The boyfriend has officially pre-ordered the Dungeons and Dragons Online Game as of yesterday and received the beta game. "It's only got ten consecutive days to play in the beta," he says. So, I'm thinking he'll want to play it tomorrow (Sunday) since we haven't much to do. No, he's going to set it up on Wednesday, that way he has a couple of days to do his character and get acclimated, and then he'll have a couple of uninterrupted weekends to play.
Uh-huh.
Today, we went to an SCA event. Today, he put on armor and beat people with sticks. Today, I was girly-girl and did girly-girl things because it was too damned rainy out for me to want to stand in the wet grass and grey mist in an ankle-length dress ooh-ing and aah-ing over the fighting while wondering if I'm ready to don some armor and find out what it's like on the receiving end of a knight bearing a long sword.
This evening, we went to feast. This evening, at feast, he was bragging to a friend that he had the pre-order with the beta game. This evening, he announces he will start playing it tomorrow (Sunday). I blinked at him from across the candlelit table and said, "I thought you weren't playing it until Wednesday." He shrugged sheepishly.
I knew he couldn't resist.
On the way home from said event, I made mention of how he couldn't resist. He made mention of how if he's not too tired, he might go ahead and set up the character, maybe play it tomorrow...
I'm seeing a pattern here.
An hour ago, as we tossed pieces of packing material at each other shouting, "Lightning bolt! Lightning bolt! Lightning bolt!" he was loading the beta and letting the patches download.
A few minutes ago, he was building his character.
As of three minutes ago, he ran his character onto the tutorial island and is currently learning how to play the game...
Resistence thy name is NOT Gamer Geek.
Of course, who the hell am I to laugh? Firstly, I managed to ingore the call of Final Fantasy 7 for three whole days, swearing I would finish Wild Arms first, before I broke down and placed its shining disk in the Playstation. Secondly, by tomorrow I'll be wrestling him for a chance to play...
January 2006 Archives
Which none of you will agree with, but hey, we all have our opinions.
"Flash Gordon"
Yes, I love the mountain of tackiness that is "Flash Gordon".
I mean, what other movie has a star quarterback saving the earth, a weeping sop of a heroine, a pointy-mustached villain, a scientist that is immediately master of alien technology, birdmen whose wings barely work, 1980 sad laser effects, Timothy Dalton in a role he'll never admit to, rubber monsters, blue screen work that could possibly be the first ever Bluescreen of Death, and a soundtrack by Queen.
I love this movie. It's brainless, shameless, and hopeless. The metallic gold guard uniforms and hot pink satin dresses are a particularly nice touch. Who couldn't love that? The plot, if there ever was one, was laughable, and the acting...well, there wasn't any of that. But, it's damn fun, damn funny, and so damn early eighties it hurts.
The boyfriend and I were watching it tonight and laughing most heartily. As I watched, I started to think that there is no way a movie that bad could be made in seriousness. We're not talking Ed Wood here. He may have been serious about his atrocities, but he was also out of his mind. (I do not mock him, though. Without him, we wouldn't have "Plan 9 from Outer Space" and Tim Burton.) This was a comic book movie made in typical comic book movie quality...bad. I mean, the only comic movie that had come out previously and was considered good was "Superman" as far as I know. At least, that's what I remember. (I was only seven when "Flash Gordon" came out.) Sometimes, I truly wonder if it wasn't meant to be that bad.
Still, you know, it may be bad, but at least it's not "Zardoz" bad (poor Sean Connery) or "Batman and Robin" bad (I pity no one in that one.) It at least has the decency to be bad in a hysterically funny sort of way. Especially after a few drinks.
So, mock me if you will, but I love "Flash Gordon". It may have bad style, but it has style nonetheless.
*cue Queen* FLASH! Aaa-aaaah!
NASA launched New Horizons a few days ago.
Traveling at 47,000 mph it flew by the moon in nine hours as opposed the three days it normally takes. It will reach Jupiter in a year, and hopefully, with a succesful slingshot around the gas giant, it will reach Pluto in about nine years.
Nine years, ya'll.
We may not have flying cars, yet, but damn if this ain't cool.
Wireless Bluetooth Headphones for the iPod
That's all that needs to be said, really.
