By
now it is no secret that I have little to no love for this game series
so I apologize if my report appears to be less of a review and more of a
diatribe contrived from the 6 year Ubisoft campaign to make a profit on
the backs of historical figures and the senseless assassination of said
figures. Keep in mind, however, that I am ill informed regarding the
content of several of the Creed titles as I so affectionately refer to
them because they remind me of that god awful band that formed back in
the early 90s. That being said, my report will be specifically about
Black Flag with little to no influence of previous titles so rest
assured, any unbiased opinions will be left at the door. With that out
of the way, let's crack on, shall we?
Assassins Creed IV(which is
really more like Assassins Creed VI but why split hairs) starts off
with both a literal and metaphorical bang, springing you into the fold
of an all out aquatic battle that despite the many sailors standing
right next to the helm puts you at the wheel of a great and lumbering
vessel. The water fight, though visually stunning, seems to be a clunky,
contrived bit of gameplay tacked on to make it seem like the developers
are doing something new with the title. I can understand how the
helmsman would be responsible for putting the ship into a good position
to fire but having him be the one who decides the distance as well as
precisely when to fire seems absurd to me, but then the gameplay
wouldn't be at all riveting without that mechanic so I can see why they
did it.
Despite the actions of the courageous nobody you
control, who we later identify as the 22 year old scallywag for hire,
Edward Kenway, the gunpowder ignites and sends the player overboard,
diving us headlong into a flashback scene that establishes some
semblance of a romantic plot point that will no doubt be used against
the protagonist later on. After the flashback wraps up, we're told to
swim to shore and it's at this point that I'm reminded of one of the
reasons why I never particularly cared for these games. Linear gameplay.
Follow this line. Go to this blinky dot. Make no attempt to discover
anything yourself because we went to a lot of effort to point this path
out for you. But I digress. Perhaps the story may be it's salvation.
Once
you get to shore, which is for some reason a bright and balmy day, a
far cry from the intense storm you were fighting in moments before, you
encounter the man who assassinated your captain. He appears gravely
injured and makes you an offer to get him safely to Havana, to which you
for all intents and purposes say "You have the money on you? Yeah? Then
fuck you!" and proceed to chase the bastard down and murder him. The
developers did not waste time trying to make the pirate with a heart of a
gold and that's one thing I can appreciate. I'm sick of this "pirates
are cool" thing that's been going around over the last decade so it's
nice to see a scumbag truly embrace his own foulness.
Rifling
through the mans pockets afterward you come across a note that tells of
great fortune, to which our anti-hero says "Home girls gonna get PAID!"
and straps on our late friends gear that for whatever bullshit reason
has no blood on it whatsoever despite the player having just skewered
the last man wearing it. Conveniently, Mr. Kenway (now masquerading as
Duncan) happens upon a fellow by the name of Stede who's being oppressed
by the kings own royal navy, and guess where ol' Stedey is going? Yep,
another convenient bit of storytelling. Havana is in this year though,
right? You kill the navy men, hop aboard a new vessel and speed your
clunky ass way to Havana and thank fuck they don't make you steer the
entire way there. Wind Waker satisfied all our open sea needs ages ago.
Even
with such a contrived storyline though, I can't deny it is a visually
stunning piece of gaming. The water reflects just so, the trees wave in
the wind etc. The game mechanics seem a little off but that could just
be because the play tester in the video has replaced his thumbs with
mushy grapes. One can never really be sure without playing it firsthand.
From this little tutorial, I have come to the conclusion that it's all
really just more of the same, but if you liked previous titles then
that's a good indicator that you'll like this one. Because it is exactly the same. but y'know...with boats and whores and rum, which god forbid, had better not be gone.
If you're anything like me though, you'll steer your vessel clear of this one lads. (see what I did there? Nautical humour!)
This is the Derfender of Piece signing off. But keep a weather eye on the horizon for my next review! Take er easy.
Sincerely,
Frederick Mckay jr._________________________________________President, CEO, Janitor of the Derfender of Piece Game Reviewers
Saturday, November 16, 2013
Monday, November 4, 2013
I'm Not That Guy.
Sometimes you just gotta admit that shit to yourself because it sure as hell isn't fooling anyone, least of all yourself, y'know? Try as we may, some of us seem destined to be the pebble in the shoe, the fly in the ointment, the fuck in the cluster fuck. Not out of any malicious intent or ulterior motive, there's nothing to gain from behaving as such, it is simply that we are, for better but usually for worse, incapable of being comfortable conducting ourselves in any other way. Some days it's a good day to lie, some days it's a good day to try. That is, try to be more, because we do. In vain perhaps, but doesn't that make the whole effort that much more meaningful? The battle goes ill deep down but fucked if us massive bastards and occasional gentlemen aren't gonna go down swinging.
I'm not the good guy, but god dammit I'm trying...and at best I'm getting pretty good at not being the bad guy. In the end, can any of us really ask for more than that? Probably. Very probably but that shit isn't too realistic now is it.
Keep it real, non-existent listeners.
