Tag Archives: dying

The New American Dream

22 Mar 2009

For a long time the neighborhood in which I am currently occupying was ran by a board of directors consisting of annoying and bothersome old people who felt the need to intervene on everyone’s decisions as to the appearance of the property that they, most of the time, actually owned. It’s a fascinating thing, the American Dream, you search for it and when you finally obtain the very thing that you had been seeking you immediately find ways and excuses to project your ‘sensible’ notions on why every house should be a boring gray with white curtains and fretting over cats walking across your lawn.   Now, when I refer to the American Dream, I’m talking about a family, a retirement, a nice house or condo in a quiet neighborhood and, with any luck, a white picket fence.   Maybe a chance to grow old and sit on your lawn and lazily yell at young people to get the hell off said lawn and quit drawing penises on your lawn gnomes with a sharpie.  These notions of the ideal existence were what was shoved down the throats of suckers during the, what I lovingly call, the ‘old days,’ which roughly consists of all the time prior to the date I was born.  The thing was, in chasing the American Dream, most people were broken, or didn’t like what they had built up to turning into a royal hassle, or didn’t like what they became in the process.

This article is about those people, because, somehow, this neighborhood is a net for those kinds of people.   Those from the older generations that may have tasted the American Dream, and then… lost it.   This neighborhood, with it’s ugly gray condos stacked uniformly with it’s ugly bushes and ugly walls that reek of plainness as it seems to me, has always looked like the kind of place place that the old go… not to retire, but to linger through the last of their days till they keel over and die.   I know, I know… that sounds terrible.   Think about it this way, most of these people are already dead on the inside!  You say that doesn’t make you feel better?   Well, I guess you can’t please everyone. My point is that they very boring, very old, and very nosy people have managed to keep this neighborhood safe from most of the problems of the Orlando sprawl simply by it’s intrinsic nature.   The moment some kinds wandered in the cops were tipped off right away, the moment someone yelled, cops called.  Pretty much if you were making more noise than it takes to knit, you had the cops called on you.   This is good for me, in a way, because I make hardly any noise at all.   This bad for, say, any college kids that want to throw a party or anyone selling drugs out of their houses.

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The Joy of Statistics, Logistics and … Platypi

13 Mar 2009

This site, well, doesn’t get many comments.   Page views seem fairly high though, and I suppose that tells me that at least someone is reading this nonsense, and that’s really good enough for me.   As Huxley states every now and then in the rotating quotes on the right, obscurity can only be cultivated in the dark.   Or at least something to that effect.

When I first created this site, it was much like… say, a rebound relationship.   My last website broke my heart, cut me to the bone, and made me want to pick up an acoustic guitar and write the world’s billionth love song.   So this was the first thing I made.   At first I wanted to name it Platitudes.com, for the precise reason that, unless I’m being extremely lazy in my writing, I sort of go out of my way to avoid platitudes.   You could even say that it was intended to be ironic which would have been sure to tickle the funny bones of any Gen-Xer that happened to be reading this.   As a side note to that, I  once cracked wise that the best way to get money out of those idiots is to just call things what they are, they seem to think saying something is what it is in a really droll voice makes it cutting and clever.  Ironic.  My brilliant idea was to make Gen-X clothing.   Hats that said, in small text ‘hat.’   Shoes that were in fact labeled ‘Shoe Brand Shoes.’   Expensive t-shirts that said ‘T-Shirt.’   You get the idea.  Of course, I couldn’t get the website name I wanted which sort of irritated me, so I got the Warden on Ventrilo along with another friend of mine in an attempt to coax a new name out of them since my first choice was taken.

Being the super useful Co-Admin he is the Warden cracked wise that Platitudes sounded a lot like, Platypuses.  You know, the ugly poisonous duckbeasts from that wasteland of humanity known as Australia, where everything is poisonous and will kill your ass.  Especially the music, Jet sucks.  So, the suggestion was to name the site, I shit you not… PlatitudePlatypus.com.   While not only is this a stupid suggestion, against my better judgment I said, ‘dude, who would think of something like that?’   Little did I realize that this is the damn internet.  It’s not a matter of who would think of something like that, it’s a matter of when. So I did a google search for ‘platitude.’  This lead me to an article on uncyclopedia.  What’s that you see in the right hand corner upon viewing the page?   A FUCKING PLATYPUS SPEAKING PLATITUDES!

Sometimes, I swear that god only decides to exist to mock me.

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Of Guild Wars, Platitudes, and the American Ninja

09 Mar 2009

Platitudes.   Everyone speaks them, few understand how utterly obnoxious they can be.   Rewind to a few months ago, I was on my ventrilo server (as in my, I own it) with my guild mates from Guild Wars.   Allow me to sort of explain that, the Guild Wars thing I mean.   You see, I purchased Guild Wars a long time ago, actually about four years ago when it first came out for the PC.  I was looking for an RPG to play online with my friends that wasn’t an MMO.   Since Guild Wars is a co-operative role playing game and not a persistent world MMO, I thought I would enjoy it.   Little did I know the horrors that awaited me.   Little did I know…

Let me plant a visual in your head to sort of describe the game play experience I’ve had while playing Guild Wars.    You see, Guild Wars allows you to play solo, by bringing AI henchmen.    You can’t solo a god damn thing unless you’re farming or vastly experienced, and the first expansion was so bug ridden you had to do some missions five times in a row in order to enchant each piece of your equipment, leading to annoyance and mostly rage.   The first six months I sort of struggled through Guild Wars was kind of like fighting that crazy asshole Mike Tyson in an electrified cage when he’s got boxing gloves that are actually spiked gauntlets and I’m armed only with a really soft pillow and armor made out of novelty plastic ears.   I chose a Warrior, because I always enjoy getting the Melee classes to do neat little tricks.   I decided to make my secondary class Elementalist.    So I’d be basically a Spellsword.   If you’ve played guild wars you know where this is going,  if you haven’t let me tell you something about that combination of classes… it only works in specialized circumstances, or when you know what the fuck you are doing.   Thankfully, I didn’t.   So I gleefully wandered around getting killed, the sheer variety of places I manged to get myself killed was really the only adventure I got to experience in my brave journey though Tyria.    Dead in a marsh.   Dead in a desert.   Dead in a magical flying castle.   Dead in a river.   Dead on a mountain summit.   Dead in river of molten lava, giving a dramatic thumbs up much like The Terminator.    Dead in a pristine field surrounded by bunnies, piggies and magical rainbows that reflect the innocence of a child’s dream playfully in the sky.     Dead along with my worthless, inept, AI controlled companions.

The face of uselessness.

If you decide to go on a magical quest to save the world armed only with good intentions and a heart for adventure and these are the faces you see when you go to town to assemble a party, for your safety and sanity’s sake, just turn around and go home.   Trust me.

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Random Quote

I hope we shall… crush in its birth the aristocracy of our moneyed corporations, which dare already to challenge our government to a trial of strength and bid defiance to the laws of our country.

— Thomas Jefferson, Written to George Logan, 1816