The Important Shit Name: Adam
Location: Austin, TX
Steam Name: pointingdevice
Xbox Live: PointingDevice - Currently defunct!
General Information -----
Adam "PointingDevice" McWaters was birthed July of 1979, in a sleepy military fortress in the hill-lands of Texas. At the time, this area was referred to by the locals as, "flavor country," however 2-6 years after his birth, "flavor country" was relocated to west Texas/Arizona/New Mexico.
Point is, that summer was hot as fuck.
Due to the extreme heat, Adam was taken almost immediately to the happy-go-lucky country of Germany, where he was protected from the terrible sun by a constant layer of gloom and cold. He would be 2 years of age before he would ever experience the fiery orb directly. This experience would not go well, and would further complicate life for Adam in the future, many times.
After 9 or so years under the gray skies of Deutschland, selling real Levi's to the unfortunate locals who had to deal with Turkish knock-off brands, Adam would find himself and his meager earnings in arcades across the land. In these dark secluded caves, the boy would learn that these machines were his true parents. These had cruely birthed him, stoic, into this world from whatever hideous canal or cantrip. He didn't know which one was his actual parent, per se, but it was probably a shmup of some sort, since he beat so much ass at those.
Or a Neo-Geo multigame cabinet. It's still really up in the air at this point.
Upon arriving back in Texas, he was delighted to find that arcades existed here too. Dark, dingy and smoky, he could continue his reign of destruction all over any dude challenging him to Samurai Shodown or what-have-you. Time passed in the peaceful struggles against lesser fools who didn't know what time it was... But for how long?
He did find himself suffering through many battles what existed outside the screens. Beyond the areas where he was tearing asses up. For years he fought against the tyranny of the Daytona USA machine's ever-present, ear shattering shrieks. The long lines at whatever Mortal Kombat machine was new. Rising costs per-play. Square meat patties on round buns. 8-year-olds, fuckheads that they are, spilling their Big Reds into any classic cabinet's controls. He arose as victorious as Conan over these motherfuckers.
Adam did do this for the good of all arcades across the world. For all those who respected the edicts and the old ways. He battled to ensure that those after him could get their chance to kick asses in at their favored games. He fought for the promises of sticks and buttons that react with snap and response. No sticking. No bullshit. No excuses. For these things did Adam "PointingDevice" McWaters bust heads.
But one black day, wounded from a difficult discussion with the giant blob of mankind that spilled forth from the Killer Instinct machine, and exhausted by years of sheer attrition, a dark shadow fell across the land. He looked up at the oncoming foe and realized his own death. There before him rose the great six-headed avatar of his childhoods' undoing. On each writhing neck, shadowy effigies mewled and gurgled and cursed him.
In one of it's many right hands held high a Revolution X cabinet and did consider it "classic." It's left hand was an enormous lobster claw which gripped a bag of play tokens that cost an uneven amount of actual money to acquire. Amongst it's 6 slathering heads was a floating crown of a DDR machine, upon which lazily danced a series of slack jawed man-boys. Each head a skeletal visage of the last 6 chosen Pokemon of the Beast. Their mewlings called forth and heralded the end of arcades as he knew them.
Their voices ringing in his ears like tinnitus. Like the Daytona USA machine's wretched call. Like a fever. Adam "PointingDevice" McWaters did fall defeated, and he crawled away heartbroken. Leaving behind the tattered flag of his youth, and the vicious screams of the Beast that consumed all it surveyed.
Since that terrible day, he has primarily enjoyed games on PC, and fully accepted modern consoles as "awesome," in one way or another. But a giant hole has been metaphorically fucked into his very soul. A hole which can never be filled again, no matter how much money some proprietor is willing to lose.
First off, I'd like to say I just did terrible tonight on TF2. Gonna be a bad night.
Anyway, on with the topic. Yes, Easter is over now, and that means all holidays are skipped and we go right to Christmas here in the retail market. I'm beginning to think stores should just keep the Christmas shit up forever. Germany did.
Anyway, all this gets me thinking about the Salvation Army menz who stand outside of all Wal-Marts ringing their little bells for cash. I passed one tonight who wished me a merry Christmas, as per usual, and I thought. In this day and age, I wonder how badly the Salvation Army's seasonal charity events are suffering.
