Tue, Jan. 10th, 2006, 11:25 pm
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Job = awesome. House = awesome. I'm too lazy to make this interesting.
FYI, the Slip n Slide movie
got a spinoff. Introducing: the Volleybonk movie
. A heartwarming tale, set on the myers park tennis courts amidst flying bouncy balls. If you feel like joining in then you should come and play with us every wednesday and sunday at 9:00.
PS - I was involuntarily terminated at suncoast, so if anybody owes me any money or a dinner or something... well i don't want to put too fine a point on it, but pay up suckers.
People in Hollywood make terrible movies. They are the reason why we'll soon be hearing all about this kind of crap...
... and little gems like THE SPECIAL dEaD
will go entirely overlooked. I don't know why this movie isn't in box offices right now dethroning Chicken Little from it's undeserved top spot. I haven't been this excited about a movie since whatever the last highly anticipated and greatly disappointing sci-fi blockbuster was, that came with promises of a rocking time and went with nary a whimper. Speaking of blockbusters with promise, the trailer for Superman Returns is going to be online at 6. So, you know, if you care about that sort of thing... unlike me... then you should maybe do something about it.
ps - I love this old lady
In the world of volleybonk a line has been drawn. Those who drew it sought to distinguish those who birthed the game from those who play it today. While we may not have drawn the line, we intend to smudge it. We intend to smudge the holy ever-loving bejeezus out of it. Tonight the volleybonk wars begin.
Hopefully they won't force us to resort to such base tactics as these
I'm not really into "extreme" sports. If, however, you were to include driving shitty, death-trap cars into the category of sports that are "extreme," then I would probably be that sport's Tony Hawk... only without all the success, or selling out. I realize that I've only owned two cars, but I really think that if those two are any indicators of what's to come in the future, then I should be bringing home X Games gold in any future hypothetical events in this possibly newly emerging "sport". Let's take a look back at some old faves.The Blue Car / The Blur
- Some people say that your first is always your best. So far the evidence supports this but I refuse to buy in completely because I would be forced to shred my driver's license and start taking the bus if the blue car turned out to be the best car I ever owned. The blue car was an absolute junker, a 1983 Toyota Tercel hatchback that could've kept Brad Pitt from getting laid even if he were to drive it straight into a women's prison while nude and fully erect. If you take a look at the picture I linked, you'll probably note that the car pictured isn't blue. Congratulations, you pass at color recognition. The reason I went with a picture of a brownish car is because that provides the best reference as to what the car actually looked like what with the large amount of rust. Unfortunately I couldn't find any pictures online that included the duct tape that I had to use to seal the insulation around the windows, or the miscolored hood that was afixed after my dad hit a deer. I can't leave out the FSU bumper sticker on the back. My dad bought a new FSU bumper sticker every time he wore the last out, and instead of taking off the old one completely he'd just tear off as much as he could in one swipe and then stick the new one over the remnants. It was fine while he owned the car because he always had a pretty new sticker on, but as soon as the car was given to me that top bumper sticker just started to rot as if the car had been passed on to pure evil, and I was left with this crazy inch thick bumper sticker that was to the history of FSU bumper stickers what the grand canyon is to the history of the earth.Except it was way sweeter because upon close inspection you could see designs from all the way back to 1987 and not just dirt. Inside things could hardly be considered better. The headliner had sagged pretty much since my dad drove the car home after buying it and slammed the door just a little too hard so as to exhibit the "toughness" of this little beast to my displeased mother. At least that's how I imagine it. It had a 4 speed manual transmission that I now yearn to have again, but at the time was just one more thing for people to make fun of. Controlling this transmission was a shifter that was made out of some kind of early prototype plastic that was made before they figured out how to keep plastic from melting in the sun. I kept a performance shift knob cover over the shifter so my hand wouldn't stick. Of course, by "performance shift knob cover" I mean a tube sock... with red stripes. A tube sock that became so stuck to the shifter that when I tried to take it off after getting rid of the car I seriously could not separate it from that mishapen lump of a shift knob. Luckily Toyota had seen fit to make the steering wheel out of the same stuff, and since I was not about to spend money on a steering wheel cover, and tube socks just aren't that
