Saturday, January 5, 2008
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
I Know, I Know, It's Been A While.
Happy New Year. Heh. I figure now's the best time.
Yeah, yeah, but I've been busy. I had no Internet on Friday or Monday (though I did have it on Saturday and Sunday, but I was busy then as well). So here I am. Posting. Isn't this marvelous. I'm never going to hear the end of this, am I. Well, I guess I deserve it.
The trip was awesome, though. It was more fun than coating myself in a barrel of honey and running through a pillow factory. Why that would be fun, I'm not entirely sure, but it was the first thing that leapt to mind, and dadburn it, now I want to try it. I figure I could at least get some kind of amateurish tar-and-feather style effect ongoing while I do. Yes, we had a minor setback in that we did not, technically, win the game, but I'm actually not nearly as upset about that as I thought I would be.
I spent New Year's Eve at Universal Studios and Islands of Adventure. So that was a blast. Well, the beginning part of the day was a blast, as I was riding on new rides I had never before seen, like The Mummy Returns (neatly straddling the line between a fun time and naked terror) and Twister (completely and totally awesome in all aspects). That evening was not quite as great, as the group I was with went on a couple of roller coasters and I didn't have much to do during that period. Well, I did get to go to the arcade nearby when they went on The Hulk, and I did manage to stomp some arrogant jerk at DDR (he was gloating about beating nearby people while on Standard, I leapt to Heavy and brought that chorus in), so that was piles of fun. I also advanced further in House of the Dead III than I have previously. That game, instead of the traditional light-gun pistol, instead employs a pump-action shotgun, that you cock to reload. I love it. Blasting zombies has never been so rewarding.
The actual celebrating the incoming year part took place in a hotel room with about fifty other people. There was a lot of alcohol floating around, but in deference to my and a few other peoples' delicate sensibilities, someone had brought a couple of bottles of non-alcoholic grape cider, so I had a glass of that. I had an amusing conversation with the former tuba section leader, now staff member, Stanley:
Me: What happens if Mr. Watkins [director] walks in?
Stanley: Mm?
Me: What happens if Watkins bangs on the door and demands to be let in? The door opens, he sees all this...
Stanley: I'd offer him some White Zinfandel or some of that red wine someone brought.
Me: ...?
Stanley: Not much else I could do at that point. I mean, we'd be caught red-handed. Offering him a glass would only be civil.
Me: Well, what if Mr. Birkner [associate director] walks in?
Stanley: I'm betting that Birkner is already drunk. He's away from his wife and kid, he doesn't give a damn at the moment.
Me: Knowing him? Probably.
Lots of other stuff happened. I can't remember all of it now. Going to the Magic Kingdom, that was fun. A line appeared at the Tomorrowland tram like magic the instant we approached it, which is odd, because I never see a line appear for that. It was fairly busy, though, it being the Saturday after Christmas. Aaron, a fellow tuba player, bested me horribly in the Buzz Lightyear shooting-gallery game, but that's because he never took his hand off the spin-the-cart lever and messed up all my decent shots. After this, I christened him "Sir Spin-A-Lot." He deserved every second of it. This was the same guy who got our waitress at Pizza Hut to take down his phone number so she could come to a party he was throwing - after she already revealed that she had a boyfriend. I think he was doing it just to prove that he could. Or maybe he had a more nefarious purpose in mind. I don't know, because he got incredibly drunk that night, got sick, and passed out. He was staggering all the next day, which was just too bad because it was the day we had two parades.
On Sunday, we had pep rallies and practice in the morning, with the option to go to Downtown Disney in the evening. We would have done, except Stanley convinced us that there was nothing to do there except drink or go to Disneyquest, which is a video-game parlor that is tremendous fun, but you really need to spend more than just an evening there. So we went out to Sizzler instead. They make a darn fine mahi-mahi sandwich, and their buffet is quite magnificent. We all ate ourselves sick.
We have an odd custom on the tuba bus. When two people have a dispute, or one seriously insults another, even as a joke, the rest of us take up the chant "TWO MEN ENTER, ONE MAN LEAVES!" We chant and sing until the two of them begin to brawl, at which point we immediately switch to cheering on whoever is winning at the moment. I do not generally take part in these, as many of the tuba players are either girls (I'm not wrestling a girl, especially one who has a jealous boyfriend sitting next to her) or guys who are much brawnier than I, but I got set up in a fight against Joel, who is taller and skinnier than me and who also happens to be a real jerk-face. So I fought with vigor. I managed to get him in a headlock and administer many noogies in the beginning part of the fight, but he broke my hold and attempted to lock me. We grappled for a time, and it ended with me powerbombing him into his seat. The fight was declared a draw, which we all considered fair. I gained a new respect in the eyes of many of the onlookers, but being I'm not going to see several of them ever again, it came a bit late.
What else, what else...Two of my roommates failed to appear. One of them was asked not to come by the director, as he had missed too many practices, and the other "forgot," in his words. We later found out that he was on his StarCraft II forums pretty much the entire time. So each myself and my only remaining roommate had a bed to ourselves, and he spent several nights at his girlfriend's house in Orlando, so I had the room to myself for a good long time. Except one night, when Curtis, another tuba player, stumbled in at 1:30 AM and announced he was taking the empty bed. "Why?" I asked him. His response:
"Because that fat [expletive] Aaron passed out spread-eagle on the bed we were supposed to be sharing, and I'm not moving him because he might puke again."
Succinct. He took the other bed. I felt it was only fair.
Even during the practices, I managed to have fun. It was a generally fun trip. I spent pretty much all of the money they gave us without managing to save any as I had originally hoped, but as it turned out, that was kind of the idea in the first place. Oh well. I can get money from other places. It would have been better if we had won, but I guess you can't have everything. Our star quarterback Tim Tebow did managed to win the Heisman Trophy, the first sophomore ever to earn such an honor, so the season wasn't a total wash. And there's always next year. I think we'll do better next year.
Oh, one last thing: I'll update the Wednesday post and edit it to actually have content probably tomorrow. I can do that. I have the powah. And I'll also answer the Monday responses there, so I'll just handle Wednesday's here. This will result in comments displaced, but frankly, it's not that big of a deal.
As for my Luke-Approved YouTube Link of the Day? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BYGCT4AQIR0 which is the song Paralyzer by Finger Eleven. It has gotten so completely stuck in my head, I decided to offer everyone a chance to experience it. Enjoy.
REPLIES.
Steve: Quiet, you.
Vic: Pretty much. After all, it's not tomorrow until tomorrow, and then tomorrow is today, eh? Eh?
Mom: I never really had a chance. Sorry. And I did have lots of fun.
Steve: Tuesday night.
Anon: Yep.
I won't take forever to update again. I promise. Regular schedule after this.
Promise.
Bye.
Yeah, yeah, but I've been busy. I had no Internet on Friday or Monday (though I did have it on Saturday and Sunday, but I was busy then as well). So here I am. Posting. Isn't this marvelous. I'm never going to hear the end of this, am I. Well, I guess I deserve it.