I like cash and all, but I rarely ever have any these days. This is because I have a card, just like everyone I know. Because of this, I got to wondering what a chart, or perhaps a graph might look like for the Salvation Army in the last 10 years. Just because banks got more technologically advanced. Good on you, banks.
Now let's start the countdown to when we either:
A) See little card-swipers on the stands next to the bell guys, or
B) Don't see the bell guys anymore.
This is an example of the sort of stuff I think about on a day-to-day basis. I wonder what the doctor's would say...
I live in the heavily-populated north area of Austin Texas. Austin, as a whole, has only a few places where one could feasibly get shot or stabbed, and this is not one of them. I currently reside in a very family-oriented apartment complex right beside a few very family-oriented housing areas.
So Halloween rolls around... Why didn't anyone show up at my door?
Not that I was at all prepared for kids in various cheap costumes to come peddling for candy, but I was fully expecting it. Yet, not a soul showed up. Perhaps it was a general fear of one's children being shot or stabbed, but again, this ain't the neighborhood for that sort of thing. I work until about 3 or 4 in the morning and usually go out to pick up food or smokes or what-have-you. I think I could get away with dressing up in a suit made of cash screaming, "Will somebody please shoot, stab or beat me, tear this suit of money off of my body and leave me raped and violated in the gutter? PRETTY PLEASE?" I probably wouldn't even encounter another person.
Back to the holiday. I have enjoyed Halloween, as a whole, all my life. It is likely my most favored holiday of the holiday bunch, though I didn't have much invested in it this year due to business. So it crept up on me and I hardly noticed. Mostly due to the lack of Halloween-y folks wandering about, I guess.
Anyway, that's about all on my blog-plate this evening. Was the holiday as sparse and lackluster for you? I blame plastic, personally. Plastic was the worst thing to ever happen to Halloween.
I'm still getting the hang of blogging again. I will often think I have something cool to blog about, but then not have time to blog it. By the time I do have the opportunity to write it up, I forgot what it was I wanted to write about, or re-evaluated the topic and found it to suck.
So, to get my toes a little more wet in this crazy destructoid blog universe, I will simply make an art post.
This art is from 1999ish, and it is of girls with no intestines! Awesome!
Some stuff from a long-dead project! 2001! What a crazy year!
And lastly, 2002-2003. Some horrible years for wine, I hear.
Hello, Destructoid, I've made my first blog. Not my first ever, not by a long shot, but all my previous blogs died and are buried in the backyard of Itemforty's house.
For my first blog I was going to write about video games or something, but I am not in the mood at the moment.
"But PointingDevice, how can you not be in the mood to talk about video games?"
Because I had to stay up until 6am working to no avail, and then get up early to drive to the in-laws place. I like the in-laws place, but being this tired makes everything sour.
"But PointingDevice, I stayed up until 6am last night drinking and pwning nubs in TF2. SPIEZ ROOOL!"
Yeah, I guess spies are cool, but let me explain my situation and why it may differ from yours.
I have a child, you see. He is 4 months old and looks like this:
Sweet child, all things considered, but his arrival into this world caused me to get a night job, so's the woman could still work, see? So I did that. Real good job, let's me work whatever schedule I need, and work from home. Pays very well, too, which is always a plus.
Anyway, what this equates to is my wife goes to work in the day, leaving me to tend to the child until she gets home, in which case I start working until about 3 or 4am. Sleep for about 5 hours, and repeat. All week. By Friday I am so exhausted that I just want to bite strangers. Bite them on their stupid stranger faces. I'd let my child bite them too, but he has no teeth, so I think everyone would wind up disappointed. Point is, I have that in the life's plan. "Hey boy, I'm tired and irritable, go bite that strange woman over on that park bench. Atta boy."
Therefore, I'm pretty tired. That's my post. I'm tired. Maybe next time I will write about video games and some of you will like me. To get that started, here's a quick sketch I did of some cats and mice in a revolutionary-war era peace treaty... Temporary as it was, but that's a story for another time.