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Shoot the Breeze: A Lifetime of Accomplishment


Heads up America, tomorrow I can drink in you.

Ah, the dusty trail of my filth-encrusted keyboard. Time to hitch up the olí blogging wagon again and set out again. As youíll quickly infer, this particular trek is flavoured by a liberal dash of Oregon-o.

Alright, the sordid truth? I neglected to write a blog again. Letís see what we got.

Like an English student, but with pro-grammar

The programming thing. Yea, ready the pepper spray of your disinterest against the belligerent junky of my code-laden anecdotes. Still doing that key-rattling thing, but I, uh, I did something very much in character (read: dumb). Totes wasnít feeling as though I was ready to tackle the project I was working on, so I switched gears and started up something else. A lack of commitment. Itís the Batman to the petty thieves of my paltry aspirations, plunging out of the dark in nippled tights to stop them short.

Iím trying to be okay with this. I mean, in this particular case, I far and away wasnít ready to be doing what I was. That project was the brain baby that had been gestating for years. I simply wasnít ready to let loose the man-jam of my mind and bring it to seed. I guess I just came to it a touch prematurely.

Holy cats, no matter how much it pains me, that metaphor refuses to be wiped off of the page. All I can do is apologize profusely.

Which, truth be told, is in keeping with the established theme.

Iíve spent the past day trying to get down Dijkstra's algorithm. Literally the entire day. Lying under my covers, grinding a dozen cookies into a sugary mulch like some sort of grotesque insect queen supported by the worker drones of a thousand bad decisions. Victory was celebrated by three bacon sandwiches because, ďIím too good for real people food.Ē Not a grand one for dignity, but I got that pesky son of gun. Looking for a path? Whisper not a word of concern, my units know how to find one.

But, uh, only if itís no more than three or four tiles away, otherwise the game makes like a snail doing the backstroke in a pool of salt.

Ugh, though, really, it took me way too long. I think I might be getting dumber. A scary thought. What happens if you cool something below absolute zero or speed it up to outpace light itself? Does the universe implode? Invert? Shrug its cosmic shoulders, gird its star-spangled loins, and carry on? I suppose Iíll have to try that last one myself, but is this what dedication feels like? Banging your head against a wall?

Like a regular person, but with no capacity for real life

Bitter joy is a mug of joe. A good cup of coffee is like stepping into the nocturnal Amazon hand-in-hand with the woman you love, a warm stroll into the weighty cacophony of a moonlit forest wrapped in silky covers woven from the perfume of wanton life. Iím starting to worry I might have an addiction problem.

On the subject of problems, my hair is the lumpy bear of our jungle adventure (Iím trying to remember the bear from The Jungle Book. Baloo?). Just a real mess, all blobby and formless, defiant of both gravity and my bravest attempts at style. Maybe Iíve mentioned this before, but itís my gravest enemy and one of the few things on this earth I truly hate. Some days I dread going bald; some days I welcome it as the nuclear finale to our lifelong war.

Listen to Passing Out in America by Alexisonfire. If I remember, Iíll throw in a hyperlink there, but itís up to you to dig it out if my memory slips. I donít recommend it because itís beyond compare, but it happens to be playing right now, and if you give it a go, weíll be sharing a moment across space and time.

Plus itís got this part where the guyís like, ďWHEEP-WHEEP-WHEEPĒ and my heart feels like itís been kidnapped by a flock of starlings.

If I can plunge niche for a second, Doctor Who, less the dues ex machina that tears out suspension like potholes do for an old car, but plus the inexpressible brilliance of Matt Smith, is a truly enthralling ride. Tennant is a hero, but Smith is head and bow-tie above in terms of out-and-out entertainment, while sacrificing little of the, uh, whatím I after here, maudlin mischief? Good stuff.

I miss playing games, man. I know, thatís about the most inconsequential thing in the world, but I havenít had anything to really pilfer my attention for a while. Guess Iíve got some gifts due, but the only thing I expect to really play is Fable and I can already sense my disappointment there looming strong. Is this how my dad felt watching me go out to play T-ball?

I really want to play some XBL Indie games. Is good stuff happening there? Anyone know? Ugh. Ugh. This is the ultimate Indian Burn of no internet. No Indie games. But oh well. The lords of my land (read: the basement) have returned, so maybe I can plea for a decent connection. Sípose Iíll have to pay a tithe or some such.

Oh, and on one last personal note, next week Iím scheduled to have a drink with my soon-to-be-legal brother. Gunna be uncomfortable. Hereís hoping your days are unburdened by the awkwardness that runs through my life like bubonic rodents in olde Europe.
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About Beyamorone of us since 1:10 PM on 06.24.2009

Iím a gamer. Take a minute and get over that shock. I can say Iím an Xbox man, though Iíll support anything that advances gaming (I love you Sackboy). Iíve also got a DS Chunky, so I can take this whole nerd thing on the road.

As far as genres, shooters and western RPGs top my list. Halo, Fable, and Morrowind, for instance, rock my socks hard. Of course other things, stuff like Animal Crossing and Kingdom Hearts, do their share of stocking rocking.

In the world outside of buttons and pixels, Iím an engineering student (that nerd thing I mentioned? I do it hardcore) on the west coast of the Great White North. Iím a fan of a harder rock, bands like Breaking Benjamin and Hurt, though Iíll kick it (very much figuratively) to stuff ranging from The Fray through Franz Ferdinand to Five Finger Death Punch. Optimus Prime is my hero, but I do love Starscream. Finally, thumbs up to you for reading this. Youíre never getting that time back.

Kirbey by the talented and generously endowed (probably) Enkido