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Look at the Aura of this profile and read: it is EVIL. I Vote mainly zeroes, often to no avail, but might throw in a two if you're lucky. Fives are reserved for those pieces that actually impress me, which are rare.
Some youngblood dumbfuck came by a post and expressed how he felt about me. Either at prick's moving out of state or he dies. I don't put Bay-Staters to shame, Bay-Staters put Bay-Staters to shame.
NOBODY GIVES A SHIT ABOUT BIG FOOT!
I've started working on the Freedom project lately. My brother envisioned a dystopian "Big Brother" world like 1984 or the movie Brazil. I always had the impression that it was stained with a suspicion surrounding psychiatry, but not as far as what Scientology would have us believe. If you're capable of not being a dick, feel free to tag on whatever else you'd like to see in a gloomy, nihilistic film like that, and if I like the idea I'll do whatever is necessary to accommodate it.
Helbereth made a trailer for a project between the two of us. It didn't really appeal to me. Yet, after years of it languishing in development limbo, I have decided to pen a script for a series of movies. With the way things are going on his end, I might as well start drawing/animating it as well. I have other projects of my own, but I apparently "inspired" the premise behind Freedom. Can't help but honor the concept.
I'll have a script penned in two weeks, top to bottom. If Hel nods, maybe we can be doing something again.
Wait, What's This About? Oh, that's right. Hanging with winners. I never understood the importance of hanging with a crowd of winners until today. Hints pecked upside my skull throughout the week.
Usually, I default and dodge crowds on the assumption that they're all losers. This has left me morbidly sober and without pleasure (including the fucking kind, something I wince at), with plenty of pain and isolationism to boot. While making a fearless, searching personal inventory of myself, I have realized my "Trust-No-One" approach makes my creative life torturous and unbearable. I've been an in-the-closet artisan for as long as I can remember, after being conditioned (by "peers", naturally) to operate defensively when sharing anything of original and personal measure. Pair this hostility with a preference towards autonomy and you have someone who not only isolates from the rest of the world, but has constructed a convincing (though potentially false) body of evidence about why they should not contribute to it. This stubborn withdrawal runs in the family, which fails to amuse me; it complicates matters.
When Monday rolled along this past week, my day consisted chiefly of sucking dust and blamming the Clocks' "Jeffuary" Flash Flood. I have no intention of letting such rancid shit pass the judgment phase and into the site; they deserve only to lounge within the icy maw of Cocytus for all eternity. And they're fucking persistent, too! Well, that day I decided to change things up a bit. My desk and bed are quite close, so I turned the monitor around and sat against the wall, typing with the keyboard in my lap and the mouse at my side. It was exquisite, partly because I was actually comfortable, partly because nobody else could look over my shoulder (or view the monitor; I prefer whatever privacy I can get while on the computer), and especially because the chairs reserved for use in the room are broken and lopsided, with no back supports. Fucking lummox (with the word "ox" thrown in for good measure!) is too god-damned heavy for most office chairs, and the ones he breaks are the ones I get. I suspect he was the feather that broke my already lopsided driver's seat in my car. These chairs refuse to go away, but if they did they wouldn't really be missed.
The first two days went by and nothing happened... just blamming. It ain't fun. The games released were unplayable, but I needed to get an occasional protection point to augment the voting power, true? Well either way, I felt like I was getting idle, big time. Couldn't stand having to wade through that cesspool daily; it got boring after a while, and nobody submitted material quickly enough for me to blam it to hell. Between takes, I perused the internet for visual aides and references for an upcoming project. Seems all these days, nothing but research goes on. I wanted to change that.
So about two days ago, I drove from my parents' dungeon to a club several towns away. It's not a club you might think of, but consider it a safe haven. There, I committed my whole day into drawing comics. I had the story already in my head and drew plenty of steeple hats in preparation beforehand. Across four hours, I penciled seven rough pages' worth of material. I never expected to do that much, thus I was impressed. Not happy, but impressed.
The comic revolves around Black Mage of 8-Bit Theater. He returns to the old Tower of Wizardry where he slipped up and got kicked out; he finds the tower mysteriously abandoned and direlict as the innards crawl with failed magical experiments. The plot is an "Origin" story both for Black Mage and certain characters from another universe he's about to explore against his better judgment. The story is somewhat modeled after Ian Fleming's James Bond stories (a "Laser Movie" with a simple plot and loads of explosions, expletives, exquisite chicks, and gadgets). Black Mage transcends his lot and exposes his sensitive side far more often than he prefers. Yeah, and White Mage haunts him still... so "Orko in the Striped Trousers" has blue balls underneath. Anything to torture the hapless little fuck, right?