versatile I spent most of the time trying to drive without touching the steering wheel. I tried to keep that driving time to a minimum because somebody who's name starts with a J and ends with an ohn Boyle dumped some chocolate milk down the passenger door and under the seat (that's some precision milk spilling) and the car stank of rot. All of this would have been fine had the car run like a champ, and it did for a little while. Unfortunately, my policy of not spending money on the car sort of backfired when I completely ignored the recommended date and mileage for an oil change and the car threw a rod while I was doing 70 without any oil in the engine while taking John home out in the middle of nowhere. After that the blue car just never ran the same again. The top speed went down to 45 , not because the car couldn't handle it, but because the rod knocked around in the engine and made noises like a machine gun going off that got too loud and scary at 46 to handle. Driving that car was a gamble because at any second that rod could have shot out and killed me, but hey, I'm too eXtreme for a little thing like that to stop me.The Cutty
- The Cutty makes me wish I had kept the Blur, thrown rod and all. I wish I could say that I have ever seen it look like the car in the linked picture but even when I got it there was a healthy covering of mold on the exterior and the paint may have seen better days but I wouldn't know because it was just as shitty then as it is now. Actually, the paint could be considered to be in better shape than it was when I got the car because after hitting a Cherokee (could have been an apachee, I can't tell tribal differences... ba dum bum tish) I replaced the hood with another that is a different color but at least is way shinier than any other part of the car. It's great because it really highlights the mismatched paint colors. I'm not gonna dwell on the exterior any longer because frankly it depresses me, so let's move on to the interior. I'm not gonna say that the interior is in worse shape than the exterior, but i will say that it's neither better nor as good, so whatever's left is pretty accurate. Actually, "whatever's left" is a pretty good way to describe my car's interior. When the car was new it was very nearly a "luxury" car. After sixteen years, one terribly botched stereo replacement, plenty of sweaty post-ultimate rides, and a handful of Tallahasse summers melting the glue holding some rather important things together, whatever's left is exactly what I'm riding in every time I get in that shit-cart. Don't let me forget to mention the amazing jumble of shit that fills the passenger side and the backseat that I never even consider cleaning because I feel like cleaning the car would in some way make it more officially "mine". You see, this has now been my in-between car for several years, and I just can't help but feel like cleaning it would somehow make it impossible to dismiss as such anymore and I would have to acknowledge that it is indeed my car without those precious qualifiers that help me put up with owning such an incredible piece of shit. Cosmetically the car is terrible, but mechanically its even worse. It makes noises that make me truly miss the days of driving the Blur when I knew what terrible noise I would be greeted with every time I turned the ignition. It would be misleading to refer to the cacophony emanating from every piece of the Cutty as something as simple as "a noise." That would be doing a disservice to the incredible layered quality of the din that screams in your ear every time you start her up. There are two noises however, that tend to overpower the others. There's a kind of quiet muffled robot roaring that the car has made since I got it that has combined with the revving of the engine from the slipping transmission to make a kind of bowels of hell kind of roar/scream, which combined with the sound of my left front tire clicking and grinding gives the impression that I'm constantly driving around accompanied by a horde of brownie monsters. For those of you who don't keep up with the Aqua Teens this
is what brownie monsters sound like. Generally I've regarded the Cutty with a mixture of hatred, resentment, and regret with a dash of grudging respect. Why the grudging respect? I'm glad you asked. I last had my oil changed in March... of 2004. Now, while I am only 1,000 miles past the recommended mileage for an oil change I'm pretty sure that going 19 months between oil changes is not recommended, and yet this rolling pestilence just keep on trucking. You can't help but respect that. Lately a new element has crept into my attitude towards my car, fear.That clicking and grinding has gotten worse and worse, and lately when it gets really loud my steering wheel jerks to the left and my car wobbles a little bit. I think this may be the Cutty trying to assert alpha male dominance over me since I leave it alone in the backyard for days at a time, without even checking to see what it's up to. I don't know if I'm supposed to pee on it or what. John proposed that I headbutt it, but that could too easily backfire if I show pain. Anyway I need to do something before it takes over and decides to just drive itself into lake ella and drown it's own pain while simultaneously taking me out, avenging all the wrongs I've done it.
