Moving On...

My God it's been a long weekend.


Things started on Thursday. Having finished my finals the previous day, that most glorious day that I've had circled on my calendar arrived. The release of Metal Gear Solid 4! Hot damn. This was the first game I actually pre ordered, ever. Nothing short of the Second Coming of Christ would keep me from getting this game. I actually woke up at 7 AM on a day where I was not required to, in order to get this game.


Except perhaps... The sun. After my earlier post, it seems the sun had seen it's shadow, and doomed us poor souls to an eternity of bleak Oregon weather. That is, until the day Metal Gear Solid 4 came out. As a person of Brasilian descent, who has spent a good chunk of his life living in the tropics, I am addicted to sunlight. I can tan beautifully, and it takes months for said tan to wear off. I literally cried when, after over a year in the Pacific Northwest, I was as white as a ghost. I went through withdrawal.

So now you can see my conundrum. Sunlight? Or the awesome power of Metal Gear? These are the decisions that try men's very souls. Fortunately, in a move that had me almost certainly looking like a complete moron, I could have my cake, and eat it too. The most wonderful thing about the seventh generation of consoles is the advent of practical wireless controllers. I turned the TV around, and sat outside my apartment, in the sun, playing the game through the window for several hours. The game is amazing, expect me to drown you with it as soon as I find the time.

As the day went on, I was invited to my friend Alexa's going away party. She was moving on to bigger and better things, like flight school. Lucky bitch. Because of some unrelated purchases, I was in the neighborhood, and stopped by a 9 PM sharp. Apparently I was the only one who showed up on time. Even Kristen, who lives in the house, wasn't ready by the appointed time. How very German of me. I brought along a bottle of Level Vodka. We had some shots, and tried my best to avoid accidentally crushing Kristen's hideous free range cat, Momo. Alexa baked some bread, and made a nice dip out of balsamic vinegar and olive oil. It was damn good. She also laid out the remainder of her alcohol, and begged the party goers to consume it for her. She had a shaker, and I went to town on it. I constructed this monster.

2 parts parrot bay coconut rum.

2 parts Grenadine

2 parts bacardi 151 rum.

1 part cran-blueberry juice

Add liquor and shake hard, strain into a frosted pint glass, add juice, fill with club soda, and stir.

That beast was essentially six shots of 90 proof liquor, and it tasted like absolutely nothing. Slight hint of grenadine, but other than that, it was like drinking down thick water. I was terrified, because every sip I took, I wanted to just chug it down because my tongue tells me it's not strong enough. However, my brain, which watched me construct it, knows how strong it is. And after I develop a pretty heavy buzz off of 2/3s of the glass, I know how strong it is.

I met up with Ed, Amy, and Andy, and we talked about Andy's motorcycles, our mutual alcoholism, and the fact that Ed looks uncannily like a 10" shorter me. The conversation continued in interesting directions, until I got looped into a few beer pong games. I would like to think I acquitted myself quite well in those games, despite a terrible foul. I even dragged out a victory with Kristen as my partner, a feat thought impossible. During one rather entertaining game, Jordan had to skip out to puke mid game, and got replaced. An act I later used to sub myself into a game to help Lacey's terrible team.

After my idiot foul got us bumped of the table, I saw CJ had shown up, with Michelle and Bryan in tow. Apparently Michelle no longer wishes for my agonizing death via cancer. Yay! I'm moving up in the world. We shared shots of Level Vodka, which was quite smooth, and I began to set the stage for CJ to come help me move my junk from my apartment to storage. Seeing as he's the only person in our mutual circle who owns a truck, he was doomed to spend the entire weekend moving stuff for literally everyone he's ever met.

At about 1 AM, my friend Tony crashed the party, not knowing I was there, sporting an awkwardly faked Australian accent, and a little blond girl on his arm. Well, I'm not about to try and cock block my friend based on something as little as faking being Australian. So I let them drink in bliss. All of a sudden, Tony grabs me, and mentioned to the girl that I used to live in the south. She asks me where, and I told her New Orleans, Alabama, and Georgia. She saw fit to correct me, "You lived in N'awlins, 'Bama, and that other state."

Dammit woman, not everyone who's lived in the south speaks with the accent of a fucking idiot. She mentioned she lived in Shreveport. Whatever. Then she saw my dog tags. "Oh, you're in the Marines? You know Camp Pendleton? That's me."

