50,000 Monkeys at 50,000 Typewriters Can't Be Wrong
Presented without comment.
Except, of course, saying that it’s presented without comment is actually a comment in itself, and then commenting on that comment is a meta-comment.
So how about if I just say: WWdN:iX reader Justin sent me this, all the way from far off Canuckistan. I thought it was funny, and I thought some WWdN:iX readers would find it funny, as well.
(Image from: Toothpaste for dinner)
(Click to embiggen.)
(Click for TMBG, via Roughy.)
(Click for absolutely nothing.)
(//slashie)
I wrote a column for The AV Club about my trip to E3, and it hit the web about an hour ago. It’s my first foray into my version of gonzo journalism, and I’m really happy with the way it came out.
Take the largest video arcade you remember from your childhood. Now quadruple its size, put it in the middle of Shibuya Crossing, dim the lights, and crank the volume to 11. Toss in a bunch of celebrities, charge $300 for a stale slice of pizza and a soda, crank the volume up to 11 one more time, and you’ve got E3: the Electronic Entertainment Expo.
E3 started during the halcyon ’90s, when Pets.com ruled the world. Now every May, gaming giants like Nintendo, Microsoft, Sony, and Sega gather at the Los Angeles Convention Center to present their newest hardware and software releases to a very select audience: about 30 percent entertainment media, 5 percent distributors, and 65 percent people who have managed to scam press passes so they can spend a day playing video games and checking out booth babes (who this year are required to wear nothing more revealing than miniskirts—the trade-show equivalent of burkas).
[. . .]
Four televisions, eight guitars, and a small crowd stood beneath a mockup that looked remarkably like a concert stage. I could hear Kiss’ “Strutter” being played with varying degrees of proficiency as Gen-Xers rocked out in the highly anticipated co-op mode.
“Hey, isn’t that Guit—” Spencer asked.
“Muh… guh… huh…” I answered, walking on autopilot to the front of the booth.
“Hi, I’m Wil Wheaton,” I said, “and I love your game.” Probably not the most professional way to introduce myself, in retrospect. “I’m writing about Guitar Hero II for The A.V. Club.”
You can read the entire story at The AV Club, and while you’re there, you can check out my Games of our Lives column for this week: Congo Bongo.
I feel really good about this column, and I’m really happy that the type of writing I’ve perfected over the years on my blog earned a spot in an actual print publication.
Oh, and if you think it’s worthy: digg story. Thanks!
Technorati Tags: E3, Guitar Hero 2, gaming
I found this photograph of Wesley, Beverly, and Captain Picard that goes with the scene I posted earlier today. I look like a total dork who is so excited he’s about to burst, but I’m cool with that — it was exactly how I felt the day we shot that scene. I never noticed until just now that Gates looks like a proud mom, and Patrick looks like a proud, uh, Patrick. I wonder if they were channeling real emotions like I was, or if they were just acting really well?
I had to scan it at a low resolution, because I’m pretty sure Viacom’s goons would come after me if it was printable and whatnot, but if you always wondered what that scene looked like, well, now you know.
While executing a mission in the War on Shit All Over Our House (Operation Feng This Motherfrakkin’ Shui) last night, I came across a little bag of stuff in my closet. Inside it, with a bunch of business cards, some old incense (Nag Champa is a constant in my life, it turns out) and a bunch of change, I found my sides and call sheet from the first day I worked on Star Trek: Nemesis a few years ago. (One page of my sides is scanned and pictured at right. Click to embiggen, but it’s 1.3 MB, so don’t complain if your modem screams at you and doesn’t want to have a second date.)
There were a lot of things in my closet that were clearly important to me at one time, but it was as easy to throw them away as it was to open the closet door and dig them out: old T-shirts, shoes, hats, and a few little bags of stuff like the one which contained my sides. It was a sort of time capsule of the 2001-2005 versions of me, and I loved identifying the threads that have tied me together all these years: Converse shoes, collared bowling and lounge shirts, nerdy T-shirts, and baseball caps from the Cubs and Dodgers (why I end up with new caps at least twice a year is a great Mystery of the Universe.)
Every time I go through my stuff and find things that used to be important to me, only to jettison them into the great beyond, I feel a certain amount of freedom and serenity that I won’t trade for anything. It’s good to feel like my stuff doesn’t own me, because it’s pretty easy to get rid of my stuff. The other side of that coin, of course, is when I find things that I’m happy I kept, like these sides. I sat on my bedroom floor tonight and remembered holding those sides in my hand, even though I’d known the lines for days, when I was walking from the makeup trailer to the stage when I worked on Nemesis, and I’m glad that I have a physical touchstone from that day. The obnoxious red polyester shirt with the houndstooth pattern and slightly-too-big collar was a nice bonus, too.
Anne and Ryan were out on Friday, which left Nolan and me to goof off at home when I got back from working on Legion of Super Heroes.
