“Dude, I’m thinking about . . . kinda getting into Magic again.”
Dasad paused the game, his beefy in-game character frozen while carving the body of a subterranean orc-mercenary. High-res blood and brain-matter splattered the screen, proof of the game’s ‘M-rating’ and hundred-billion weekend sales. He stared at me, his eyes screaming silent chords of betrayal and disbelief as if I had confessed to operating a meth-lab in my spare time . . . and refusing to split the profits.
“Why . . ?” he stammered. “Why would you play again willingly? I thought you were going to register on eHarmony with me . . . well, not WITH with me, but . . . you know, figuratively cruise for potential female life-mates on a digital frontier?”
“Well, Magic doesn’t prevent any of that.”
“Unless you plan on lying on your questionnaire, it does. Face it, you’re mutant-bait.”
“Maybe, but role-playing strategy games cannot hurt my love-life any worse than ’33-years-old and still living with parents,'” I remind him. “Or my dream of owning my own house to solely to store my extensive comic book collection . . .”
“. . . and Japanese porn . . .”
To infinity and beyond!
The final frontier. As a kid, I’ve never acquired the obsession with space travel that so fascinated the prototypical ‘geeks’ of my generation. Before high school, my friends and I began to specialize: the road to anime, the way of the superhero, the path of fantasy, the . . . starport to sci-fi. Most of us would explore other genres as well, adopting one another’s obsessions in time. I introduced Dasad to Tolkien; he led me to comic shops, where I began collecting Batman; our friend, Lloyd, reveled in mecha anime, magical girls, Dragonball and Pokemon. We all loved video games so finding common ground proved easy.
Still amid all the late movie marathons and gaming sessions, their interest in space and future tech never really stuck. The nature of space and its prerequisite vacuum always seemed overwhelming and claustrophobic at the same time, like the paradox of a man trapped within infinity — or Marty always running out of time in Back to the Future.
Space is big. You just won’t believe how vastly, hugely, mind-bogglingly big it is. I mean, you may think it’s a long way down the road to the drug store, but that’s just peanuts to space. — Douglas Adams Continue reading
Like a femme fatale, the curves here proved deadly.
The 3rd Annual Ice Cream Invitational. Every summer in Disney, Rodney and Ryan compete with Shannon and ‘yours truly’ in a sacred triathlon that tests the very limits of our body, our heart, and — dare I say — our sanity, a contest fit for gladiators (American or otherwise). The contest consisted of three rounds. The first grueling challenge sets brother against brother on the miniature golf course, and then the fiery hell of the tennis court . . .
Wait, why are you rolling your eyes? Seriously, whatever you THINK you know about miniature golf, forget it. Disney’s Fantasia Fairways is a theme park asylum covered in undulating green felt, reminding you why men have loved and cursed the bloody game for centuries. No cartoon castles litter the course. The pathway to the hole rises and falls like waves on a storm-tossed sea so there’s no ‘trick’ or ‘perfect putt’ to secure your hole in one . . . just luck and the pity of God. This was to be our battlefield — our Ragnarok, some may say days from now — and waiting for us at the end, a rich waffle cone, filled with soft-serve and seasoned with the blood and tears of our enemies. Continue reading
Yeah, so before we begin, I should explain that texting with my family is a creative experience, a workshop for the mind. Most days I like to spice up our conversations in simple but unusual ways: reversing words (sdrow gnisrever), texting in the third person (Murph enjoyed Ridley Scott’s Prometheus), or conceiving complex stories moments from erupting in the midst of mundane arguments. As an obsessive-compulsive reader, these are some of my favorite kinds of tales anyhow. Outcasts entangled in affairs of grave importance and dire consequence . . . and zombies. You can never go wrong with zombies.
This photo has nothing at to do with the following post; however, the subject matter is more pleasing than what I found on the basement computer.
“You’re kidding!” Dasad laughed, nearly dribbling coffee onto the table. “They left it up? On the screen?”
“No, no, no,” I said, waving my hands, as if brushing away the misconception. “It’s what the address bar listed. You know how when you start typing, Firefox offers a few of the popular searches from the last week? Apparently, someone’s been visiting frequently. All I typed was a ‘H’ and the site appeared, right below Hulu.”
“What was the name again?” my friend smiled, baiting me.
“Hotmoms.com . . . or something like it.” My friend’s squeals filled the entire cafe like a fire alarm. If the coffee and caffeine had failed in its primary function, curiosity and Dasad’s laughter proved a jolt of adrenaline. Even the baristas stared, whispering behind the counter and consulting their watches. Only a boy and girl continued to ignore us, racing Hotwheels across a neighboring tabletop. I lowered my voice.
“Nerd. Nerd. Nerd,” Dasad muttered, pointing at the sundry collection of costumed moviegoers, the vast majority sporting Marvel-themed t-shirts. “God, we’ve landed in some antisocial geek convention. Again.”
“It’s just a movie, dude,” I sigh. “Try to enjoy the energy from the crowd. Everyone’s been waiting years for this moment.”
Dasad and I had decided see the Avengers a few Saturdays ago, a day after Disney had released it here stateside to glowing reviews both from fans and reviewers alike. Many of us, myself include, were simply happy the film was so well received as it guaranteed the superhero genre had not yet jumped the shark. However, not everyone was enjoying the growing anticipation — not vocally at any rate.
“You do realize that you’re a computer science major, right?” I argue. “You work all day long building databases and designing web sites. You’re not just a geek, man. You’re a prince.”
“Ha! And what does that make you?” he laughed. “You dabble in every nerd world there is: super-heroes, hobbits, anime, manga, and semi-clad bishoujo figurines. All tucked away in your parents’ basement. What does that make you?”
“A king. But don’t tell anyone,” I whisper. “I’m traveling incognito.” Continue reading
The two ladies on the left side of the table appeared hollow or rather bored to the point of emptiness. If you drilled a hole in their forehead and sent a stiff breeze through the cavity, cobwebs and dust bunnies would explode from their ears like party favors. The eyes betrayed them. Not their voices, full of professionalism and interest, gleefully reading their typed questionnaires. Or their fingers, quickly taking note of my responses enthusiastically given or my aphorisms, recited with honesty and respect for my past students. Continue reading