Later that night, I chucked my rent check into the office mailbox and happened upon the open door of a tenant. I visited the old lady therein, who enjoys staying up late, and revealed my affinity to art and writing. We agreed to have her eldest son over for dinner next week. It seems he draws caricatures and a lot of fantasy art on the side. I often feel claustrophobic about asking for help with projects, but we practically penciled this meeting. This reflects a major change in me. Normally I shirk such opportunities for contact with total strangers. Hadn't done this since September 2008, when I encountered the hottest sweetheart in the Bay State. Why I negated further contact with her, I have no fucking clue. Broke down a few months down the road, if that will give you an indication of how far gone I am.
Continuing on with this week, during a luncheon the very next day, they dispatched a friend and me to a grocer to purchase paper goods. While there, I asked if we should also swipe an extra bag of plastic cups. We shrugged it off, but upon noticing the massive line at the hall, waiting to be served, we second-guessed our prior complacency; we realized that purchasing another bag of cups was very necessary, since nobody else did. My cohort figured someone else would have thought to do so, but I never make such assumptions; when you want something done right, do it yourself. Since my philosophy yields results, even exceeds expectations, I rely upon my power to work solo more often than not. Nobody else will make strides like I can, so I imagine (or at least assume).
After driving my mother to the vascular surgeon in the morning, I concluded to myself that my day would suck royally, after shopping through drugstores for the proper non-sulfur topical analgesic designed to alleviate her misery. It turns out we must wait until Monday to pick that up. Such is my morning and early afternoon... I hate to be singled out and then taken for a ride throughout the city with little gas and gigantic worries over when she'll recover.
After running further errands in town, I would finally attend a party. I don't know about you, but I hate crowds, especially the loud kind. This one was mellower than most, bereft of crying episodes and generalized crabbiness... a refreshing change of pace since my mother was nicknamed "Swill Lips" when she used to work in a hat factory. And she thinks I have an attitude. Only when I can't get a word in, maybe. She became quite passive-aggressive with comments about needing a car when she is sick, so she wouldn't need to drag her darling asshole son out through the countryside. I don't like running errands for people at the last minute. If I sound irritated from taking the long way instead of the highway (distance matters not; time does), it is because I am irritated when I am told to take the long way instead of the highway. I don't begrudge sick people, if that's what she was thinking.
I attended a party. That was beyond my comprehension. I never attend parties. Well, I happen to be friends with the hostess. Mingling aside, I hoped to draw more comics there--testing a theory of mine--and also sought to compose an original work for the hostess. I decided upon a Manga form, knowing she gets pissed with anything Anime, but knew well that my efforts would be far different from traditional fare. Unfortunately, even if she might be into such things, my "Floral Fatale" (a play on words--play FFX-2--and an actual nymph who doubles as a character in my BM comic) looked quite sluttish, like a saucy Sailor Moon with a decade's worth of extra age (so said one of the attendees who looked over my shoulder). I sought something more appropriate to impress the hostess with. As for the warm up round (to get the kinks out of my stroke-work and warm the appendages), I composed a teenage virago knee deep and surrounded by Illithids (or mind flayers; play D&D or read H.P. Lovecraft horror stories). I might ink these, perhaps scan them if I can, or have a print shop do it. The drawings got accolades as is, which is always fun to hear. And this is where the strangeness for me truly began.
What I found odd, over the past few weeks, is that I have started drawing in the company of others... in the company of noise that I seem to cancel out. Cry for help? Perhaps. My lack of actual anxiety in these situations stems from various sources. First of all, no matter how bad I think I am (rather, how out of practice), I hold my own as a writer/artist to those who didn't develop their prowess. Some are even amazed that I make such whirls and claims; I have rarely shared these talents to others, pursuing them in secret.
Another source is my anxiety in drawing alone. I'm a recovering xenophobe in the sense that I am addicted and dependent upon solitude to function. Nobody can stay that way forever, of course, especially in creative outlets like writing. It is mythology when a sibilant recluse acquires supreme notoriety after penning but one single mystical treatise. Writing is social and workshops are crucial to success.
As for my skill, I always seem under the curve. I am never sure if things look proper without numerous references. I'm like that. If I eyeball and draw something from my head, it better not involve feet or hands. Poses, proportions, and perspective all constitute one big fat raspberry ringing in my ear every minute while drawing.
