beneath the unforgiving hooves of your military.

Haha! Try to harvest your nondescript crops now!

On top of all that, there was also a Star Wars mod of this game released called Galactic Battlegrounds and a Clone Wars expansion, which are both just as phenomenal. They also come highly recommended to fans of both AoE and Star Wars. All-in-all, Age of Empires 2: Age of Kings and its Conquerors expansion pack are fantastically addicting and surprisingly replayable titles. They not only brought me into the gaming world once and for all, but they kept me there, pushed me further, and even make a resurgence once in a while, when I'm in the mood to raze a few villages and pimp-slap a few peasants.

Runner-ups: Jazz Jackrabbit (PC), LEGO Creator (PC), Rise of Nations (PC), Real War (PC), Mario Kart 64 (N64), Command & Conquer: Generals (PC), and Comanche 4 (PC).

With all that out of the way, I'd love to hear your favorite old-school games - the ones that made life glorious and unforgettable, if even for just those few, fleeting moments. As you may have noticed, I was primarily a PC gamer, so I'm sure there are a host of titles I missed out on as a kid. So... what are some of the classics that defined your childhood?

12 Addicting Video Games of Days Gone By (Part 1)

noreply@blogger.com (Skittle_Brains) — Wed, 12 Jan 2011 10:46:00 +0000

I was a bit of a late-comer to the video game scene, because my parents had this inkling (as most parents do) that these virtual realities might, in fact, be soul-binding death traps of entertainment with addictive properties on par with a cake made of heroin.


Blow out your candles, honey!

They were (as most parents are) pretty spot on, but just to be sure, I insisted on doing some hands-on research. And, once I started earning an allowance and eventually got a job of my own, I was free to spend money on frivolous things like food and clothes or on necessities like video games. And so, throughout the years, I waxed and waned with the tide of different genres and series. Naturally, as with any relationship, there were good times and bad - Marios and Waluigis - but these are the esteemed titles that hold the fondest memories of sleepless nights glued to a screen.

12. NFL Blitz 2000 (N64): Now, I was never a big fan of sports games, though I indulged myself in the occasional title, but NFL Blitz 2000 wiped away all the boring trifles of Madden games like "team management", "roster building", and "rules" and replaced them with absurdly beefy players, lewd and irrational announcers, and the ability to set yourself ablaze to enhance your football magic.


"Steve, what about this could children possibly imitate?"

While serious football games were geared toward people well-versed in the sport's lingo and rules, and who followed the teams and players, Blitz was aimed more at people who generally sucked at such coordinated outdoor activities and to young boys whose only outlet for their rage was toward crudely animated polygonal shapes.

Throw my Fruit Roll-Up into the urinal, will you? DIE! DIE! DIE!

The real joy of this game was illegally body-slamming your opponents after crippling them from the waist down with your ruthless tackles, while the announcer chimes "That was uncalled for... but a lot of fun to watch!"

11. Star Wars: X-Wing vs. TIE Fighter (PC): I can hear the salesmen now... "Fight all your favorite battles from the Star Wars movies with graphics so realistic and immersing, you'll feel the Force surging through your veins!"

"Quick! Destroy that... paper plane... thing."

It's really no secret as to the appeal of these games. You got to fly X-Wings and TIE Fighters among a whole host of other useless spacecraft (Hello, A-Wing) through the visually stimulating frontiers of empty space. You got to fire lasers, ion cannons, and missiles at hulking, massive Star Destroyers and totally decimate slightly-less-imposing Nebulon-B Frigates with photon torpedoes all in a day's work. And that was the true beauty of the game: you got to play as both the Rebellion and the Galactic Empire. You would crush the puny "rebel scum" under the weight of your planet-eviscerating firepower all morning, ease your conscience by escorting a few transport ships in the afternoon, then back to pixel-based genocide in the evening.

10. Deer Hunter 4 (PC) : Now I know what you're probably thinking. Frickin' Deer Hunter?! But hear me out. It was actually a wonderful alternative for those of us who were too young and poor to afford a real gun, and who were too lazy to get up at 4am to go hunt real deer. And at least it's not a fishing simulator.

The only fishing this man does is for deer. With bullets.

While the game did a relatively decent job of exhibiting the often leisurely pace of tracking, baiting, outwitting, and shamelessly murdering a woodland creature, it did try to liven things up a bit with a wide variety of choices on how to go about exacting such forest fatalities. And to be fair, every deer I killed in the game was a deer that got to live in the real world.

Henceforth the best argument for video games. Period.

