It's the twelfth of January, already. How did that happen? We're almost two full weeks into the year, just like that.
This year promises to be a big one, too. I'm not talking about any of you, I mean for me. I was born in 1969 so this is the year I turn 40.
Thank heavens there's a couple of mates who'll hit the big Four-Oh before me ;)
Don't bother clicking their links, the slack buggers haven't updated their Blogs in donkey's :P
40 years old.
Technically I'm already in my 40th year, because each birthday actually celebrates the culmination of another year since you were born. And because I was born on August 30th, and there's just 7 1/2 months until my birthday, if you believe life begins at conception then I'm already over 40 years old.
What have I done during these past 40 years that's actually note worthy?
When I was about 4-5 I fell out of a tree, dropping approximately 15' to the ground where I struck my head on a concrete lawn edging. Oh yes, there was blood.
At maybe 8-10 years old I pushed a basketball out to my little sister and probably saved her from drowning.
As a teenager I won a couple of ribbons for athletics in High School, and even represented my school in an inter-school tournament.
I also finished second in a regional marathon (my first & only), then waited around for the presentation ceremony where I discovered that just as in life, there's no prize for coming in second; you're just the first loser.
At 19 years old I crashed my grandparents' car into a very large tree. The tree survived, the car did not.
At 20 years old I competed in the Victorian State Karate Championships, where I had the dubious distinction of being eliminated by the eventual Winner of my Division. It wasn't really that big of a deal. Just like in Karate Kid, anyone with their Sensei's approval could compete :P
In my late 20s I flew to the U.S. to meet a woman I'd met on the internet. Later we got married, and eventually had two kids.
I also completed my University degree here in the States. I graduated in absentia, but my parents were still proud of me.
And that's been my life, so far.
What haven't I done?
The only goal I set for myself (that I recall) which I never actually accomplished was to race Puffing Billy.
I also don't own a classic (pre-70's) Ford Mustang, but there's still time for that ;)
Oh, I also never became a millionaire by 30 years of age, because the system I had for betting on Horse Races worked brilliantly in the data gathering stages, but failed miserably when it was actually put into practice.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Monday, January 05, 2009
Now I know...
why Garfield, and Bob Geldof & The Boomtown Rats don't like Mondays.
You know what's worse than opening a pistachio nut and thinking it's moldy?
Discovering the "fuzz" on the nut is actually the remnants of a cocoon spun by a little grub. And look! There it is! Roasted in its little niche, inside the pistachio nut.
You know what's worse than that?
Looking at the pile of empty shells from the pistachios you've already eaten.
You know what's worse than opening a pistachio nut and thinking it's moldy?
Discovering the "fuzz" on the nut is actually the remnants of a cocoon spun by a little grub. And look! There it is! Roasted in its little niche, inside the pistachio nut.
You know what's worse than that?
Looking at the pile of empty shells from the pistachios you've already eaten.
Sunday, January 04, 2009
Inappropriate work attire
My Life Wizard made it to Moo Shu, but because my son and I haven't been playing together as much my son's Wizard is still stuck back in Marleybone, so I rolled a Death Wizard, a big, bad Necromancer to play in the meantime. He's actually kind of fun. Whereas my Life Wizard has low damage but the ability to heal himself, my Necromancer can heal himself by sucking the life right out of his opponent. Other than my Life Wizards (yes, I have two :P) he's the only Wizard I've played that beat Golem Tower before hitting level 10. In fact I did it twice in a row with my Necromancer, with him at just level 5.
At level 12 you begin a chain quest to get a totally new outfit, and I was really looking forward to completing this quest as every piece is almost always an upgrade.
Here's my Necromancer before equipping his new level 12 Quest pieces.
Prior to this I had a Black robe with Purple Trim, and I would have dyed this one the same, but I figured I was getting an upgrade soon so I didn't need to waste the Gold, likewise with the Hat. The Boots were originally black so I didn't bother dying them.
Then I completed the quest chain and got my new clothes. Alright! Let's see what my Necromancer/Death Wizard looks like in his new clothes!!!
What the fuck is this?! Excuse me! I'm a Necromancer! A Master of the Undead! I can't go running around looking like this! What the hell were the designers thinking? I know this is a game targeting the kiddies, but come on!
Actually, I'm keeping the Robe, but the obscenely tall & pointed hat, with the flower on the side? Uh uh. The shoes can go, too. It's a good thing that quest chain provides you with a decent chunk of XP (I leveled twice while doing it) because the Quest Rewards (for a Necromancer) suck. The hat would provide me with 14 more Health and +3% Resistance to Death Magic, while the Boots would have me exchange +3 Dmg for +2% Resistance to Death Magic (same Health, before & after). I can live without that. I might go dye my new Robe though, if it's not too expensive :P
At level 12 you begin a chain quest to get a totally new outfit, and I was really looking forward to completing this quest as every piece is almost always an upgrade.
Here's my Necromancer before equipping his new level 12 Quest pieces.
Prior to this I had a Black robe with Purple Trim, and I would have dyed this one the same, but I figured I was getting an upgrade soon so I didn't need to waste the Gold, likewise with the Hat. The Boots were originally black so I didn't bother dying them.
Then I completed the quest chain and got my new clothes. Alright! Let's see what my Necromancer/Death Wizard looks like in his new clothes!!!
What the fuck is this?! Excuse me! I'm a Necromancer! A Master of the Undead! I can't go running around looking like this! What the hell were the designers thinking? I know this is a game targeting the kiddies, but come on!
Actually, I'm keeping the Robe, but the obscenely tall & pointed hat, with the flower on the side? Uh uh. The shoes can go, too. It's a good thing that quest chain provides you with a decent chunk of XP (I leveled twice while doing it) because the Quest Rewards (for a Necromancer) suck. The hat would provide me with 14 more Health and +3% Resistance to Death Magic, while the Boots would have me exchange +3 Dmg for +2% Resistance to Death Magic (same Health, before & after). I can live without that. I might go dye my new Robe though, if it's not too expensive :P
Friday, January 02, 2009
When do you let go?
For too long JE had training wheels on his bike, and it was far too rarely that he actually went out and rode. I knew I'd been a poor father when picking up the Bunny from Preschool I saw several of her 4 y/old classmates riding around the playground, on 2-wheel bikes. Oops! Big Oops.
I don't know how old I was when my father taught me to ride a 2-wheel bike, but I never had a bike with training wheels; I went straight from Trike to Bike. I remember being envious of the younger kids with training wheels on their bikes, even though I could already ride a 2-wheeler. I remember talking with one girl who said her Dad had taken one of the training wheels off her younger brother's bike, but she said he didn't even need one training wheel because she'd seen him riding his friends' 2-wheel bikes with no problems.
So when I figured it was time for JE to lose the training wheels, I just took one of them off. That was actually a mistake. Instead of trying to balance, JE would just lean over to the training wheel side. So I took that wheel off too, then holding his seat or handle bars I trotted along beside him while he freaked out. It became almost impossible to get him back on the bike. I had to tell myself not to give in, not to put the training wheels back on.
In a local Thrift Store Liz and I discovered a pre-loved Razor Scooter which looked like it still had quite a few rides left in it. I figured this was a good way for JE to learn to balance on two wheels, or more to the point, to have the confidence in his own ability to balance on two wheels. At first he'd be almost constantly pushing off with one foot, but as his confidence grew he began scooting for longer and longer distances between pushes. We got our daughter a scooter of her own, too, so with both kids having Scooters, and Southern California having somewhat mild winters (except when it pours down raining, which isn't that often), the kids were able to get out and ride a lot.
Every now & then I'd put JE on his bike, and holding onto his seat and running alongside him, we'd do a couple of laps up & down the driveway. Then I realized the little guy had outgrown his old bike; his knees were almost up around his ears as he pedaled, even with the seat fully raised up. It was time to get him a new bike.
With a donation from one Aunty we bought JE a new, bigger bike for Christmas, and as small as it was, it was still pretty tough getting it into and out of the back of the SUV (it came pre-built) then wrestling it into our storage closet until Christmas. Naturally when the big day arrived it was pouring rain, so JE had to wait until the next day to go out on his new bike.
But when he did, what progress he'd made!
I ran along beside/behind him, not quite holding his seat, and he'd ride from one end of the driveway to the other (probably 50 metres or so), then turn around, sometimes on his own, and ride back. Occasionally I'd catch him from toppling over, but more often than not he'd catch himself. He was wobbling all over the place, but he wasn't going down.
And I found myself in a situation that as a parent, I'll have to face quite a few more times in the future, with both of my children.
Letting go.
I'm sure my son can ride by himself without my help. He's already demonstrated that he can turn 180-degrees and right the bike before tipping over. He has trouble getting started without my help, but I seem to recall that was a problem I faced myself when learning to ride. I tried to show him how to push off while standing on one pedal, much like you do on a scooter, but he preferred to start riding while already seated, with me helping him maintain balance. I also recall I used to lean my bike against the fence, climb on, then begin pedaling while simultaneously pushing my bike off the fence.
My son can ride his bike by himself, the issue at hand is him having the confidence to do it all by himself, and not losing that confidence when he takes his first fall, but getting straight back on and riding again. But that's not going to happen if I don't let go.
As parents we need to learn to let go; we need to let our children spread their wings and fly. They'll always be our babies, but they won't always be children.
I don't know how old I was when my father taught me to ride a 2-wheel bike, but I never had a bike with training wheels; I went straight from Trike to Bike. I remember being envious of the younger kids with training wheels on their bikes, even though I could already ride a 2-wheeler. I remember talking with one girl who said her Dad had taken one of the training wheels off her younger brother's bike, but she said he didn't even need one training wheel because she'd seen him riding his friends' 2-wheel bikes with no problems.
So when I figured it was time for JE to lose the training wheels, I just took one of them off. That was actually a mistake. Instead of trying to balance, JE would just lean over to the training wheel side. So I took that wheel off too, then holding his seat or handle bars I trotted along beside him while he freaked out. It became almost impossible to get him back on the bike. I had to tell myself not to give in, not to put the training wheels back on.
In a local Thrift Store Liz and I discovered a pre-loved Razor Scooter which looked like it still had quite a few rides left in it. I figured this was a good way for JE to learn to balance on two wheels, or more to the point, to have the confidence in his own ability to balance on two wheels. At first he'd be almost constantly pushing off with one foot, but as his confidence grew he began scooting for longer and longer distances between pushes. We got our daughter a scooter of her own, too, so with both kids having Scooters, and Southern California having somewhat mild winters (except when it pours down raining, which isn't that often), the kids were able to get out and ride a lot.
Every now & then I'd put JE on his bike, and holding onto his seat and running alongside him, we'd do a couple of laps up & down the driveway. Then I realized the little guy had outgrown his old bike; his knees were almost up around his ears as he pedaled, even with the seat fully raised up. It was time to get him a new bike.
With a donation from one Aunty we bought JE a new, bigger bike for Christmas, and as small as it was, it was still pretty tough getting it into and out of the back of the SUV (it came pre-built) then wrestling it into our storage closet until Christmas. Naturally when the big day arrived it was pouring rain, so JE had to wait until the next day to go out on his new bike.