So I appreciate feedback. I attended courses at the Worcester Art Museum and reveled that people would double-check my composition, no matter how roughshod, before I pursued it without their perspective. Give me advice before I lay down permanent details or try using a mouse with my god-damned right hand, okay? Nothing feels better than laying down your first nuclear power plant in Sim City, only to find you have to fuckin' bulldoze it. I insist upon feedback.
General amazement is good, of course; nice to know I'm not suffering in silence. It may even convince me that I can shove something down the Flash Portal just to see what kind of score I'll get. I'm debating the Art Portal, but I bet cannot scan my 11*14 pieces (i.e. the comics I'm drawing) without aid from a print shop. We passed by one while running errands for my mother; says she knows who runs the place. I'll stop by to see if such services could help.
As for feedback, I get silence at home. It's unsettling in itself. When I try to share ideas or drawings with my brothers, one shrugs and the other strong-arms all artistic direction in our "shared" projects. Helbereth has refused to admit--over a long time--his difficulties in drawing with the mouse. While I never fully comprehended his self-imposed burden, I suggested scanning or digitally photographing image after image of hand-drawn material and tracing them in Flash (either with the bitmap tracer or manually). He stubbornly went his way and eyeballed things. The lengths he went to compose a single shot... well, more often than not, the just scrapped them afterward!
Helbereth also regards me as the writer-artist--yang to his yin--so when I write scripts for scenes, they only sound overcomplicated. Note that word: sound. I tend to value dialog far more then visual gags, since someone has to draw all of those things, and apparently it ain't me doing that shit. As a consquence of Helbereth's stiff position, I kept action scenes decisive and Spartan, and not like that dumb movie, either. What this means is cinematography is limited, with more mug shots and full-body images of characters since we could not properly draw and animate to his perfectionist standard; it taxed his mind. His addiction to MMORPGs notwithstanding, Helbereth produced groovy stuff at a turtle's pace. Flash went from dallying to a screeching halt. I fought with him constantly about it. Were we just lazy, or severely overwhelmed and petrified of failure?
Well, when you are convinced of your superiority, the only way you'll use a tablet is when Mindchamber claims that Claire Redfield is a guy with tits. Seriously. Peruse Helbereth's blog and the comments made. That was the kick in the head that told me he needed a Tablet and fast... more than me, actually. So, I offered him mine. You know where that went. I quickly became frustrated with how Wacom delivers their simplest model slower than molasses pouring out of an ice box... about as fun as hearing day after day about your aunt slowly dying from breast cancer... until she finally dies. I only wanted Hel to borrow the thing, not take it over. He already received my display adapter, since it didn't fit my damned mainframe (literally too small for the package that would enhance it!).
The amount of absurdity I have realized in the new year's scant few days has made me reconsider where I have been for so long. I can actually pull this shit off, perhaps without a hitch, but why don't I? Standards? Laziness? Abject horror? Imagine a whole universe running back and forth in your head but being unable to get the first scene written. That's a horrible fate to subject someone to. I am typically convinced that such things are better left unsaid. It's been programmed. However, over the past week's myriad encounters, I have realized that I could shoot Gaia Kinder or Soleslunes a couple of PMs, or chat with Chronamut on IRC, or fuck Stamper and get AIDS... wait, scratch that. I could hang out with Sabtastic and fantasize real hard about Stamper getting hit by a bus.... Yeah, that's more like it. Hania still wants me to draw a hot babe fucking a corpse, or something. I asked her about one of her tracks. She holds me to that, I think. I ought to get started. Hey... I'm in Newgrounds! I'm a fucking Flash critic... that's got to count for something, right? Well, I understand this place is a community... and like any self-respecting jerk climbing their way out of a deep well, you're all winners in reality.
The truth is, either I get busy getting sucked, or get busy getting fucked. That's a line from a movie. I think. No, I hope. I hope. That's right. Well, in any case, I face the weekend with nothing but drawing and sucking at drawing (ah, whatever), but also some relief: people actually find it fascinating. That's got to be cause for celebration, right? In the meantime, I have to straighten things out with my college, apply for two courses, trudge on in Spring, and reconsider taking another course at the Art Museum (mental notes). The past week's events have positively reinforced me to start sharing my work again.
Maybe in a week, something (or a fuckin' bunch of them) might just be in the Art Portal....
Has anybody noticed we're now past the 300,000 mark in terms of uploaded audio tracks? It's amazing that the audio portal has gone from just a few to 300,000 tracks across five years! And it got a facelift, too, during that time. I remember the old interface included whistle-blowing next to the vote buttons.