The trip was awesome, though. It was more fun than coating myself in a barrel of honey and running through a pillow factory. Why that would be fun, I'm not entirely sure, but it was the first thing that leapt to mind, and dadburn it, now I want to try it. I figure I could at least get some kind of amateurish tar-and-feather style effect ongoing while I do. Yes, we had a minor setback in that we did not, technically, win the game, but I'm actually not nearly as upset about that as I thought I would be.
I spent New Year's Eve at Universal Studios and Islands of Adventure. So that was a blast. Well, the beginning part of the day was a blast, as I was riding on new rides I had never before seen, like The Mummy Returns (neatly straddling the line between a fun time and naked terror) and Twister (completely and totally awesome in all aspects). That evening was not quite as great, as the group I was with went on a couple of roller coasters and I didn't have much to do during that period. Well, I did get to go to the arcade nearby when they went on The Hulk, and I did manage to stomp some arrogant jerk at DDR (he was gloating about beating nearby people while on Standard, I leapt to Heavy and brought that chorus in), so that was piles of fun. I also advanced further in House of the Dead III than I have previously. That game, instead of the traditional light-gun pistol, instead employs a pump-action shotgun, that you cock to reload. I love it. Blasting zombies has never been so rewarding.
The actual celebrating the incoming year part took place in a hotel room with about fifty other people. There was a lot of alcohol floating around, but in deference to my and a few other peoples' delicate sensibilities, someone had brought a couple of bottles of non-alcoholic grape cider, so I had a glass of that. I had an amusing conversation with the former tuba section leader, now staff member, Stanley:
Me: What happens if Mr. Watkins [director] walks in?
Stanley: Mm?
Me: What happens if Watkins bangs on the door and demands to be let in? The door opens, he sees all this...
Stanley: I'd offer him some White Zinfandel or some of that red wine someone brought.
Me: ...?
Stanley: Not much else I could do at that point. I mean, we'd be caught red-handed. Offering him a glass would only be civil.
Me: Well, what if Mr. Birkner [associate director] walks in?
Stanley: I'm betting that Birkner is already drunk. He's away from his wife and kid, he doesn't give a damn at the moment.
Me: Knowing him? Probably.
Lots of other stuff happened. I can't remember all of it now. Going to the Magic Kingdom, that was fun. A line appeared at the Tomorrowland tram like magic the instant we approached it, which is odd, because I never see a line appear for that. It was fairly busy, though, it being the Saturday after Christmas. Aaron, a fellow tuba player, bested me horribly in the Buzz Lightyear shooting-gallery game, but that's because he never took his hand off the spin-the-cart lever and messed up all my decent shots. After this, I christened him "Sir Spin-A-Lot." He deserved every second of it. This was the same guy who got our waitress at Pizza Hut to take down his phone number so she could come to a party he was throwing - after she already revealed that she had a boyfriend. I think he was doing it just to prove that he could. Or maybe he had a more nefarious purpose in mind. I don't know, because he got incredibly drunk that night, got sick, and passed out. He was staggering all the next day, which was just too bad because it was the day we had two parades.
On Sunday, we had pep rallies and practice in the morning, with the option to go to Downtown Disney in the evening. We would have done, except Stanley convinced us that there was nothing to do there except drink or go to Disneyquest, which is a video-game parlor that is tremendous fun, but you really need to spend more than just an evening there. So we went out to Sizzler instead. They make a darn fine mahi-mahi sandwich, and their buffet is quite magnificent. We all ate ourselves sick.
We have an odd custom on the tuba bus. When two people have a dispute, or one seriously insults another, even as a joke, the rest of us take up the chant "TWO MEN ENTER, ONE MAN LEAVES!" We chant and sing until the two of them begin to brawl, at which point we immediately switch to cheering on whoever is winning at the moment. I do not generally take part in these, as many of the tuba players are either girls (I'm not wrestling a girl, especially one who has a jealous boyfriend sitting next to her) or guys who are much brawnier than I, but I got set up in a fight against Joel, who is taller and skinnier than me and who also happens to be a real jerk-face. So I fought with vigor. I managed to get him in a headlock and administer many noogies in the beginning part of the fight, but he broke my hold and attempted to lock me. We grappled for a time, and it ended with me powerbombing him into his seat. The fight was declared a draw, which we all considered fair. I gained a new respect in the eyes of many of the onlookers, but being I'm not going to see several of them ever again, it came a bit late.
What else, what else...Two of my roommates failed to appear. One of them was asked not to come by the director, as he had missed too many practices, and the other "forgot," in his words. We later found out that he was on his StarCraft II forums pretty much the entire time. So each myself and my only remaining roommate had a bed to ourselves, and he spent several nights at his girlfriend's house in Orlando, so I had the room to myself for a good long time. Except one night, when Curtis, another tuba player, stumbled in at 1:30 AM and announced he was taking the empty bed. "Why?" I asked him. His response:
"Because that fat [expletive] Aaron passed out spread-eagle on the bed we were supposed to be sharing, and I'm not moving him because he might puke again."
Succinct. He took the other bed. I felt it was only fair.
Even during the practices, I managed to have fun. It was a generally fun trip. I spent pretty much all of the money they gave us without managing to save any as I had originally hoped, but as it turned out, that was kind of the idea in the first place. Oh well. I can get money from other places. It would have been better if we had won, but I guess you can't have everything. Our star quarterback Tim Tebow did managed to win the Heisman Trophy, the first sophomore ever to earn such an honor, so the season wasn't a total wash. And there's always next year. I think we'll do better next year.
Oh, one last thing: I'll update the Wednesday post and edit it to actually have content probably tomorrow. I can do that. I have the powah. And I'll also answer the Monday responses there, so I'll just handle Wednesday's here. This will result in comments displaced, but frankly, it's not that big of a deal.
As for my Luke-Approved YouTube Link of the Day? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BYGCT4AQIR0 which is the song Paralyzer by Finger Eleven. It has gotten so completely stuck in my head, I decided to offer everyone a chance to experience it. Enjoy.
REPLIES.
Steve: Quiet, you.
Vic: Pretty much. After all, it's not tomorrow until tomorrow, and then tomorrow is today, eh? Eh?
Mom: I never really had a chance. Sorry. And I did have lots of fun.
Steve: Tuesday night.
Anon: Yep.
I won't take forever to update again. I promise. Regular schedule after this.
Promise.
Bye.
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Monday, December 24, 2007
Oh, Those Wacky Cash Registers
The cash registers at the GameStop where I work on holidays, like all last week, are a vicious lot. Some of you may think, "But they're just cash registers, no brains in their heads, no heads even, only slightly more intelligent than Scientologists! How can they possibly possess such a personified quirk as viciousness?" Well, I highly doubt any of you actually thought that. I've yet to meet a person who speaks and writes the way I do, and I guess the thought process engenders the writing process. You probably thought something more along the lines of "Cash registers? Vicious? How?" or "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."
