Marc
On Whiskey, THPS4, Madden2003, and Not Really Doing Anything At All Yet Feeling As If You're Actually Being Productive ***1***
I am not a small boy. Indeed, I never have been. As far as I can tell it's in the gene pool. Dad's not small. Both grandfathers are not small. Uncles (at least bloodwise), aunts, cousins (minus one), all are not small. That's why I have decided to attack one of my weak spots, beer. I will be reducing my consumption from roughly ten or so on weekend nights, and three to four a few times a week, to hopefully only a fraction of that. From here on out it's whiskey, and lots of it. There are multiple reasons for the switch, none of which you might actually want to read about ***2***. So, there you go. Less calories. Maybe a bit more of a headache, but, to me, it's totally worth it.
Video games, though, are a completely different story. I'll admit it straight out, roommate Luke bought Tony Hawk 4 this weekend, and I have not done much else ever since. We've still got one level left to open, but that's primarily because we've been spending our hard-earned cash on secret players and special moves, and other stupid stuff that we know isn't any good for us. And, what's worse is the fact that we're actually getting nervous about the game. Like, omigosh omigosh ... do that trick! .. Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! - type nervousness accompanied by jumping and screaming and high-fiving and carrying-on-about-the-apartment much to the chagrin of our one female roommate, who has basically no idea why this is fun to us ***3***. Trying to explain it to her is futile. We simply concentrate on the tasks at hand, going in three turn shifts, and lending support and help to one another during the long, arduous process. Unlike the way we operate during our Madden2003 season.
Luke is the guy that I've told you about that never loses, because he cheats, and this is why I hate him. But, lately, the tables have turned. After losing the first two games of our (now) fourth franchise year, I have gone on a four-game tear, and am currently tied for the division lead with the Minnesota Vikings. Luke, unfortunately for him but fortunately for me, is suffering from severe bouts of I only do three plays-itis which, apparently, both the computer and myself and our other roommate have picked up on, and it feels good. He loses, and you can see it in his eyes, and it makes you feel good, because, let's face it, he cheats at the game by trading for players like Michael Vick, who's good, but not good enough to be in the top of the rushing yards category in the entire NFL cause he's a quarterback, not a running back. But when Luke plays with him he only does three things: (1) runs a Goal-line offensive set-up and does a naked bootleg for twenty yards almost every time because the computer's got too many men stacked up on the line ***5***; (2) the Vick roll-out pass to this receiver named Ogden who is only in his second year, yet he's already made the Pro Bowl once, and caught more touchdowns last year through this one play (which Luke runs all the time) than anyone else in the league; and (3) a bomb to Randy Moss because he's way too overrated in any Madden game, ever.
It boggles my mind that I can even write all this, because I realize how nerdy and out-of-touch with reality this all makes me sound. Trust me, I've thought long and hard about it, but I can't believe that things like these video games piss me off so much, and make me so nervous and excited, and whatnot. I wish I could stop, but I can't. And for this, I feel shameful ***6***
***1*** which could be one reason why, for instance, I feel so swamped each and every week. I put it all off, and off, and off.
***2*** but, if you are that sick and twisted, here they are: (1) It's easier to carry as I am the recipient of a brand new flask with my name engraved on it from being in that wedding last weekend. It fits into the back pocket quite nicely, and if it's timed out correctly I can do a good flask full before I ever actually go anywhere, so I won't even need a refill as the night rolls on; (2) I have discovered, much to my delight, that I pee much much less while drinking whiskey than I do while drinking beer. In fact, I didn't pee once last night until we got home at three in the morning (after the turn back of the clocks), which is quite astonishing considering that we left the apartment at nine o'clock (pre-clock turnback). That's a bladder, folks; (3) Bowel movements are much easier to handle the next day. Enough said, I think; (4) Kills bacteria, or so I've heard, and as I've had a cold for over a week now, I'm up on the bacteria killing tip. I feel grr-reat!; (5) Less calories, which is what the rest of the essay was supposed to say, but hey, I don't mind blowing the gun if you don't.
***3*** THPS and I go back a long way, which I'm having trouble explaining to her, but I know you'll understand, so hear it is: I basically credit this established game with saving me from sheer boredom during Christmas 1999 when roommate Luke, who at the time was known as Tattoo Luke, let me borow THPS1, which at the time was simply known as THPS ***4***, from the beginning of December to almost mid-January. Everyone in my apartment, at the time, took off for break except for myself and the new guy, who I barely knew as he had literally moved in the day everyone else went home. Either way, he was only there for about a week before he took off, too, leaving me friendless and alone in Bloomington-Normal. My job forced me to stay, and my little brother had stolen my old bedroom, so I was trapped. But, luckily for me, I had THPS1 to see me through those very lonely times. By the time everyone returned home I was primed for any competitor that dared show his/her face, and I whooped them all. My basic routine was this -- wake, THPS1, eat, work, THPS1, sleep, repeat. In retrospect, I rather enjoyed myself, though I didn't realize it at the time. Bonding time with a guy better known as me.
***4*** kind of like during World War II when people referred to the Great War as World War I. No one knew during the Great War that it would be followed up twenty years later by another one, right? So, hopefully, you see my point.
***5*** which is his new play, which he just started to instigate after his two-game losing streak, which he used to win by scoring 54 points in a single game the very next outing. Complete bullshit.
***6*** yet not shame-filled enough to not write about it, which should tell you something about my internal make-up. Damn. I'm a geek.