Samsung's 102" Plasma Display Panel TV that they unveiled at CES
I...I...I think I just had a geek-gasm.
You know, if I had this in my house, I would have to name it. I would call it Hercules...or quite possibly Master.
I'm sorry, the one thing for certain that I lust over is a damn nice home theater system. Movie theaters are okay, but if I wanted 20 minutes of freaking commercials, I'd go home and watch TV. If I wanted to listen to someone's cell phone go off, I'd go to the library. If I wanted to listen to people talk through the entire thing, I'd bring a two-year-old. For as much as they charge for ticket prices these days, the experience just isn't what it should be. Yeah, there is nothing like seeing it on a big screen and feeling the sound, but you know, I've been to many theaters where the sound was so freaking loud it hurt and really wasn't that good, so all I ever really look for is the feel of being lost in the big screen. Hey, I can get that at home now, not to mention that the 7.1 Dolby Digital DTS Surround Sound System we have in our living room makes most theaters sound like mono. The only problem is my 32" TV is too small for the sound. That will be remedied eventually since the boyfriend and I are drooling over an 80" screen/digital projector/media center combo that actually costs about the same as a 62" projection TV. I've always said that when I paid off my car (This week! Woohoo!) that my gift to me was to save the money and get a damn nice home theater system. The goal is to have it by the end of the year. It will definitely happen if I get the test analyst job I interview for on Thursday, but if not, I think we can probably pull it off. We'll see. Either way, the point is, I'm finding myself in a place where I go to a theater to see if I like the movie enough to buy it and see it on a REAL system. Sad, huh?
Of course, this doesn't count towards my silent movie obsession since silent films were pretty much only filmed one way. But, you know, there's something to be said for "Nosferatu" glaring at you from a huge fucking screen during a Halloween party.
Heh.
I'm...I'm...in shock for one thing. There I am, at the end of Star Trek: The Next Generation on G4, flipping through channels, and what do I see? "Castle in the Sky" on Turner Classic Movies. I check the channel guide to make sure I'm seeing what I'm seeing, and what do I discover? "Nausicaa: Valley of the Winds" is coming on next. My heart stopped, I swear.
I ran upstairs and checked the TCM website to see if it's going to come on again because a) some of us have to sleep so we can work, and b) I'm still without a DVR. No, it's not coming on again, but they are running Hayao Miyazaki Thursdays for January. Color me surprised. I never thought I'd see them run anime. (They're also doing a drool-worthy Vincent Price showing on Wednesdays this month.)
Now, I haven't seen "Nausicaa" since 1985. "Unico" was the first anime I saw and it stunned me. "Nausicaa" showed me what animation should be. "Nausicaa" moved me. I haven't seen it since.
At last check, it was very hard to find. I just discovered that it's now on DVD.
Be still my beating heart.
This, I've decided, was a good night. Yeah, it started out with me having to clean house behind some cats who refuse to do their share, but hey, I found out "Nausicaa" now exists within the joy that is DVD. Oh, yeah.
Now, if we can only get "Unico"...
I'm reading this book I received for my birthday from one of my best friends. It's called "The Worst Noel" and is supposed to be filled with holiday horror stories. When she gave me this book, I was all sorts of digging it. I mean, who doesn't get off on other people's misery? Besides, once you've had a horrible Christmas, and that pretty much counts everyone, you can't help by empathize, even if you're laughing at someone else's pain.
Thing is, not to insult my friend's choice or anything, so far as I've read in this book, the Christmases have started out pretty horrible, but they all end up "And, suddenly, it wasn't so bad. God bless us, every one." Yeah, that one family hit the deer, but they still managed to have a damn good time skiing. That one guy had to meet his soon-to-be in-laws, but Paw-Paw didn't set Me-Me on fire after she threw out his last beer. As horrible Christmas stories go, these are pretty wimpy. Once you've had a fist fight break out at a Christmas gathering, everyone else are just whiners.
Oh, yes, this happened.
My mother was dating this guy who name starts with an "A". Since he turned into a total dickweed, we'll call him Arse. Well, Mom and Arse were living together, and had invited me over for Christmas. The idea was that I would stay the night on Christmas Eve then we would enjoy Christmas Day, too much food and all, with the addition of a few of his family members. Okie dokie. I was a bit worried about this because all the women in his family are insane. I wish I was joking. They really are insane. It is obvious that any psychosis, afflication, or general craziness runs only in the women of his family...and it was only the women coming over. Nice. But, I tried to not let it get to me.
