Got a bit of a brain itch and was about to mic up every console I could think of, but luckily, someone already did it for me.
Not the best quality, no actual video, the gamecube is emulated, and missing the gameboy coin sound, but it might keep me from obsessively cataloging start up sounds for the rest of my days. PS: I will admit here in public that the Dreamcast sound is my favorite. Now you know!
After a lengthy experiment/incident with some super-fragile acetate, I've finally returned to trusty posterboard for the stencil. Chop chop chop with a nice fresh blade. Much faster and cleaner than I had expected. Screw you, giant roll of unusable acetate.
So, go drag it out in to the parking lot and spray down the first layer of paint! The spray adhesive appears to be depleted of any usefulness, so there was a healthy amount of blurry edges, but the main shape came out fine, no huge disasters. Good to get this project rolling again after letting it sit in the corner for so long. Should rush thru the remaining layers provided no further distractions.
And thus ends the scheduled big postmodernist kick. De Lillo, DFW, Gaddis, shit, I've read 'em all (which is to say I've read those three), slowly climbing my way to the fabled King Kong of Pynchon's Gravity's Rainbow. Supposedly one of the toughest reads around, rivaling the likes of Moby Dick and Ulysses, leaving thousands of college freshmen corpses in its wake. "I read the first 10 pages and condemned it to the bookshelf" and so on. Well, I climbed the tower and shot that giant ape right in the brain. I am here to tell you, it is not an impossible read; the likes of me can finish and enjoy this book! It is not an endless string of turgid symbolism and mutations of style, it is in truth really quite fun. The main factor for success is perseverance -- this is a hefty book. Almost 800 pages chock full of pieces to put together does require a steady effort, without a doubt. Narratives and plot are willy nilly all over the place. Surprise! This is not a conventional book! But, I am telling you, you can read this without your burning your brain white hot. Certainly, that is an option, the devices of the Zone are desperately in need of sorting, but a character-driven superficial trot works just fine. JUST READ THE BOOK ALREADY. Or don't, I don't think I'd call it a "must read". Just don't be scared, that's all.
Carting around a tome of this proportion, gawkers are likely to spout "By gawr, what is that all about?" and there inlies the rub. "Bombs." < "WWII rockets." < "V2 rockets and the people who love them." < "A man wants to know why he is aroused in the presence of said rockets." < "Conspiracies as a basic element of existence." < "A ghost nation of paranoid drugged-out maniacs fights against an invincible culture of death with sexy results." < "Bombs... I mean, Plastic." Overwhelmed by varied elements, the book repulses definition. I can definitely see why they point to this book as The PostModern (why, yes, I am indeed tired of that word) Novel, as every similar book since its publishing apes Pynchon's brand of humor and randomness. And from what I've seen, Gravity's Rainbow deserves to remain on the top of that list. With a roster of likable characters behaving like real humans as viewed thru a movie camera lens, doing genuinely interesting things, soulless dreck like White Noise seems all the more masturbatory in comparison.
Who's the hardest person to shop for on your holiday list?Wait... *checks watch*
HAHA! My term of penance is OVER! And I was just about to work on that horrible question!
I apologize to those who put me in their neighborhood, who were bombarded by my idiotic responses every 24 hours. They are the real heroes. I'm afraid Vox has won this fight. Despite staying in the ring all 30 days, rarely did I best them in content. I succumbed to their level, writing about Sunday morning music and Funny People and other such horrors. There's just no way a mere mortal like me can overcome the banality. Banana. Bananality.
It's been a blast. I'll be around, every now and then, but for now, a much needed break. Thank you and good night (screw you QotD).
If you came with a warning label, what would it say?
Do not leave Product in Idle Mode for long spans of time or Product may crash to Complain Mode and hang. You may have to soft reset Product when adding new users. We have built Product to be extra durable, but Product will balk at anything remotely dangerous, big chicken. When Product is intoxicated, it may insist on rough-housing. The faulty text-to-voice and voice-to-text recognition is a known issue, but no further updates are planned at the moment.
Do you keep a journal or diary? How often do you write in it?Superpowers for sale! What can I getcha?
- Chainsaw teeth. Instead of 2 rows of everyday bone teeth, I have 2 rows of shiny metal teeth that hum back and forth at incredible speeds. Everything else is just regular mouth. So, while I could bite through padlocks and such, I'd be getting a mouthful of hot metal splinters. Useful for emergency purposes, but mostly just so I can eat even more messily.
- Able to vocalize indefinitely. Basically, breathing is separate from talking, two windpipes or something. Obviously, if I have a mouthful of tree branches, talking will
be difficult, but otherwise, it is nonstop gabber. This provides an opportunity as an unmatched professional filibusterer, but is more for annoying my arch-enemies with a constant monotone "aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa" like
Have you ever Googled your own name? How did you feel about the results?
Luckily, my name is obscured by an aged folkstar. I can commit any amount of crudeness online under my given name and no future employer will be the wiser. Knowing this, I feel like a man waking up on a morgue slab, noticing his death certificate completed on a nearby desk. Just slip out the back door and you're a phantom.
A username search now brings up millions of vox profile pages. I feel terrible about this.
What is your stupid human trick?
Admittedly, my talent of sport eating has declined, but the feat of 3 Wendy's Triples w/ cheese (+ fries and soda) in a single sitting still stands. Of course you don't believe that. That's why we videotaped it. MATT DOWST: I NEED THAT DAMN TAPE. NOBODY BELIEVES ME.
We abused the hell out of the local Wendy's. We gave birth to the greatest sandwich ever; The Big Cheef. 1x Spicy Chicken Sandwich + 1x Beef Patty + Barbecue Sauce. Upgradable to the AAA Cheef (add bacon for three animals on one bun) or the Gigacheef ( 2x Spicy Chickens, 2x Beef Patties, with a bun in between). Word of the Cheef spread like wildfire through amazed line chefs, we were able to order Cheefs by name at Wendy's all across Austin. And the advertising campaign we had planned, christ, I've gotta get that on paper... I'll just say it involved war drums and vomitting.
When do you start your holiday shopping?What's your favorite injury?
- Age 2: A solo performance of "walking the plank" leads to diving head-first into exposed carpet tacks. Just stitches on the top of my head.
- Age 9: I ride my bike down the street and directly into a tree about 15 feet from the intended path. No injury, per se, but absolutely hilarious. I thought so at the time, at least.
- Age 17: Joyously leaping around and slapping the ceiling after closing the store leads to me catching a low overhang across the bridge of my nose in the dark. Clothslined to the floor, I notice I can't see anything. I'm BLIND! "No, no, it's just billions of gallons of blood pouring into your eyes." Oh. Slapped a bandage over the gap, a faint scar remains.
- Age 20: Awaking at a friend's house, I decide upon frozen bagels. The brain is not up to speed yet, so rather than defrosting it, I take bagel in hand and attempt to pry it apart with a steak knife. ACTUAL DIALOG: *She walks into kitchens, observes idiocy* SHE:"You're going to stab yourself." ME:"Hah. No I'm not." 1 second later, the bagel deflects the knife towards the fleshy fruit of left palm, right below the thumb. After a hilarious episode which disturbed no fewer than 5 people's day, a doctor fills the wound with space-age people glue. A pretty nice scar for the mitt.