I'm not the good guy, but god dammit I'm trying...and at best I'm getting pretty good at not being the bad guy. In the end, can any of us really ask for more than that? Probably. Very probably but that shit isn't too realistic now is it.
Keep it real, non-existent listeners.
Monday, October 21, 2013
The Unblinking Stare
Please. Sit. Let us wax intellectual, dark, and deep, and fuck the promises to keep because feigning cavalier about the whole thing will saunter this shit right into whatever played out yet praiseworthy quote I end up pretentiously tacking on to the end of this post. No doubt it will be something from the Oscar Wilde catalog, but why waste time on absolutes, right? The chips doth fall etc.
I haven't been sleeping well for a while now. I don't know if it's the weather change or the fixed point in space that no longer affords me a glance back from the spheres of nothing and nowhere that in years long past called out to me. Daring me to walk that thin line between the twin chasms of comforting chaos in an attempt to glean some semblance of a place where I belong. Never once recognizing the obviousness of the whole endeavour because once you convince yourself there's gold in the water, it seems nothing short of drowning will pull your fists out of the riverbed.
For years I've been taking that walk but it's only now that I start to wonder if it's the delusion of finding something in nothing that draws me down that thin line, or is it that I'm afraid to turn away and find that there never was a line in the first place, or even perhaps that it's been so long that this colourless sound is all I can ever know. As you can imagine, none of these are the least bit comforting.
If it's the first thing, I suppose there is a quiet hopefulness to it, but ultimately it leaves one with the image of a broke drunk tilting an empty bottle those innumerable "one more time"s at 2 am, desperately clinging to the possibility of just one drop that got lost somewhere deep inside.
If it's the second, all those thoughts and feelings were pure fiction, a sad attempt to translate the absence of data. It means starting the research from scratch, assuming you can ever find your way back to ground zero. A tough pill to swallow, but possible none the less.
I don't want to even think about the third thing.
That said, I've opted for the second. I do not think I shall forget what I've felt up to now because as far as I'm concerned it's a fucked up sort of Schrodinger's Line, both existent and non-existent until I open the box. Maybe someday I'll have the courage but for now, I've decided take down the unblinking stare and begin drawing my own lines through life. Fuck knows what they will be, but at least they'll be something tangible.
Goodness, that's a lot of dull nonsense, isn't it? I did promise something though, so without further ado, goodnight and enjoy:
"All bad poetry springs from genuine feeling." ~ Oscar Wilde
I haven't been sleeping well for a while now. I don't know if it's the weather change or the fixed point in space that no longer affords me a glance back from the spheres of nothing and nowhere that in years long past called out to me. Daring me to walk that thin line between the twin chasms of comforting chaos in an attempt to glean some semblance of a place where I belong. Never once recognizing the obviousness of the whole endeavour because once you convince yourself there's gold in the water, it seems nothing short of drowning will pull your fists out of the riverbed.
For years I've been taking that walk but it's only now that I start to wonder if it's the delusion of finding something in nothing that draws me down that thin line, or is it that I'm afraid to turn away and find that there never was a line in the first place, or even perhaps that it's been so long that this colourless sound is all I can ever know. As you can imagine, none of these are the least bit comforting.
If it's the first thing, I suppose there is a quiet hopefulness to it, but ultimately it leaves one with the image of a broke drunk tilting an empty bottle those innumerable "one more time"s at 2 am, desperately clinging to the possibility of just one drop that got lost somewhere deep inside.
If it's the second, all those thoughts and feelings were pure fiction, a sad attempt to translate the absence of data. It means starting the research from scratch, assuming you can ever find your way back to ground zero. A tough pill to swallow, but possible none the less.
I don't want to even think about the third thing.
That said, I've opted for the second. I do not think I shall forget what I've felt up to now because as far as I'm concerned it's a fucked up sort of Schrodinger's Line, both existent and non-existent until I open the box. Maybe someday I'll have the courage but for now, I've decided take down the unblinking stare and begin drawing my own lines through life. Fuck knows what they will be, but at least they'll be something tangible.
Goodness, that's a lot of dull nonsense, isn't it? I did promise something though, so without further ado, goodnight and enjoy:
"All bad poetry springs from genuine feeling." ~ Oscar Wilde
Thursday, September 5, 2013
Tuesday, July 9, 2013
Sentence parkour (cuz I'm gonna run on this bitch)
I woke up early this morning, which incidentally is something that happened yesterday but yeah it happened today of all days, and I tell you what, it's kind of a fantastic thing that affords me a little more time to do whatever it is I feel like doing before diving into the daily foot slog through life and what that thing is for today is to paint like wildfire, if wildfire were more than just orange, red, and yellow hues and it can be if you throw certain chemicals into it but that's neither here nor there so yeah be happy today, little children of the world, for you are a part of something that simultaneously spirals out of control while following some sort of structure through the universe and hey, why not just spin right along with it and if you get dizzy, that's okay, that's totally a natural and understandable reaction to the whole thing and don't worry, you'll totally stop vomiting eventually, you just gotta, you gotta hang on as tight as you can and never let go, duct tape your hands to it if need be but just never let go because someday soon, you'll find that you're actually enjoying the ride and hey, if anyone deserves to enjoy it, it might as well be you and maybe me, but mostly you but yeah, so I went ahead and enjoyed it already but that doesn't mean you can't enjoy it after me still, or that I'm better for having enjoyed it first and GOD, it is physically paining me to not end this sentence but sometimes you just gotta run on, run on until you can't run anymore and have to heave yourself along by arm BECAUSE THAT'S WHERE I AM RIGHT NOW AND YOU SHOULD COME VISIT ME HERE, but maybe bring some grammar with you because I've plum run on and out of it belt buckle.
