Just a Day in the Life

As some of you surely know by now, I’m a frequent contributor to www.techcircuit.net (I’m even listed on the Staff page, woot woot).  I was just bored, considering it’s 6:30 and I have nothing else to do (and even if I had friends, they wouldn’t be awake right now anyway), so I started rereading some of my old articles.  Man…I’m kind of terrible at everything.

I know I was “hired” to write about literally whatever I wanted, thus explaining my overly-opinionated pieces there, but sometimes I kind of want to smack myself in the head and point out how bitchy I sound.  Seriously, there are numerous pieces I wrote in regards to games I quite like, and they all make it sound like I hate them.  Maybe I focus on the cons too much, or simply fail to mention the pros.  Probably says something about my state of mind.

Regardless, if you guys like sites like kotaku, you should probably go follow us or sign up for the newsletter or whatever.  I could always use a few more readers.

In other news…

Well, I have no other news.  This is literally all I do, all day, every day.  I should probably get back to working on that book at some point.

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Oldie but a Goodie

I forgot this thing existed.  I wrote it almost three years ago as an entry into a story that had to be under 500 words, so I went ahead and made mine 499.  You may notice I was heavily influenced by Fallout at the time.

Enjoy.

The two of them looked at one another with desperation, each hoping the other had a solution to their current dilemma: their food supply was depleted. They’d been in the shelter for weeks, but in the solitude of the cold, damp shelter, dimly lit only by a single lamp in the center, there was no way to distinguish the end of one day and the beginning of another. After two days of deprivation, they decided to go above ground, casting one final glance toward the bodies of their long-dead parents before exiting the shaft.

It took some effort to open the outer hatch, but once outside, they encountered a sight not previously imaginable. What was once a city was now reduced to rubble, the once-tall buildings now collapsed, some still aflame and illuminating the smoke overhead which was blocking out all signs of the sky. The children made their way over the giant concrete boulders and steel beams for over a day, spotting no signs of life, food, or water. With all hopes of survival abandoned, they soon found a restful area in the form of an office building, the undercarriage of the shattered desks providing the tiniest bit of security, which was more than either of them had felt in this past month.

She awoke before her sibling, and, fearful of leaving her new dwelling, threw a small stone at her brother’s desk. His head shot out immediately, his face gray from his concrete pillows. Wordlessly, she pointed out and over her desk. The boy arose and took her hand, leading her out to where she claimed she heard something move. Desperate for food, he grabbed a small, sharp rock and clutched it firmly in his hand, but quickly froze in place as the sounds came again. Together, they listened as something on the other side of the rubble mountain clambered down the side in what seemed to be a hurry, followed by a low growl, silence, and then—

Crrrack!

They both jumped at the sound, and decided to sneak to the top and have a peek. Upon cresting the hill, they were met with yet another horrifying sight, though this was much more revolting. Three men were sitting in a circle around what was clearly a human corpse, feasting on the raw, dead flesh like rabid beasts. Occasionally, one of them would finish a piece and dismember another section of the body, helping themselves to seconds. The group soon realized they had company, one of whom moved toward the children in a very threatening manner. The boy, panicked, threw his rock at the man, who them fell and tumbled back down the face of the hill, blood pouring from an open wound in his face. The others stared blankly at the boy for a moment, then moved to feast upon the freshly deceased man.

The children soon joined, and after having eaten their fill, informed their new friends that they knew the location of two more bodies.

Review: Django Unchained

Dear Django Unchained,

There’s so much I can say about you. I loved you, I was fully engrossed throughout all two hours and forty-five minutes of your run time, and found the script to be wholly original and exciting. That’s not to say you were without your share of faults, however.

As stated, the run time of the film was just under three hours. Though I enjoyed the movie immensely, some parts did seem to drag for no apparent reason (the twenty minute trek through the wilderness to get to DiCaprio’s house, for example). Tarantino’s love of displaying text on-screen can also be distracting, as it was when “MISSISSIPPI” crawled across the screen for what felt like an eternity.

And while we’re on the subject of Mr. Tarantino, what the hell kind of cameo was that? We all know you insist on being in your own movies and we’ve come to accept it, but this one was by far the worst part of the whole film. Your chubby ass popped up out of nowhere as if to surprise the audience, but I was merely annoyed. Your presence completely removed me from my immersion in the story and forced me to shift uncomfortably until you went away. And what the hell was that accent? You made yourself sound like some sort of autistic Australian cowboy and apparently found it good enough to leave in the movie. Just stop, seriously.  I’ll be a happier man if you keep making good movies and I never see your real face again.

In summation, good movie. Great movie, actually. Jamie Foxx, Christoph Waltz and Leonardo DiCaprio all did fantastic jobs, and the screenplay certainly deserved the Oscar bestowed upon it. Go see it. Just…close your eyes when the director shoves his stupid ass onto the screen. You can open them again when you hear gunshots.