These days, the audio portal retains the old issue of "Zero-Bombers" who fail to offer advice after dropping their bombs; some like Bad-Man Incorporated have insisted upon mandatory reviews before being given the shot at expressing how a track made their ears bleed. It's an argument towards a more responsive, responsible audience, since there are musicians who pour their heart into their art and fail to get the coverage they desire.
If you're a fellow Zero-Bomber, try to leave a review; don't flagrantly spread hate upon those who don't deserve it.
Yeah, I got one. I've been at odds with the mail delivery system, it being the Holidays and all. Helbereth and I are on hiatus until after New Years' Day.
Did I mention Holidays? Have a Merry Christmas, people!
Oh, and it doesn't happen for just one day; the twelve days aren't counted backwards. That'd be retarded, for one; why would you celebrate Christmas going from mall to mall and devouring junk and taking shit from everyone you meet? Screw that. Christmas, incidentally, goes from December 25th, up to January 6th (otherwise known as a feast for St. John the Baptist).
As you can see, the length of Christmas, as a celebration, is meant to be pretty long and strong. In case you want to exploit the requisite sales that happen after Christmas, or want to throw a party on a shoestring budget, you may still do so. I won't hold it against you.
And hey, somewhere in its midst is New Year's Day! Stick to your resolutions, other than those involving an increased consumption of chocolate!
Finally, don't ever fuck with the musicians in the Audio Portal. Leave notes on why they're zeroes (they usually aren't) and remember to suck it up and express gratitude every once in a while. If you don't respect the arts, they ain't gonna respect you back, see.
Post-Script: At least in the Northern Hemisphere, the days are getting longer. Thank God. I was starting to think the whole planet was physically moving further and further away from the sun....
Due to my displeasure at loaning (and never retrieving) my tablet to my now tablet-addicted brother Helbereth, I have decided to shell out $75 (est.) for a simple "Bamboo Pen". What is that, you ask? Well, it is among the Tablets from the Wacom Site.
The Intuos is a gigantic clusterfuck of a board that I cannot transport everywhere, whereas the "Bamboo Pen" has all the basics one requires of a tool while being portable as well. Since I tend to live between my parents' abode and my own apartment (and plan to incorporate a personal laptop to the mix), the Bamboo will be an excellent change of pace. Getting one is of the utmost concern.
I have already sent out for one on Sunday. Too bad the typical 2-4 day waiting period is long past. I am starting to think I will go completely mad in the meantime, because drawing with the mouse (for a PC-conditioned lefty like me) is torture. I can just imagine what I can create through the digital interface, but until I have a tool or medium they are nothing but pipe dreams.
Having carefully evaluated my finances and cortisone levels peaking, I have decided to resign from my current part-time job. It wasn't the job itself that did it, but the commute and diminishing lack of social contacts, as well as time to devote to Flash. My college grades are beginning to suck painfully hard as well. Because Flash and game design are integral to my desired vocation, I have decided to slice spending to a minimum and seek something else to do with my time that is nowhere near as painful as my current arrangement.
Holy Fucking Shit People,
I could leave it like that, but I need to address something. It happened while viewing my brother Helbereth's post extolling the virtues of the Tablet. Matt-Likes-Swords and the one-and-only Luis booed him off his soap box. Either they are upset over his use of a tablet (which fuels their jealousy or annoyance) or they are merely messing around.
The truth is far more complex and painful to express. Over the past year, I have had an extremely hard time concentrating on any project because work, college, and an atrocious commute (with nothing art-oriented in between) has siphoned my resolve and patience. My decision to LOAN (motherfucker...) my tablet to Helbereth was a matter of course. Someone had better use it.
It was also inspired by Helbereth's perverse inability to complete his unreleased Halloween-oriented Flash project within his prescribed deadline. He had a perfect concept that, by my Spartan standards, was virtually finished save for an animation or three. Yet, he did everything with a mouse and, in addition to constantly dreaming up more and more content (further burdening his workload), he also SLEPT through the deadline! That was when Dr. House yelled, "ROW D, YOU'RE FIRED!"
Then Daylight Savings Time hit and my commute became a pitch-black abyss with headlights screaming into my eyes as highway traffic marched onward with a crunch and a grimace. I became increasingly irate and infuriated as the projects we envisioned seemed impossible to complete. We also questioned their aesthetic validity since they bore down hard upon his perfectionist aesthetic. Throughout this ordeal, I repeatedly stroked Helbereth's ego, since few people (like Matt & Luis) can make a mouse look that good. While his aesthetic was always reasonably solid, he never achieved his desired results until now, and they are palpably improving. Nothing prior to my benevolent donation compares to present-day results.