I need one of those. SMILE EVERYONE!
I need one of those. SMILE EVERYONE!
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Needless complications and the very real need some seem to have of them.
WARNING. TOTALLY OPINIONATED AND MORONIC BRAIN GOO TO FOLLOW, BASED ON MY INCREDIBLY BIASED, FUCKED UP EXPERIENCES AND INTERACTIONS. I TOTALLY ENCOURAGE ANY AND ALL TO CALL BULLSHIT AND DETAIL THEIR OWN EXPERIENCES.
Now then.
Somewhat contradictory to every person who has ever said "I would love a life without the bullshit drama/complication parts", I am inclined to call bullshit on that noise, not only because I personally prefer the batshit crazy aspects of life, but also because all evidence in some way or another seems to suggest that yeah, that is totally a thing you must call bullshit on. The ones who make such claims never seem to have or even work toward the simple life, and indeed if you've never had it how can you ever be truly sure that's what you want? Not to mention the fuck tons of people out there who have had a taste, but where otherwise incapable of maintaining such a life. More and more I get to thinking those complications are almost essential because from what I've seen, the ones who do end up where they want to be at the end of their respective life novels tend to...eh, be fantastically unstable at their foundations if you know what I mean.
For the record, I understand that I may be looking at all this in exactly the way I want to see it in order to justify my own bizarre process because it's true, I do lean toward the more fucked up situations in life. To the point that even the most stable living standard can be thrown into jeopardy. I'm not sure what it is exactly that sets me in motion on these endeavours, but without fail I am almost exclusively drawn to the twisted, insane, or otherwise damaged types out there, be it people or just the whole scene altogether. Is it to keep things interesting, and if so, for who? Is it that life is a lot more fun trying to find someone who compliments your brand of crazy in just the right way? Or is it simply that we(that is, fucked up people) are simply terrified of what is commonly referred to as a "normal life" but appears to me to be the most abnormal fucking thing in existence? As though the act of being involved in anything functional will indefinitely destroy our previous pathetic attempts at defining ourselves as well as any interest in mediums we've picked up along the way. The old saying that contentment is the death of passion etc. Sounds like a lot of wankery to me, but then I'm not building any cases against the notion now am I.
Sometimes though...I wonder what things would be like if we all could just embrace a little madness in the mix. I wonder if we would bitch less for the fact that we've redefined normalcy to better fit our lifestyle, or bitch more and claim that life has gotten boring in the "normal life" we would then find ourselves in, causing us to forge a brand new psuedo-normal in our heads that we can then wish for as per usual. After all, what the fuck do any of us really know about the fabled normalcy? The grass is always greener on the other side until you remember that grass, green or not, is pretty fucking boring either way. I kind of want to learn a bit about horticulture now, because I must be missing just why it was that saying was written that way. I think this generation definitely needs a do over on that sentiment. Maybe something like "The laser equipped motorcycle that also makes your coffee just right is always greener on the other side of the fence, because fuck, your neighbour does a better park job, I don't know fuck you."
Maybe something less caustic and assholey, and something more make sensey and socially easier to swallow. I'll work on it. In the meantime, errabody accept that life is all fucked up, and that it can be so much more fun because it is. We'd be fucking crazy not to accept the insanity of it all. Acceptance sure beats bitching about it with no intentions of really fixing it, right?
I'm sorry, I'm sleep deprived. I'll stop now.
Now then.
Somewhat contradictory to every person who has ever said "I would love a life without the bullshit drama/complication parts", I am inclined to call bullshit on that noise, not only because I personally prefer the batshit crazy aspects of life, but also because all evidence in some way or another seems to suggest that yeah, that is totally a thing you must call bullshit on. The ones who make such claims never seem to have or even work toward the simple life, and indeed if you've never had it how can you ever be truly sure that's what you want? Not to mention the fuck tons of people out there who have had a taste, but where otherwise incapable of maintaining such a life. More and more I get to thinking those complications are almost essential because from what I've seen, the ones who do end up where they want to be at the end of their respective life novels tend to...eh, be fantastically unstable at their foundations if you know what I mean.