But when he did, what progress he'd made!
I ran along beside/behind him, not quite holding his seat, and he'd ride from one end of the driveway to the other (probably 50 metres or so), then turn around, sometimes on his own, and ride back. Occasionally I'd catch him from toppling over, but more often than not he'd catch himself. He was wobbling all over the place, but he wasn't going down.
And I found myself in a situation that as a parent, I'll have to face quite a few more times in the future, with both of my children.
Letting go.
I'm sure my son can ride by himself without my help. He's already demonstrated that he can turn 180-degrees and right the bike before tipping over. He has trouble getting started without my help, but I seem to recall that was a problem I faced myself when learning to ride. I tried to show him how to push off while standing on one pedal, much like you do on a scooter, but he preferred to start riding while already seated, with me helping him maintain balance. I also recall I used to lean my bike against the fence, climb on, then begin pedaling while simultaneously pushing my bike off the fence.
My son can ride his bike by himself, the issue at hand is him having the confidence to do it all by himself, and not losing that confidence when he takes his first fall, but getting straight back on and riding again. But that's not going to happen if I don't let go.
As parents we need to learn to let go; we need to let our children spread their wings and fly. They'll always be our babies, but they won't always be children.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Straight No Chaser, 10 years later
Their original clip, from 10 years ago, has been taken down. They're 10 years older and some of them are having just a shade of trouble hitting the really high notes, but the A Capella group from Indiana University are still doing an excellent job with their rendition of The Twelve Days of Christmas.
I hope it makes you smile as much as it does me.
Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, or Festivus, or just plain Happy Holidays.
I hope it makes you smile as much as it does me.
Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, or Festivus, or just plain Happy Holidays.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Another one rides the bus
This morning while waiting for the bus, a (what's the PC term?) Residentially Challenged Man wandered up, scratching himself, fidgeting, and doing things your typical RC person is wont to do, like slapping himself and yelling at things only he can see.
I debated (with myself) the merits of calling my local P.D. but really, what had this fellow done other than be Residentially Challenged? That really shouldn't be a crime (and I doubt it is), and while he did look like he could use the attention of someone who'd take better care of him than he was himself, would my local P.D. be able to satisfy that role in his life? And considering the Bus Station is under the jurisdiction of the Sheriff's Department, not the local P.D., my friendly, neighborhood RCM would probably end up just getting a ride into downtown and wind up a few blocks from where I work.
He wasn't hurting anyone, and didn't really appear dangerous, so I figured what with it being Hanukkah/Christmas/Kwanza/Winter Solstice, why not just let my fellow man be.
A Metro Bus came through and the RCM got all excited, but this particular Bus was Not In Service so it just drove on by without stopping, and the RCM calmed down (somewhat) and resumed his fidgeting and pacing. Then a Foothill Transit Bus pulled up at the station and the RCM jumped up and trotted over to the door, but as this Bus terminated at the Bus Station the RCM was once again disappointed. Then my Bus finally arrived and everyone in line got excited, but the RCM was more so than most.
Ignoring the line of passengers he trotted up to the door and got lucky. Normally the Drivers of the Express Buses into downtown close the front door when they go back to check their passengers and make sure everyone has paid the extra fare to ride into town, but this morning's driver didn't do that; he left the front door open.
The RCM pushed his way in front of the first person in line and when the driver was halfway down the bus he made his move and leaped aboard. Taking a couple of quick steps he plopped down into the first available seat, and his new neighbor immediately switched seats. I watched as the Bus Driver got to the back of the bus, checked his last passenger, then turned and made his way back towards the front. Surely he'd notice RCM and realize he hadn't been there earlier but RCM's sheer audacity paid off and the Driver walked past him without blinking, or even wrinkling up his nose.
For gaming the system and getting a free ride into downtown, we salute you, Mr. Smarter-than-you-look Residentially Challenged Man!
I debated (with myself) the merits of calling my local P.D. but really, what had this fellow done other than be Residentially Challenged? That really shouldn't be a crime (and I doubt it is), and while he did look like he could use the attention of someone who'd take better care of him than he was himself, would my local P.D. be able to satisfy that role in his life? And considering the Bus Station is under the jurisdiction of the Sheriff's Department, not the local P.D., my friendly, neighborhood RCM would probably end up just getting a ride into downtown and wind up a few blocks from where I work.
He wasn't hurting anyone, and didn't really appear dangerous, so I figured what with it being Hanukkah/Christmas/Kwanza/Winter Solstice, why not just let my fellow man be.
A Metro Bus came through and the RCM got all excited, but this particular Bus was Not In Service so it just drove on by without stopping, and the RCM calmed down (somewhat) and resumed his fidgeting and pacing. Then a Foothill Transit Bus pulled up at the station and the RCM jumped up and trotted over to the door, but as this Bus terminated at the Bus Station the RCM was once again disappointed. Then my Bus finally arrived and everyone in line got excited, but the RCM was more so than most.
Ignoring the line of passengers he trotted up to the door and got lucky. Normally the Drivers of the Express Buses into downtown close the front door when they go back to check their passengers and make sure everyone has paid the extra fare to ride into town, but this morning's driver didn't do that; he left the front door open.
The RCM pushed his way in front of the first person in line and when the driver was halfway down the bus he made his move and leaped aboard. Taking a couple of quick steps he plopped down into the first available seat, and his new neighbor immediately switched seats. I watched as the Bus Driver got to the back of the bus, checked his last passenger, then turned and made his way back towards the front. Surely he'd notice RCM and realize he hadn't been there earlier but RCM's sheer audacity paid off and the Driver walked past him without blinking, or even wrinkling up his nose.
For gaming the system and getting a free ride into downtown, we salute you, Mr. Smarter-than-you-look Residentially Challenged Man!
Monday, December 15, 2008
Fable II
Does Microsoft really need to sell their X-Box so badly that they'll force gamers to buy it just to play Fable II?
Considering you can't play Halo on the PC (or we'd spank those console players arses, and they know it), it really shouldn't be a surprise, but it's still fucking annoying. And no, I'm not going to buy an X-Box just to play Fable II...I already have an X-Box, it's called a PC, and it kicks the X-Box's arse.
Fucking Microsoft.
/rant off
Considering you can't play Halo on the PC (or we'd spank those console players arses, and they know it), it really shouldn't be a surprise, but it's still fucking annoying. And no, I'm not going to buy an X-Box just to play Fable II...I already have an X-Box, it's called a PC, and it kicks the X-Box's arse.
Fucking Microsoft.
/rant off
Thursday, December 11, 2008
They play how much, now?
According to GigaOM, in Q2/2006 Blizzard made $30,000,000 from their 5,000,000 Chinese subscribers who, GigaOM quotes (but from where I'm not sure), pay approx. US4¢/hr to play.
$30m per quarter means $10m/month (on average).
$10m / 4¢ (per hour) = 250,000,000 hours.
250m hours / 5m players = 50 hours.
So on average, each Chinese player plays WoW for...just 50 hours per month?
Oddly enough, that really isn't much.
When I used to play, I could easily play for 2-3 hours every weeknight, plus the same (or more) on weekends. I'd be up early on weekends and get in a good couple of hours before Liz would be up, and then sometimes get in another hour or two after that as well. We'd go out somewhere for the afternoon/evening, get home, and I could easily put in another couple of hours before bed.
2-3 hours per weeknight + 12 hours per weekend (both days) = 22-25 hours per week.
4 weeks + 3/4 'extra' days per month = 100+ hours of WoW per month.
So I played twice as much as the average Chinese player, and I was just a casual-hardcore player.
True hardcore players would put in even more time, possibly as much as 150 hours per month. Raiding on multiple weeknights (4 hours per) would easily jack your monthly hours up that high.
I know what you're saying. What about Chinese Gold Farmers. They're on 24/7 (except Tuesdays). Allowing downtime for Tuesdays, let's say 29 days per month, at 24 hours per day, = approx. 700 hours. So one Chinese Gold Farmer = approx. 14 recreational players.
Unless...all of the Chinese players are Gold Farmers. How ironic would that be.
Assuming the average Chinese player is on for 50 hours, and the average Chinese Gold Farmers is on for 700 hours, given that there is 5,000,000 of them and together they play for a combined 250,000,000 hours, I'm sure there's a quadratic formula that would let you work out the ratio of Players to Farmers. I'm good with Maths, but I can't be stuffed working it out.
Anyone want to take a shot at it?
$30m per quarter means $10m/month (on average).
$10m / 4¢ (per hour) = 250,000,000 hours.
250m hours / 5m players = 50 hours.
So on average, each Chinese player plays WoW for...just 50 hours per month?
Oddly enough, that really isn't much.
When I used to play, I could easily play for 2-3 hours every weeknight, plus the same (or more) on weekends. I'd be up early on weekends and get in a good couple of hours before Liz would be up, and then sometimes get in another hour or two after that as well. We'd go out somewhere for the afternoon/evening, get home, and I could easily put in another couple of hours before bed.
2-3 hours per weeknight + 12 hours per weekend (both days) = 22-25 hours per week.
4 weeks + 3/4 'extra' days per month = 100+ hours of WoW per month.
So I played twice as much as the average Chinese player, and I was just a casual-hardcore player.
True hardcore players would put in even more time, possibly as much as 150 hours per month. Raiding on multiple weeknights (4 hours per) would easily jack your monthly hours up that high.
I know what you're saying. What about Chinese Gold Farmers. They're on 24/7 (except Tuesdays). Allowing downtime for Tuesdays, let's say 29 days per month, at 24 hours per day, = approx. 700 hours. So one Chinese Gold Farmer = approx. 14 recreational players.
Unless...all of the Chinese players are Gold Farmers. How ironic would that be.
Assuming the average Chinese player is on for 50 hours, and the average Chinese Gold Farmers is on for 700 hours, given that there is 5,000,000 of them and together they play for a combined 250,000,000 hours, I'm sure there's a quadratic formula that would let you work out the ratio of Players to Farmers. I'm good with Maths, but I can't be stuffed working it out.
Anyone want to take a shot at it?
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Graffiti: Art, or Vandalism?
I thought I'd expand on the conversation/comments started by my last Post.
IMO, whether Graffiti is Art or Vandalism depends on the graffiti itself, and on the "canvas" that was used.
When we first moved into our townhouse our communal letterbox (that we shared with 6 neighbors) came with a piece of lumber across the top. About 3' wide, 12" tall, painted white, it proved an irresistible target, so I wasn't too surprised when I came home from work one day to see something unintelligible scribbled across it. But we'd been painting the house that past weekend so I happened to have a couple of cans of white paint in the garage, and as soon as I'd parked my car I was back out the front, paint & brush in hand.
When painted/written under a larger piece of work I could acknowledge that this:
is an artist's signature. But when it's scrawled in black marker across a letterbox it's nothing but senseless vandalism. I obliterated it with a coat of white paint (not this piece specifically).