Aesthetics is a major reason why he won't return that infernal little device: Helbereth achieves better quality in less time than with the mouse. I thought we would be done with Resident Evil: Left Behind before October 31st; Helbereth imagined December, or "whenever". And when MindChamber jested in a reply to one of Hel's posts (the joke was on Claire Redfield, or "That Guy With a Fine Set of Knockers"), I got defensive out of obligation (more ego-stroking, perhaps) rather than openly defending him.
It became a matter of image--how others perceived our efforts--which was wrought from sheer performance pressure, the urge to succeed beyond all reasonable doubt, that made me lend Helbereth my tablet. I mean, seriously: from the images in his current post (Confessions of a Mouse-a-holic), can you imagine a full-length Flash short by Helbereth if he only used the mouse? I cannot. Of course, you may reply, "Can you Imagine a Flash by Neo?" or "...A Flash by Anybody Using a Mouse?" and to either I would reply: "I honestly and simply do not give a shit. Either you invest in professional tools for professional results or you don't. Either you experiment with new ideas and devices or you don't."
Criticize someone with the cash or the patience to save his cash and buy the tools necessary to fuel artistic endeavors, and you send a personal criticism that I won't respond to... it's not worthy of response. It's hard enough to be an artist, and it shouldn't be... and it shouldn't be hard to be a patron of the arts, either! This is tantamount to the Audio Portal denizens' repeated outcries against the well-documented horrors of Zero-Bombing. Hypocrisy, I tell you!
Then again, such maligning is no comparison to countless years of working with this IDIOT who had successfully evaded the virtues of a fucking tablet for over five straight years! I cannot and will not defend Helbereth's artwork after his stubbornness to adapt; he imagined countless hours to re-train his hand-eye coordination, but that slipped aside when I offered my device and suggested he "play with it for a while". It is ironic how I stated that; he's been jerking me around with excuses for years. Ergo, I don't regret my choice: he's improving, and that's what counts.
In essence, I had enough of Helbereth's belligerent complacency one day and took the initiative; for the time being, I cannot work on a Flash project until my schedule at work and college dies down to a palatable simmer. In the meantime, he can toy with the tablet to his heart's content. Incidentally, I was inspired when he downloaded GIMP onto his computer; I gave him the tablet the very next day. If he thought he could sample other art programs, then he could learn how to handle a tablet, too.
Now that Helbereth is back in his prime, please shut the fuck up. He has finished a skit for an upcoming collaboration depicting the history of the world (scientific perspective), an effort that took several weeks even with content borrowed from an unreleased project languishing in his hard drive. It was done with the mouse. He barely touched other projects until he got the tablet; as a stark contrast, he has planned countless small projects and is achieving these objective at a wicked pace. With this massive resurgence of interest in Flash, I have contemplated overhauling our "Big Fat Tutorial" into the "Bigger, Fatter Smorgasbord of Schooling" at some later date.
I see no objection to acquiring the technology necessary to complete digital artwork and projects. As a matter of course, I strongly advocate the usage of tablets for any serious artisan who grew up on pencils, pens, and brushes... not mice. These puppies are delicate and admittedly expensive but not prohibitively so; the big 9"X12" ones (like my Intuos) are hard to lug around, too. In case you are interested, save between $50-$150 US Dollars for a small pad with basic pressure sensitivity... nothing too fancy, just something portable to gets you by and complement a laptop (hey, why not?).
Being a lefty in a PC world left me jaded but tablets provided an escape hatch. This one closed on me rather suddenly, so I will wait until Christmas to receive another, more portable tablet. Until then Matt, quit booing Helbereth and get back to work on Epic Battle Fantasy III (did I mention I love that series?).
I don't understand some people. Either they are so thick-headed as not to try something, or have done so but cannot feel any compulsion or motivation to press on.
I've recently offered up my Tablet to my brother Helbereth so he can make his deadlines and obligations for several collaborations and projects. He initially refused to use a Tablet a year ago but, having played around with it and acquired GIMP (art software procured online), he has reawakened his ideas and is actually improving in the art department; the mouse just cannot compete since he is used to a pencil in his hand. Holy fucking shit. If I was a better man, I'd hug him for finally seeing the light. Unfortunately, I'm nowhere near inclined to hug anyone.