For the record, I understand that I may be looking at all this in exactly the way I want to see it in order to justify my own bizarre process because it's true, I do lean toward the more fucked up situations in life. To the point that even the most stable living standard can be thrown into jeopardy. I'm not sure what it is exactly that sets me in motion on these endeavours, but without fail I am almost exclusively drawn to the twisted, insane, or otherwise damaged types out there, be it people or just the whole scene altogether. Is it to keep things interesting, and if so, for who? Is it that life is a lot more fun trying to find someone who compliments your brand of crazy in just the right way? Or is it simply that we(that is, fucked up people) are simply terrified of what is commonly referred to as a "normal life" but appears to me to be the most abnormal fucking thing in existence? As though the act of being involved in anything functional will indefinitely destroy our previous pathetic attempts at defining ourselves as well as any interest in mediums we've picked up along the way. The old saying that contentment is the death of passion etc. Sounds like a lot of wankery to me, but then I'm not building any cases against the notion now am I.
Sometimes though...I wonder what things would be like if we all could just embrace a little madness in the mix. I wonder if we would bitch less for the fact that we've redefined normalcy to better fit our lifestyle, or bitch more and claim that life has gotten boring in the "normal life" we would then find ourselves in, causing us to forge a brand new psuedo-normal in our heads that we can then wish for as per usual. After all, what the fuck do any of us really know about the fabled normalcy? The grass is always greener on the other side until you remember that grass, green or not, is pretty fucking boring either way. I kind of want to learn a bit about horticulture now, because I must be missing just why it was that saying was written that way. I think this generation definitely needs a do over on that sentiment. Maybe something like "The laser equipped motorcycle that also makes your coffee just right is always greener on the other side of the fence, because fuck, your neighbour does a better park job, I don't know fuck you."
Maybe something less caustic and assholey, and something more make sensey and socially easier to swallow. I'll work on it. In the meantime, errabody accept that life is all fucked up, and that it can be so much more fun because it is. We'd be fucking crazy not to accept the insanity of it all. Acceptance sure beats bitching about it with no intentions of really fixing it, right?
I'm sorry, I'm sleep deprived. I'll stop now.
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Saturday, April 6, 2013
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Red Fog Lady
I had myself an experience last year that affected me to a deep and scary degree and I've been meaning to write about it for some time now but it was not until recently that I was compelled to do so. I met someone.
I KNOW! THAT'S FUCKING TERRIFYING ON IT'S OWN!
But it goes far beyond that. I met someone I'd met before, last year. Not only did I meet her again, I met her in an entirely new light, the likes of which I never thought I'd see her under, nor a light I ever thought I could find anyone else beneath.
Make no mistake, ladies and gents. The girl I'd known not seven months ago was a monster. In fact, as the record has it she was a bonafide villain traipsing out in the world with nary a care for who or what she assaulted. When we'd initially met I thought "good God, please let no other woman be like this" because I do so love women and their diversity but what I saw that day was less of a woman and more of a womonster. I mean, she actively, and fervently thought about the next time she might run into a poor soul to abuse and devour, THAT'S HOW FUCKING MESSED UP THIS CHICK WAS!
I admit, in my own fucked up way, she kinda turned me on, being so free and twisted like a drugged up leaf on the wind that boldly told the wind to do cocaine and the wind FUCKING DID because she had that sway over it. She stayed with us for agood fucking awful spell and then went on her way with her boyfriend called "Cheese" and finally the roommate and I could get to knowing what the word "peace" meant. Quiet too. We re-learned that. It was totally rad. Remember rad? We were that.
When she and her cheddar man left though, I started noticing the environment I was in. It was shit. So shit in fact that these two crazies would leave, but we'll get to that soon.
Cut to January of 2013. This lady comes back into town and says she's stopping by. I shit because I never wanted to see her again, but I figured "fuck it, life's an adventure and at least I can write about whatever happens next some day." But then, she shows up, and I am taken aback. She is calm, courteous, respectful. Regal even. Quite in fact, this fucked up bitch is a legit lady. I am flabbergasted. I am sitting in my room pondering the ways of the world because of this when she bursts in my room saying "Hey Derf, do you mind if I hang out in here with you? This weird dude out there is creeping me out" The weird dude being a guy she wouldn't hesitate to fuck not 6 months ago. I say "sure, me casa su casa" and we sit. We then get into a lengthy discussion over a bottle of Peppermint Schnapps and I am taken way WAY aback.
I understand people do grow and more ore less, change. Maybe for the better, maybe the worst. But they do. At least, I do now. She tells me her tale. We talk for 5 or 6 hours, sharing laughs and smiles and frowns at where we've been, where we are, and where we might end up. I look at this woman who I once hated and suddenly, she changes. She'd been through hell. She'd suffered that of a lesser collective and found a way back to decency. I find myself thinking "God, if I only knew you like this, I would love you so much."
Time wears, we reach our goodbye under the red sky of sickeningly early winter morning. "You're fucking awesome Derf" she says "How are you so fucking awesome?" I look her in the eye and say "It's because I'm not trying to fuck you." She laughs so heartily that I'll never forget the sound. We hug, so tightly that I wished I knew her like this before. I miss her so much in my arms. We lock eyes and I say "Never end up back in this mess, lady" and she replies "I promise I won't, and if I do please hit me upside the head." I agree and wave as she walks into the early morning red mist.
"I love that lady" I think to myself as she fades away into the fog. "I hope I never see her again"
It's both the most selfless and hopeful I have ever been to date.
I KNOW! THAT'S FUCKING TERRIFYING ON IT'S OWN!