A couple of days later it was back. Maybe the same Tagger, maybe not, I don't know; I lost the ability to read Scribble when I graduated from Kindergarten.
I painted over it again.
About a week went by before the Taggers struck again, and probably within hours of them scribbling their nonsense on my letterbox I'd once again erased it.
It was almost six months before they Tagged us again.
They were still around. I'd see their work up and down the street, on other letterboxes, For Sale signs, even spray painted on hedges, but for six months they left us alone. And when they finally did hit us I was back out there, painting over it again.
It didn't piss me off, in fact I got a smug sense of satisfaction by imagining the Tagger coming by later to admire his work, and seeing that his biggest Tag was already gone, just hours after he'd put it up.
That's Tagging. It's graffiti, and it's vandalism. It's exactly the same as your dog pissing on and marking every rock, tree & street sign when you take him for a walk.
"This is mine! And this is mine! Oh, this? This is mine, too! And this! It's mine as well!"
No, this letterbox is mine!
Now if the Taggers had shown a little bit of style and creativity, I might have left their work alone. If they'd done something like this:
or even this:
I'd have thought, "That's pretty cool! I like it!" and it could have stayed.
But when a dog takes a piss up against your letterbox it's only natural to grab your hose and clean it off. Or you piss right back, and you keep on doing that, and eventually the dog comes through saying, "This is mine! And this! And this, too! And...oh! This? No. This is yours."
IMO, whether Graffiti is Art or Vandalism depends on the graffiti itself, and on the "canvas" that was used.
When we first moved into our townhouse our communal letterbox (that we shared with 6 neighbors) came with a piece of lumber across the top. About 3' wide, 12" tall, painted white, it proved an irresistible target, so I wasn't too surprised when I came home from work one day to see something unintelligible scribbled across it. But we'd been painting the house that past weekend so I happened to have a couple of cans of white paint in the garage, and as soon as I'd parked my car I was back out the front, paint & brush in hand.
When painted/written under a larger piece of work I could acknowledge that this:
is an artist's signature. But when it's scrawled in black marker across a letterbox it's nothing but senseless vandalism. I obliterated it with a coat of white paint (not this piece specifically).A couple of days later it was back. Maybe the same Tagger, maybe not, I don't know; I lost the ability to read Scribble when I graduated from Kindergarten.
I painted over it again.
About a week went by before the Taggers struck again, and probably within hours of them scribbling their nonsense on my letterbox I'd once again erased it.
It was almost six months before they Tagged us again.
They were still around. I'd see their work up and down the street, on other letterboxes, For Sale signs, even spray painted on hedges, but for six months they left us alone. And when they finally did hit us I was back out there, painting over it again.
It didn't piss me off, in fact I got a smug sense of satisfaction by imagining the Tagger coming by later to admire his work, and seeing that his biggest Tag was already gone, just hours after he'd put it up.
That's Tagging. It's graffiti, and it's vandalism. It's exactly the same as your dog pissing on and marking every rock, tree & street sign when you take him for a walk.
"This is mine! And this is mine! Oh, this? This is mine, too! And this! It's mine as well!"
No, this letterbox is mine!
Now if the Taggers had shown a little bit of style and creativity, I might have left their work alone. If they'd done something like this:
or even this:
I'd have thought, "That's pretty cool! I like it!" and it could have stayed.
But when a dog takes a piss up against your letterbox it's only natural to grab your hose and clean it off. Or you piss right back, and you keep on doing that, and eventually the dog comes through saying, "This is mine! And this! And this, too! And...oh! This? No. This is yours."
Monday, December 08, 2008
Tagging
I've got about 100 posts left to Tag and I've noticed Blogger's main Edit Comments page allows you to Tag a bunch of posts all at once...except without exploding an entry, the title doesn't always tell me what it's about, especially when you're looking at a 2 y/old post.
Also I can only apply 1 tag at a time to multiple posts and that seems counterproductive. I'd need to explode every post, look at the first Tag, then go through every post to see if that Tag applies to that post, if so, check it, do that for every Post, then apply that first Tag. Uncheck every post, review every post with respect to the second Tag, apply second Tag, uncheck every post, and so on.
I think it's going to be faster to review every post, apply relevant Tags, then republish it.
I don't know if that means I'm about to spam the Readers of anyone who subscribes to my Blog or not, or if it doesn't count for Edits and re-publishes.
If it does, I apologize in advance for the next 100 or so spammed Posts just for me to get my Tags up-to-date.
Also I can only apply 1 tag at a time to multiple posts and that seems counterproductive. I'd need to explode every post, look at the first Tag, then go through every post to see if that Tag applies to that post, if so, check it, do that for every Post, then apply that first Tag. Uncheck every post, review every post with respect to the second Tag, apply second Tag, uncheck every post, and so on.
I think it's going to be faster to review every post, apply relevant Tags, then republish it.
I don't know if that means I'm about to spam the Readers of anyone who subscribes to my Blog or not, or if it doesn't count for Edits and re-publishes.
If it does, I apologize in advance for the next 100 or so spammed Posts just for me to get my Tags up-to-date.
Wednesday, December 03, 2008
What a boring life we must lead :P
Almost a week since I last posted. Nothing to discuss, perhaps? Not even a rant?
Okay, so Thanksgiving was in there somewhere. Interesting bit of Thanksgiving trivia, not sure how accurate it is. Apparently 600 million pounds of Turkey is eaten each year on Thanksgiving Day. I don't know about you, but that seems an awful lot of Turkey.
Now when they say "Thanksgiving Day", do they just mean the Thursday? Coz I get Friday off as well as Thursday (perk of being a government lackey). Also, given there's barely 300 million folks in the U.S., total, that means every man, woman & child has to personally account for 2 pounds of Turkey (on average). Okay, so you eat 1 pound of turkey for lunch, then another pound for dinner. Done, right? How many kids do you know that would eat a full pound of meat in one sitting? That's the patties from four Quarter Pounders. Actually, it's probably the patties from five Quarter Pounders, because I doubt a Quarter Pounder patty weighs a full quarter of a pound after you fry it up. When you put it that way, a pound of meat is a fucking (sorry) shit load (sorry again) of meat.
So somehow every man, woman and child eats 10 Quarter Pounder patties worth of Turkey on Thanksgiving Day? I highly doubt that. Now I realize some people will eat that much, and some will eat even more, but I still find it hard to believe that as a nation we can consume 600 million pounds of Turkey in one day. More likely, it's 600 million pounds of Turkey sold for Thanksgiving Day, but there's no actual proof that all that Turkey gets eaten.
Monday night we decided to get a Christmas Tree, just a little one, about 4' tall, from one of the local lots. The young guy that helped us out tied the tree on top of our Highlander all by himself. I figured it was appropriate to tip him, and as he'd done such a good job I figured he deserved more than the single dollar I had, so I bummed another dollar off Liz, folded them together, then palmed them and handed them over during the Thank You handshake. I don't know whether or not they're supposed to pool their tips, but I figured he'd helped us out and tied the tree on our car by himself, he deserved to keep his $2 tip. The subtle way he slid the bills into his hip pocket without even looking at them first told me he was probably supposed to share his tips with the others, so I'm glad I tipped him on the sly. I'm sure the other guys don't share all their tips either so as long as they're all shorting each other, it's okay, right ;)
The kids had a great time decorating the tree when we got home, and we only had to shove Willow away a couple of times before she got the hint that the tree is not a new toy. We took a few pics but Liz hasn't uploaded them yet, and she's hidden the camera away somewhere, so at this point in time, you'll have to use your imagination ;)
*Edit - apparently the pictures were up...I just couldn't find them :P
Okay, so Thanksgiving was in there somewhere. Interesting bit of Thanksgiving trivia, not sure how accurate it is. Apparently 600 million pounds of Turkey is eaten each year on Thanksgiving Day. I don't know about you, but that seems an awful lot of Turkey.
Now when they say "Thanksgiving Day", do they just mean the Thursday? Coz I get Friday off as well as Thursday (perk of being a government lackey). Also, given there's barely 300 million folks in the U.S., total, that means every man, woman & child has to personally account for 2 pounds of Turkey (on average). Okay, so you eat 1 pound of turkey for lunch, then another pound for dinner. Done, right? How many kids do you know that would eat a full pound of meat in one sitting? That's the patties from four Quarter Pounders. Actually, it's probably the patties from five Quarter Pounders, because I doubt a Quarter Pounder patty weighs a full quarter of a pound after you fry it up. When you put it that way, a pound of meat is a fucking (sorry) shit load (sorry again) of meat.
So somehow every man, woman and child eats 10 Quarter Pounder patties worth of Turkey on Thanksgiving Day? I highly doubt that. Now I realize some people will eat that much, and some will eat even more, but I still find it hard to believe that as a nation we can consume 600 million pounds of Turkey in one day. More likely, it's 600 million pounds of Turkey sold for Thanksgiving Day, but there's no actual proof that all that Turkey gets eaten.
Monday night we decided to get a Christmas Tree, just a little one, about 4' tall, from one of the local lots. The young guy that helped us out tied the tree on top of our Highlander all by himself. I figured it was appropriate to tip him, and as he'd done such a good job I figured he deserved more than the single dollar I had, so I bummed another dollar off Liz, folded them together, then palmed them and handed them over during the Thank You handshake. I don't know whether or not they're supposed to pool their tips, but I figured he'd helped us out and tied the tree on our car by himself, he deserved to keep his $2 tip. The subtle way he slid the bills into his hip pocket without even looking at them first told me he was probably supposed to share his tips with the others, so I'm glad I tipped him on the sly. I'm sure the other guys don't share all their tips either so as long as they're all shorting each other, it's okay, right ;)
The kids had a great time decorating the tree when we got home, and we only had to shove Willow away a couple of times before she got the hint that the tree is not a new toy. We took a few pics but Liz hasn't uploaded them yet, and she's hidden the camera away somewhere, so at this point in time, you'll have to use your imagination ;)
*Edit - apparently the pictures were up...I just couldn't find them :P
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Shaking up WoW
A couple of WoW's Wrath quests have got people in a bit of a tiz lately, such as one which asks you to torture an NPC to extract information from them. Somehow some people find this quest morally repugnant.
Never mind that to get this far their toon has probably already committed numerous acts that are equally disturbing, and which together far outweigh one simple act of torture.
At least on the Alliance side, most players will:
Kill numerous sentient humanoids to collect their eyes to make a stew.
Kill numerous sentient humanoids for kelp, just so two youngsters can defy their parents and hang out together.
Slaughter wildlife by the thousands, in some cases for nothing but their paws, legs, or liver. "Go! Kill some pigs, and bring back their livers so I can make a few pies."
In some cases wildlife are slaughtered, literally by the hundreds, for no reason at all, other than to impress a couple of people. Yes, Nesingwary, I'm looking at you!
Almost all Alliance will be offered a quest to kill a man who helped rebuild Stormwind and who was then cheated and wronged by the Stormwind Nobles. Most Alliance will accept a contract to kill this honorable man, who refused the Nobles' bribes and who turned down a cushy government job because he was loyal to his men, men who were not brigands but common laborers and stonemasons. Most Alliance will take this quest and do everything they can to kill this man, one Edwin VanCleef, and they won't think twice about what they're doing.