Nevertheless. They hate me. Nobody else seems to have a problem with them, except for me, and I will mention why: They like to shoot out their drawers and hit me in a certain area of my body which I will genteely avoid mentioning by name, and instead I will refer to with popular brands of farm equipment. Why I chose farm equipment, I couldn't say. It just seemed like a good idea at the time.
So basically this is the situation. We have three cash registers at the store - normally we have two, but this time of year we have three, to handle the increased customer load caused by the holiday season. Let me intrude slightly onto my narrative, which I haven't even really begun yet, to mention that I really, really wish people would not go into the store without even the first inkling of an idea of what they're going to get. I understand that not everybody knows games, and I'm okay with that. Nobody's perfect, after all. But if you get the idea into your head that you're going to buy a game for your son or nephew or boyfriend (the girlfriends are usually better at this, it's probably the generation gap that has the older folks floundering), at least attempt to establish a vague idea of what you're doing.
At least once or twice a day, someone will point into the PS2 or Xbox or PSP or whatever section and say "I want a Mario game for that." Usually, they will understand when I tell them that Mario games are only on certain consoles. But I get the occasional "I'm older than you, you're just a kid, therefore I am always right and you are always wrong" person who insists that in fact, there are Mario games on that system, and I am wrong - or worse, deliberately lying to them, in order to...I don't know, make my store lose business or something. These people make me want to gnaw my own ears off in rage.
A few other things that annoy me about working there:
- People who get offended when I don't know every feature of every game, ever. No amount of saying "I don't play sports games at all" will divert some people from grilling me on every aspect of a six-year-old hockey game for a system I never owned.
- People who are infuriatingly vague about a game they want, that may not even technically exist. One gentleman asked me for the game "where you were a cat, and ran through the jungle...can't you look it up?" I now sympathize with librarians everywhere.
- People who barely speak English. This isn't a complaint unique to game stores, but come on, at least bring someone with you who knows a semi-decent amount of English.
- People who are convinced I'm trying to scam them when I offer discount cards and pre-orders of games. The discount cards may or may not be a scam, but honestly, if you're going to buy a game, there's no real reason not to reserve it. Not like it costs anything or puts you under any obligation - you can cancel at any time. Besides, it's my job to ask if you want these things.
- People who bring in an opened Xbox that they purchased thirteen months ago, sans extended warranty, but bearing a tattered and stained receipt, that turns out to be from a store two states away, and scream that I'm robbing them when I point out our return policy - the one that is printed on the very receipt they are brandishing - clearly states that they can in no way do what they are trying to do; who then go on to demand to speak to my manager, the result of which is that he staggers into the back room fifteen minutes later and puts his face in his hands, a broken shell of a man. (Well, this isn't really "people" so much as it is "one jerk," but at least he didn't get his refund. I would have never forgiven my boss if he had given in.)
- Et cetera.
Let me note that these people represent but a small fraction of the customers I deal with daily. Most of the people I serve are in fact decent human beings who either know enough about games to get by or, failing that, are willing to admit their game-related ignorance so that I might aid them. But the idiots stand out, I've always believed.
Well, that's that. Now to my main story.
There are three cash registers in the shop. One's just for the holiday season. The other two, well, they're malevolent year-round. One of them I have nicknamed The Tyson, because that's how it hits - fast, hard, and without mercy. The first time I was naive enough to stand directly against the countertop when the drawer popped open, it erupted from the register like a Polaris missile and slammed into my John Deere so hard that my eyebrows burst into flames. After a few more painful experiences, I learned to dodge away before the drawer began its dynamic entry. I swear, the first time I managed to evade its onslaught, I heard the drawer grumble to itself in disappointment as I shut it. Occasionally I slip, though, and during the busy periods I must grit my teeth and power through the pain, but when the store is relatively empty, my coworkers can always be counted on to offer a humorous quip as to why I am on the floor in a fetal position, tears streaming from my eyes, frozen in an agonizing self-embrace that makes me look like a prolapsed question mark.
The second one seems much less threatening, at first. This one I have called The Juggernaut. It does not move quickly like The Tyson does; to the contrary, it grinds out of its drawer slowly and ponderously. When I first jumped ship to the second register, after being thoroughly soured on the first, I realized with glee that I could easily avoid the register. No more shots to the ol' Masey-Ferguson for me, I declared. But, unfortunately, this caused complacence. Despite the wide breadth of time I had to escape the groin-crushing doom, I would frequently slip out of the way with only a fraction of a second to spare. I naively assumed that there would be no trouble at all - even if it did hit me, what damage could it do? So once, I didn't even bother dodging.
Big. Mistake.
It was precisely then that I realized that the drawer possessed the quality that made me liken it to the famous X-Men villain: It is absolutely unstoppable. It moves slowly, but no object can check its momentum. The inexorable force of its impact left me reeling, and I staggered back only just in time. Had I been a moment too late, it would have pushed my pelvis out through my spinal column. I theorize that I could break into bank vaults by pushing my way through the heavy steel doors, a little at a time, with this register as my only tool.
The third register is only a seasonal offender, and for that I have christened it The Kringle. It does not move fast like The Tyson, or unstoppably like The Juggernaut. Instead, its weapon is the element of surprise. For you see, this register is several inches higher up than the other two. Upon glimpsing the placement of this register for the first time, I smiled in delight: no matter its impact, it hitting my stomach was preferable to it crashing into my Caterpillar. I still dodged its attack, out of sheer habit, but one day I was busy and neglected to make the necessary defensive maneuvers. Even as a small corner of my brain shrieked in alarm at the advancing drawer, the rest of my brain shrugged it off. We can take a hit to the belly, it said. No biggie.
Yes, biggie. I had neglected to examine the precise placement of both this register and the other two. For you see, the other two registers hit me with the top edge of their drawers, adding semi-sharpness to their already formidable arsenals. Apparently, the gap was just enough that the bottom part of the third drawer still managed to score a direct hit on my Tonka. (All right, I don't know that many farm equipment brands. Tonka makes tractors and trucks, just tiny ones.) One might think that this would only be a problem once, and as this drawer lacks the special properties of the other two, I would be in the clear. If one would think that, it would only serve to prove that one does not know me very well. I'm constantly forgetting stuff like that. So without fail, every few minutes, the memory fades like a cheap pair of jeans, and once more I sink to the floor, cursing profusely.
If a crook were to come in and rob the store, I would endeavor to have him stand in front of the register when I opened it. That way, while he was curled up and weeping on the floor, I could call the police or simply stroll to the station down the road and find a cop - he's not going anywhere. Even if he tries to stand up, he'll bang his head on the open drawer, and then down he goes again.
The Luke-Approved YouTube Link of the Day is this little ditty: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vFOz-hLhpsU In the game Guitar Hero II, there exists a song of legendary difficulty known as "Jordan." This game was the first to ever feature a recording of this song, which is extraordinarily hard to play. The person who plays this song does not get it perfect, but he 5-stars it with 88% notes hit, and this is the best-quality high-score video I could find of it. Enjoy, and revel in its difficulty.
