Thursday, August 28, 2008

The Fucking Man

People may wonder, even ask me, why I have decided to dedicate (at least temporarily) my entire internet existence to Guybrush Threepwood. It probably comes off as some unhealthy obsession, and will probably be frowned upon for its childishness. I could say that it was a running gag, or I could cite the fact that my previous facebook profile pic was decidedly misleading as to my sexual orientation, but none of these would be the truth. The truth is that Guybrush Threepwood is my favorite person ever.
Hear me out now, I've thought about this a lot (at least the last 5 minutes). Every obsession of mine in life has been a passing craze, or at least a recurring craze that jumps in and out of the forefront of my life (Dispatch). Monkey Island, however, has always been a source of joy for me. While I may not always be playing it, I have never found a moment in which I have thought of Monkey Island and not been wishing I was playing it. And at the center of my appreciation for the game series is my appreciation for its hero.
Let's bring this back to isolation. Because as we know, isolation is wonderful. Monkey Island is my ship in the middle of the ocean (get there, get there...). I've played enough of the games to know I fucking love them, but not tasted enough to have a wild imagination as to what lies ahead. To cut to the chase, Monkey Island is my idea of the afterlife. Because as we've established, heaven is boring. But being stuck in the world of Monkey Island (Shout-out! Bring the site back!) would be endlessly interesting.
Yes, it's a childish fantasy, but the only one I've been able to hold onto. The truth is, I have a bigger mancrush on Mancomb Fourpbranch's namesake than anyone else. John Chrichton may be alive, but so is Guybrush (Escape From Monkey Island), and Tom Morello doesn't even come close.
But yeah, moral of the story- Guybrush Threepwood is an endlessly enjoyable fellow, and there better be a Monkey Island 5. This blog has been limping as of late for personal reasons (mostly me actually having a life, unlike during the blogging prime of this past fall/winter), and I've been looking to give it purpose. Well, my heart tells ,me that a brief Guybrush Threepwood theme is in order. It's likely that none of you care to hear any more about him, but I can't ignore this inspiration. Hopefully I can breathe some enthusiasm back into this page.
As a first feel, here's the opening to "The Secret of Monkey Island":
It's frightening how emotional that music makes me.


So I was in a college interview the other day and the interviewer asked me to describe my writing style and its flaws. Little did he know how obsessed I was with the isolation theory, and I proceeded to bury him in a comprehensive psychoanalysis of myself. He had to sit down for a second, he got served so bad.

Tuesday, August 26, 2008


Hotel pools.


Food For Thought: The term "make love": Sweet and personal, or disgustingly cutesie? That one's been bugging me for years.

Saturday, August 16, 2008

OSK Don'ts

If you are OSK, do not-

Attempt to make lemonade from a can, for you will not understand that the label "12 fluid ounces" on the can is representative not of the quantity of the final, watered-down product, but rather of quantity of the uber-condensed lemonade syrup in the can. You will likely dump nearly all of this syrup into a small cup, barely water it down, and ingest what was meant to be a pitcer of lemonade in about 3 gulps, feeling morbidly sick soon thereafter.


Should be seeing me around here a little more often. Battalion Wars 2 is hard.

Saturday, August 02, 2008

Movie Review: Mamma Mia

Last Sunday, I was faced with an exasperating choice- I could either accompany my jailers on a shopping excursion, stay in my cell, or join a group going to see Mamma Mia, the Broadway musical now transformed into a theatrical movie release. I settled on Mamma Mia simply because of the company, and because shopping makes me want to shoot myself (one of my few pure masculine traits). Needless to say, I was expecting to not enjoy the experience in the least. Being someone who, for the most part is allergic to musical theater and also not particularly liking ABBA (No, I won’t go to the trouble of inserting symbols to make a backwards B. Deal.), I consider it a miracle that I enjoyed myself. Upon arriving at the theater, I was mortified to discover that I was paying $12 for my ticket. Surely this movie couldn’t be worth that. Had I known what I was getting myself into, I would have happily paid $30.
This movie is such a tremendous piece of shit. The acting is absolutely horrendous (Meryl Streep has lost any credibility she ever had. Actually, Amanda Seyfried, whom most of us haven't seen since Mean Girls, was suprisingly the only convincing actress in the movie), the singing is uninteresting, and the plot (this time the fault of the playwright and not the filmmakers) is laughably predictable and uninteresting.
What makes this movie such a phenomenal pleasure is the degree to which all of these flaws permeate the work. For example, there’s bad singing, and then there’s Pierce Brosnan’s singing. Sitting next to the “Sweet Ride” Enterprise shirt kid who played Brosnan’s part in a production of the musical, I was treated to a nitpick of all his singing flaws. No, nitpick is the wrong term. Brosnan attempted to sing so far out of his narrow range that he often sounded like he had a medically-induced speech impediment.
The movie’s other major shtick was the cut-and-paste nature of the songs and their music videos. Everytime anyone burst into song, it seemed to be the most awkward, inappropriate, unconvincing transitions ever conceived. The music videos which accompanied these were priceless, involving simpler choreography than we have in our high school musicals. The videos also constantly had the chorus emerging from the most ridiculous of locations, such as descending from rooftops or emerging from the ocean.
Keep in mind that this is all built around the flimsiest and most downright stupid plot that has hit the box office in a long time. I have never laughed so hard in my life. Ever. One of my companions called it “almost as good as ‘Snakes on a Plane’.” No exaggeration. Keep in mind that if you aren’t willing to experience something truly horrible and even second-hand embarrassing at times, you probably will not like this movie. Personally, it’s my new favorite. You think I’m kidding. I would rather watch this movie than Star Trek II, IV, VIII, Serenity, or anything else. Although I suppose it wouldn’t be the same without the troupe of chums I had who were all audibly mocking the shit out of the movie the entire time. After the movie concluded, a woman behind us came up and shook our hands, thanking us and saying “That was so bad, I wasn’t sure whether to watch the screen or you guys.”

I don’t usually rate in my reviews, but on a scale of 1 star to 5, Mamma Mia gets an “I want my penis in it.”


I’m bored, I think I’m going to go straighten my hair.