Sincerely,
Lose some weight and stop thinking of yourself as an actor, Quentin.

Review: Argo

Dear Argo,

Oh, where to begin…overall, I enjoyed you. I wouldn’t exactly call you Best Picture material, but you held my interest fairly well. The real problem, however, stems from the line that opens the film: “based on a true story.”

It’s always nice to do a movie based on some weird occurrence from a few years back, but it also limits your storytelling ability – at least, if you actually plan to follow the real-life story, which is frighteningly uncommon these days. Thankfully it appears Mr. Affleck had every intention of sticking true to the facts as much as possible, but this was sadly his biggest challenge. There was no climax, there was very little actual plot development after the first ten minutes or so, and I never even learned the names of the six people that were the focus of the entire movie. How can I possibly care about their well-being if I don’t feel connected to them in any way?

In summation, not a bad movie. The acting was superb (Affleck’s character at the airport front desk was memorably jarring, despite it being a very fleeting moment), the script stayed true to form, and Alan Alda was hilarious as usual. I just have a hard time seeing past the complete lack of any ups and downs for the characters whose names I still don’t remember.

Sincerely,
Call each other by name more often so I can feel bad for you later.

Silly Shit

I posted something on the ol’ Facebook the other day that generated a lot of amusement for me. Feel free to click the link if you want to see the original post, it’s in there somewhere.
Til then, I’m going to waste a huge chunk of my time today writing some more of these.

My favorite thing is Metal Gear
To me it is immensely dear
I love the wealth of such necessary stealth
But I also love murdering the ever-loving shit out of every enemy I see, because screw those guys

Pearls are just oyster shit
Formed slowly, bit by bit
Then we throw them onto some stupid girl who
Doesn’t realize we just gave her a ball of shit for her birthday

There once was a dog named Cat
He barked at the drop of a hat
Until one day when the snow plow came
And he got ran over while he was frolicking in the snow like a jackass.

Puberty is a man’s best friend
Not dogs, as your mom may contend
It makes you grow hair in a place way down there
Until you realize bitches don’t like that, so it’s just one more place to shave after that.

The dinner I made was great
My girlfriend left a nice, empty plate
She doesn’t do the dishes, despite my gentle wishes
That woman seriously treats me like shit, I’m done cooking for her.

A crow once flew into my room
Sure that he would not meet his doom
He stood proudly above the bed I so love
So I beat him to death with a shoe before he shat on my pillows.

The clouds above were gray
It was sure to rain this day
I quickly ran home and remained all alone
And then it never rained because weather is stupid like that.

I used to play baseball
Until I took a big fall
The sound was well heard as I slid into third
And promptly shattered both of my wrists because the coach never taught me how to slide properly.

I’ll probably write more of these at some point in my life. I’ve started thinking them up with nearly every word I see or hear. Feel free to join in, or hell, give me a word to work from.

Til next time.

The Hotel – Potential Intro

I will begin with my story.

My name is Jonathan Michael Walsh. I am currently fifty-seven years of age, which has become more evident as of late with the sudden appearance of gray hairs. My wife, Cheryl, has gotten endless amusement from their growth, constantly reminding me of my newfound status as an “elderly man” by today’s standards.

I am the owner of the Fleur de Champagne Hotel in Riverside, Massachusetts. It came to me through my inheritance seventeen years ago when my parents took their leave of this world in an unfortunate accident, which I will not go into detail about just yet. Since their untimely departure, I have maintained this facility to the best of my abilities, always keeping the place exactly as they had left it. It was entrusted to me for a reason; I dare not shame their memories by running their home into the ground through reckless negligence.

The hotel itself is a marvelous place, built somewhat precariously on the bluffs overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. For this reason alone our business thrives, attracting all sorts of beach goers, water athletes, and your run-of-the-mill vacationers or honeymooners. As grateful as I am for this fortunate life, it can be rather repetitious. Each day my alarm sounds at precisely 6:05 am and is greeted with my waiting palm. Over the years I had grown an immunity to sleep, more often than not finding myself awakening from my nightly slumber before the terrible clock can work its magic. Nevertheless, I refuse to rise before it plays its vile tune, choosing instead to wait for the scheduled time to begin my day.

My day starts how I imagine it does for millions of others. I stand up, stretch, brush my teeth, take a shower, and get dressed. My wardrobe consists entirely of monochromatic clothing as is necessary for the job that awaits me downstairs. As I straighten my tie and fasten my watch, I always make sure to give my sleeping beauty a soft peck on the forehead. Cheryl, unlike me, has absolutely no trouble sleeping.