REPLIES.
Mom: Yes, that would have been awkward. I couldn't exactly ask for a trash can and conceal my trash from him.
Jake: Well, good. At least if I'm not persuading or informing, I'm entertaining, and that's the third legitimate usage of communication. One out of three ain't bad, says I. And you kind of went off on a weird tangent with the end of that.
Michelle: Awesomesauce. Love you too.
To the person who I know only as Anonymous: Feel free to email me at gthunder@ufl.edu, and I will be willing to speak with you on this in a less public manner. My only real comment is: Yes, I know, we know, we've known for years, we do give a damn, but remind us exactly what it is we can do about it that we haven't tried? (To anyone who doesn't know what this is about: It's better that way.)
Steve: A fine line that I walk daily. And I wouldn't consider an exploding star on wheat bread to be a normal breakfast.
Dad: Maybe not only me, but I'm certainly one of a select few.
Travis: Yes, my purist ways save me in an unexpected fashion. You'll have to show me how to embed images like that.
I'm out.
Nevertheless. They hate me. Nobody else seems to have a problem with them, except for me, and I will mention why: They like to shoot out their drawers and hit me in a certain area of my body which I will genteely avoid mentioning by name, and instead I will refer to with popular brands of farm equipment. Why I chose farm equipment, I couldn't say. It just seemed like a good idea at the time.
So basically this is the situation. We have three cash registers at the store - normally we have two, but this time of year we have three, to handle the increased customer load caused by the holiday season. Let me intrude slightly onto my narrative, which I haven't even really begun yet, to mention that I really, really wish people would not go into the store without even the first inkling of an idea of what they're going to get. I understand that not everybody knows games, and I'm okay with that. Nobody's perfect, after all. But if you get the idea into your head that you're going to buy a game for your son or nephew or boyfriend (the girlfriends are usually better at this, it's probably the generation gap that has the older folks floundering), at least attempt to establish a vague idea of what you're doing.
At least once or twice a day, someone will point into the PS2 or Xbox or PSP or whatever section and say "I want a Mario game for that." Usually, they will understand when I tell them that Mario games are only on certain consoles. But I get the occasional "I'm older than you, you're just a kid, therefore I am always right and you are always wrong" person who insists that in fact, there are Mario games on that system, and I am wrong - or worse, deliberately lying to them, in order to...I don't know, make my store lose business or something. These people make me want to gnaw my own ears off in rage.
A few other things that annoy me about working there:
- People who get offended when I don't know every feature of every game, ever. No amount of saying "I don't play sports games at all" will divert some people from grilling me on every aspect of a six-year-old hockey game for a system I never owned.
- People who are infuriatingly vague about a game they want, that may not even technically exist. One gentleman asked me for the game "where you were a cat, and ran through the jungle...can't you look it up?" I now sympathize with librarians everywhere.
- People who barely speak English. This isn't a complaint unique to game stores, but come on, at least bring someone with you who knows a semi-decent amount of English.
- People who are convinced I'm trying to scam them when I offer discount cards and pre-orders of games. The discount cards may or may not be a scam, but honestly, if you're going to buy a game, there's no real reason not to reserve it. Not like it costs anything or puts you under any obligation - you can cancel at any time. Besides, it's my job to ask if you want these things.
- People who bring in an opened Xbox that they purchased thirteen months ago, sans extended warranty, but bearing a tattered and stained receipt, that turns out to be from a store two states away, and scream that I'm robbing them when I point out our return policy - the one that is printed on the very receipt they are brandishing - clearly states that they can in no way do what they are trying to do; who then go on to demand to speak to my manager, the result of which is that he staggers into the back room fifteen minutes later and puts his face in his hands, a broken shell of a man. (Well, this isn't really "people" so much as it is "one jerk," but at least he didn't get his refund. I would have never forgiven my boss if he had given in.)
- Et cetera.
Let me note that these people represent but a small fraction of the customers I deal with daily. Most of the people I serve are in fact decent human beings who either know enough about games to get by or, failing that, are willing to admit their game-related ignorance so that I might aid them. But the idiots stand out, I've always believed.
Well, that's that. Now to my main story.
There are three cash registers in the shop. One's just for the holiday season. The other two, well, they're malevolent year-round. One of them I have nicknamed The Tyson, because that's how it hits - fast, hard, and without mercy. The first time I was naive enough to stand directly against the countertop when the drawer popped open, it erupted from the register like a Polaris missile and slammed into my John Deere so hard that my eyebrows burst into flames. After a few more painful experiences, I learned to dodge away before the drawer began its dynamic entry. I swear, the first time I managed to evade its onslaught, I heard the drawer grumble to itself in disappointment as I shut it. Occasionally I slip, though, and during the busy periods I must grit my teeth and power through the pain, but when the store is relatively empty, my coworkers can always be counted on to offer a humorous quip as to why I am on the floor in a fetal position, tears streaming from my eyes, frozen in an agonizing self-embrace that makes me look like a prolapsed question mark.
The second one seems much less threatening, at first. This one I have called The Juggernaut. It does not move quickly like The Tyson does; to the contrary, it grinds out of its drawer slowly and ponderously. When I first jumped ship to the second register, after being thoroughly soured on the first, I realized with glee that I could easily avoid the register. No more shots to the ol' Masey-Ferguson for me, I declared. But, unfortunately, this caused complacence. Despite the wide breadth of time I had to escape the groin-crushing doom, I would frequently slip out of the way with only a fraction of a second to spare. I naively assumed that there would be no trouble at all - even if it did hit me, what damage could it do? So once, I didn't even bother dodging.
Big. Mistake.
It was precisely then that I realized that the drawer possessed the quality that made me liken it to the famous X-Men villain: It is absolutely unstoppable. It moves slowly, but no object can check its momentum. The inexorable force of its impact left me reeling, and I staggered back only just in time. Had I been a moment too late, it would have pushed my pelvis out through my spinal column. I theorize that I could break into bank vaults by pushing my way through the heavy steel doors, a little at a time, with this register as my only tool.
The third register is only a seasonal offender, and for that I have christened it The Kringle. It does not move fast like The Tyson, or unstoppably like The Juggernaut. Instead, its weapon is the element of surprise. For you see, this register is several inches higher up than the other two. Upon glimpsing the placement of this register for the first time, I smiled in delight: no matter its impact, it hitting my stomach was preferable to it crashing into my Caterpillar. I still dodged its attack, out of sheer habit, but one day I was busy and neglected to make the necessary defensive maneuvers. Even as a small corner of my brain shrieked in alarm at the advancing drawer, the rest of my brain shrugged it off. We can take a hit to the belly, it said. No biggie.