But it goes far beyond that. I met someone I'd met before, last year. Not only did I meet her again, I met her in an entirely new light, the likes of which I never thought I'd see her under, nor a light I ever thought I could find anyone else beneath.
Make no mistake, ladies and gents. The girl I'd known not seven months ago was a monster. In fact, as the record has it she was a bonafide villain traipsing out in the world with nary a care for who or what she assaulted. When we'd initially met I thought "good God, please let no other woman be like this" because I do so love women and their diversity but what I saw that day was less of a woman and more of a womonster. I mean, she actively, and fervently thought about the next time she might run into a poor soul to abuse and devour, THAT'S HOW FUCKING MESSED UP THIS CHICK WAS!
I admit, in my own fucked up way, she kinda turned me on, being so free and twisted like a drugged up leaf on the wind that boldly told the wind to do cocaine and the wind FUCKING DID because she had that sway over it. She stayed with us for a
When she and her cheddar man left though, I started noticing the environment I was in. It was shit. So shit in fact that these two crazies would leave, but we'll get to that soon.
Cut to January of 2013. This lady comes back into town and says she's stopping by. I shit because I never wanted to see her again, but I figured "fuck it, life's an adventure and at least I can write about whatever happens next some day." But then, she shows up, and I am taken aback. She is calm, courteous, respectful. Regal even. Quite in fact, this fucked up bitch is a legit lady. I am flabbergasted. I am sitting in my room pondering the ways of the world because of this when she bursts in my room saying "Hey Derf, do you mind if I hang out in here with you? This weird dude out there is creeping me out" The weird dude being a guy she wouldn't hesitate to fuck not 6 months ago. I say "sure, me casa su casa" and we sit. We then get into a lengthy discussion over a bottle of Peppermint Schnapps and I am taken way WAY aback.
I understand people do grow and more ore less, change. Maybe for the better, maybe the worst. But they do. At least, I do now. She tells me her tale. We talk for 5 or 6 hours, sharing laughs and smiles and frowns at where we've been, where we are, and where we might end up. I look at this woman who I once hated and suddenly, she changes. She'd been through hell. She'd suffered that of a lesser collective and found a way back to decency. I find myself thinking "God, if I only knew you like this, I would love you so much."
Time wears, we reach our goodbye under the red sky of sickeningly early winter morning. "You're fucking awesome Derf" she says "How are you so fucking awesome?" I look her in the eye and say "It's because I'm not trying to fuck you." She laughs so heartily that I'll never forget the sound. We hug, so tightly that I wished I knew her like this before. I miss her so much in my arms. We lock eyes and I say "Never end up back in this mess, lady" and she replies "I promise I won't, and if I do please hit me upside the head." I agree and wave as she walks into the early morning red mist.
"I love that lady" I think to myself as she fades away into the fog. "I hope I never see her again"
It's both the most selfless and hopeful I have ever been to date.
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
Stream of Consciousness Fictional Semi-autobiographical Material
The dog came on. Yapping. I was terrified. I must have been four years old. Could this be the source of my fear of dogs? If so, what happened to my fear of dogs? I feel as though I had one, once. A fear of dogs. Click.
new memory: I stand at the beach, squelching and re-squelching my toes in the wet sand. The dying rush of another flat wave foams in, muddy colored with brilliant surface bubbles, the reflected sun pushes streaming warm water around my ankles and then - slow, stop, reverse - the tide drags itself back, its suction pulling the foundation from under my heels. I thrill to the sensation of the wet sand and mud disappearing out from under me. My feet are unsettling, making weird pits as the waves wash in and out. Click.
new memory: I stood there, in front of the candy store with my colored fluorescent chalks. Or were they crayons? Pastels? Some sort of colored tacky things they'd given me to draw on their window glass. It was the summer before eighth grade, and they were paying me to draw on their window. I was drawing a clown. I don't recall now if I had been asked to draw a clown, or simply to draw something. I was drawing a clown. Click.
My first sexual experience. I am simultaneously penetrating and being penetrated by myself. But something is wrong. I have only half the necessary genetic material for a human being! Wait, okay, the other half is in wiggly me. That complements and completes the half in round me. The nuclear boundaries are dissolving, releasing two halved double helixes into a shared cell chamber. Drawn to each other, pulling and whirling as if in a dance, the two incomplete sequences combine into one - complete! A new organism! Unique in the history of the world. Straight, white and male. Click.
End memory retrieval sequence.
new memory: I stand at the beach, squelching and re-squelching my toes in the wet sand. The dying rush of another flat wave foams in, muddy colored with brilliant surface bubbles, the reflected sun pushes streaming warm water around my ankles and then - slow, stop, reverse - the tide drags itself back, its suction pulling the foundation from under my heels. I thrill to the sensation of the wet sand and mud disappearing out from under me. My feet are unsettling, making weird pits as the waves wash in and out. Click.
new memory: I stood there, in front of the candy store with my colored fluorescent chalks. Or were they crayons? Pastels? Some sort of colored tacky things they'd given me to draw on their window glass. It was the summer before eighth grade, and they were paying me to draw on their window. I was drawing a clown. I don't recall now if I had been asked to draw a clown, or simply to draw something. I was drawing a clown. Click.
