This made me laugh.

And laugh again.

And giggle.

And then laugh some more.

“Big Rigs is a game so astoundingly bad that it manages to transcend nearly every boundary put forth by some of gaming’s absolute worst of the worst and easily makes it into that dubiously extraordinary category of being one of the most atrocious games ever published.”

“Please do not play this game. We cannot stress this enough.”

Read This.

…

I’m also playing Fable. Have I mentioned how cool this game is? No, I haven’t, because it’s been sucking away the the hour’s worth of attention span I have for random things. I’ve played the game for a total of a couple of hours. I’m TRYING to be good, I’m TRYING.

But I think my character got sick of being called a chicken-chaser. Hell, I got sick of being called a chicken-chaser. Really, what the hell is that supposed to mean? There’s shitloads of chickens all over the game, am I supposed to be chasing them? They just sort of wander into your path. You can punch them and then they sorta of thump and wander off. I bought a new title…but damned if I can remember what the hell it is, but it suren’t isn’t chicken-chaser.

I also suck at being good in this game. I offered to take a trader through the Great Woods. No problem, right? Well, this unfortunate soul got in the way. His aura went from green to red (meaning good to bad) and I attacked him. And killed him. And then a random guard appeared and I attacked HIM and dammit, they get awfullypissed off and attack the SHIT out of you.

Failed that quest.

Then I accepted one to take a couple traders through the Darkwoods.

Dum dum DUM! Darkwoods. First off, these traders won’t SHUT UP. It’s like having an idiot from the McDonald’s Chicken Selects commercials along with the morons singing the Pepto Bismol song making continual comments of your progress through a deep and dark wood.

I killed them. I couldn’t take it.

If only real life were that easy when it comes to obnoxious people.

Categories: reviews
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I just got home a few minutes ago from my morning racquetball game. Well, okay, more than a few minutes ago. I’ve managed to shower, make my bed, grab a glass of OJ (the new light version! oh, how I’ve missed OJ), take some Celebrex and sit down to check email and forums. Anyway.

Because of my father’s fondness of pot and because I was an RA in college, I’m quite familiar with that distinct odor. As I’m sitting here, that odor wafts through my huge open windows. Huh.

I look outside. Totally unconnected is a guy walking nonchalantly on the sidewalk with a neon orange unicyle over his shoulder.

I’m really starting to wonder if I live in an off the wall short film.

I think my fencing has affected the way I play racquetball. I used to not think at all, or plan, instead, I’d just react when playing racquetball. In the game this morning, I found myself strategizing and trying to make my opponent do what I wanted him to do. It worked to some extent–he’s tricky himself and I don’t have enough control over my shots (stupid not being able to practice). But most importantly, I didn’t get frustrated. That’s huge. I think because I relaxed and concentrated–HA! Concentrated!–on what was going on and what I’d done. Interesting. I also noticed that the majority of the time, I can keep my eye on the ball and track it fairly well. EXCEPT when my racquet zips through my peripheral vision during my forehand and I get distracted by the movement.

At least I’ve identified why I lose track of the ball at odd times.

A.J. said yesterday that I’m happiest when I have a project. She’s right. It gives me a purpose. Otherwise, I sit here and think: “Well, NOW what?”

“What am I here for?” That’s an existential question, by the way.

Anyone have answers?

Categories: distracted
4 Comments »

Finally, I have stabbed Eisenhower through its heart…okay, I climbed it. But the first two times ended in failure. First time, I got a murderous headache and had to descend. The second time I set out in clear weather that became rain that became SNOW. Damn White Mountains.

THIS time, it was beautiful and clear and fantastic light. I’ve noticed that people tend to ask stupid questions on trails. I mean, here I am, slogging upwards on the trail. I step aside and let descending folks go (means I can take a sip of water and catch my breathe). Three separate times I got asked, “So, where you headed?”

“Well, just another 300 feet, then I figured I’d turn around and go home for the hell of it.”

“Mount Washington! Wait, this is Eisenhower?!”

“Up.”

Sheesh. I also saw a Forest Ranger making his way down the trail. Oh, speaking of law enforcement, I saw no less than four State Trooper speed traps. Their hiding spots are impressive–Troopers must’ve been amazing hide and seek players as kids.

And what IS it with tailgaters? I mean, the speed limit in Franconia Notch (also a narrow, windy two-lane road with random hikers on the shoulders) is 45 mph. This big ol’ Ford F-350 rides my ass the Entire Time. This is depite my hitting 60 to try and shake him. This Ford also had a trailer of four ATVs. *stabs ATVs*

…enough ranting. I’m tired. Look at the pictures instead.

Categories: photography
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