Yes, biggie. I had neglected to examine the precise placement of both this register and the other two. For you see, the other two registers hit me with the top edge of their drawers, adding semi-sharpness to their already formidable arsenals. Apparently, the gap was just enough that the bottom part of the third drawer still managed to score a direct hit on my Tonka. (All right, I don't know that many farm equipment brands. Tonka makes tractors and trucks, just tiny ones.) One might think that this would only be a problem once, and as this drawer lacks the special properties of the other two, I would be in the clear. If one would think that, it would only serve to prove that one does not know me very well. I'm constantly forgetting stuff like that. So without fail, every few minutes, the memory fades like a cheap pair of jeans, and once more I sink to the floor, cursing profusely.
If a crook were to come in and rob the store, I would endeavor to have him stand in front of the register when I opened it. That way, while he was curled up and weeping on the floor, I could call the police or simply stroll to the station down the road and find a cop - he's not going anywhere. Even if he tries to stand up, he'll bang his head on the open drawer, and then down he goes again.
The Luke-Approved YouTube Link of the Day is this little ditty: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vFOz-hLhpsU In the game Guitar Hero II, there exists a song of legendary difficulty known as "Jordan." This game was the first to ever feature a recording of this song, which is extraordinarily hard to play. The person who plays this song does not get it perfect, but he 5-stars it with 88% notes hit, and this is the best-quality high-score video I could find of it. Enjoy, and revel in its difficulty.
REPLIES.
Mom: Yes, that would have been awkward. I couldn't exactly ask for a trash can and conceal my trash from him.
Jake: Well, good. At least if I'm not persuading or informing, I'm entertaining, and that's the third legitimate usage of communication. One out of three ain't bad, says I. And you kind of went off on a weird tangent with the end of that.
Michelle: Awesomesauce. Love you too.
To the person who I know only as Anonymous: Feel free to email me at gthunder@ufl.edu, and I will be willing to speak with you on this in a less public manner. My only real comment is: Yes, I know, we know, we've known for years, we do give a damn, but remind us exactly what it is we can do about it that we haven't tried? (To anyone who doesn't know what this is about: It's better that way.)
Steve: A fine line that I walk daily. And I wouldn't consider an exploding star on wheat bread to be a normal breakfast.
Dad: Maybe not only me, but I'm certainly one of a select few.
Travis: Yes, my purist ways save me in an unexpected fashion. You'll have to show me how to embed images like that.
I'm out.
Friday, December 21, 2007
In Which Toast Can Be Found In My Pants
The title is not a lie. Nor is it an exaggeration. This is seriously what happened to me this morning.
I decided to go see my financial advisor, Dood Theodore, at the bank this morning, to figure out some problems I had been having with my account and to set up auto-payment of my credit card to my checking account. But I was hungry, and I wouldn't have time to pick up something on the way - plus, I don't like spending money if I can get something just as good for free at home - so I made a couple of pieces of toast to eat on the way. I devoured one on the way to the bank, but when I pulled into the parking lot, I still had a slice left. No biggie, I figured, I'd eat it later. But I didn't want to let it get cold in the car...so I brought it with me.
As I walked into the bank, I was kind of palming the toast, so that the bank people wouldn't see it. I imagine they take a dim view to those who bring food into the lobby. I fully expected Dood to be busy and to be able to see me later - this is usually what happens when I come to see him, the receptionist tells me "Mr. Theodore will be available in just a minute," so I thought I would go outside and eat it while I waited. Unusually, though, the receptionist greeted me with a smile and said "Mr. Theodore is available now. I'll get him."
I was stuck. I couldn't very well leave if Dood was on his way, and I wasn't about to walk into his office - a serious office, computers and file cabinets and all the trappings - with a slice of toast in my hand. I had to find a way to get rid of this toast. For what couldn't have been more than a second or two, but what felt like a frozen eternity, my mind was wracked with anguish. I couldn't shove the whole thing down my throat, unless I wanted to speak to Dood with a mouth full of toast, and that wasn't happening. There were no trash cans in sight, and besides, I still wanted to eat that toast. The toast seemed to mock me with a keening croon, its sonorous medley promising naught but ruin. It appeared to me as a lode-stone, an object unable to be gotten rid of, one that would surely bring me to disaster. Maybe it was because I was still half-asleep, but this toast at the moment seemed like it was sure to bring me financial self-destruction and complete catastrophe. I never loathed an inanimate object in my life like I loathed this piece of toast at that very second. (Well, except for that chair leg I nearly broke my toe on once. Ooh, I hated that chair.)
Dood was approaching. I was still half-hidden by the large receptionist's desk, but I panicked. Any second now, he would smile and extend his hand, and that would be it. I was out of options. And then, a flash of inspiration. I had a natural hiding place the whole time. Quickly, I stuffed the toast into my left pocket and brushed the crumbs from my hand, emerging from behind the desk to return Dood's warm smile and hearty handshake. He brought me into his office, and I began to discuss the business that had brought me there that morning, but all I could think was "There's toast in my pocket! Why did I do that? Couldn't I have found a better way of solving this problem?"
It nagged at me. The most annoying part of the whole debacle was that there was no visible clock in Dood's office, and yet I had no way to check the time - my cell phone, which I use as a timepiece, was in the pocket that the toast was in, and I couldn't bring out the phone without spilling crumbs everywhere, and I couldn't do that in Dood's nice clean office. Maybe, when next we speak, I'll tell him about this. He'll probably laugh about it. He has a good sense of humor, he does.
And, surprisingly, when I spoke of buying a lottery ticket, he said that he had bought one too. "I know it's all luck-based," he told me, "but I've found that the harder you work, the more lucky you are. Besides, it's fun." He shrugged. "If you don't see me here on Monday morning, you'll know why." (Oh, and Dan, he said he would take the lump sum as well. So bite me.) Later, I found this whole scenario amusing, and let me tell you that it was hell keeping a straight face every time my mind wandered to the toast in my pocket. But it had stayed relatively intact, and after I left the bank, I still ate it. Why not? I had to empty my pocket and turn it inside out to get the crumbs out, but I'm not wasting a perfectly good piece of toast just because it's been in my pocket.
Work was kind of boring. Daniel showed up, and that was sort of interesting. We had an amusing incident...An attractive girl walked in and picked up off the shelf a copy of Super Mario Galaxy, or as I've grown to call it, Ur Mr Gay (inside joke). Daniel pointed out her attractiveness and suggested that I be the one to check her out. I tried to call her over - in my defense, I was trying to keep the customers cycling nicely through the store, and she was relatively near the register - but she would not heed my calls. This led to the following exchange:
Daniel: "She's not paying attention to you."
Me: "I know."
Daniel: "Maybe she thinks you're ugly, or not worth her time?" [or words to this effect]
Me: "Well, I am just the stooge behind the counter. At this point, I'm officially classified in her mind as furniture."
Well, he thought it was funny.
The next three days promise to be drudgery. 10:00-6:30 tomorrow, 10:45-7:00 the next day, and 11:30-close on Monday, which is also Christmas friggin' Eve. I had to close on Christmas Eve. I complained to my boss, but he rightly pointed out that I would have three other people helping me, and that even at the store's worst there was no way I would get out after 7:00.