How is it acceptable to kill a man whose crime was to speak out against injustice, but torturing someone for information is really, really not okay?
Seriously, it's not like the choices you make affect anything.
Kill a named Quest Mob, in 5 minutes he'll pop right back up. Mine that Node, half an hour later, another Node will spring up in its place.
In most cases, WoW is a very static world.
The in-game choices you make don't make a shred of difference, or at least any effects from the choice you make disappears after 5-10 minutes.
The only choices that really affect anything are the very first two you make: Do you choose Alliance or Horde, and what class? Pretty much any other choice you make is irrelevant.
In Shattrath you'll be able to choose between Scryer and Aldor, but if you make the wrong choice (for your craft) then it just takes a little bit of work to undo that choice. It's not a huge, game breaking decision. It might take an investment of time & gold on your behalf to undo your choice, but it can be reversed.
But, what if there was a choice to be made in-game which couldn't be reversed.
Take the Torture quest that's getting everyone up in arms. What if you strolled up to a camp with two Quest Givers and when you talk to the first one he says, "Psst. We've got a guy tied up in bushes. Go back there, smack him around a bit, and see if you can't get some information out of him."
I'm sorry, you want me to do what? Beat up a helpless guy? I don't think so.
So you click Decline then talk to the second Quest Giver. He says, "Psst. They've got a guy tied up in the bushes back there. Go get some food & wine from the Innkeeper, untie the guy and lead him up into the hills, then give him the food & wine and see if he'll open up to you."
Interesting. You've got two quests which seem to have the same goal in mind; Interrogate a prisoner for information. But in the first quest you'll use violence to extract the information, whereas the second quest has you be a little more subtle.
If you'd accepted the first guy's quest, the quest marker would have disappeared from second guy, and instead of offering you the subterfuge quest he now might say, "A man who thinks he's about to die will say anything to save his life. How can you trust information gained through torture?"
A smart cookie might make the connection between the two quest givers, then abandon the Torture quest to see what the second Quest Giver had to say.
And now you're presented with a moral choice, a very real choice. You no longer have a choice between doing or not doing a quest; now you have a choice between torturing someone for information, or befriending them to gain the same.
Imagine if this was how you chose between Aldor and Scryer, with your choice affecting who will talk to you in the future, what quests you can get, and even what City you will eventually call home at 80. Imagine if making a choice one way or the other gives you some sort of communication device which allows you to communicate in a channel specifically reserved for just the Torturers, or just the Spies...regardless of faction. Yes, suddenly Alliance and Horde could communicate with each other, but only those who'd chosen to torture the prisoner could communicate with each other, while only those who'd chosen to free and befriend the prisoner could communicate with each other.
Imagine Horde and Alliance being able to group up, together, to do lvl 80 Instances? And why not? With BC's introduction of Dranei Shamans and Bloodelf Paladins, the factions are practically the same now anyway.
Imagine if there were decisions to make in the World of Warcraft that really mattered, decisions with irreversible consequences.
If you think people are upset over the Torture quest now, just imagine the screaming, and wailing, and gnashing of teeth if players/toons were held accountable for their in-game decisions ;)
Never mind that to get this far their toon has probably already committed numerous acts that are equally disturbing, and which together far outweigh one simple act of torture.
At least on the Alliance side, most players will:
Kill numerous sentient humanoids to collect their eyes to make a stew.
Kill numerous sentient humanoids for kelp, just so two youngsters can defy their parents and hang out together.
Slaughter wildlife by the thousands, in some cases for nothing but their paws, legs, or liver. "Go! Kill some pigs, and bring back their livers so I can make a few pies."
In some cases wildlife are slaughtered, literally by the hundreds, for no reason at all, other than to impress a couple of people. Yes, Nesingwary, I'm looking at you!
Almost all Alliance will be offered a quest to kill a man who helped rebuild Stormwind and who was then cheated and wronged by the Stormwind Nobles. Most Alliance will accept a contract to kill this honorable man, who refused the Nobles' bribes and who turned down a cushy government job because he was loyal to his men, men who were not brigands but common laborers and stonemasons. Most Alliance will take this quest and do everything they can to kill this man, one Edwin VanCleef, and they won't think twice about what they're doing.
How is it acceptable to kill a man whose crime was to speak out against injustice, but torturing someone for information is really, really not okay?
Seriously, it's not like the choices you make affect anything.
Kill a named Quest Mob, in 5 minutes he'll pop right back up. Mine that Node, half an hour later, another Node will spring up in its place.
In most cases, WoW is a very static world.
The in-game choices you make don't make a shred of difference, or at least any effects from the choice you make disappears after 5-10 minutes.
The only choices that really affect anything are the very first two you make: Do you choose Alliance or Horde, and what class? Pretty much any other choice you make is irrelevant.
In Shattrath you'll be able to choose between Scryer and Aldor, but if you make the wrong choice (for your craft) then it just takes a little bit of work to undo that choice. It's not a huge, game breaking decision. It might take an investment of time & gold on your behalf to undo your choice, but it can be reversed.
But, what if there was a choice to be made in-game which couldn't be reversed.
Take the Torture quest that's getting everyone up in arms. What if you strolled up to a camp with two Quest Givers and when you talk to the first one he says, "Psst. We've got a guy tied up in bushes. Go back there, smack him around a bit, and see if you can't get some information out of him."
I'm sorry, you want me to do what? Beat up a helpless guy? I don't think so.
So you click Decline then talk to the second Quest Giver. He says, "Psst. They've got a guy tied up in the bushes back there. Go get some food & wine from the Innkeeper, untie the guy and lead him up into the hills, then give him the food & wine and see if he'll open up to you."
Interesting. You've got two quests which seem to have the same goal in mind; Interrogate a prisoner for information. But in the first quest you'll use violence to extract the information, whereas the second quest has you be a little more subtle.
If you'd accepted the first guy's quest, the quest marker would have disappeared from second guy, and instead of offering you the subterfuge quest he now might say, "A man who thinks he's about to die will say anything to save his life. How can you trust information gained through torture?"
A smart cookie might make the connection between the two quest givers, then abandon the Torture quest to see what the second Quest Giver had to say.
And now you're presented with a moral choice, a very real choice. You no longer have a choice between doing or not doing a quest; now you have a choice between torturing someone for information, or befriending them to gain the same.
Imagine if this was how you chose between Aldor and Scryer, with your choice affecting who will talk to you in the future, what quests you can get, and even what City you will eventually call home at 80. Imagine if making a choice one way or the other gives you some sort of communication device which allows you to communicate in a channel specifically reserved for just the Torturers, or just the Spies...regardless of faction. Yes, suddenly Alliance and Horde could communicate with each other, but only those who'd chosen to torture the prisoner could communicate with each other, while only those who'd chosen to free and befriend the prisoner could communicate with each other.
Imagine Horde and Alliance being able to group up, together, to do lvl 80 Instances? And why not? With BC's introduction of Dranei Shamans and Bloodelf Paladins, the factions are practically the same now anyway.
Imagine if there were decisions to make in the World of Warcraft that really mattered, decisions with irreversible consequences.
If you think people are upset over the Torture quest now, just imagine the screaming, and wailing, and gnashing of teeth if players/toons were held accountable for their in-game decisions ;)
Monday, November 24, 2008
QWOP
QWOP: First you move one foot forward then place it firmly on the ground, then you bring your other foot up past the first and place it firmly on the ground. Then you bring your first foot forward again, past the second foot, and place it firmly on the ground once more, or at least that's what you do in theory.
In practice, you kick your leading foot out ahead of you and almost do a backflip, or you shove yourself backwards with your leading foot, catch yourself with your second foot but only succeed in pushing yourself backwards further still, before crashing down on your head. Or you do a very painful looking Split then bounce along on your knee until your unborn children scream out in pain.
By the way, you have Tesh to thank for this complete bastard of a game. Uncoordinated people with no sense of rhythm need not apply. Upon the rest of you brave (foolhardy? Could never tell the difference...) souls I inflict upon you QWOP!!!
Run, you fool! Run! It's just Q&P, then W&O, then Q&P again...or...is it?
No, it's not that simple. It's QWOP!
In practice, you kick your leading foot out ahead of you and almost do a backflip, or you shove yourself backwards with your leading foot, catch yourself with your second foot but only succeed in pushing yourself backwards further still, before crashing down on your head. Or you do a very painful looking Split then bounce along on your knee until your unborn children scream out in pain.
By the way, you have Tesh to thank for this complete bastard of a game. Uncoordinated people with no sense of rhythm need not apply. Upon the rest of you brave (foolhardy? Could never tell the difference...) souls I inflict upon you QWOP!!!
Run, you fool! Run! It's just Q&P, then W&O, then Q&P again...or...is it?
No, it's not that simple. It's QWOP!
Sunday, November 23, 2008
LA Auto Show
Despite it being a Sunday (not a work day) this morning I still found myself in downtown L.A., although my destination was a few blocks over from my office.
First on the agenda was a pancake breakfast at IHOP at 8th & Flower, where it was just a short walk to the LA Convention Center to attend the Auto Show. And let me tell you, there was nowhere near the sexy girls I thought was almost compulsory at these things. Instead there were loads & loads of cars from your run of the mill Americans & Japanese autos, to the exotic Ferrari, Lamborghini, and Lotus. Even Aston Martin and Rolls Royce were in attendance.
Many of the cars were off limits, look but don't touch, and the attendants were quick to tell people "Hands off!" when they got a little too close, which included my son at one point :P
But many, many cars had people (almost) climbing all over them, and JE got to sit in the driver's seat more than a few times.
Surprise of the day was him being able to adjust the seat of a Passat (I think it was a Passat) so much that he could literally have driven it...and he's only EIGHT! The seat went so far forward, and raised up so much, that even at just 52" tall he was not only able to reach the pedals but see over the dash.
Downer of the day was getting to sit in the driver's seat of an Audi TT (my midlife crisis car) and realizing I don't like it! :(
Pleasant surprise was the Honda Fit. A very nice car for this (almost) 6' tall guy. The seat goes back further than I need (and I have long legs, so I need to sit back) and still allowed a quite reasonable amount of room for an adult (me again) in the backseat behind the driver.
Funny was seeing a 6'6" guy slide into the passenger seat of a Mini Cooper, and after putting the seat back he was actually quite comfortable. There was no room (literally) for anyone in the back seat behind him, but he had enough room so that's all that mattered.
Highlight of the day for both J.E. and I was the Test Drive area where I took a Camry SE (not the V6) and a Toyota Tundra for a spin around the test track. J.E. got to ride along with me in the back. Liz rode shotgun for the first lap then bailed before she hurled because I was driving!