At that point I was getting angry. "Don't confuse me with a Jarhead, girl."

She proceeded to go on a rant about how the Marines are her family. I asked her bluntly, "Are you in?"

To which she replied an unqualified no. "Then don't lecture me on service."

She got all indignant about how she couldn't believe I was showing so much disrespect to her family. "What your great grandfather did has no bearing on how I treat you. There is no royalty in America, you earn your respect. You aren't given it."

At that point, she was a awfully flustered, and asked my if I lived here. When I said no, she told me that she thought I should leave. She was trying to kick me out of my friends party, that she crashed? Incredible. I refused, and she grabbed Tony, and dragged him out of the party. Good Riddance.

Immediately afterwords, a guy who was standing nearby, Mark, looked at me. I realised that I was pretty drunk, and I might have been a real jerk. So I asked for a third party perspective from Mark and his wife, Lacey. She was a bitch, and they were surprised I didn't drunk toss her ass out at the word go. Vindication. To be honest, judging from her accent, and lack of any knowledge of military principle, I'd say she's probably some puffed up bitch who was trying to back me down without any actual truth to her stories. Either that, or General Pendleton is rolling in his grave right now. She certainly sounded more like she was from Salem than Shreveport.

The party wound down after that, and the rest of the night was saying goodbyes, and making sure the really drunk people got home safely. Aaron gave me a ride home, and I passed out on my couch.

Friday became game day. I spent pretty much the whole day devouring MGS 4's amazing story.

On Saturday, I prepped my apartment for the move back to Washington.

On Sunday, CJ rolled by, an I traded him two bottles of Irish Cream, a Bottle of Sake, and a bottle of Merlot for his help moving my stuff. As we hauled my futon to the storage facility, we discussed stuff such as Dave Mustain's amazing hair, bands that are essentially a cult of personality around one person, and woodland firefighting.

Monday morning, I rode back up to Washington, and am now frantically attempting to avoid letting the Guard ruin yet another summer. Wish me luck.

Video Game Humor.

Luckiest Halo 3 Kill Of All Time - Watch more free videos

Rube Goldberg decided to play Halo 3.

And for the PS3 owners...

Hideo Kojima slaps Microsoft in the face.

The People's Mario

In case you were wondering how dark a cutesy game like Mario can be...




Pretty Fucking Dark.

The End of an Era.

With Metal Gear Solid 4 looming on the horizon, one of the funniest webcomics out there has closed it's story arc. The Last Days of Foxhound is a Metal Gear Solid inspired webcomic, drawn by Chris Doucette, which focuses on the Foxhound unit of the first Metal Gear Solid game. The art is a little pedestrian, but the humor is top notch. Doucette has a sharp sense for sarcasm, and manages to draw together the most convoluted plotline this side of Chrono Cross in a very hilarious manner.


TLDoF ran for 500 comics, and managed to incorporate each of the bizarre super squads from the MGS series. Foxhound, Dead Cell, and the Cobras all make an appearance, as does the most Magnificent Bastard, Big Boss. Solid Snake is never seen directly, but his presence is felt throughout the story arc.

The premise of the story is the background of the Foxhound unit, a super powered black ops team which works in secret for the government. The storyline covers from when Liquid Snake joins Foxhound, up until the events of MGS1.

While Spider Man would say "With great power comes great responsibility", in this case it's more like "With great power comes great insanity." Each member of Foxhound, while supremely talented, also has a psychotic personality flaw. Liquid Snake is an super soldier, but he suffers from an inferiority complex that would take up several floors of a building to catalog. Vulcan Raven is a shamanistic Inuit giant, who is smug beyond belief. Sniper Wolf is the world's greatest sniper, but she actually develops a crush on each target she's assigned. Decoy Octopus is a world class spy and master of disguise, he's also a trickster worthy of Loki, and a complete coward. Psycho Mantis is the world's strongest telepath, but he's also omnicidal. Revolver Ocelot is a master of subterfuge, and world class marksman, but he's also a pathological liar, and suffers from Chronic Backstabbing Disorder.



The interactions of these outlandish personalities tie into the extensive metaplot of Hideo Kojima's grand design, and provide nonstop hilarity. Please, check it out.