My first sexual experience. I am simultaneously penetrating and being penetrated by myself. But something is wrong. I have only half the necessary genetic material for a human being! Wait, okay, the other half is in wiggly me. That complements and completes the half in round me. The nuclear boundaries are dissolving, releasing two halved double helixes into a shared cell chamber. Drawn to each other, pulling and whirling as if in a dance, the two incomplete sequences combine into one - complete! A new organism! Unique in the history of the world. Straight, white and male. Click.
End memory retrieval sequence.
Sunday, March 10, 2013
Love Stories Are Better When They Don't Work Out In The End
Let me start this by saying that it has, at one time or another, worked out for me for a very long time so don't think I'm just jaded or anything because while that's not an inaccurate description, it is also not why I feel the way I do about love stories. That said, onwards we march.
I'm the youngest of three siblings with the elder siblings being sisters, and both of these sisters gave birth to daughters who were left in my care on occasion. With this in mind, it's not terribly surprising that by now I've had to sit through a smorgasbord of romance flicks in my day and considering the fact that I'm one of the worst romantics out there, I still find many of those flicks to be utterly awful. I know my being a male may dilute the argument I'm about to make but seeing as I'm also a part-time obnoxious jerk face, I'm gonna carry on with this.
So. Love stories. I find a lot of them to be shit, and here's why. They start out pretty average as is humanities custom, by introducing the characters who, despite all odds, will meet up about a third or so into the story.
He, the die hard Die Hard fan who just does not respect the sanctity of marriage or the female vote or just doesn't understand how miniature pigs can be considered cute. Maybe he's a gigantic nerd who spends more time arranging action figures on the shelf than he does on personal hygiene or it scares women to be around him after they see him watching that sports game because he has a blood curdling scream whether his team is winning or not and that look in his eye is just fucking terrifying. Or maybe it's the exact opposite and women are put off by him because he's just so whiny and sensitive and they want a mans man and why does he have so many miniature pigs? That's fucked up.
She, the independent business woman who, while firm handed and business savvy, seems to always be dating I guy that is a total contradiction to everything she feels and believes but hey, he's not living with his parents or cosplaying on the weekend so why not? Maybe she has a seemingly never ending bad luck streak in dating or just doesn't understand the point in having swords lying around the house "just in case". Or maybe it's the total opposite and she loves LOTR and can knit the fuck out of a big nice costume and knows ninjas or zombies can burst through the windows late at night and that katanas are a vital home necessity, but the men she happens to meet are looking for "more of a girly girl" and why doesn't she have a miniature pig? That's fucked up.
Whatever the case, they meet and it's awkward and maybe they don't like each other initially but they keep running into each other and it's funny because look, fate seems to be driving them together. They start hanging out and any complications there might have been are cleared up. They smile. They laugh. It becomes a part of them. Then, OH NO! Something has happened and there's a falling out. Nick Drake, Nico, Dar Williams and Elliott Smith burst onto the soundtrack and we watch them sit and stare and shuffle papers at work. They look out the window and it's raining. It's an ocean side city but fuck that, it's raining because this thing is happening to them.
Enter the fat comedic sidekick to say "oh hey, that thing that happened that was the big OH NO? Yeah it didn't happen, or it is totally justified and you should go see that man or woman" but they sometimes don't and just naturally run into each other anyway because I don't care how big a city is, that's gonna happen. They talk and have hugely emotional speeches to one another and holy shit it's raining again because let's kiss. Cue whatever love song is exploding that year and roll credits.
On the face of it, it's really sweet. The idea that things can work out despite all odds is an appealing notion to anybody and you go home feeling like a million dollars and it's great. Fantasy. It's a great thing every now and again. But though you feel like a million dollars now, that sum is spent all too soon. It's with this in mind that I submit to you that things not working out in the end is OH so much better and I'll tell you why. It's a much more grounded sensation after watching such flicks because it's easier to identify with the characters and situation. I'm sure some couples may be in love now and you're happy together and it worked out and YAY! But I also know that more often than not, even those couples went through the "it didn't work out" ending at some stage in their lives. And you know what? It's better because it didn't last. You get those fleeting moments of pure joy and it never gets dulled down by time, you don't get complacent and see it as an everyday thing. Sure, it ended and that sucks but nothing can ever diminish that one fine day, week, month or year because that's all it ever was and it will always be perfect. Because you will always remember it. It doesn't happen to you everyday like it would in the "happy ending" so it never loses its luster.
I'm gonna stop now before romantic comedy critics sharpen the knives too much. It doesn't get much sharper than razor sharp, y'all. Derf out.
I'm the youngest of three siblings with the elder siblings being sisters, and both of these sisters gave birth to daughters who were left in my care on occasion. With this in mind, it's not terribly surprising that by now I've had to sit through a smorgasbord of romance flicks in my day and considering the fact that I'm one of the worst romantics out there, I still find many of those flicks to be utterly awful. I know my being a male may dilute the argument I'm about to make but seeing as I'm also a part-time obnoxious jerk face, I'm gonna carry on with this.