Christmas Eve went well. I daresay it was rather nice. In my family, we open the under the tree gifts on Christmas Eve and stocking stuffers on Christmas Day. (Oh, shut. It's our tradition not yours.) That went very well. We had a nice dinner, good conversation, lovely gifts, and a genuinely nice evening. After such a quiet, relaxing time that didn't require a bottle of Scotch, I had hopes for the next day.
You can see it coming, can't you?
My mother came and woke me up about mid-morning in the most obnoxiously chipper manner she could muster. Santa's elves on Ecstasy couldn't have been spritelier. On a normal day, I would have thrown things at her, but being Christmas, I thought I'd be nice and only growl at her. After lots of coffee and a shower, I was somewhat awake by noon and was able to help with the Christmas dinner.
The first guest to arrive was Arse's deaf and mentally deranged sister. She lived downstairs and collected things. Anything. She lived in an apartment of towering boxes of stuff she bought because she "might need them one day". If you ever need to borrow something, be it a cup of sugar or a power drill, this woman had it. She was also terminally paranoid. She once called the cops on the mailman because she swore he was stalking her. She had issues.
She spent most of the time on the couch watching TV and asking us to repeat ourselves.
The rest of the clan arrived all at once and descended upon the house like a wrecking ball.
There was Arse's drug addict daughter and her unbelievably cute-but-worthy-of-your-pity-for-having-such-a-mother two-year-old. She immediately gave her daughter to her grandfather and plopped her ass on the couch to ignore everyone until presents, because getting free stuff always got her attention. Then, there was Arse's younger sister who used her shrink like a pusher and had all three of her daughters, who she had in tow, on whatever psychotic drug was in vogue to help them "deal with things".
Once we finished preparing dinner, it was time for Arse's family to open gifts. Mom insisted that we, in politeness, join the "festivities". I would like to note, however, that she a) was not happy about this particular family gathering and was only doing it for the sake of her boyfriend and b) spoke through clenched teeth to keep herself from screaming.
Let's see, Arse's younger sister spent most of her time breaking up fights among her children. His older sister gave people random things she found among the massive piles of crap in her house in between huge plates of food. The drug addict was cognizant long enough to want to know if she was going to get any money. Only the two-year-old seemed to be having a good time. Mom and I just quietly sipped our wine and watched the chaos.
Presents were opened, dinner was had, and Mom and I bore it with, I thought, an enormous amount of restraint as we each expressed, outside of earshot, which mother/child we wanted to smack with bets on who was going to do it first.
Turns out, we didn't have to do that.
Mom and I were sitting at the dining room table, drinking even more wine, trying to keep sane. We chatted off and on, mostly to remind each other all this would only last a few hours and then it'll be over, when we were both drawn to a heated conversation between the younger sister and the drug addict. Now, we really didn't pay attention to the content of the conversation because, frankly, we didn't care. We only stopped long enough to realize that drama was happening before we rolled our eyes and moved on.
Moving on didn't happen.
Younger sister, obviously pissed about whatever, stomps by drug addict. Drug addict launches off the couch, runs across the living room, and starts pummeling younger sister. All hell breaks loose as daughters start freaking out, Arse stands there with his head up his ass, and the two-year-old starts screaming.
I just sat at the table drinking my wine.
My 52 year-old mother who was once a cop, a sharp shooter, and can kick anyone's ass, did what Arse should have done and pulled the two Mike Tyson wanna-bes apart. I must say that I felt a sense of pride at this moment, because as my mother did that, drug addict daughter pulled her fist back as if she was going to hit my mother. My mom looked her squarely in the eye and said, "You are about to make the biggest mistake of your life. I have NO PROBLEM bouncing you down the stairs." Needless to say, drug addict backed down. I love my mom. Younger sister started putting on her shoes and coat and shouted at her children to get downstairs as they were leaving. All Arse did was shout at both of them that that kind of behavior was unacceptable. Good job, man.