I'm sure there are cars out there somewhere that make mine look nice, but I'll be damned if I know where they are, and until I do I will go on being the most eXtreme shitty car driver this world has ever seen.
ps - air quotes are totally back
pss - alien loves predator
Fri, Oct. 7th, 2005, 11:37 pm
I play a lot of Halo. Almost every time I play I gain more evidence indicating that the biggest problem with the game, the black hole sucking the most fun out of the experience, is the people playing with me. Right before every game begins there's about 10 seconds of downtime while the level loads, during which everybody can talk with their teammates, or during unranked games, everybody. It never ceases to amaze me how much can happen in that 10 seconds. Within that 10 seconds you can usually get a pretty good feel as to how shitty everybody else in that game is at life. You can't help but love humanity when you have one dude named PACO KillinU screaming in your ear that he fucks your mother every tuesday and thursday with fellatio on sundays, and another guy named HungBadass has left his mic on while he's telling some mystery person that the "fag with the pink icon," (ps - that's me) " is probably some kind of queer." The best was earlier today waiting for the map to load on a snipers game with 7 other people one of whom was going by the handle Lords of Chaos. I was feeling chatty so I laid this thinking point on 'em: "Isn't the name Lords of Chaos kind of an oxy-moron? I mean wouldn't having one governing body, much less several, pretty much go entirely against the very definition of the word chaos?" The murmur immediately ceased. At this point I would have accepted many explanations, among them that he actually meant the name more in the sense of having mastery over the chaotic battle scene that would be ensuing in about 4 seconds, or even that his dog's name was chaos. Instead I got replies as varied and wondrous as, "Shut up fag," "Shut up noob," "You're a fucking retard," "Your mom's an oxy moron," and "What the fuck are you talking about fag?" Mr Lords of Chaos got in some further choice words before the match started, which I won't share with you here. I'll let you judge for yourself whether or not he had room to talk, just look here
One of my teachers started class the other day by asking us if anybody would mind MTV coming and filming our class. Apparently one of the students (a korean kid named Sammy, who is pretty much the quietest person I've ever met) just got signed by Sony to be the next big thing in rap and MTV is making a documentary on a day in his life. Let me tell you how exciting I think that little project is going to turn out to be... not very.
Movie trailers should be more like this: Shining
Fri, Sep. 16th, 2005, 06:30 pm
For those who may have missed it, this sweet ass flick
can give you a little taste of what we get up to out at that abandoned house. I highly recommend that you do all in your power to be a part of the sequels.
Today in my first class we started to do some analysis of print advertisements. The teacher spent the beginning of class showing us some print ads in an effort to get us into the right mindset. We were rolling, analyzing and breaking down ad after ad with the precision of a blind sufferer of cerebral palsy throwing darts at a flying red-tailed hawk. We masterfully deduced that pretty people constitute something called sex appeal, and that celebrities can occasionally be seen in ads. The limits of our keen insight knew no bounds in much the same way that retarded children don't notice the tether keeping them close to their caretakers. After realizing that we had all the basics (like rods and cones with which to see the pretty pictures, and a mouth with which to spout random words that to the casual observer didn't seem to have anything at all to do with the topic at hand) the teacher decided that we needed to do a little analysis in pairs. I went ahead and paired up with the gentleman who was sitting next to me. He was of about average height with a muscular build, dark eyes, and long brown hair. We were supposed to have 5 print ads of our own and I could see that this guy had an entire issue of GQ sitting in front of him. I just assumed that his ads could be found within and after showing him the 5 I had chosen, I asked him to show me what he had. He hadn't really said anything while he was looking at mine so I really didn't know what to expect. Here's what I got, he quickly flipped through the GQ and paused at every advertisement for liquor long enough to say something like, "This one's pretty rad." or "Oh shit, this one's tight." At one point he stopped and got kind of a thoughtful look on his face. He turned to me and said, "Dude, you know what'd be a tight ad for smokes? Have like a guy in like a penthouse like smoking and leaning over a railing or something, and then in the background have like New York or something. Then somewhere it could say like, whatever, the brand or something. That shit would sell." I couldn't help but agree with him as cigarette sales, to the best of my knowledge, are