Oh, and one more thing. Yesterday morning, we were going to have a big shipment of Nintendo Wiis in, 24 of them. This is the biggest shipment we've ever had, and we had been hyping it up to the customers for over a week, the result being that there were people waiting for several hours previous to our shipping time to get in line for a console. One ambitious fellow was in the store as soon as it opened. I hope you'll forgive me, if you're reading this (I gave him a link to my blog), but you never told me how to spell your name. He said it was pronounced "Che," but "with two I's." I do not know how to spell that. Perhaps "Chii"? Sorry. If you comment and leave your real name, I'll mention it on Monday's post.
But he was a real fun guy. We spoke on a variety of subjects, from amusing things we had seen on the Internet to horrible things we had seen on the Internet, to stories both of us had written. He got a Wii, and ended up leaving about the same time I did, around 1:00. Lots of fun to be around. He made the morning pass by quickly. If you're reading this, man, comment on it.
That's all I've got. On Monday, I'll tell you the horror of my last three days of work (and tell the story of last year's Christmas Eve working, the nightmare that it was). As for the Luke-Approved YouTube Link of the Day, it's got to be the one my father recommended to me, which is http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IK90Ys2LhSo also known as Wizards of Winter. Some people expended the incredible amount of time and effort required to sync up their Christmas lights with music, and, well, this is the result. Entertaining.
REPLIES.
Mom: 10% sounds about right. If I win $20 million in the lottery, I can donate $2 million. That allows for plenty of investment moneys and spending cash. And yes, my dear old Mom will get some money as well.
Steve: I really didn't expect anything different from you. I'll ignore the first part of your plan, but I'm right alongside all the other parts.
Vic: If I win, we'll have a nice long talk about what to do with it. (Perhaps I'll say that I'll give $2 million combined to you and charity, and it's up to you to decide what percentage goes where?) And I suppose Huckabee is the least controversial of the Republican candidates, plus, he has a wonky name. I'd vote for him.
Later.
I decided to go see my financial advisor, Dood Theodore, at the bank this morning, to figure out some problems I had been having with my account and to set up auto-payment of my credit card to my checking account. But I was hungry, and I wouldn't have time to pick up something on the way - plus, I don't like spending money if I can get something just as good for free at home - so I made a couple of pieces of toast to eat on the way. I devoured one on the way to the bank, but when I pulled into the parking lot, I still had a slice left. No biggie, I figured, I'd eat it later. But I didn't want to let it get cold in the car...so I brought it with me.
As I walked into the bank, I was kind of palming the toast, so that the bank people wouldn't see it. I imagine they take a dim view to those who bring food into the lobby. I fully expected Dood to be busy and to be able to see me later - this is usually what happens when I come to see him, the receptionist tells me "Mr. Theodore will be available in just a minute," so I thought I would go outside and eat it while I waited. Unusually, though, the receptionist greeted me with a smile and said "Mr. Theodore is available now. I'll get him."
I was stuck. I couldn't very well leave if Dood was on his way, and I wasn't about to walk into his office - a serious office, computers and file cabinets and all the trappings - with a slice of toast in my hand. I had to find a way to get rid of this toast. For what couldn't have been more than a second or two, but what felt like a frozen eternity, my mind was wracked with anguish. I couldn't shove the whole thing down my throat, unless I wanted to speak to Dood with a mouth full of toast, and that wasn't happening. There were no trash cans in sight, and besides, I still wanted to eat that toast. The toast seemed to mock me with a keening croon, its sonorous medley promising naught but ruin. It appeared to me as a lode-stone, an object unable to be gotten rid of, one that would surely bring me to disaster. Maybe it was because I was still half-asleep, but this toast at the moment seemed like it was sure to bring me financial self-destruction and complete catastrophe. I never loathed an inanimate object in my life like I loathed this piece of toast at that very second. (Well, except for that chair leg I nearly broke my toe on once. Ooh, I hated that chair.)
Dood was approaching. I was still half-hidden by the large receptionist's desk, but I panicked. Any second now, he would smile and extend his hand, and that would be it. I was out of options. And then, a flash of inspiration. I had a natural hiding place the whole time. Quickly, I stuffed the toast into my left pocket and brushed the crumbs from my hand, emerging from behind the desk to return Dood's warm smile and hearty handshake. He brought me into his office, and I began to discuss the business that had brought me there that morning, but all I could think was "There's toast in my pocket! Why did I do that? Couldn't I have found a better way of solving this problem?"
It nagged at me. The most annoying part of the whole debacle was that there was no visible clock in Dood's office, and yet I had no way to check the time - my cell phone, which I use as a timepiece, was in the pocket that the toast was in, and I couldn't bring out the phone without spilling crumbs everywhere, and I couldn't do that in Dood's nice clean office. Maybe, when next we speak, I'll tell him about this. He'll probably laugh about it. He has a good sense of humor, he does.
And, surprisingly, when I spoke of buying a lottery ticket, he said that he had bought one too. "I know it's all luck-based," he told me, "but I've found that the harder you work, the more lucky you are. Besides, it's fun." He shrugged. "If you don't see me here on Monday morning, you'll know why." (Oh, and Dan, he said he would take the lump sum as well. So bite me.) Later, I found this whole scenario amusing, and let me tell you that it was hell keeping a straight face every time my mind wandered to the toast in my pocket. But it had stayed relatively intact, and after I left the bank, I still ate it. Why not? I had to empty my pocket and turn it inside out to get the crumbs out, but I'm not wasting a perfectly good piece of toast just because it's been in my pocket.
Work was kind of boring. Daniel showed up, and that was sort of interesting. We had an amusing incident...An attractive girl walked in and picked up off the shelf a copy of Super Mario Galaxy, or as I've grown to call it, Ur Mr Gay (inside joke). Daniel pointed out her attractiveness and suggested that I be the one to check her out. I tried to call her over - in my defense, I was trying to keep the customers cycling nicely through the store, and she was relatively near the register - but she would not heed my calls. This led to the following exchange:
Daniel: "She's not paying attention to you."
Me: "I know."
Daniel: "Maybe she thinks you're ugly, or not worth her time?" [or words to this effect]
Me: "Well, I am just the stooge behind the counter. At this point, I'm officially classified in her mind as furniture."
Well, he thought it was funny.
The next three days promise to be drudgery. 10:00-6:30 tomorrow, 10:45-7:00 the next day, and 11:30-close on Monday, which is also Christmas friggin' Eve. I had to close on Christmas Eve. I complained to my boss, but he rightly pointed out that I would have three other people helping me, and that even at the store's worst there was no way I would get out after 7:00.