I make my way through the kitchen to retrieve my daily dose of black caffeine, greeting the few employees I see as I go. My Executive Chef, Ms. Melanie Chance, had been working with my family for twelve years now and I could not be happier with her performance. She was masterful in the kitchen, a skill which I always silently envied, never having learned for myself how to make anything more than buttered toast. She was also a dear friend of Cheryl’s, the two of them frequently coordinating to take their lunches and dinners simultaneously to share the daily gossip with one another. Ms. Chance was a remarkably bright woman for her age, if I may say so myself, and I often wondered where she had come to obtain such otherworldly wisdom.

My shoes clicked and clacked against the tiled floors as I progressed to the front desk. It was one of my favorite sounds in the world, making this ten second walk one of my favorite parts of the day.

“Hello my dear!”

“Mister Walsh, good morning!” Emily replied, her perfectly white teeth beaming at me. She sat at the front desk with a book discretely hidden from any passing guests, much to my delight.

“How are you, sweetie?” I set my mug atop the wood and began cleaning my glasses, yet another tiny fragment of my daily routine.

“I’m just wonderful, Mister Walsh. I just got to chapter twelve here, and I think Lucy’s about to shoot her husband!”

“Yes, well, ah, suppose you’ll just have to pick it up tomorrow,” I said with a nod. She rose from her chair and returned the book to my waiting hands before politely saying her farewell for the day. As sweet as she was, her naivety often mirrored that of the dumb blonde stereotype. Perhaps she was the reason such stereotypes endure, I mused. Regardless of my feelings towards her level of intelligence, it was still admirable that she was managing to work her way through college here as opposed to some seedy gentlemen’s club, and I was glad to have her as a member of my team.

The Hotel

“Hello there, friends! My name is John, I’m the hotel manager. What can I do for you today?”

This is how I began every meeting in my life for the last seventeen years, the only variation being whether or not I pluralize ‘friend.’ The guests always come shambling in with their bags in tow, each of them drowning in their miseries. Sure, some came with families and were nothing but smiles, but I knew the truth. It was all a facade, a mask. Their true faces would be revealed in time, of that I was certain. How could I be so sure, you ask? Well, the answer is simple.

Because I’m going to rip that mask from their faces and tear it to shreds.

Cruel? Perhaps. I’ve heard that word before and it may be applicable. But if that is cruel, then that is the kind of man I am. The only mask I wear is this one, right here in the lobby. I meet and greet with an absurb amount of politeness, all in the name of good manners and sociability. These men and women, however, never seem to show their true selves, constantly hiding in plain sight, long-since overcome with the fear or rejection.

I am here to remedy that. I will tear down that wall and let the world see the real you. Your fear will become evident, palpable. Your vulnerabilities will burst forth and control you. And when it’s all over, the world will judge you for it.

And you know what? They’ll love you for it. Every person that meets the real you will be caught in a trance, amazed at your level of openness, wishing they could be more like you.

“I wasn’t always like this,” you’ll say. “No, it was the Hotel Champaign de Fleur. Something happened there…”

They’ll come to me then. They’ll come in droves, flocking to my humble abode and filling my rooms with their expectations, all without knowing what it is they’re even waiting for. But I will show them, in time. I will give them everything they never knew they wanted and more.

And though the world may love you for it after I’m done, you will undoubtedly, undeniably, unequivocally hate me.

Good Morning

Just as I came into the bare streets at last
I saw before me a shadow, a whisper, a fleeting of the light
It flickered as it moved, dancing in the rain
Gracefully shimmering through each lonely drop as they fell from the heavens
I was enraptured, ensnared, my being somehow enhanced
It felt as though it spoke to me, told me its secrets
We were one, together, existing only for that single moment
As it taught me the meaning of my own life, my purpose
It left abruptly and I felt empty, a void growing deep inside me
What once was mine was now a memory
Already distant as each second ticked away
The thought of the end approaching at last
Should I be happy? Sad? Perhaps something more
The love of my life is over again
Rewind, move forward, it is all the same
Powerless over its grasp, I know it to be futile to fight
I cherish our brief tango, short as it may have been, until my dying breath
Until life begins anew as the sun brightens the horizon

Consideration and Work Ethic

I’m currently contemplating entering the as-yet-untitled zombie book for Amazon’s Breakthrough Novel Award despite the fact that it’s less than halfway done and the deadline for entry is January 27th.  This would require me to write roughly 2,500 words per day for the next ten days AND have all of my required editing and formatting complete.

I’m going to try my hardest.  Even if I don’t finish it in time, it’ll certainly move things along for this book rather quickly.  The real question is, do I have the perseverance to work that much on something that may ultimately (and in all likelihood WILL) fail?

I suppose we’ll find out together.

In other news, my other short is still available for free for another 26 hours.  Grab your copy here:

http://www.amazon.com/From-the-Hollow-ebook/dp/B00AY7A0KO/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1358202643&sr=8-2&keywords=from+the+hollow