J.E. thought the Camry was pretty cool, especially when I floored it on the straight then jammed on the brakes for the first curve...but then we went out in the V8 Tundra ;) Can you say VAH-ROOOOOM!!! I think you can ;) Now that was cool. The Tundra handled surprisingly well for a truck, although taking it through the S's from (almost) lock to opposite lock was tough; you need to do a lot of turning of the wheel if you don't want to take out half a dozen traffic cones, and I didn't...take them out, that is.
While the big barrel of the Tundra appeals to the Guy in me, the practical guy in me says, get the Honda Fit...then again, Liz's Highlander will eventually become J.E.'s First Car, while my next car will become the Bunny's First Car, and I think it would be awesome (& safe, for her ;) if her first car was actually a thumping great truck ;)
It's probably going to be a Honda Fit though :P
First on the agenda was a pancake breakfast at IHOP at 8th & Flower, where it was just a short walk to the LA Convention Center to attend the Auto Show. And let me tell you, there was nowhere near the sexy girls I thought was almost compulsory at these things. Instead there were loads & loads of cars from your run of the mill Americans & Japanese autos, to the exotic Ferrari, Lamborghini, and Lotus. Even Aston Martin and Rolls Royce were in attendance.
Many of the cars were off limits, look but don't touch, and the attendants were quick to tell people "Hands off!" when they got a little too close, which included my son at one point :P
But many, many cars had people (almost) climbing all over them, and JE got to sit in the driver's seat more than a few times.
Surprise of the day was him being able to adjust the seat of a Passat (I think it was a Passat) so much that he could literally have driven it...and he's only EIGHT! The seat went so far forward, and raised up so much, that even at just 52" tall he was not only able to reach the pedals but see over the dash.
Downer of the day was getting to sit in the driver's seat of an Audi TT (my midlife crisis car) and realizing I don't like it! :(
Pleasant surprise was the Honda Fit. A very nice car for this (almost) 6' tall guy. The seat goes back further than I need (and I have long legs, so I need to sit back) and still allowed a quite reasonable amount of room for an adult (me again) in the backseat behind the driver.
Funny was seeing a 6'6" guy slide into the passenger seat of a Mini Cooper, and after putting the seat back he was actually quite comfortable. There was no room (literally) for anyone in the back seat behind him, but he had enough room so that's all that mattered.
Highlight of the day for both J.E. and I was the Test Drive area where I took a Camry SE (not the V6) and a Toyota Tundra for a spin around the test track. J.E. got to ride along with me in the back. Liz rode shotgun for the first lap then bailed before she hurled because I was driving!
J.E. thought the Camry was pretty cool, especially when I floored it on the straight then jammed on the brakes for the first curve...but then we went out in the V8 Tundra ;) Can you say VAH-ROOOOOM!!! I think you can ;) Now that was cool. The Tundra handled surprisingly well for a truck, although taking it through the S's from (almost) lock to opposite lock was tough; you need to do a lot of turning of the wheel if you don't want to take out half a dozen traffic cones, and I didn't...take them out, that is.
While the big barrel of the Tundra appeals to the Guy in me, the practical guy in me says, get the Honda Fit...then again, Liz's Highlander will eventually become J.E.'s First Car, while my next car will become the Bunny's First Car, and I think it would be awesome (& safe, for her ;) if her first car was actually a thumping great truck ;)
It's probably going to be a Honda Fit though :P
Thursday, November 20, 2008
No Title
Can't think of a title for this one.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
When I woke up and looked around it took me a few seconds to orient myself, then I realized I was in the spare bedroom. I chuckled to myself. "Guess I came in for a nap and the wife just let me sleep through." I got up and peeked in our bedroom door; she was still fast asleep in our bed so I thought I'd surprise her with breakfast.
Maybe it was the coffee brewing, perhaps the toast, or the frying bacon, but shortly after I'd started breakfast I heard her stirring, and a few minutes later she came downstairs then peered around the corner.
"Good morning, beautiful," I said. "Looks like my nap in the spare bedroom went a little longer than planned." I smiled at her, and she smiled back but behind the eyes I saw...something else. Sadness?
"Something wrong?" I asked her.
"No," she said, "well, maybe. Yes, yes there is."
I poured a cup of coffee and handed it to her. She took a sip as I prompted her. "Well, come on. Out with it."
She sighed, then muttered almost under her breath, "this just gets harder and harder."
"Sorry?" I said, "What do you mean?"
"Oh honey," she said, bursting into tears. "You've got Alzheimer's. You've had it for years."
"I do?" I said. "Alzheimer's? You'd think I'd remember something like that."
She laughed, but it wasn't a happy laugh. "You always say that," she said.
I smiled at her. "So you're saying I forgot I have Alzheimer's?"
She nodded her head. "What's today's date?" she asked me.
"Ahh, a test," I replied. "Let's see now. Christmas was a couple of weeks ago so...I'm guessing...January 7th." I winked at her. "1995."
"It's August 12th," she said sadly. "August 12th, 2007."
I looked at her. She was serious. She pointed to the calendar hanging on the wall. It was on August, and the first 11 days had been crossed out. It was a calendar...for 2007. I was glad I'd been leaning nonchalantly against the counter because I needed it now to stop me from collapsing to the floor. I really did have Alzheimer's.
"How...how long..." I couldn't finish the question.
She answered anyway. "Twelve and a half years, since 1997. January 1st, 1997. We'd seen the signs the previous year. We knew it was coming, then you woke up on New Year's Day and...that was it."
"How bad is it?" I asked her.
She shook her head.
"That bad?"
"You don't remember anything."
"But...look at me! I...I remember it now. I'm good. Am I...cured?"
"No," she said, "you have days like this, every now and then...every year or two. One day, every couple of years, you're okay. And...I know you're okay on that day because...you make me breakfast." Tears were running down her cheeks now.
"The other days?" I asked her. "What am I like...on the other days?"
"You don't know me," she said. "You get up and fix yourself a bowl of cereal, and you're surprised when I come downstairs. That's why...you sleep in the spare bedroom. You don't know me. You don't remember me. You don't even know we're married."
"So the other days, it's like we're dating, right?" I grasped for something to hold on to. Something to let me know that when I wasn't here, that I was at least sort of still there for her.
She shook her head, she couldn't give me that. "I fix you lunch and I make you dinner, and you thank me, then ignore me. And in the evening I go to our bedroom, and you go to your room. And that's our day. Except for those few good days, that's been our life for the past twelve years. I take care of you every day, hoping you'll get better, waiting for days like today, because they make it all worthwhile."
I took her in my arms and we held each other for the longest time. Our coffee grew cold, but we couldn't let each other go. It didn't feel like it to me, but for her, we'd been apart for so long that today, she needed to be close to me.
It was like we were dating all over again. We went out for lunch, enjoying an unusually mild summer day. Not too hot. Just nice. We watched a movie. We went for a walk in the park. We had dinner at the restaurant where I'd proposed to her all those years ago. Hard to believe it was still open.
"So...tomorrow?" I said to her, as we walked in our front door.
"You won't remember any of this," she said. "You'll forget it all, and I'll go back to taking care of a husband who doesn't even know me. Maybe you'll be back in a year or two...but it's been getting longer," she said. "March 30 was the last day we spent together. March 30th, 2005. Almost two and a half years ago."
I stared at the woman who'd promised to love and cherish me, in sickness and in health, until death do us part. And she was sticking to that promise, even though I was no longer the man she'd married...except for one day every few years. Like today.
Until death do us part.
She was still a beautiful woman. She still had so much to live for. She didn't deserve to spend the rest of her days like this. She needed to live. Not waste away taking care of a man who barely acknowledged her existence.
Until death do us part.
"I'm going to shower before bed," I said to her. "Do I...still do that?"
"Only if I remind you," she told me.
Wow. When I wasn't me, I was a pig. An ungrateful, inconsiderate pig. I took everything from her and gave nothing back. Nothing but one day every year or so...and she'd said those days were getting further and further apart.
"You don't need to remind me tonight," I told her, smiling. Then I kissed her. "I love you," I told her. "I've always loved you, even if I don't remember. Thank you, for everything."
Upstairs, as I got ready for my shower, I slipped the phone into the pocket of my robe. In the bathroom I found the hair scissors. Still razor sharp, as if they were brand new. Which they practically were, or at least never used. I remember I'd got the set for Christmas, 1996. My last Christmas, or at least the last one I could remember.
Did we...celebrate Christmas? It didn't sound like we did. No Christmas. No birthday. No anniversary. I just lived here while my devoted wife spent her life looking after me.
The water was hot now, and steaming up the bathroom mirror. On a whim I grabbed the bar of soap and wrote on the mirror "I love you".
Then I took the phone out of my pocket and dialed 9-1-1.
I was on hold for a minute or so, and my heart began beating faster as I contemplated the next few minutes.
"Nine-one-one. Please state the nature of the emergency."
I gently tapped the receiver on the counter, three times. I knew the internal microphone would pick up the taps and relay them loud & clear to the operator.
"Please confirm. If you need emergency assistance, please...knock three times again."
I leaned close to the phone and whispered "help..." Then I gently knocked three times again before dropping the phone the one inch to the counter top. It gave a quiet rattle that I knew the operator would have heard in her headset.
I heard her saying, "Sir, please hold on. Help is on the way!"
Then I took the scissors and stepped into the shower.
The hot water was relaxing. It had been a beautiful day. It really seemed a shame to end it like this, but I felt like I owed it to my wife. She'd stood by me all these years, even though I no longer knew her. Many years ago she'd made a promise, and only one person could release her from that. Tomorrow, that person would no longer exist, but today...he was here today.
Before I could change my mind I drove the needle point of the scissors deep into my wrist, then sliced the razor-like blade up my arm. The pain was incredible, but...what pain had my wife been enduring all these years? This was nothing but a few minutes of discomfort. The blood poured from my arm as I flexed my fingers. I could still use that hand, for the moment, but I only needed a moment more.
The blood running down my ruined wrist mixed with the water and it was hard to hold the scissors in that hand. I was already feeling light headed. Both hands were tingling, not just the hand on the end of the ruined arm. I couldn't feel the scissors, but I could see them in that hand, the blade protruding from my fist. I slammed my other arm down onto the wicked blade then dragged it up my forearm as best as I could.
Then I sat down. In a pool of swirling crimson water. So much red. Gushing from each arm.
I could hear sirens. Getting louder. 9-1-1 had responded pretty quickly. Hopefully not quickly enough.
I tried to flex my hands, to keep the blood flowing.
Did they move? I stared at them. Were...these my hands?
They seemed so far away.
My wrists had stopped hurting now but the edges of my vision had gone black.
My hands...I squinted. I could hardly see them. So blurry.
I forced myself to focus. Pointless. Vision. Fading.
Everything went dark.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Word says this is about 1,600 words. Funny. In my senior year of High School we had a year long essay project. We had to write several 500-word essays, and one 1,500+ word essay. It seemed so hard back then, and now, just like that, I've cranked one out without batting an eye lid.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
When I woke up and looked around it took me a few seconds to orient myself, then I realized I was in the spare bedroom. I chuckled to myself. "Guess I came in for a nap and the wife just let me sleep through." I got up and peeked in our bedroom door; she was still fast asleep in our bed so I thought I'd surprise her with breakfast.