There were a whole slew of different bows, pistols, shotguns and rifles you could opt to pack on your never-ending quest for trophies, and you could even bring along a pick-up truck or ATV/snowmobile for quickly traveling between tree stands or for just running the deer over. Outside of that, I'm not really sure why I was so hooked on this game, other than my inherent desire as a young male to shoot things. Sadly, I lost this game years ago and decided to upgrade to Deer Hunter 2005, which I have since lost, as well. I can only surmise that I am being very selectively haunted by the ghost of Bambi's mother. Or Christopher Walken.


"I'm not dead yet, prick."

9. LEGO Island (PC): Pretty much my entire childhood was grounded in LEGOs. I lived and breathed the little plastic bricks (not literally) for years, and even well into my teens before they were finally overtaken by video games, comic books, human friends, and the occasional responsibility like work or school. So naturally, when making the transition from one form of fake reality to another, the numerous LEGO computer games were a solid fit for me. And, they were parent-approved, too!

Assaulting motorists with scalding hot pizzas. Those are the skills Johnny's been lacking!

In the interest of this list not getting stale or out of hand, I've decided not to include similar titles or those of the same series. I very easily could have included LEGO Creator among these games, and it was definitely a hard choice between the two, but I think this game consumed more of my life than any other LEGO title. Anywho, in LEGO Island, you play as Pepper Roni (seriously), the town's much-loved, pizza-delivering skateboard enthusiast. Throughout the game, you'll meet other characters whom you can then control, as well, each with unique abilities or access to restricted areas of the Island.

The story was about as absurd as anything starring anthropomorphic plastic toys could be: The Brickster, the game's antagonist, tricks you into releasing him from prison so he can destroy the Island with his inexplicable powers. However, he has a (convenient) weakness: delicious pizza! So, you have to run around the open-world Island and do absolutely everything not relevant to stopping the Brickster, like jet-skiing, go-kart racing, pizza-delivering, cave-spelunking, and grand theft auto... ing. Yes, you could take pretty much any vehicle foolishly left out in the open - even ambulances - and joy ride around the Island.

"HAHA! That'll teach those retards to leave their helicopters unguarded!"

In the final "mission" of the game, you must take control of the town's police chopper and hunt down the Brickster as he tries to get somewhere (the Info Tower, maybe?) on his motorcycle in order to fulfill his evil plans. Now, your helicopter shoots doughnuts and whole pizzas.

Let that sink in...

Okay, so the objective is to slow the Brickster down with tasty pizzas while leading the completely incompetent police force toward him with a trail of doughnuts. Seriously. That's the climax of the game. And I loved every second of it.

8. MechWarrior 2 (PC): The MechWarrior series seemed to fulfill a need in gamers that the Japanese had known about for decades (and still won't let go of to this day): giant robots.

Or things vaguely shaped like giant robots.

To be fair, the series is actually based on an old D&D-style board game called BattleTech, but the MechWarrior games blew the whole phenomenon into mainstream popularity. I never played the first game, but from what I can tell having experienced 2 and 4, the gameplay doesn't change much at all from title to title. The story was really pretty irrelevant. Somebody invaded somewhere, blah blah blah, soldiers under attack, widowed women, yada yada, go jump in your giant robot and blow those suckers up!!

"I'm sorry for your loss, ma'am. Would this heat-seeking missile cheer you up?"

You had to worry about things like ammo levels or overheating your mech. Some came equipped with limited jump-jets so you could get stuck in the graphics like a piñata for everyone else to take potshots at. Strategies included getting the smallest, fastest mech and just running circles around the other guy plinking him with your wimpy machine guns and maybe a laser, or running up and bear-hugging the enemy while hitting the self-destruct button.

7. SimCity 3000 (PC): Who doesn't get excited by the thought of urban zoning ordinance or intercity trade agreements? Exactly. So, admittedly, I had some well-founded doubts when a friend recommended SimCity 3000, but as soon as I got into it, I had a helluva time pulling myself back out. Building sprawling cities (or, more likely, a few hundred acres of abandoned homes and stores); installing strategic infrastructure; monitoring the citizens' wants and needs; creating the perfect balance between commercial, industrial, and residential areas; making lucrative pacts with neighboring cities; building your small farming community into an urban empire - that was what SimCity was all about. The power over the well-being of millions of tiny people. Then you would save the game and start launching every disaster the options menu had to offer you: tornadoes, hurricanes, alien invasions, meteor showers, locusts, etc. Grab a bowl of popcorn and watch the horrendously understaffed police and fire departments scramble to every corner of the city in a desperate, yet futile attempt to salvage your once mighty kingdom of concrete and steel.


"Uhh, Mayor?"

Alrighty, well that wraps things up for Part 1 of this entry. Be sure to count down the top 6 and add your own favorites in Part 2!