Daylight Savings Time decided to rear its ugly Christ-forsaken head once more. You will want to murder all the farmers for which it is designed for, after you have been driving around 5:00-6:30 pm EST and, all of the sudden, it is black out and everyone and his brother has his fucking headlights pointed in all different directions, or with their high beams primed. I'm surprised I haven't developed migraines out of this insanity. Has anyone contemplated a mass vehicular accident just to see if you could survive and watch all the fun?
I have three distinct commutes: one in the early afternoon for work; another at 5:15 pm on odd days for college classes (which are starting to sincerely suck), and then 9:00 pm at the earliest, I set out to eat and then 11:00 pm, I'm on my way home--another 20-30 minutes blown there. In all, I blow three hours across about a hundred miles per day. Most of the time, I never see the sun and, if I do, it is during a mundane task when I'm not inclined to look up and smile. It got worse with the lights in the warehouse slowly dimming and a few burning out near the end of the hall--the very spot where I tend to work, of course.
Anyway, once I'm home on any given day, the sheer thought of doing any school work, let alone anything with Flash, feel like doing chores. I don't even remember the last time I did an actual chore. What's the message? What's the incentive? It doesn't help if all your income goes straight to bills and rent--nothing else, period--and you're pretty sure your attitude has put you on the brink of getting fired each and every day. Why I have to experience all this without any sunlight is beyond my comprehension, although it explains why I awoke at 6:00 am today, my internal clock wondering if the sun still rises (or sets).
Worst of all, I have to get a new fucking tablet. Suppose I save my money instead of spending $4 per day on coffees just to survive... do you think I'll shoot myself before I save up the money? I mean, between ten to twenty per week, assuming the cost hasn't gone down any... about four months later and I'm more than likely flat-lining from a bullet through the face. Of course, I'll be halfway to purchasing a new tablet. Maybe I should just rob storefronts instead.
I am in little mood to chat, so don't complain about your inability to reply. You're only lucky I won't slap you upside the head in case you leave one I disapprove of. Now I got to go watch my computer update its software... I'll catch you sometime later when you're not paying attention. Don't believe anything the Hussein Administration tells you. Fuck... don't believe ANYTHING ANYONE TELLS YOU.
People purchase "safe" care like sport utility vehicles as a lousy excuse to not learn how to drive.
People stick labels like "Baby on Board" onto their chariots as a means of instilling guilt upon other drivers, reckless or not, to make them drive more carefully.
The commute to my chosen place of work has compelled me to create excuses about why I should quit. Is that healthy? Probably not. Should not have asked....
I have a hard time figuring out why everyone has to hurry home as quickly as possible just so they can sit down. You're sitting in your car. Mission accomplished.
People cut you off and then take the very next turn some one hundred feet up ahead.
Last but not least, Tail-Gaiters... absolutely suck. I am getting sick of going ten over par just so some half-Mississippi grease-monkey can get home a little quicker. Exactly what does that do to the gas mileage? According to the manual on my ancient vessel, an average speed between thirty and thirty-five m.p.h. is decent, and it will ensure maximum gas efficiency while preventing strain on relative components in the machine, such as brakes and shocks. Seems the nation's economy is running into a ditch simply because individual consumers--not just businesses and government--are acting reprehensibly irresponsible with their machines.
Trust me, if you commuted for fifty minutes per trip and witnessed so many vehicles fall below par in the incapable hands of wankers, you'd be screamed at for not noticing a kid on a scooter waiting patiently at the crosswalk too.
P.S. My Paladin in Alexstrasza is at 75. Halfway through that bargain with my brother....
Ever have a day where you were stuck trying to finish something so utterly frustrating that, upon reentry into your home, you downloaded about ninety songs from the Audio Portal, just to listen to something new or interesting? Because doing so suddenly made you happy? I did.
I also watched something by the Taco Buttfish crew today. I'll be watching these guys carefully. You should do.
Word of advice: just because you think your life is under control now doesn't mean you should grip the reins out of someone's hand. Things happen from a much broader perspective and you aren't high enough to see everything. Concentrate on the here and now.
Now I'm going off to fantasize about Louise Glover giving me a back-rub. No happy ending, just a sympathetic ear and a dry wit. Oh, and a severe glare doesn't hurt her sex appeal either.
And remember kids: don't believe anything the Obama administration tells you. Scratch that... don't believe anything anybody tells you, period.
Tomorrow I am driving a young couple to the hospital for an ultra-sound test. It will be the first time I've ever seen one.
Also, it is prudent to note that I got my Paladin to Level 73.
Someone needs eight hours of being comatose right now.