Maybe it was the coffee brewing, perhaps the toast, or the frying bacon, but shortly after I'd started breakfast I heard her stirring, and a few minutes later she came downstairs then peered around the corner.
"Good morning, beautiful," I said. "Looks like my nap in the spare bedroom went a little longer than planned." I smiled at her, and she smiled back but behind the eyes I saw...something else. Sadness?
"Something wrong?" I asked her.
"No," she said, "well, maybe. Yes, yes there is."
I poured a cup of coffee and handed it to her. She took a sip as I prompted her. "Well, come on. Out with it."
She sighed, then muttered almost under her breath, "this just gets harder and harder."
"Sorry?" I said, "What do you mean?"
"Oh honey," she said, bursting into tears. "You've got Alzheimer's. You've had it for years."
"I do?" I said. "Alzheimer's? You'd think I'd remember something like that."
She laughed, but it wasn't a happy laugh. "You always say that," she said.
I smiled at her. "So you're saying I forgot I have Alzheimer's?"
She nodded her head. "What's today's date?" she asked me.
"Ahh, a test," I replied. "Let's see now. Christmas was a couple of weeks ago so...I'm guessing...January 7th." I winked at her. "1995."
"It's August 12th," she said sadly. "August 12th, 2007."
I looked at her. She was serious. She pointed to the calendar hanging on the wall. It was on August, and the first 11 days had been crossed out. It was a calendar...for 2007. I was glad I'd been leaning nonchalantly against the counter because I needed it now to stop me from collapsing to the floor. I really did have Alzheimer's.
"How...how long..." I couldn't finish the question.
She answered anyway. "Twelve and a half years, since 1997. January 1st, 1997. We'd seen the signs the previous year. We knew it was coming, then you woke up on New Year's Day and...that was it."
"How bad is it?" I asked her.
She shook her head.
"That bad?"
"You don't remember anything."
"But...look at me! I...I remember it now. I'm good. Am I...cured?"
"No," she said, "you have days like this, every now and then...every year or two. One day, every couple of years, you're okay. And...I know you're okay on that day because...you make me breakfast." Tears were running down her cheeks now.
"The other days?" I asked her. "What am I like...on the other days?"
"You don't know me," she said. "You get up and fix yourself a bowl of cereal, and you're surprised when I come downstairs. That's why...you sleep in the spare bedroom. You don't know me. You don't remember me. You don't even know we're married."
"So the other days, it's like we're dating, right?" I grasped for something to hold on to. Something to let me know that when I wasn't here, that I was at least sort of still there for her.
She shook her head, she couldn't give me that. "I fix you lunch and I make you dinner, and you thank me, then ignore me. And in the evening I go to our bedroom, and you go to your room. And that's our day. Except for those few good days, that's been our life for the past twelve years. I take care of you every day, hoping you'll get better, waiting for days like today, because they make it all worthwhile."
I took her in my arms and we held each other for the longest time. Our coffee grew cold, but we couldn't let each other go. It didn't feel like it to me, but for her, we'd been apart for so long that today, she needed to be close to me.
It was like we were dating all over again. We went out for lunch, enjoying an unusually mild summer day. Not too hot. Just nice. We watched a movie. We went for a walk in the park. We had dinner at the restaurant where I'd proposed to her all those years ago. Hard to believe it was still open.
"So...tomorrow?" I said to her, as we walked in our front door.
"You won't remember any of this," she said. "You'll forget it all, and I'll go back to taking care of a husband who doesn't even know me. Maybe you'll be back in a year or two...but it's been getting longer," she said. "March 30 was the last day we spent together. March 30th, 2005. Almost two and a half years ago."
I stared at the woman who'd promised to love and cherish me, in sickness and in health, until death do us part. And she was sticking to that promise, even though I was no longer the man she'd married...except for one day every few years. Like today.
Until death do us part.
She was still a beautiful woman. She still had so much to live for. She didn't deserve to spend the rest of her days like this. She needed to live. Not waste away taking care of a man who barely acknowledged her existence.
Until death do us part.
"I'm going to shower before bed," I said to her. "Do I...still do that?"
"Only if I remind you," she told me.
Wow. When I wasn't me, I was a pig. An ungrateful, inconsiderate pig. I took everything from her and gave nothing back. Nothing but one day every year or so...and she'd said those days were getting further and further apart.
"You don't need to remind me tonight," I told her, smiling. Then I kissed her. "I love you," I told her. "I've always loved you, even if I don't remember. Thank you, for everything."
Upstairs, as I got ready for my shower, I slipped the phone into the pocket of my robe. In the bathroom I found the hair scissors. Still razor sharp, as if they were brand new. Which they practically were, or at least never used. I remember I'd got the set for Christmas, 1996. My last Christmas, or at least the last one I could remember.
Did we...celebrate Christmas? It didn't sound like we did. No Christmas. No birthday. No anniversary. I just lived here while my devoted wife spent her life looking after me.
The water was hot now, and steaming up the bathroom mirror. On a whim I grabbed the bar of soap and wrote on the mirror "I love you".
Then I took the phone out of my pocket and dialed 9-1-1.
I was on hold for a minute or so, and my heart began beating faster as I contemplated the next few minutes.
"Nine-one-one. Please state the nature of the emergency."
I gently tapped the receiver on the counter, three times. I knew the internal microphone would pick up the taps and relay them loud & clear to the operator.
"Please confirm. If you need emergency assistance, please...knock three times again."
I leaned close to the phone and whispered "help..." Then I gently knocked three times again before dropping the phone the one inch to the counter top. It gave a quiet rattle that I knew the operator would have heard in her headset.
I heard her saying, "Sir, please hold on. Help is on the way!"
Then I took the scissors and stepped into the shower.
The hot water was relaxing. It had been a beautiful day. It really seemed a shame to end it like this, but I felt like I owed it to my wife. She'd stood by me all these years, even though I no longer knew her. Many years ago she'd made a promise, and only one person could release her from that. Tomorrow, that person would no longer exist, but today...he was here today.
Before I could change my mind I drove the needle point of the scissors deep into my wrist, then sliced the razor-like blade up my arm. The pain was incredible, but...what pain had my wife been enduring all these years? This was nothing but a few minutes of discomfort. The blood poured from my arm as I flexed my fingers. I could still use that hand, for the moment, but I only needed a moment more.
The blood running down my ruined wrist mixed with the water and it was hard to hold the scissors in that hand. I was already feeling light headed. Both hands were tingling, not just the hand on the end of the ruined arm. I couldn't feel the scissors, but I could see them in that hand, the blade protruding from my fist. I slammed my other arm down onto the wicked blade then dragged it up my forearm as best as I could.
Then I sat down. In a pool of swirling crimson water. So much red. Gushing from each arm.
I could hear sirens. Getting louder. 9-1-1 had responded pretty quickly. Hopefully not quickly enough.
I tried to flex my hands, to keep the blood flowing.
Did they move? I stared at them. Were...these my hands?
They seemed so far away.
My wrists had stopped hurting now but the edges of my vision had gone black.
My hands...I squinted. I could hardly see them. So blurry.
I forced myself to focus. Pointless. Vision. Fading.
Everything went dark.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Word says this is about 1,600 words. Funny. In my senior year of High School we had a year long essay project. We had to write several 500-word essays, and one 1,500+ word essay. It seemed so hard back then, and now, just like that, I've cranked one out without batting an eye lid.
Fallout 3
I'm really enjoying this game, in fact I haven't played Wizard 101 since I got it...of course that wasn't that long ago :P
I've restarted my game a couple of times, the first time after I discovered V.A.T.S. and realized it could save me ammunition versus shooting in FPS mode and missing. Then I reloaded again when I wanted to kill a certain quest giver. He's a bad guy (well, that's relative, really ;) who disappears after you help him, or defy him, but you can also kill him if you squeal on him, but if you do turn him in you need a quick trigger finger or good people will die. Thank heavens for Quick-saves and reloads because I wasn't fast enough the first time...or the next few times, either :P
That's the big difference between an MMO-RPG and an offline SP-RPG (or story-driven SP-FPS, what ever you want to call it). In an MMO any choices you make are, for the most part, permanent for your character...unless you want to reroll. My Main in WoW got screwed out of a lot of things, which was shame, because I loved playing him so he was often the first Toon to do things. And because of that he was also the Guinea Pig, meaning he was the guy from which I learned what not to do.
The Timbermaw Furbolg in the tunnel between Felwood and Winterspring? Grind Rep with them to at least Unfriendly before setting foot inside. It doesn't take long, maybe half an hour doing two grinding quests and you're there. Do NOT fight your way through because it just makes it so much harder later when you've either got to fight your way back, or spend money to fly back, and forth, and back, and forth. Yeah, I fought my way through...a couple of times. Took me freaking forever to get back in the Timbermaw's good books.
Now if WoW were offline SP-RGP you'd just reload. You might lose an hour of progress but it's soooo much better than the alternative.
Of course if it were an offline SP-RPG you'd probably never have the thousands of hours invested into your Toon that most of us ended up with. By the way, a thousand hours isn't long, it's just 40 days /played.
So I restarted/rerolled my FO3 "Toon" a couple of times and after the second or third time, I saved my Toon at the exit to Vault 101 which, oddly enough, is where you get a final chance to change everything about your character. You've already assigned points to your Stats, and chosen your Skills/Perks, you've done the Intro/Tutorial but now, before you set foot into the Big, Bad Wasteworld...do you want to change anything about your Toon...and they do mean anything. You get one last chance to change not just your Stats but your physical appearance, including your gender! So I saved a game there meaning now when I "reroll" I don't need to do the Tutorial again, not unless I really, really want to.
The controls are standard WASD FPS controls so if you've played any FPS in the last 10 years you should have very little trouble getting around. Hitting TAB opens your PIPBoy which also Pauses the game. That's something which makes Liz very happy and she's probably not the only spouse...not that I have more than one spouse...other people's spouses, they're probably happy their SO is finally playing a game with a Pause button.
The PIPBoy is where you change weapons, armor, medicate/heal yourself, etc. You can keep track of your current quests in it, track the objective/destination for a quest, view your Map, etc. Because it completely fills your screen it's by necessity that the game also Pauses when you access your PIPBoy, otherwise Mobs would be chewing on your head while you're looking at your Map.
Back in the game combat occurs, for the most part, in Real Time, although Bullet Time is used for some of the flashier kills. You can choose to play FO3 as an FPS, or you can take advantage of V.A.T.S., the Vault-Tec Assisted Targeting System. This means Combat gets paused while you choose your targets. You start combat with a certain number of Action Points (depending on a few factors, your Stats, length of time since last Combat, etc) and you basically choose which opponent (if more than one) to shoot at, and which body part to target. Certain Mobs are more heavily armored in certain areas, so while you might have an excellent chance of shooting a RadScorption's Carapace, you won't do as much damage to it as if you targeted its legs, which are naturally harder to hit.
