Look, I’m busy. I’ve got an event this weekend that I have to drive to directly from my test for high brown belt, and I haven’t practiced my break at all. Not to mention the backlog of video games I haven’t attended to. Go bother your mother.

MOON
“the chooser, the romantic”

You are gifted in turning difficult situations into positive events. You are a romantic who doesn’t wish to be decieved or deluded by others– you have little tolerance for self-deception or – illusion. You are often placed in a position where you must make a choice between two very different things (this is represented by all the different pairs depicted on the card). You are a tester of old patterns– the honey-moon is over and now it’s time to deal with the reality that has set in. You have a deep love for harmony and wish to regain it. The jackals in the card represent your inability to tolerate delusion, illusion, and deception in yourself or in others. You are gifted in spotting lies.

which major arcana of the thoth tarot deck are you? short, with pictures and detailed results

brought to you by Quizilla Link from Keiko’s archives.

Despite my complete ignorance of their deadlines, Gamegrene was kind enough to post my second article. I’ve learned some things since then, and probably would have written more had I not wanted to meet that deadline, but there it is nonetheless.

Yeah, I’m a big nerd, but I’m not alone. All you slashdot hipster-geeks out there, ph34r the OG(M).

Not to be a punk, but I’m going to have to disagree with Keiko here and pan King Arthur straight away. I don’t know every version of the legend, but I’m pretty sure none of them involved Guinevere’s exposed midriff. Don’t get me wrong, this is the most fortunate mistake on film. I will likely not be able to miss the tribal-painted, scantily-clad Keira Knightley festival that large portions of the movie will no doubt feature, but it’s about as accurate as the ill-conceived theatrical release of I, Robot*.

* More on this in another entry…if you’re lucky.

And on the subject of Ms. Knightley, those of you with minds for romance and comedy intermingled will find nothing to dislike about Love Actually. Incredibly, it earns the glaringly overstated title of “the ULTIMATE romantic comedy!” emblazoned on its cover. It is at this point unrivaled in its genre. Trust me, I’m a connoisseur.

And despite the inferences one could make from this particular entry, I don’t get all rubbery over Keira Knightley. She’s a remarkable beauty to be certain, but I have not yet seen anything exceptional in her performances. Unlike my next subject, the talented and altogether lovely Kate Beckinsale, who has received my attention before.

However slowly, Ms. Beckinsale descends my list of actors due recognition. Whether from Hollywood pressure, through her agent, or through some fascination with vanity attributed only to herself, she has chosen roles fit for less skilled actresses in favor of wearing tight latex. All well and good, but rumours now exist that she has gone so far as to spoil her exquisitely unique beauty with cosmetic surgery. Should this turn out to be true, then no amount of Van Helsing ass-kicking and Hugh Jackman co-starring will save her from spiraling down in my esteem for her. How many vampires must one actress play to prove she can be sexy in a goth kind of way?**

When this condemnation reaches her, she will no doubt be distraught, but I am firm in my resolve on this issue. Fun is fun, but do not allow yourself to lose sight of what makes an actor more than the sum of their silicon. Call me, Kate, and we can discuss this like rational adults. No sense begging outside my window, fetching a position as that may be. It didn’t work for Pamela Anderson and it won’t work you, you brunette Barbie-wannabe.

** There’s a koan for you. And it rhymes and has nice meter.

I’ve had my second brush with the realism of the war in Iraq. A friend of a friend of a brother of Most-Honoured Girlfriend is a soldier in the USMC. He shipped off last weekend and as a send-off, he asked if we could all get together and play LAN games at the good ol’ iColiseum*.

I could not think of an easier or more pleasant way to support our troops than that. I thought he might be a little uncomfortable playing Battlefield: Vietnam and the like. After all, the situation in Iraq is now being compared to Vietnam, but Iraq’s really nothing like this (Boing Boing gave this to Czelticgirl gave it to me).

And seeing as war won’t be just a simulation for him much longer I thought it might bring up apprehension he was trying to avoid for the evening, but he seemed in good spirits when all was through.

Come home safe, Matt, and thank you.

* – this is a better plug for you, Patrick. And I’m happy to do it. ;)

Bjorn and I are likely candidates for live-action Pacman. In fact, I can’t imagine it existing and our not partaking. It’s like our clones live in New York or something.

No, you’re not invited. But if we get the Minibosses play our gig, you can carry their shit if they’ll let you.

Er…anyone know what Linus is doing? Someone needs to watch that boy every minute, I swear.

A couple of Jesus-y links for you today:

Action figures for major world religions. If you need to be sold lookie here for more.

Thanks to Tim McKee for the big laugh of the day.

My glasses finally arrived today. To explain the upheaval and wanton destruction these particular spectacles caused in my home life would be so raw it would actually get me banned from the internet. But let me just say, Weezer had better find a new gig. I look so emo, they call me Philips.

Word around the web production department is that I look very “techie” now. I hope that’s a good thing.

Lately, my mantra has been “Just rain already” on a number of different days.

For one, I truly enjoy rain. Hard thunderstorming rain that feels like pebbles exploding on your shoulders. Plump, ponderous drops the size of softballs that drench you almost instantly. Mist that chaps your skin, but gives you that dank basement feeling when you strip off your clothes and climb into a dry bed. Rain can make my day.

Plus, when it’s raining, I feel like I’m in a worldwide sensory deprivation tank. Driving in the rain with no music you can’t hear anything but the dull thumps of drops on the roof and windshield. Outside, the colors of the world are muted in the sun’s absence and even the smell of the air is one pallatable constant. Meditation on days like that just happens naturally.

But, when it hasn’t started raining, the pressure systems the preceding weather produces cause such unreasonable pain in my sinuses that I have difficulty enjoying the downpour when it breaks. As my mind is immersed in such things, I sometimes consider it my superpower, being hypersensitive to changes in meteorological patterns; however, it’s the dumbest superpower ever.

Not simply because it causes pain. I could live with limited precognition at the cost of migraines. No, it is a stupid power because the pain it causes only reminds me how I am mortal and at the whim of the world. I feel almost like Cassandra, powerless to change the future of which I am so urgently aware.

“Just rain already…”

From the always impressive leptard, whose blog I discovered through…aw, take a guess. Not my fault that she’s the hub of the meme-iverse.

1. Grab the nearest CD.
2. Put it in your CD-Player (or start your mp3-player, I-tunes, etc.).
3. Skip to Song 3 (or load the 3rd song in your 3rd playlist)
4. Post the first verse in your journal along with these instructions. Don?t name the band, nor the album-title.

You walked all over, in your blunderstones
In your own road movie, with your one armed man
Gonna make it to the problem page
Trouble-shoot your life
Gonna make it to the problem page
Need some time and space
Just to find yourself.

I kind of wish I could post the chorus as that’s the part that attracts me to the song, but rules are rules and I am nothing if not a complete thrall to the edicts of others. Thank you, leptard, for revealing to me what meaningless rotes my days amount to. I think my newly discovered Nietzchean outlook equates to you owing me a beer when you get to the states.

p.s. only kidding.

p.p.s. except for the beer part.