Oh, and one more thing. Yesterday morning, we were going to have a big shipment of Nintendo Wiis in, 24 of them. This is the biggest shipment we've ever had, and we had been hyping it up to the customers for over a week, the result being that there were people waiting for several hours previous to our shipping time to get in line for a console. One ambitious fellow was in the store as soon as it opened. I hope you'll forgive me, if you're reading this (I gave him a link to my blog), but you never told me how to spell your name. He said it was pronounced "Che," but "with two I's." I do not know how to spell that. Perhaps "Chii"? Sorry. If you comment and leave your real name, I'll mention it on Monday's post.
But he was a real fun guy. We spoke on a variety of subjects, from amusing things we had seen on the Internet to horrible things we had seen on the Internet, to stories both of us had written. He got a Wii, and ended up leaving about the same time I did, around 1:00. Lots of fun to be around. He made the morning pass by quickly. If you're reading this, man, comment on it.
That's all I've got. On Monday, I'll tell you the horror of my last three days of work (and tell the story of last year's Christmas Eve working, the nightmare that it was). As for the Luke-Approved YouTube Link of the Day, it's got to be the one my father recommended to me, which is http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IK90Ys2LhSo also known as Wizards of Winter. Some people expended the incredible amount of time and effort required to sync up their Christmas lights with music, and, well, this is the result. Entertaining.
REPLIES.
Mom: 10% sounds about right. If I win $20 million in the lottery, I can donate $2 million. That allows for plenty of investment moneys and spending cash. And yes, my dear old Mom will get some money as well.
Steve: I really didn't expect anything different from you. I'll ignore the first part of your plan, but I'm right alongside all the other parts.
Vic: If I win, we'll have a nice long talk about what to do with it. (Perhaps I'll say that I'll give $2 million combined to you and charity, and it's up to you to decide what percentage goes where?) And I suppose Huckabee is the least controversial of the Republican candidates, plus, he has a wonky name. I'd vote for him.
Later.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Not Really Much To Say...
It's true. I don't really have much to say. I'd write a short story - I have a few more ideas floating around in my head - but I just really don't have any creative inspiration at the moment. Anyone who writes will know what I mean.
I worked all day, from noon to 8:30. I ran into a friend of mine I knew from work, Larry, and we reminisced in the back until pangs of conscience reminded me that I was in fact getting paid for this malarkey. So I went back to work. I was in the zone today...I did quite well, in terms of selling Edge cards and reserves of video games. So, good news there.
Vic believes that if I won tonight's lottery - at $38 million, if I took the lump sum as I planned, I would receive roughly $12 million - and did not give away at least 20%-25% of my money to charity, that I was a horrible person. I maintained that there was no imperative, legal, moral, or otherwise, to compel me to give away one dang cent of my imagined winnings, and it was entirely my choice...and not giving away $3 million did not make me a terrible person. I don't think I could bring myself to part with $3 million all at once anyway. I had trouble enough parting with 5,000 World of WarCraft gold to buy my epic flying mount. I would no doubt give hundreds of thousands away - perhaps even a million - but it's my danged imaginary winnings, and I'll do with it as I please. I'm under no obligation to do otherwise. (Besides, as I plan to invest in the stock market, I'll be helping companies grow and creating jobs, which is charitable enough in and of itself, even if it's done with the aim of making me moneys.) I will buy you a new car though, Dan, even though you took my money at poker.
That's about it.
The Luke-Approved YouTube Link of the Day is this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7uSlqI1AVUk It's a parody of the rather more famous Nickelback song, Rock Star, which you can find here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hrcTz5XRtN8 If you don't know the video, watch the real one first, and the parody second. It's quite amusing.
REPLIES.
Steven: I know, I know, it's not supposed to be for my personal enjoyment, but it's still boring. A GPS? Fascinating. Are you going to circle around in your driveway and marvel at how you know exactly where you are?
Jake: Yeah, tell me about it. And Daniel summed it up pretty well in his comment, so go back and read it.
Daniel: Pretty much. Er, bye.
The end.
I worked all day, from noon to 8:30. I ran into a friend of mine I knew from work, Larry, and we reminisced in the back until pangs of conscience reminded me that I was in fact getting paid for this malarkey. So I went back to work. I was in the zone today...I did quite well, in terms of selling Edge cards and reserves of video games. So, good news there.
Vic believes that if I won tonight's lottery - at $38 million, if I took the lump sum as I planned, I would receive roughly $12 million - and did not give away at least 20%-25% of my money to charity, that I was a horrible person. I maintained that there was no imperative, legal, moral, or otherwise, to compel me to give away one dang cent of my imagined winnings, and it was entirely my choice...and not giving away $3 million did not make me a terrible person. I don't think I could bring myself to part with $3 million all at once anyway. I had trouble enough parting with 5,000 World of WarCraft gold to buy my epic flying mount. I would no doubt give hundreds of thousands away - perhaps even a million - but it's my danged imaginary winnings, and I'll do with it as I please. I'm under no obligation to do otherwise. (Besides, as I plan to invest in the stock market, I'll be helping companies grow and creating jobs, which is charitable enough in and of itself, even if it's done with the aim of making me moneys.) I will buy you a new car though, Dan, even though you took my money at poker.
That's about it.
The Luke-Approved YouTube Link of the Day is this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7uSlqI1AVUk It's a parody of the rather more famous Nickelback song, Rock Star, which you can find here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hrcTz5XRtN8 If you don't know the video, watch the real one first, and the parody second. It's quite amusing.
REPLIES.
Steven: I know, I know, it's not supposed to be for my personal enjoyment, but it's still boring. A GPS? Fascinating. Are you going to circle around in your driveway and marvel at how you know exactly where you are?
Jake: Yeah, tell me about it. And Daniel summed it up pretty well in his comment, so go back and read it.
Daniel: Pretty much. Er, bye.
The end.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
This One's The Real Post
Yeah, these posts as long as I am at home, they're probably going to be a lot shorter than my normal posts. Couple of reasons why.
1. Not nearly as much happens when I'm at home, just going to work and hanging out with friends, and...
2. What does happen while I'm at work is almost never worth mentioning, and what happens while I'm with friends, pretty much my entire potential audience is already there for it.
Last night was fairly worth mentioning, though. We played poker for a while, Texas Hold 'Em. I organized a game with Daniel, Dan, Steven, and myself. We figured it would be a friendly game, and I didn't go into it thinking I would win money, but instead would just have had fun with friends for a while in a slightly more high-stakes environment than usual.
I ended up losing $15, from an original stake of $10. (When I went bankrupt, the others convinced me to buy back in with $5 more. Then I lost all of that.) I wish Dan had told me beforehand that he had become extremely able at poker from his youth in Puerto Rico. He ended up with $14 of my dollars, Steven taking the last one. Daniel broke even. I hate everything. I suggested later that we could try blackjack at another point, but Dan pointed out that, in the interest of fairness, he would have to tell me that he was adept at blackjack as well. And he did. So I think I won't be gambling against him for money anymore.
