After reading about Gord's adventures with Playstation purchasing hoodlums and soda stealing teenaged girls (and I do enjoy any story that has teenaged girls as the villain since they are, roughly speaking, the single most evil demographic on the face of this earth bar none and definitely including Nazis and network executives) I felt compelled to crack open the old bin of Playstation games and take a little trip back to that era myself. I guess for non-geeks out there (I assume that if you are a non-geek and are reading this it's because you don't know how to remove someone from your friends list or navigate away from this webpage. Karma's a bitch, ain't it Mr. Bond?) this would be the equivalent of sorting through the drawer where photographs of old girlfriends are stored.
I soon discovered the difference between old video games and old girlfriends, I mean besides the whole one group has non-digital breasts thing, which is that while old girlfriends are preserved in the blossom of their youth by the camera's artful gaze, old video games all start to look like well-used crack whores after about 5 years in the closet. At least the Playstation ones do. Playing back through Vigilante 8, a game I remembered having decent graphics and being a lot of fun, was sort of like waking up next to Marlon Brando in bed and realizing that you drank WAY too much the night before. And I don't mean slim suave Streetcar Named Desire Brando, I mean fat bloated been dead for several months Brando.
Not a good scene.
This depressed me quite a bit. The video games of the previous generation's post-youth, Atari and the like, are still fun and entertaining. The video games of my post-youth all look like the aborted experiments that lead to the current era. If you've seen Alien Resurrection you understand. I was in love with the PREVIOUS Ripley clone attempts. Ick ick ick.
After that blow came a few telephone calls with friends in low-crisis mood who I had to try to calm the best I could, which was not very. I got to sleep at 2 and I woke up still feeling maudlin. Thus I'm going into work late and I'm exhausted and I have class tonight. I've spent most of the morning writing and listening to Dashboard Confessional and thinking about LHG and the fact that I desperately want to be exceptional enough to impress one such as her, but that will never come to pass. Well that's not exactly true, people from the class I had with her have told me that they miss having me in their current classes because they lack the humorous and intelligent commentary. I make an impression. The truth is I'll never see MYSELF as that exceptional no matter what I achieve. I can't love me and that means I can't ask anyone else to love me either. Quite the conundrum. Maury Povich would fix it if he wasn't too busy trying to confuse his audience as to who the transsexual is versus the real women. Fucking Maury Povich. At least he has his priorities straight.
Part of the reason I'm writing this is to explain why I failed to telephone people who answered my poll or send a pictogram to a cute little fellow I like to call Big RP. Now my free weekends time is up and I'll have to wait until next Saturday. Your forgiveness would be a cup of hot chocolate on a bitter winter day.
There were other irritations yesterday but I really should get going. Let me just say that sportscasters suck. I want to kill them all and wear their skins as interchangeable hats as I dance on a field of bloody grass. Yesterday during the Giants game there were TOO hugely stupid comments. One guy noted that Bill Parcells had told him that the Giants didn't play well when they were behind as opposed to in the lead so Parcells strategy of jumping out to an early lead was working. STRATEGY OF JUMPING OUT TO AN EARLY LEAD? That's not a strategy that's...just...that's...PLAYING. That's the point! What alternative strategy is there? To jump behind to an early deficit? If he'd noted that Parcells was being more aggressive than usual to try to do this or something I might have forgiven him but the fact is that Parcells was running the ball constantly for the first half of the game. The comment was just completely inane. If that's not worthy of execution what is?
I'll tell you what. The next comment. This was after Tiki Barber's 50 yard run. The announcer noted that Barber hadn't run out of bounds so the clock wouldn't stop. This kind of comment makes sense when a team is down by a lot or it's late in the game so they need to conserve time. The Giants were down by 4 with 8 minutes left in the THIRD QUARTER. For those who don't know football being down by 4 means that if you score a touchdown you're up by 3, or a field goal. It's not a panic-inducing score except late in the fourth and in the third when you're in the red zone it has ABSOLUTELY NO INFLUENCE ON CLOCK MANAGEMENT.
Oh. And one more thing. It was too early in the half for the clock to be stopped when a player runs out of bounds anyway. That's right. Not only would there have been no strategic value in stopping the clock but running out of bounds wouldn't have stopped it either. Instead Barber tried to break the tackle and force his way to a couple more yards. That was absolutely the correct thing to do in that situation. Damned announcer.
I'm just in a bad place right now. It's partially because of my diet and partially because of the weather and allergies and partially just the way my moods swing around. I am a live wire in a swimming pool. I'm sitting around when I should be leaving and thinking about the fact that I'm attracted to demure quiet introspective women, which is exactly the wrong type of woman for me to be attracted to since they require aggressive pursuit by confident men. I'm in my underwear and I want to spend the day writing but instead I have to do other things and then catch up on my sleep tonight so I can be bright eyed and bushy tailed later on. I'm feeling a great need for ultra-feminine contact and completely cut off from any potential source of that. My eyelids are heavy but not compared to my legs. I want to play Dreamcast and nap. I want another weekend. I wish my cellphone could send pictures via email. I'm leaving. I'm leaving.