The American James Bond

I've been watching a lot of Heroes lately. I've come to several conclusions about the show. One, Hayden Pannettiere can still manage to look hot, even with a few ribs sticking out. Two, the writers are smart, seeing as they haven't fallen into a similar beating of basic Mendelian genetics like Metal Gear Solid has. And three, there is only one member of the cast who isn't a phenomenal idiot.

That character is Noah Bennett, who is certainly the most complex character in the series. Mr. Bennett is, as the title would suggest, James Bond wrapped up in the pathos of 1950s America. He is a company man, in more than one way. Dedicated to his job, and ruthless in his prosecution of it. However, above all things, he is a family man. As dangerous as he is on the job, he's exponentially more so when called to defend his family. When the two interests collide, things get very interesting.

His appearance was drawn up very well. The Browline glasses he wears immediately call to mind a 1950s Cold Warrior who routinely deals with issues larger than himself, larger than his nation.

While he's eerily similar to his British counterpart in his ruthless efficiency, He differs in key aesthetic categories. His mannerisms are wholesome, but when called to, he works and talks with barely contained violence, far removed from the smooth witticisms and calm under fire of 007. While James Bond sleeps with almost anything with a pair of breasts, Mr. Bennett conforms faithfully to the American ideal of a monogamous relationship with his loving wife. Mr. Bennett is a magnificent bastard who's always at least three steps ahead of anyone else, which allows him to be arguably the most dangerous man in a world filled with people with inhuman powers.

In a way, Mr. Bennett is symbolic of America, very similar to Alden Pyle in Graham Greene's 1955 novel, The Quiet American. Idealistic in a way, ruthless, fiercely protective of his own, and willing to destroy anyone who threatens them. Unlike Pyle, Mr. Bennett is a more balanced representation, rather than blindly bringing down everyone around him, Mr. Bennett, who is arguably just as destructive, is much more controlled in what he does.

This guy alone, makes Heroes worth watching, even the strike induced miscarriage that was the second season.

Doubleyou Teeeee Ef.

Now, I enjoy playing video games. However, what I don't like is the industrial advertising complex that has arisen. Sites like IGN, Gamespy, and others, that feel like they can review ,advertise, and market video games in the same way as people review, advertise, and market a static medium like film and music. I'm going to tell you right now, you can't. A static medium is fundamentally different from an interactive one, especially when you get into the blockbuster level games like GTA IV.

I don't like the way that GTA IV was marketed. The reviews ooze preferential treatment and gloss over flaws so they can give the game a perfect score for the sake of having the exclusive. GTA IV has a 100 on metacritic? Nothing's that perfect. Think of the best movie you've seen in recent years. Pan's Labyrinth? 98. Tarantino's Opus, Pulp Fiction? 94. The Oscar Juggernaut that was Return of the King? 94. Schindler's List? 93. Think about the best games of the past 3 years. Super Mario Galaxy got a 97. The Ayn Rand Epic, Bioshock? 96. Call of Duty 4? 94. Apparently GTA IV is better than any of them. But when you consider that it has noticeable flaws to a casual gamer like me, I start to question what might have gone on in the review session. Sometimes it's even counter intuitively obvious, like in the GamesRadar Review, where they note that the game's not flawless, and then proceed to give it a flawless score of 100/100. Excuse me?

Questionable practices aside, what infuriates me even more is the assumptions that some sites make about the people who come to them hoping for information. This is what put the what the fuck in this post. As in, Is this what the fuck these guys think their constituency is solely interested in? I'm done with IGN, and it's sister site Gamespy. It's not that they showed this stuff, as EA says every time I boot up Madden, it's in the game. But it's not the ONLY thing in the game, and you couldn't tell that by watching that video. It's only gonna cause more problems down the road, more so than the game itself would make.

Rant aside, I think GTA IV is a good game, and if you like any of the previous installments in the series, you'll love this one.

Computer, Hello, Computer?

Well, my 4 year old laptop finally kicked the bucket. It was so sudden. I was sitting there, when all of a sudden it stopped registering the power cable, and the battery just drained. For a little while, it recovered, then started flashing between power and no power with shocking speed. It was a bit lit Schroedinger's CPU, stuck in a quantum state of both fucked and unfucked. That is, until I had the sheer audacity to try and check my E-Mail, then the whole thing went to shit. It's a shame, because I had some interesting stories about this weekend involving clubs, liquor, Jeff, trains, buses, zombies, hailstones, and lesbians. We'll see how much I can remember once the new computer comes in.