So. Love stories. I find a lot of them to be shit, and here's why. They start out pretty average as is humanities custom, by introducing the characters who, despite all odds, will meet up about a third or so into the story.
He, the die hard Die Hard fan who just does not respect the sanctity of marriage or the female vote or just doesn't understand how miniature pigs can be considered cute. Maybe he's a gigantic nerd who spends more time arranging action figures on the shelf than he does on personal hygiene or it scares women to be around him after they see him watching that sports game because he has a blood curdling scream whether his team is winning or not and that look in his eye is just fucking terrifying. Or maybe it's the exact opposite and women are put off by him because he's just so whiny and sensitive and they want a mans man and why does he have so many miniature pigs? That's fucked up.
She, the independent business woman who, while firm handed and business savvy, seems to always be dating I guy that is a total contradiction to everything she feels and believes but hey, he's not living with his parents or cosplaying on the weekend so why not? Maybe she has a seemingly never ending bad luck streak in dating or just doesn't understand the point in having swords lying around the house "just in case". Or maybe it's the total opposite and she loves LOTR and can knit the fuck out of a big nice costume and knows ninjas or zombies can burst through the windows late at night and that katanas are a vital home necessity, but the men she happens to meet are looking for "more of a girly girl" and why doesn't she have a miniature pig? That's fucked up.
Whatever the case, they meet and it's awkward and maybe they don't like each other initially but they keep running into each other and it's funny because look, fate seems to be driving them together. They start hanging out and any complications there might have been are cleared up. They smile. They laugh. It becomes a part of them. Then, OH NO! Something has happened and there's a falling out. Nick Drake, Nico, Dar Williams and Elliott Smith burst onto the soundtrack and we watch them sit and stare and shuffle papers at work. They look out the window and it's raining. It's an ocean side city but fuck that, it's raining because this thing is happening to them.
Enter the fat comedic sidekick to say "oh hey, that thing that happened that was the big OH NO? Yeah it didn't happen, or it is totally justified and you should go see that man or woman" but they sometimes don't and just naturally run into each other anyway because I don't care how big a city is, that's gonna happen. They talk and have hugely emotional speeches to one another and holy shit it's raining again because let's kiss. Cue whatever love song is exploding that year and roll credits.
On the face of it, it's really sweet. The idea that things can work out despite all odds is an appealing notion to anybody and you go home feeling like a million dollars and it's great. Fantasy. It's a great thing every now and again. But though you feel like a million dollars now, that sum is spent all too soon. It's with this in mind that I submit to you that things not working out in the end is OH so much better and I'll tell you why. It's a much more grounded sensation after watching such flicks because it's easier to identify with the characters and situation. I'm sure some couples may be in love now and you're happy together and it worked out and YAY! But I also know that more often than not, even those couples went through the "it didn't work out" ending at some stage in their lives. And you know what? It's better because it didn't last. You get those fleeting moments of pure joy and it never gets dulled down by time, you don't get complacent and see it as an everyday thing. Sure, it ended and that sucks but nothing can ever diminish that one fine day, week, month or year because that's all it ever was and it will always be perfect. Because you will always remember it. It doesn't happen to you everyday like it would in the "happy ending" so it never loses its luster.
I'm gonna stop now before romantic comedy critics sharpen the knives too much. It doesn't get much sharper than razor sharp, y'all. Derf out.
Saturday, March 9, 2013
How Christina Aguilera Changed My Life Forever
Fade in.
The year: late 2002.
Location: Earth.
The questions on this young mans mind: What have you done to yourself, Christina? And how can I do it to myself?
Alright. Full disclosure here. The initial response to Christina's performance that year was admittedly less life changing and more...eye opening, in a very physical and lustful sense. For a solid month I just did not know what to do with what I was seeing from this seemingly innocent pop princess, shaking the dirt off in a way that actively begged for more dirt to be thrust on for shaking off. As a recovering romantic, it blew my goddamn mind! That the human body can move in such a way that I could forgive the horrifically catchy, yet ultimately irritating noise this creature produced was simultaneously impressive, and depressing to behold.
You have to understand I was on a very different path at the time. I was a scholar, a son, an artist; torn between living the life I wished to live, and the life that was expected of me. I lived off a single bottle of Gatorade and a small bag of crisps a day so that I might put what little finances I had toward art supplies without revealing the fact that I had been indulging in "meaningless endeavours". After all, a future Electrician shouldn't be wasting his money on such trivial things. At the time, I could accept this premise. Free thinking hadn't occurred to me yet and Electricians do make a substantial income, so it wasn't an entirely unappealing punchline. Certainly not a satisfying one, though.
I walked the halls of a fine institution with a quiet contempt for the provocative, because what was that worth to a young man in love with love? For him, this girl with bizarre taste, style, and a massive brain on her shoulders was far more sexy than any tube top or micro-skirt would ever be. It may well still be to be honest but it's a pretty close race now. I had a sense of propriety, of integrity, of dignity. and anything else was anathema to who and what I thought I was at the time.
Enter the "Dirrty" music video.