going pretty strong and that's pretty much the very ad I've seen for several producers of fine tobacco products as well as any number of liquors that are also doing quite well. He even flagged down the teacher in order to share this insight with her. He ended up fixated on some ad for Grey Goose vodka, which was pretty much the most boring ad I had ever seen and I decided to leave him to his own devices while I worked on filling out the 5 question analysis sheet we had been given to use on our ads. I just kind of put my head down and went to work trying to answer the questions for my chosen ad for Tag Body Spray (the one with the hot italian chick in red surrounded by her angry family and a warning that Tag couldn't be held responsible when it came to breaking local cutoms regarding "getting it on"). About halfway through my partner started chuckling about something. I looked over and saw that he had turned to some article about a wealthy CEO and was coloring in one of the CEO's front teeth with his pen. He looked up at me (my partner, not the CEO) and still chuckling, face alit with an almost childlike joy, declared "This guy! He doesn't look so rich now!" I smiled back at him, "Boy, you sure got him. You sould work for Mad magazine or something." he chuckled a little more and I put my head back down to finish the work. Minutes later he started chuckling again and despite myself I looked up again. This time he had given the unlucky CEO a goatee. "Oh man, he used to look normal! Now he looks like some kind of freak!" quipped my artistic partner, once again pleased with himself beyond all rational explanation. I honestly had no response for this, so I just asked him if he was finished. He said yes, even though the sheet he was supposed to fill out was sitting right between us still untouched. I just kind of stared at him with my chin in my hand as he turned his attention and artistic talent back to the helpless CEO. He chuckled several more times , and even broke out a guffaw at one point but I pretty much ignored him for the rest of the class. Now I wish I had taken the time to note his further artistic acheivements, but at the time I was just depressed at the prospect of having to share a grade with the guy. Leaving class, I heard the guy talking to somebody else in the class, I could hardly believe my ears, "Oh man, this class is going to be such a cakewalk." I don't know if he actually has a chemical imbalance or something and he was really just expressing the hope that we will indeed be walking around with frosting covered baked goods or what. But I do think that if I need help with my crossword on Thursday, he will not be the person I go to first.
Having typed all that and reread it I realize that it's not as funny as it seemed in my head, but hey not every story can be pure gold.
In other school related news I had a teacher tell me that she had the hots for some guy that looked and acted exactly like me. That was an incredibly awkward exchange and I'm still not sure how it came about.
List five of your idiosyncrasies and then tag five friends to do the same. (I'm gonna try to avoid using my food related idiosyncrasies, as they alone could fill a book.)
1. Things I can, and will do while reading: shower, cook, walk around, get dressed, shave, drive.
2. My very first instinct upon entering somebody's car for the first time is to open and look through their glove compartment. It's not that I'm nosy about it, I don't really care what's in there, but for some reason I just feel compelled to do it. It's not like anybody keeps anything interesting in there anyway.
3. I am not a "crafty" person, yet almost everything I own (which is a HUUUUGE amount of stuff) I keep because I tell myself that I'm going to make something out of it. Examples: everything videogame related I've ever owned even the broken stuff, piles and piles of magazines, stacks and stacks of pc game demos from like 1996 and shitty cds I literally found like on the side of the road, posters for movies I don't like or never even saw, the list goes on and on and on and on...
4. Improper grammar and spelling bothers the hell out of me if it's brought to my attention. I can usually just ignore it, but if something is glaringly obvious then I start looking for more and then that makes me look for more. This goes for what I write and say too. when I start writing I pay no attention to grammar or spelling but as soon as I notice I've made one mistake I find myself going back and looking at everything else I've written to make sure there aren't any more mistakes. I have even been known to go back and edit old livejournal entries (I doubt that anybody even noticed the mistakes in the first place, much less the corrections).
5. I get a serious kick out of people's speech patterns and rythms. Example: Hunter and Grant both have very unique ways of speaking while telling a story but the fact that they roll their eyes at similar beats in the story means that whenever I talk to Grant and he rolls his eyes he reminds me of Hunter, and vice versa.
Next up: Grant
, and Hunter Everlovin' Savage