Then came the games of pool. I would have beaten Steven if we had stopped at best out of three, best out of five, or even best out of seven, but nooo...I had to go for best out of nine. He won two games in a row to win, 5-4. He lost the first two games by pocketing the 8-ball by accident, one of them in a quite spectacular way that he in no way could have ever done intentionally. You know what I mean. I had a few shots that way myself, but fortunately none of them resulted in me losing a game.
Work today was rather bland and uninteresting. It was aggravating in that the flow of customers was directly proportionate to the rate at which I worked. When I was slow and getting caught up in the problems, there would be a slow trickle. Then, just as I cleared through the backlogs and started to rampage through customers, the trickle would become a geyser and we'd be up to our eyeballs in customers. The problem was that the flow was constant. Whether there was one more customer in line or fifty, there was always one to replace the one that just left. I saw the store nearly empty, two customers in line, and cherished the thought of a sweet, two-minute break. By the time I dealt with the two, two more arrived. When those two had been served, three more were there. And by the time those three were finished, four dozen had lined up. This kind of got really old, really fast, as one might imagine. So there was a never-ending stream of customers. And I know for a cold frozen fact that it's only going to get worse as the days pass. At least I'm making money. I pay money to not enjoy myself in some classes, at least for this lack of enjoyment I'm getting paid.
So, that's about it. Today's Luke-Approved YouTube Link of the Day is a special seven-parter (Gasp!). I say seven parts because just one could not fully capture the scope of this marvel. Apparently, this guy "jinja" made a program that converts MIDI files into graphical representations, and jiggered up some songs that looked really keen when fed into said representation machine. He did seven of them:
1. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ASXnFRYf6LI&NR The Retro Gaming Medley.
2. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zdTdsn5G8L8 Cheetahmen 2, a highly forgettable NES game, but one that had some wicked music.
3. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q7S20zH7iDU Kirby "Madley" (medley).
4. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EF_1eyn25eA Mega Man, Dr. Wily, Stage 2.
5. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zz6djgwjjco Final Fantasy IV.
6. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A4DjC0BdKt4 Chrono Trigger, an awesome old RPG.
7. And finally, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-wkI7hg65F0 also known as Super Mario Bros.
Enjoy 'em.
REPLIES.
Mom: Yes, yes. Don't overexert yourself.
Dad: Well, we can be a bit loud at times. It's part of our, er, charm. And I understand that all mortal lives are but fragments of a second to the hyper-extended life of a figure such as the devil, but true immortality means you never die, ever, which is darn inconvenient to a being that cashes in his check, so to speak, after you die. Not even when the sun burns out and the planet falls into molten slag. Hmm...but...that may just give me a story idea.
Vic: Well, here you are. Enjoy it. No more pouting, no matter how cute you may be when you do so.
Mike: That seems about par for the course, if Matt was running the Tomb to Gygax's standards. You'd think some GM in one of the groups would have fudged the dice to let at least one of his players live, but such a thing would have been contrary to the spirit of the exercise, I suppose.
Jake: Dude. Fine. Gawd. Jeez. Dude.
Bye.
1. Not nearly as much happens when I'm at home, just going to work and hanging out with friends, and...
2. What does happen while I'm at work is almost never worth mentioning, and what happens while I'm with friends, pretty much my entire potential audience is already there for it.
Last night was fairly worth mentioning, though. We played poker for a while, Texas Hold 'Em. I organized a game with Daniel, Dan, Steven, and myself. We figured it would be a friendly game, and I didn't go into it thinking I would win money, but instead would just have had fun with friends for a while in a slightly more high-stakes environment than usual.
I ended up losing $15, from an original stake of $10. (When I went bankrupt, the others convinced me to buy back in with $5 more. Then I lost all of that.) I wish Dan had told me beforehand that he had become extremely able at poker from his youth in Puerto Rico. He ended up with $14 of my dollars, Steven taking the last one. Daniel broke even. I hate everything. I suggested later that we could try blackjack at another point, but Dan pointed out that, in the interest of fairness, he would have to tell me that he was adept at blackjack as well. And he did. So I think I won't be gambling against him for money anymore.
Then came the games of pool. I would have beaten Steven if we had stopped at best out of three, best out of five, or even best out of seven, but nooo...I had to go for best out of nine. He won two games in a row to win, 5-4. He lost the first two games by pocketing the 8-ball by accident, one of them in a quite spectacular way that he in no way could have ever done intentionally. You know what I mean. I had a few shots that way myself, but fortunately none of them resulted in me losing a game.
Work today was rather bland and uninteresting. It was aggravating in that the flow of customers was directly proportionate to the rate at which I worked. When I was slow and getting caught up in the problems, there would be a slow trickle. Then, just as I cleared through the backlogs and started to rampage through customers, the trickle would become a geyser and we'd be up to our eyeballs in customers. The problem was that the flow was constant. Whether there was one more customer in line or fifty, there was always one to replace the one that just left. I saw the store nearly empty, two customers in line, and cherished the thought of a sweet, two-minute break. By the time I dealt with the two, two more arrived. When those two had been served, three more were there. And by the time those three were finished, four dozen had lined up. This kind of got really old, really fast, as one might imagine. So there was a never-ending stream of customers. And I know for a cold frozen fact that it's only going to get worse as the days pass. At least I'm making money. I pay money to not enjoy myself in some classes, at least for this lack of enjoyment I'm getting paid.
So, that's about it. Today's Luke-Approved YouTube Link of the Day is a special seven-parter (Gasp!). I say seven parts because just one could not fully capture the scope of this marvel. Apparently, this guy "jinja" made a program that converts MIDI files into graphical representations, and jiggered up some songs that looked really keen when fed into said representation machine. He did seven of them:
1. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ASXnFRYf6LI&NR The Retro Gaming Medley.
2. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zdTdsn5G8L8 Cheetahmen 2, a highly forgettable NES game, but one that had some wicked music.
3. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q7S20zH7iDU Kirby "Madley" (medley).
4. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EF_1eyn25eA Mega Man, Dr. Wily, Stage 2.
5. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zz6djgwjjco Final Fantasy IV.
6. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A4DjC0BdKt4 Chrono Trigger, an awesome old RPG.
7. And finally, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-wkI7hg65F0 also known as Super Mario Bros.
Enjoy 'em.
REPLIES.
Mom: Yes, yes. Don't overexert yourself.
Dad: Well, we can be a bit loud at times. It's part of our, er, charm. And I understand that all mortal lives are but fragments of a second to the hyper-extended life of a figure such as the devil, but true immortality means you never die, ever, which is darn inconvenient to a being that cashes in his check, so to speak, after you die. Not even when the sun burns out and the planet falls into molten slag. Hmm...but...that may just give me a story idea.
Vic: Well, here you are. Enjoy it. No more pouting, no matter how cute you may be when you do so.
Mike: That seems about par for the course, if Matt was running the Tomb to Gygax's standards. You'd think some GM in one of the groups would have fudged the dice to let at least one of his players live, but such a thing would have been contrary to the spirit of the exercise, I suppose.
Jake: Dude. Fine. Gawd. Jeez. Dude.
Bye.
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