V.A.T.S. has its good points, and its bad points. It allows you to stop/pause combat while you think things through, which is good you're a more mature gamer (like me) where your reactions might be a little slower than when you were half your age (even if you won't admit it to yourself, or anyone else ;) It's also very good if a Mob ambushes you. Spin to face it, hit V (to engage V.A.T.S. of course), pick your target, maybe select it a couple of times if you have sufficient Action Points, then hit A (or is it E) to Accept your choice, leave V.A.T.S. and resume combat. Now you don't need to do anything until your Toon has completed doing what you told it to...which is where the bad part of V.A.T.S. kicks in.
You just told your Toon to shoot the Mob four times in the head. As he begins firing the camera view changes, and here are two Mobs behind your target, with Assault Rifles, that they've got aimed right at you. Your first shot to your target's head is a good one, it does a lot of damage and he's stunned, so your second shot finishes him off. Queue the almost obligatory slow-mo death sequence as your target's head flies off (yes, body parts are easily separated from their owners during combat) and his body cartwheels through the air and down the adjacent stairwell.
Meanwhile...his two buddies are shooting the hell out of you and there's not a damn thing you can do about it, not until the game gives you back control of your Toon. Before that happens, let's just watch that body slide down the last couple of stairs, shall we? Ok, now, where were we? Oh, you're getting shot. And you're low on health. Oh dear.
Good part of FO3? Hit TAB to bring up your PIPBoy and shoot yourself up with a couple of Stimpacks. Get that Health Bar back up to a more...healthier level. Much better. Your 10mm Pistol is good for taking out a single bad guy, but you've got two guys shooting at you now. Break out the Combat Shotgun. TAB out of your PIPBoy and resume combat, in real time. You're almost back at full health again so you can take a second to line up your shot and KA-BLAM! The second bad guy loses his head after taking a load of double-ought to the face. Unlike the first guy's death which occurred in V.A.T.S., this second guy doesn't get the honor of a slow-mo bullet time death. Now it's just one guy left so...you hit V again. Hellooooo V.A.T.S. and refreshingly slow combat where you have all the time in the world to plan your moves. Close range, guy in front of you in an open corridor. Got to be a shotgun blast to the face...again >:)
It's a Critical Hit, and because it happened in V.A.T.S., there's that slow-mo death sequence that sometimes produces the most hilarious of death scenes. Seriously. Sometimes they're so over the top they're beyond belief. Last night I shot a Raider on a bridge above me. The best shot I had, according to the percentages shown by V.A.T.S., was targeting his left leg, so I did. All three rounds from my Hunting Rifle hit the Raider in the leg, the last one tore his leg off. No, he didn't hop around on his good leg before collapsing in a heap. The game engine decided to toss him into the air, and he practically cartwheeled across a gap in the bridge which, if the guy was 6-feet tall, was a 10' wide gap. He almost made it all the way across, too :D
Speaking of the physics engine FO3's has really impressed me, on more than one occasion.
I had a stupid Raider charge me. I know he was stupid because he was bringing a Pool Cue to a Gun Fight. I dropped him with a couple of rounds from my Hunting Rifle, and he dropped the Pool Cue. We were on the side of a hill and his Pool Cue hit the ground and began rolling down hill. It rolled all the way down to the bottom of the hill then continued on for a bit before finally losing all momentum.
Another Raider lost his head after losing a gun fight with me (it's amazing how poorly heads and limbs are attached in this game) and I watched bemused as his head rolled away from its body before coming to a stop in a ditch.
Then there was a Centaur (not your typical mythical half-man/half-horse critter, something a lot uglier) spitting at me, or tossing body parts, or doing god knows what, but it was engaging me at extreme range by spitting/throwing "something" at me. I pulled out my Sniper Rifle and fired off the last few .308 rounds I had. I hit it a couple of times but not enough to kill it, so I switched to my Hunting Rifle (chambered for .32, not .308) and...the Centaur disintegrated. WTF? I stared in surprise, wondering just what the hell had happened, and that's when the truck behind the Centaur exploded. I ducked, literally (me, not my toon) as the hood of the truck flew across the river and bounced past my toon. I still don't know what happened to the Centaur, whether there'd been an initial, smaller explosion from the truck that I hadn't seen, which finished it off, or if it somehow self-destructed, setting fire to the truck, which caused the explosion. It doesn't matter, the Centaur was dead and I was alive.
Now, is the game worth $50? Which is what I paid for it (that's what you get buying newly released games). I'd say so. Sure, it may not keep my interest as much as WoW or Wrath would, but for them, I'd still be paying to play every month (or every 6 months in my case). Even when I'm done with it, there'll probably be a time in the future when I'll pull it back out and play it some more. Good value for money, in my books.
There's also a large Modding community, who are constantly coming up with changes to the game. Different graphics, different specs for the weapons, etc. So there's a lot of after-market support. If you've an aversion to paying full price for games, then wait for the price to drop. It will come down sooner or later. If you don't mind paying $50 for a game, and you like quasi-Role Playing games with guns, bombs, explosions, and detachable body parts, you'll probably enjoy Fallout 3.
It's very easy to get into, can be played for 5 to 10 minutes, or an hour or two, and paused at will when the wife calls. It may not be Fallout 1 & 2 done as an FPS, but it's still (IMO) a fun game. No, I'm not offering you a money back guarantee if you don't like it. By now you should already know if you'd like it ;)
I've restarted my game a couple of times, the first time after I discovered V.A.T.S. and realized it could save me ammunition versus shooting in FPS mode and missing. Then I reloaded again when I wanted to kill a certain quest giver. He's a bad guy (well, that's relative, really ;) who disappears after you help him, or defy him, but you can also kill him if you squeal on him, but if you do turn him in you need a quick trigger finger or good people will die. Thank heavens for Quick-saves and reloads because I wasn't fast enough the first time...or the next few times, either :P
That's the big difference between an MMO-RPG and an offline SP-RPG (or story-driven SP-FPS, what ever you want to call it). In an MMO any choices you make are, for the most part, permanent for your character...unless you want to reroll. My Main in WoW got screwed out of a lot of things, which was shame, because I loved playing him so he was often the first Toon to do things. And because of that he was also the Guinea Pig, meaning he was the guy from which I learned what not to do.
The Timbermaw Furbolg in the tunnel between Felwood and Winterspring? Grind Rep with them to at least Unfriendly before setting foot inside. It doesn't take long, maybe half an hour doing two grinding quests and you're there. Do NOT fight your way through because it just makes it so much harder later when you've either got to fight your way back, or spend money to fly back, and forth, and back, and forth. Yeah, I fought my way through...a couple of times. Took me freaking forever to get back in the Timbermaw's good books.
Now if WoW were offline SP-RGP you'd just reload. You might lose an hour of progress but it's soooo much better than the alternative.
Of course if it were an offline SP-RPG you'd probably never have the thousands of hours invested into your Toon that most of us ended up with. By the way, a thousand hours isn't long, it's just 40 days /played.
So I restarted/rerolled my FO3 "Toon" a couple of times and after the second or third time, I saved my Toon at the exit to Vault 101 which, oddly enough, is where you get a final chance to change everything about your character. You've already assigned points to your Stats, and chosen your Skills/Perks, you've done the Intro/Tutorial but now, before you set foot into the Big, Bad Wasteworld...do you want to change anything about your Toon...and they do mean anything. You get one last chance to change not just your Stats but your physical appearance, including your gender! So I saved a game there meaning now when I "reroll" I don't need to do the Tutorial again, not unless I really, really want to.
The controls are standard WASD FPS controls so if you've played any FPS in the last 10 years you should have very little trouble getting around. Hitting TAB opens your PIPBoy which also Pauses the game. That's something which makes Liz very happy and she's probably not the only spouse...not that I have more than one spouse...other people's spouses, they're probably happy their SO is finally playing a game with a Pause button.
The PIPBoy is where you change weapons, armor, medicate/heal yourself, etc. You can keep track of your current quests in it, track the objective/destination for a quest, view your Map, etc. Because it completely fills your screen it's by necessity that the game also Pauses when you access your PIPBoy, otherwise Mobs would be chewing on your head while you're looking at your Map.
Back in the game combat occurs, for the most part, in Real Time, although Bullet Time is used for some of the flashier kills. You can choose to play FO3 as an FPS, or you can take advantage of V.A.T.S., the Vault-Tec Assisted Targeting System. This means Combat gets paused while you choose your targets. You start combat with a certain number of Action Points (depending on a few factors, your Stats, length of time since last Combat, etc) and you basically choose which opponent (if more than one) to shoot at, and which body part to target. Certain Mobs are more heavily armored in certain areas, so while you might have an excellent chance of shooting a RadScorption's Carapace, you won't do as much damage to it as if you targeted its legs, which are naturally harder to hit.
V.A.T.S. has its good points, and its bad points. It allows you to stop/pause combat while you think things through, which is good you're a more mature gamer (like me) where your reactions might be a little slower than when you were half your age (even if you won't admit it to yourself, or anyone else ;) It's also very good if a Mob ambushes you. Spin to face it, hit V (to engage V.A.T.S. of course), pick your target, maybe select it a couple of times if you have sufficient Action Points, then hit A (or is it E) to Accept your choice, leave V.A.T.S. and resume combat. Now you don't need to do anything until your Toon has completed doing what you told it to...which is where the bad part of V.A.T.S. kicks in.
You just told your Toon to shoot the Mob four times in the head. As he begins firing the camera view changes, and here are two Mobs behind your target, with Assault Rifles, that they've got aimed right at you. Your first shot to your target's head is a good one, it does a lot of damage and he's stunned, so your second shot finishes him off. Queue the almost obligatory slow-mo death sequence as your target's head flies off (yes, body parts are easily separated from their owners during combat) and his body cartwheels through the air and down the adjacent stairwell.
Meanwhile...his two buddies are shooting the hell out of you and there's not a damn thing you can do about it, not until the game gives you back control of your Toon. Before that happens, let's just watch that body slide down the last couple of stairs, shall we? Ok, now, where were we? Oh, you're getting shot. And you're low on health. Oh dear.
Good part of FO3? Hit TAB to bring up your PIPBoy and shoot yourself up with a couple of Stimpacks. Get that Health Bar back up to a more...healthier level. Much better. Your 10mm Pistol is good for taking out a single bad guy, but you've got two guys shooting at you now. Break out the Combat Shotgun. TAB out of your PIPBoy and resume combat, in real time. You're almost back at full health again so you can take a second to line up your shot and KA-BLAM! The second bad guy loses his head after taking a load of double-ought to the face. Unlike the first guy's death which occurred in V.A.T.S., this second guy doesn't get the honor of a slow-mo bullet time death. Now it's just one guy left so...you hit V again. Hellooooo V.A.T.S. and refreshingly slow combat where you have all the time in the world to plan your moves. Close range, guy in front of you in an open corridor. Got to be a shotgun blast to the face...again >:)
It's a Critical Hit, and because it happened in V.A.T.S., there's that slow-mo death sequence that sometimes produces the most hilarious of death scenes. Seriously. Sometimes they're so over the top they're beyond belief. Last night I shot a Raider on a bridge above me. The best shot I had, according to the percentages shown by V.A.T.S., was targeting his left leg, so I did. All three rounds from my Hunting Rifle hit the Raider in the leg, the last one tore his leg off. No, he didn't hop around on his good leg before collapsing in a heap. The game engine decided to toss him into the air, and he practically cartwheeled across a gap in the bridge which, if the guy was 6-feet tall, was a 10' wide gap. He almost made it all the way across, too :D
Speaking of the physics engine FO3's has really impressed me, on more than one occasion.