Suddenly it was all so disturbingly clear. Base desire kicked in with a vengeance and what once was considered unthinkable was immediately a simple and unavoidable truth.
"My God" I thought. "I am exactly as easy as the type of guy I thought I wasn't."
The social barriers that I had invested years and years of time on went down like fucking card houses, and existence itself seemed to transform before my very eyes at the sight of this princess diving headlong into controversy and "self expression". From that moment on, everywhere I looked there was a very different play taking place, and even the stage itself seemed to be manipulated by it with ease. This went on for about a month, as previously mentioned.
Then I started becoming desensitized to the whole shebang and began thinking about an entirely different aspect of the matter. Why did this hit me so hard? Why hadn't I seen this of myself before? Why did it take this once innocent young lady weaving and swaying just so for me to see it now? The answer was in the very question. It never occurred to me that Ms. Aguilera might not have wanted to churn out the music she had before then. That perhaps it was all just another path lined out, not by her but by some other external force, driving her to be everything she didn't want to be. Maybe that isn't at all the case, but at once I knew why I was so enchanted with her dance. Freedom. And boobs and ass. But mostly freedom.
In a mere 5 minute video, this woman had lived more freely than I had in my entire life up to that point. Even with that endless animal bleat hounding my brain saying "good lord, would you look at them stems", I couldn't help but love the stark beauty of what she might really be doing. Who she was becoming. Who she may well have been the entire time, but for all the wrong reasons decided to hide. I still didn't care for her music but that's beside the point. She was setting herself free, and it was amazing to witness.
So here's to you, X-Tina. You're as dirrty as you want to be and while it may not have been your intention, it has made all the difference to this former depressed Electrician to be, now happily starving artist. BRAVO, NAUGHTY GIRL!
The year: late 2002.
Location: Earth.
The questions on this young mans mind: What have you done to yourself, Christina? And how can I do it to myself?
Alright. Full disclosure here. The initial response to Christina's performance that year was admittedly less life changing and more...eye opening, in a very physical and lustful sense. For a solid month I just did not know what to do with what I was seeing from this seemingly innocent pop princess, shaking the dirt off in a way that actively begged for more dirt to be thrust on for shaking off. As a recovering romantic, it blew my goddamn mind! That the human body can move in such a way that I could forgive the horrifically catchy, yet ultimately irritating noise this creature produced was simultaneously impressive, and depressing to behold.
You have to understand I was on a very different path at the time. I was a scholar, a son, an artist; torn between living the life I wished to live, and the life that was expected of me. I lived off a single bottle of Gatorade and a small bag of crisps a day so that I might put what little finances I had toward art supplies without revealing the fact that I had been indulging in "meaningless endeavours". After all, a future Electrician shouldn't be wasting his money on such trivial things. At the time, I could accept this premise. Free thinking hadn't occurred to me yet and Electricians do make a substantial income, so it wasn't an entirely unappealing punchline. Certainly not a satisfying one, though.
I walked the halls of a fine institution with a quiet contempt for the provocative, because what was that worth to a young man in love with love? For him, this girl with bizarre taste, style, and a massive brain on her shoulders was far more sexy than any tube top or micro-skirt would ever be. It may well still be to be honest but it's a pretty close race now. I had a sense of propriety, of integrity, of dignity. and anything else was anathema to who and what I thought I was at the time.
Enter the "Dirrty" music video.
Suddenly it was all so disturbingly clear. Base desire kicked in with a vengeance and what once was considered unthinkable was immediately a simple and unavoidable truth.
"My God" I thought. "I am exactly as easy as the type of guy I thought I wasn't."
The social barriers that I had invested years and years of time on went down like fucking card houses, and existence itself seemed to transform before my very eyes at the sight of this princess diving headlong into controversy and "self expression". From that moment on, everywhere I looked there was a very different play taking place, and even the stage itself seemed to be manipulated by it with ease. This went on for about a month, as previously mentioned.
Then I started becoming desensitized to the whole shebang and began thinking about an entirely different aspect of the matter. Why did this hit me so hard? Why hadn't I seen this of myself before? Why did it take this once innocent young lady weaving and swaying just so for me to see it now? The answer was in the very question. It never occurred to me that Ms. Aguilera might not have wanted to churn out the music she had before then. That perhaps it was all just another path lined out, not by her but by some other external force, driving her to be everything she didn't want to be. Maybe that isn't at all the case, but at once I knew why I was so enchanted with her dance. Freedom. And boobs and ass. But mostly freedom.
In a mere 5 minute video, this woman had lived more freely than I had in my entire life up to that point. Even with that endless animal bleat hounding my brain saying "good lord, would you look at them stems", I couldn't help but love the stark beauty of what she might really be doing. Who she was becoming. Who she may well have been the entire time, but for all the wrong reasons decided to hide. I still didn't care for her music but that's beside the point. She was setting herself free, and it was amazing to witness.
So here's to you, X-Tina. You're as dirrty as you want to be and while it may not have been your intention, it has made all the difference to this former depressed Electrician to be, now happily starving artist. BRAVO, NAUGHTY GIRL!
