O Father, Why Hast Thou Forsaken Me!

There was a certain video game that I got hours upon hours of giggles and explosions from playing. It was based on Dungeons and Dragons and therefore appealed to the lingering nostalgia that seems to define a post-80s existence. This particular game was so well received that the fans themselves would dedicate thousands of hours of their own time to make expansions and extra content purely for the joys of playing.

And then the angels trumpeted forth wondrous news. There was to be a Sequel.

I've been looking forward to this sequel the way that a full amputee looks forward the invention of affordable cybernetic limbs. The second game looks to have all of the wonders of first, along with shiny new graphics and a more immersive gaming world. It's basically like nerd crack and geek heroin had a baby.

And then, lo and behold, the game is put on sale for $20. That's right, brand new game, for only twenty McDonald's burgers. I actually squealed with glee as I put in my online order.

Time passed and the game arrived, protecting my hopes and dreams in it's cardboard cocoon addressed to yours truly. I burnt the sacred incenses, slaughtered the yearling calf as a sacrifice, chanted the seven holiest names while fasting, and loaded the install disc. After a half of an hour of installation and updates the game was ready for me, and I was all too ready for it.

And when I tried to play it I found out that my computer (which was a cutting-edge beast back when I bought it in 2000) simply lacks the hardware to even get as far as the play screen. This is the exact description of poor geek hell.

It's as though God Herself has cursed me for being a nerd. So fuck you God, I was saving up for a new computer anyway! In the meantime I'll always have other distractions to keep me amused.

Monday Doodles and Late Night Ramblings

First and foremost, I seem to be at odds with certain folks in my life right now. It's not really intentional, it just seems to be how life is going. I'm hoping that a little mutual time spent in separate corners will allow cooler heads to prevail, and if that doesn't work I've got a crate full of chloroform collecting dust in my closet. It was cheaper in bulk, and much like lube it has a wonderfully long shelf life.

I've been getting some pretty decent feedback on the podcast I did last week. I'll consider it a resounding success despite the fact that the sound of my voice is like a thousand fingernails doing a sliding-step shuffle on the chalkboard of my soul. I've managed to listen to the thing once, though I think that might be all the fortitude I've got in me for now.

This week's boredom-induced doodle is a guerilla baby. Not to be confused with a baby guerilla (which is really very adorable), this is simply a very ugly and misshapen baby. Probably because it's mom smoked crack and snorted lines of cocaine off of her trick's peni (I prefer peni to penis', it sounds more dignified).

SPEAK!!! (part 2)

For those of you unwilling to hunt down the Mary magazine mentioned in the podcast, I present for you now what is possibly the worst picture of me ever to make it into print.

In my defense it was a rainy Monday and I honestly didn't think there'd be a soul at my bar, let alone a soul with a digital camera and access to a printing press.

SPEAK!!!

For those of you with a burning urge to hear my nasal, sibilant voice, I was recently the guest of some friends who do a podcast up here in the Pacific Northwest. The topic was porn, because that's how we roll up here in PDX.

Feel free to laugh with at, with, or near me as I'll be doing much of the same.

My Ghost Life

Spending the Thanksgiving weekend in the sun and warmth was almost as nice as spending that same weekend in the arms of someone I love very much.

The first thing that I realized was that I left a much larger part of myself in Houston than I'd originally thought. The second thing that I realized was that no, I still don't like Texas. It smells like everyone drives their SUVs all the time, mostly because they do. SUVs and the cell phone-wielding yuppies who drive them suck, that's been true long before I moved up to Hippytopia in Oregon.

This is downtown Houston in November. A pleasant 74 degrees of deep-fried goodness.

From the second I stepped off of the plane to the first morning that I woke up in Chad's arms, Houston was all too familiar. I settled back into that city like a comfortable chair I'd forgotten I still had in storage (the smell and the stains were about the same). Seeing my friends again didn't feel like a reunion as much as it felt like I just hadn't been able to see them on account of being busy. For a year. REALLY busy. I still miss them all, but less so now that I know there's still a big piece of that essential MEness still down south, being cranky and lovable and nerdy all at the same time.

Seeing Chad again was not as intense as I'd thought it would be. We've talked so much and shared so much in this past year that I never really left him in any way that counts. He's always been in my heart because my love for him never faded. Of course it was unspeakably wonderful being with him again, but I won't write the particulars down as Chad is a little shy and, um, we had a year's worth of "maritals" to catch up on. I'm very glad that his roommate was out of town as it saved on the noise complaints.

This fountain has hosted many picnics. It cools you off on a balmy summer day.

Being in Houston made me realize that I've been living two lives this past year. One up here in Portland, going through the day-to-day trials and joys of paying rent and simply being alive; and one dream life down there, still spending Saturdays drinking Mountain Dew and playing Dungeons & Dragons until all hours of the morning or going out and drinking with my incredible friends and scoping out the parade of hot guys that pack into Houston by the busload (I'm in love, not blind).

This is the only decent (re: PG) picture of me and Chad. He's a lot more lively than my camera makes him look.

The question being: if both towns hold equal parts of my heart, which life is the ghost life?