We had big plans: some Magic: The Gathering, a little Brawl, and maybe some OGRE and heads-up poker.
But when I got home, the goddamn pine tree in the front yard dropped a huge ball of pollen down on my car, and I spent the next four hours on the couch sneezing and trying to fight off the allergy-induced headache that felt like it was going to split my head in twain. Good times. Good times.
Nolan ended up playing Diablo II while I watched the Los Angeles Dodgers of Los Angeles pwn the Los Angeles Angels of Not Los Angeles Because We Play In Orange County But Our Idiot Owner Wants To Have Los Angeles In Our Name Because He’s A Moron.
For those of you who missed the sixth inning massacre, the final board was:
LAD – 16 25 1
LAANLABWPOCBOIOWHLAIOWBHAM: 3 10 2
Of course, the Dodgers did their best to blow their fifteen run lead, by letting Carter come in and give up three hits and a run, and though I normally don’t like games that are total blowouts, watching the Dodgers on the winning side of it for a change, and especially at the expense of the stupid Angels who swept us last year, was awesome. I should also add that the Los Angeles Dodgers of Los Angeles shutout the Los Angeles Because We Play In Orange County But Our Idiot Owner Wants To Have Los Angeles In Our Name Because He’s A Moron to complete the sweep, and move up to 1/2 a game out of first in what is probably the weakest division this side of 7 year-olds playing little league.
Speaking of the Dodgers, yesterday, my dad took me to Chavez Ravine for some LAD vs LAANLABWPOCBOIOWHLAIOWBHAM action, and it was awesome. There are pictures in my buzznet blog, including a shot of Tommy Lasorda, who is the closest to royalty you’ll see at Dodger Stadium, who got a standing ovation from our entire section when he walked from his seat to wherever it is you go when you’re Tommy Fucking Lasorda and you rule.
Anyway, back to Friday: After the only team on the field worthy of having Los Angeles in their name blew the game wide open, I picked up my bag of comics from Free Comic Book Day, and finally had a look at the books I picked up. Most of them were a solid "meh," but that’s the whole point of FCBD: to see new stuff that may not excite everyone, but introduce new readers to new material. If you’re a guy like me who is already pretty narrow in tastes, it’s unlikely you’re going to find much that excites you. However, there were a few things that I really liked that I’ll pick up next time I’m at my friendly local comics shop:
The Bongo freebie was also funny (and funnier than the average episode of the Simpsons these days, which is not meant as a backhanded complement) and the Fantagraphics Funnybook was fantastic.
Around ten, my antihistamines finally started to work, and my headache began to subside as it was overtaken by drowsiness. I fell asleep watching Dark City, which is still a hell of a lot of fun to watch, whether you’ve got a head filled with antihistamines or not.
Today, Anne and I opened up a new front in the War on Shit All Over Our House and Yard (Operation Enduring Yardwork) and pruned the hell out of a tree in the front yard, as well as tearing out all the weeds that had attempted to establish a beachhead in one of our front yard planters. Rain threatened all day today, but never arrived, which was great, because the combination of breeze and humidity provided just the right level of comfort for fighting the forces of Bermuda grass and their allies the tree-looking things that spring up all over the goddamn place. In a fit of planning ahead, I did my best Sean Penn imitation and snorted a whole bunch of Flonase (relax, I have a prescription) before I started the work today, and I was able to work for about five hours before simple exhaustion overcame me (rather than the sneezing and allergy-related misery I experienced Friday night.)
After all my yard work was done, I decided to take a break and play a little poker at PokerStars, so I hopped into a 4-player heads-up sit-n-go (I was inspired after watching the Heads-up Championship on NBC this morning.) I really like those matches, because most of the players at the lower buy-ins are very straightforward (so you know your pair of kings is no good when they bet into you on an A-high board) and you only have to beat two players to win three buy-ins, instead of 8 players in a regular sit-n-go. At one point, my first round opponent had me down to just a few big blinds, but I got insanely lucky and bounced back, tilting him in the process and taking it down. My second round opponent had the classic online tell: he’d check the "check/fold" box when he was in the BB if he didn’t like his hand, so I’d call and if he insta-checked, I knew I could bet no matter what on the flop and get him to fold. I rode the right combination of luck and trusting my reads to victory, turning my mighty five dollar buy-in into twenty dollars when I flopped TP and a flush draw with AT and got him to call me with KT when my flush missed.
Okay, now it’s time to go watch The Simpsons, in the lame hope that it manges to be funny this week.
Uh, okay, the whole opening bit with the attacking couches? Brilliant. Even if the rest of the show veers off into that weird Jesusland they’ve been hitting so frequently this season, that was worth the price of admission.
Wait. The baseball bit? Very funny. This "homer is the relationship counselor" bit? The polar opposite of funny. Are they hiring old 1970s sit-com writers? This is like a rejected Three’s Company script. Give me another monorail, please. Please, I beg you.