As she prepared to make her dramatic exit, the younger sister said she was sorry, but she couldn't just take it and blah, blah, blah, yakkity shmakkity. At this point, one daughter came upstairs to tell her the oldest was having a panic attack. "I have to go," younger sister declares, "My daughter needs her pills."
I sat at the table drinking my wine.
After they left, the deaf sister decided to retreat to her hole downstairs, and we were left with Arse finally deciding to act like a father and give his drug addict daughter a stern talking to.
Mom joined me at the table and sighed wearily.
"I bet you didn't think you'd have to be breaking up fist fights after giving up being a cop twenty years ago, huh?" I said with a slight smile.
"I'm thinking of switching to shooters." She replied. "Wanna join me?"
I looked at her with much pity, patted her on the hand, and said, "I'd love to, but I've got to drive, and look at the time! I need to go!"
She called me a bitch, and we had a good chuckle over the whole thing.
Despite her obvious jealousy of my being able to leave the whole affair, she still gave me a huge hug and a kiss and said up until the first member of the Nutzoid Clan arrived, it was a good Christmas. I was sorry to leave her.
Okay, no I wasn't. I was happy to get the hell out. Christmas traffic was a blessing. I thought my roommate was going to pee on himself laughing when I told him about it.
You see, that's a holiday horror story. There is no, "But, suddenly, things didn't seem so bad after all" ending. No, it sucked. The beginning was okay, but it sucked. It sucked so much that I bought my mother her favorite booze and encouraged her to drink it. It sucked so much that when she finally regained her own sanity and left Arse, I celebrated with her at her favorite restaurant and declared that unless the holidays involved people I liked, I wasn't going to celebrate them.
If you're going to whine about your holiday sucking, you better have a damn good reason, Tiny Tim, or you won't get my pity.
In the very least, its survival should involve some form of alcohol.
Now, if anyone who might happen upon this chooses to comment, please note that I realize there are those who always have a worse tale. Having people die on Christmas is the Worst Thing Ever, but that's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about those tales that you look back upon and wonder what the hell you were thinking when you bothered to even get out of bed. Those weird little horror stories that just jump out at you out of left field and leave you preplexed to this day if maybe aliens kidnapped your family and/or friends and replaced them with genetically altered assholes. The kind of tales where you wake up to Santa dead in your living room with a note from Rudolph that says, "Fat bastard deserved what he got." Sometimes the Twilight Zone takes over your holiday and all you can do is beat the shit out of Rod Serling.
I could hear my second grade teacher assigning us the essay. "Now, class," she said, "It's time for you to do a writing exercise. I want you to write about what you got for Christmas."
Before, when I was a young geek-in-training, I'd just write about the She-ra doll I got or the bucket of Legos that are now all over my bedroom floor. My Christmases were never as cool as they are now.
The wonderful thing about being an adult is you get much cooler toys. Just before Christmas, I bought My Christmas Present To Me; I bought my iPod. I love my iPod. Probably way more than any woman should love her iPod. I think I'm going to leave my boyfriend for my iPod. Okay, maybe not, but I definitely feel like I'm cheating on him. For the actual Christmas holiday, I received an FM transmitter for my iPod, two video games (one for the PS2, one for the computer), a bad, b-grade horror film, a bar set to mix my own drinks, a calendar of extreme ironing, a bobbing Jesus on a spring (don't ask), and a bossa nova Christmas album. (Yes, that's right, Christmas lounge music. You know you're jealous.) For stocking stuffers, it was back to basics: silly putty, play dough, and a gun that shoots plastic balls.
Oh, yes, Christmas was happy, happy, joy, joy and a wiggly puppy dance all in one.
I will admit, however, that my boyfriend got a much cooler gift. He got what I felt was the ultimate in retro geekiness: an Atari Plug-n-Play. Okay, the ultimate retro geekiness would have been an actual Atari 2600, but hey, you plug this into the TV and go. I'm willing to concede a small bit of ultimate retro geekiness for convenience. Of course, once we escaped the family, the first thing we did when we got home was plug it in. There was much laughter and "Nyah nyah nyah!" all around. (Yes, we're both two years old. I think it's why my niece likes me so much.) He pummeled me at Asteroids. I smeared him at Missile Command. We were about equally matched at Combat.
Life is good.