I had a stupid Raider charge me. I know he was stupid because he was bringing a Pool Cue to a Gun Fight. I dropped him with a couple of rounds from my Hunting Rifle, and he dropped the Pool Cue. We were on the side of a hill and his Pool Cue hit the ground and began rolling down hill. It rolled all the way down to the bottom of the hill then continued on for a bit before finally losing all momentum.
Another Raider lost his head after losing a gun fight with me (it's amazing how poorly heads and limbs are attached in this game) and I watched bemused as his head rolled away from its body before coming to a stop in a ditch.
Then there was a Centaur (not your typical mythical half-man/half-horse critter, something a lot uglier) spitting at me, or tossing body parts, or doing god knows what, but it was engaging me at extreme range by spitting/throwing "something" at me. I pulled out my Sniper Rifle and fired off the last few .308 rounds I had. I hit it a couple of times but not enough to kill it, so I switched to my Hunting Rifle (chambered for .32, not .308) and...the Centaur disintegrated. WTF? I stared in surprise, wondering just what the hell had happened, and that's when the truck behind the Centaur exploded. I ducked, literally (me, not my toon) as the hood of the truck flew across the river and bounced past my toon. I still don't know what happened to the Centaur, whether there'd been an initial, smaller explosion from the truck that I hadn't seen, which finished it off, or if it somehow self-destructed, setting fire to the truck, which caused the explosion. It doesn't matter, the Centaur was dead and I was alive.
Now, is the game worth $50? Which is what I paid for it (that's what you get buying newly released games). I'd say so. Sure, it may not keep my interest as much as WoW or Wrath would, but for them, I'd still be paying to play every month (or every 6 months in my case). Even when I'm done with it, there'll probably be a time in the future when I'll pull it back out and play it some more. Good value for money, in my books.
There's also a large Modding community, who are constantly coming up with changes to the game. Different graphics, different specs for the weapons, etc. So there's a lot of after-market support. If you've an aversion to paying full price for games, then wait for the price to drop. It will come down sooner or later. If you don't mind paying $50 for a game, and you like quasi-Role Playing games with guns, bombs, explosions, and detachable body parts, you'll probably enjoy Fallout 3.
It's very easy to get into, can be played for 5 to 10 minutes, or an hour or two, and paused at will when the wife calls. It may not be Fallout 1 & 2 done as an FPS, but it's still (IMO) a fun game. No, I'm not offering you a money back guarantee if you don't like it. By now you should already know if you'd like it ;)
Sunday, November 16, 2008
A hypothetical
John Doe, a U.S. Presidential candidate, collects 62,000,000 "popular" votes, three million more than his opponent. He also wins 30 states, 50 per cent more than his opponent.
With an Electoral College tally of 278, the winning candidate is...John Doe's opponent???
That is what almost happened in 2004.
John Kerry received three million fewer popular votes than GW, he also won just 19 states. It doesn't matter which way you look at it Kerry was clearly not the popular candidate, and yet if he'd won Florida...
You give credit where it's due and this is why I respect the Democrats, because they clearly know how to play the game. (That doesn't mean I support them, just respect them, big difference.)
The 2008 Election was practically a reverse of '04. The Democrats won the same number of states as GW in '04, but their Electoral College tally was almost 80 points higher. A clear and decisive win by a party that knows how to play the game.
If the Democrats can get their shit together, the Republican party will never be in power again. That's not a good thing. As it stands now it's either Republican or Democrat, there's no real choice. If you remove the Republicans it becomes all Democrat, all the time. That's not a good thing.
With an Electoral College tally of 278, the winning candidate is...John Doe's opponent???
That is what almost happened in 2004.
John Kerry received three million fewer popular votes than GW, he also won just 19 states. It doesn't matter which way you look at it Kerry was clearly not the popular candidate, and yet if he'd won Florida...
You give credit where it's due and this is why I respect the Democrats, because they clearly know how to play the game. (That doesn't mean I support them, just respect them, big difference.)
The 2008 Election was practically a reverse of '04. The Democrats won the same number of states as GW in '04, but their Electoral College tally was almost 80 points higher. A clear and decisive win by a party that knows how to play the game.
If the Democrats can get their shit together, the Republican party will never be in power again. That's not a good thing. As it stands now it's either Republican or Democrat, there's no real choice. If you remove the Republicans it becomes all Democrat, all the time. That's not a good thing.
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
Congratulations? I'm confused.
Tobold, I'm not sure what you're congratulating us for. All we did was elect a politician to the office of President of the United States. We do that every four years, you know. (And yes, I know; technically our Electoral College system means that We, The People, don't really elect our President.)
So what if he's Black? Why is that such a big deal? It might look like we overcame our prejudice and elected a Black President, but Californians still voted to discriminate against homosexuals and deny them the same rights the State bestows upon heterosexuals. We're not exactly the forward thinking nation you perceive us to be.
Record turn out? Hardly. Obama got (approx.) 63,350,000 votes, while McCain got 56,000,000. That's 119,350,000 votes.
In 2004, Bush & Kerry got 121,000,000 votes between them. They beat the Obama/McCain team by 1,650,000 votes.
Also Obama got just 1.3 million more votes than Bush did in 2004. That's hardly an example of overwhelming support or inspiring a nation.
Considering the approx. adult population of the U.S. is 220 million, slightly more than half of those eligible actually voted. (Yes, I know. Some of those adults are Felons, Residential Aliens, or Illegals, none of whom can vote.) But what does it really say about someone who realistically only garnered the support of a quarter of the population?
American's two-party system also practically handpicks the candidates the Public think they're voting on, so by "electing" a Black President it's not like we did anything amazing. We flipped a coin, and this time it came up heads. A black head, sure, but it's still just the head of a Politician. What's the big deal?
By the way, this is not Sour Grapes, I'm not a sore loser (didn't the pro-homosexual rights statement give that away?) because I'm not a Republican. I'm an Independent-Libertarian who is disillusioned with the U.S. political system, and I'm neither rich nor powerful enough to change it.
Change? Ha!
Obama is a Politician. You know he lied during his campaign because he has the exact same tell as every other Politician who's gone before him: Their lips moved.
So what if he's Black? Why is that such a big deal? It might look like we overcame our prejudice and elected a Black President, but Californians still voted to discriminate against homosexuals and deny them the same rights the State bestows upon heterosexuals. We're not exactly the forward thinking nation you perceive us to be.
Record turn out? Hardly. Obama got (approx.) 63,350,000 votes, while McCain got 56,000,000. That's 119,350,000 votes.
In 2004, Bush & Kerry got 121,000,000 votes between them. They beat the Obama/McCain team by 1,650,000 votes.
Also Obama got just 1.3 million more votes than Bush did in 2004. That's hardly an example of overwhelming support or inspiring a nation.
Considering the approx. adult population of the U.S. is 220 million, slightly more than half of those eligible actually voted. (Yes, I know. Some of those adults are Felons, Residential Aliens, or Illegals, none of whom can vote.) But what does it really say about someone who realistically only garnered the support of a quarter of the population?
American's two-party system also practically handpicks the candidates the Public think they're voting on, so by "electing" a Black President it's not like we did anything amazing. We flipped a coin, and this time it came up heads. A black head, sure, but it's still just the head of a Politician. What's the big deal?
By the way, this is not Sour Grapes, I'm not a sore loser (didn't the pro-homosexual rights statement give that away?) because I'm not a Republican. I'm an Independent-Libertarian who is disillusioned with the U.S. political system, and I'm neither rich nor powerful enough to change it.
Change? Ha!
Obama is a Politician. You know he lied during his campaign because he has the exact same tell as every other Politician who's gone before him: Their lips moved.
Tuesday, November 04, 2008
One-way escalator
TJ's recent blog entry reminded me of an incident that I witnessed not too long ago.
My local Bus Station has just one escalator from the lower level to the upper level (or perhaps it's the other way...), which changes directions from Up in the morning to Down in the afternoon. There's also a flight of stairs next to it (as well as an elevator), so people can still go down or up when the Escalator is going the "wrong" way.
One afternoon I was walking down the stairs while other commuters rode the escalator down (they don't walk here in L.A. but rudely stand two abreast so sometimes it's actually faster walking down the 20 or so steps), when a woman approached the bottom of the (currently) "Down" escalator.
She laughed in a bemused sort of way and said to the people coming down the "Down" escalator, "You're going the wrong way." Then I watched incredulously as she tried to push her way between the exiting riders. She wasn't joking, she honestly thought the people coming down the "Down" escalator were riding the wrong way.
She was trying to step onto the bottom of a Down escalator.
As I descended the last couple of steps the woman actually managed to take two steps onto the "Down" escalator before being pushed back the way she'd come. As she stumbled backwards her look of bemusement was replaced with one of complete and utter confusion, and it took her a couple of seconds to realize what she'd just done.
Her subsequent reaction was very typical of people who encounter unexpected change in their life: anger and indignation.
My local Bus Station has just one escalator from the lower level to the upper level (or perhaps it's the other way...), which changes directions from Up in the morning to Down in the afternoon. There's also a flight of stairs next to it (as well as an elevator), so people can still go down or up when the Escalator is going the "wrong" way.
One afternoon I was walking down the stairs while other commuters rode the escalator down (they don't walk here in L.A. but rudely stand two abreast so sometimes it's actually faster walking down the 20 or so steps), when a woman approached the bottom of the (currently) "Down" escalator.
She laughed in a bemused sort of way and said to the people coming down the "Down" escalator, "You're going the wrong way." Then I watched incredulously as she tried to push her way between the exiting riders. She wasn't joking, she honestly thought the people coming down the "Down" escalator were riding the wrong way.
She was trying to step onto the bottom of a Down escalator.
As I descended the last couple of steps the woman actually managed to take two steps onto the "Down" escalator before being pushed back the way she'd come. As she stumbled backwards her look of bemusement was replaced with one of complete and utter confusion, and it took her a couple of seconds to realize what she'd just done.
Her subsequent reaction was very typical of people who encounter unexpected change in their life: anger and indignation.
Monday, November 03, 2008
Communist China?
This is what happens when you let your government oppress you.
First your government takes away your guns.
Then they want to restrict your access to information.
Then they deny you a voice and try to silence their critics.
No, this is not China, folks; I'm sad to report that this is my former homeland. This is what's happening in Australia, right now.
First your government takes away your guns.
Then they want to restrict your access to information.
Then they deny you a voice and try to silence their critics.
No, this is not China, folks; I'm sad to report that this is my former homeland. This is what's happening in Australia, right now.
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