On Whiskey, THPS4, Madden2003, and Not Really Doing Anything At All Yet Feeling As If You're Actually Being Productive ***1***
I am not a small boy. Indeed, I never have been. As far as I can tell it's in the gene pool. Dad's not small. Both grandfathers are not small. Uncles (at least bloodwise), aunts, cousins (minus one), all are not small. That's why I have decided to attack one of my weak spots, beer. I will be reducing my consumption from roughly ten or so on weekend nights, and three to four a few times a week, to hopefully only a fraction of that. From here on out it's whiskey, and lots of it. There are multiple reasons for the switch, none of which you might actually want to read about ***2***. So, there you go. Less calories. Maybe a bit more of a headache, but, to me, it's totally worth it.
Video games, though, are a completely different story. I'll admit it straight out, roommate Luke bought Tony Hawk 4 this weekend, and I have not done much else ever since. We've still got one level left to open, but that's primarily because we've been spending our hard-earned cash on secret players and special moves, and other stupid stuff that we know isn't any good for us. And, what's worse is the fact that we're actually getting nervous about the game. Like, omigosh omigosh ... do that trick! .. Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! - type nervousness accompanied by jumping and screaming and high-fiving and carrying-on-about-the-apartment much to the chagrin of our one female roommate, who has basically no idea why this is fun to us ***3***. Trying to explain it to her is futile. We simply concentrate on the tasks at hand, going in three turn shifts, and lending support and help to one another during the long, arduous process. Unlike the way we operate during our Madden2003 season.
Luke is the guy that I've told you about that never loses, because he cheats, and this is why I hate him. But, lately, the tables have turned. After losing the first two games of our (now) fourth franchise year, I have gone on a four-game tear, and am currently tied for the division lead with the Minnesota Vikings. Luke, unfortunately for him but fortunately for me, is suffering from severe bouts of I only do three plays-itis which, apparently, both the computer and myself and our other roommate have picked up on, and it feels good. He loses, and you can see it in his eyes, and it makes you feel good, because, let's face it, he cheats at the game by trading for players like Michael Vick, who's good, but not good enough to be in the top of the rushing yards category in the entire NFL cause he's a quarterback, not a running back. But when Luke plays with him he only does three things: (1) runs a Goal-line offensive set-up and does a naked bootleg for twenty yards almost every time because the computer's got too many men stacked up on the line ***5***; (2) the Vick roll-out pass to this receiver named Ogden who is only in his second year, yet he's already made the Pro Bowl once, and caught more touchdowns last year through this one play (which Luke runs all the time) than anyone else in the league; and (3) a bomb to Randy Moss because he's way too overrated in any Madden game, ever.
It boggles my mind that I can even write all this, because I realize how nerdy and out-of-touch with reality this all makes me sound. Trust me, I've thought long and hard about it, but I can't believe that things like these video games piss me off so much, and make me so nervous and excited, and whatnot. I wish I could stop, but I can't. And for this, I feel shameful ***6***
***1*** which could be one reason why, for instance, I feel so swamped each and every week. I put it all off, and off, and off.
***2*** but, if you are that sick and twisted, here they are: (1) It's easier to carry as I am the recipient of a brand new flask with my name engraved on it from being in that wedding last weekend. It fits into the back pocket quite nicely, and if it's timed out correctly I can do a good flask full before I ever actually go anywhere, so I won't even need a refill as the night rolls on; (2) I have discovered, much to my delight, that I pee much much less while drinking whiskey than I do while drinking beer. In fact, I didn't pee once last night until we got home at three in the morning (after the turn back of the clocks), which is quite astonishing considering that we left the apartment at nine o'clock (pre-clock turnback). That's a bladder, folks; (3) Bowel movements are much easier to handle the next day. Enough said, I think; (4) Kills bacteria, or so I've heard, and as I've had a cold for over a week now, I'm up on the bacteria killing tip. I feel grr-reat!; (5) Less calories, which is what the rest of the essay was supposed to say, but hey, I don't mind blowing the gun if you don't.
***3*** THPS and I go back a long way, which I'm having trouble explaining to her, but I know you'll understand, so hear it is: I basically credit this established game with saving me from sheer boredom during Christmas 1999 when roommate Luke, who at the time was known as Tattoo Luke, let me borow THPS1, which at the time was simply known as THPS ***4***, from the beginning of December to almost mid-January. Everyone in my apartment, at the time, took off for break except for myself and the new guy, who I barely knew as he had literally moved in the day everyone else went home. Either way, he was only there for about a week before he took off, too, leaving me friendless and alone in Bloomington-Normal. My job forced me to stay, and my little brother had stolen my old bedroom, so I was trapped. But, luckily for me, I had THPS1 to see me through those very lonely times. By the time everyone returned home I was primed for any competitor that dared show his/her face, and I whooped them all. My basic routine was this -- wake, THPS1, eat, work, THPS1, sleep, repeat. In retrospect, I rather enjoyed myself, though I didn't realize it at the time. Bonding time with a guy better known as me.
***4*** kind of like during World War II when people referred to the Great War as World War I. No one knew during the Great War that it would be followed up twenty years later by another one, right? So, hopefully, you see my point.
***5*** which is his new play, which he just started to instigate after his two-game losing streak, which he used to win by scoring 54 points in a single game the very next outing. Complete bullshit.
***6*** yet not shame-filled enough to not write about it, which should tell you something about my internal make-up. Damn. I'm a geek.
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