hey 1993? you can have your game back.

I realized last night that the reason I hate first-person shooter video games is Doom.

I can recall sitting in my best boy friend’s den at the age of ten, Nick helming the computer to play while I cowered behind him. It was a new level of violence that we hadn’t seen before and only played in his house with the sound down when his mom wasn’t around. Which sounds kind of dirty for two ten-year-olds.

The graphics are shit, each wall looks like the remnants of a motherboard from a computer and the armor that needs to be picked up is vaguely reminiscent of Spartan helmets with glowing green eyes.

What always got me were the creatures. Some were a poo brown color and others were hunchbacks in a shrimp shade. Either way, when they were shot, they ended up in a pile of pixilated blood and bones. They made horrific noises that sounded like a dog panting/barking.

In text, there is nothing scary about that, but when you’re ten it’s the thing nightmares are made of. It’s not like when I dream at night my demons are all pixilated, but my god – a million tiny dots never looked creepier.

I also got a case of vertigo every time I watched this, even last night as Tony was playing. There is just no sense of depth or direction as to where you’re going and it all moves by so fast – it’s confusing and sickening.

As I pondered these things last night, I also asked Tony some questions about the game during play - which is apparently a big no-no in gamer world. I also came to find that most questions I asked had answers shot back at me quickly. Eventually he just tapped into my non-gamer brain and started answering my questions before they even left my mouth.

not the best idea.

I want to add something to that last post that I thought about today.

The whole throat-ripping-vampire thing: You could also sub that with, "I've always wondered what it'd be like to drive up an exit ramp."

if you want my auto, want my autobiography.

SoulPancake on Twitter posted something that said to write five possible openings for your autobiography. I only came up with four, but I like them so much I'm going to count them as five


1.) There are two times in my life that I’ve thrown up from nerves: the day I got my inner bottom lip tattooed and the day of my grandmother’s wake. It’s a pretty good track record, considering all the other shit I’ve done in my 22 years on the Earth.


2.) In the three hours it takes for shoulder-length, curly hair to dry completely, a lot can happen: dignity can be lost, lives can be flipped upside down, hearts can be broken and my father can threaten to kill my boyfriend. With a shotgun. On the front lawn.


3.) Sometimes I wonder what it would feel like to rip someone’s throat out, vampire style. It’s that way of thinking that has kept people intrigued, but unsure of me. Such is my life – so many friends, so few of them dare get close enough.


4.) I’m just going to take this opportunity to gloat.

caution to the wind.

Oh, I don’t know if I’m even supposed to be doing this, lest Fox swoops down and snatches me up to drag me away to jail, but I’ve seen Wolverine: Origins three times already. Yes, the cut that was leaked with the markings and not all the graphics there. Which, by the way, is really interesting to see.

Anyway, I suggest you go out and see it when it hits theaters. I’m going to go see it again. Hugh Jackman’s nakedness attributes to the fact that I love the movie, as does Ryan Reynold’s wit as Wade, but overall it is a great flick.

duck, duck.....shit.

For some reason, as I was drifting to sleep last night, I started to think about Duck, Duck, Goose. You know, the kids game where everyone sits in a circle and someone (It) walks around, patting people on the head saying, “duck, duck, duck….” until they finally decide to yell “goose!” on a particular cranium, thus prompting a foot race around the circle. If It sits down in the Goose’s spot before the Goose can tag them, the Goose must then go on to be It. But if It gets tagged, they have to sit in the middle of the circle until they are replaced by another It that was tagged. The Goose goes on to be It.

Wow. Typing that out just made me lose brain cells. And now Goose is starting to look funny to me. How can that even be a real word?

Anyway, this is not a productive game. Think about all the games of Duck, Duck, Goose you played. Did you ever finish any of them? Is there EVER an end to that game?

There was one part of it that made it so insufferable – the chase. You would think that the person being chased would just make one voyage around the circle in order to find the Goose’s spot as fast as they could and sit down to relinquish their It crown. But no. Oh, no.

There was always that asshole kid who panicked when the Goose got too close and veered off the orbit. For some reason, his logic was that breaking free from that path would give him the ability to outrun the Goose, even though it carried him all the way to the other side of the gym or through the Big Toy on the playground. It didn’t even matter that the path he was making was of Family Circus proportions – that extra five minutes of avoiding the tag was totally worth it once he finally hit the Goose’s spot. Most of the time he would be two feet from sitting down and end up getting whacked anyway. Thanks for the effort, Jimmy.

And at that point, everyone is putting their money on the Goose. That way, Asshole can be exiled to the center of the circle and the rest of the kids can throw every race so that It gets the Goose’s spot and Asshole has to sit there, chewing on the fact that no one really likes him anymore.

Give me Heads Up, Seven Up any day. At least there was some skill involved.