holy sweet jesus batman.
P4 at 5.25 GHz
with liquid nitrogen cooling.
December 30, 2003
December 29, 2003
so, my uncle is visiting from the States, and heaven forbid he sleep in a motel, so he's been staying in my room.
as such, I've been sharing a bed with my brother; it's giant, and I cling to the edge anyway, so that's fine.
he has this weird habit of leaving his radio on to Z95.3, just loud enough to make out the words. as much as I'd like to roll over and turn it off, he's in the way, and gets quite... well, bitchy when one does so.
because of this I had one of the wackiest dreams I've had in a good long time, so wacky that you could turn it into a flash game.
A freak EMP has dissolved the brains of bad music-loving people listening to bad music. They've turned into zombies and need proper music-loving brains to survive.
You are the owner of a particularly bitchin' record store. Also you have a band.
Wave after wave of zombies heads towards your store, each repulsed by a different type of music. You can tell which type because there's a clue given by their dress/attitude/mumbling (in the dream, I just knew). You can either drop a record, or play a cover.
To drop a record: you have to find it before the zombies eat your band.
To play a cover: choose from a list of 5, and then think Parappa the Rapper; you have to hit certain keys as they come up.
If you drop the right record/play the right cover, they dissolve. If not, they get one step (of three) closer to devouring a customer. When you run out of customers, they start on your bandmates. When it's down to you, game over.
As levels go on, zombies become harder to kill, until you meet the final boss: the RIAA. or some record company exec. whatever.
in conclusion: I'm crazy, and Z95.3 doesn't help.
addendum: at the beginning of your game, choose your anality level. Lower means your records are disorganized but you have more customers. higher means more organization, less customers. At the highest level, your records are perfectly alphabetical by band, chronological by release, but you have no customers.
Posted by Gerald at 10:21
December 27, 2003
I want to be able to take things at face value.
Surrey frustrates me.
Delta angers me.
Even after 6 months, Vancouver is home; not where I sleep, but where I live.
I miss looking out my window and seeing trees along the sidewalk.
I miss the 41.
I miss a lot of things I'll never have again, lost and inconsequential, but mourned nonetheless.
This place, with its pink walls and dingy grey carpet, footsteps heard through the ceiling and lemurs in the bedrooms, seems to inspire a full-body ennui; as if any and all fun was sucked out of it, viciously and constantly.
and I can't leave.
I have to be the supportive one; the one who keeps it all together (or appears to) as things shudder, twist and ultimately change.
If you're reading this and being all confused because this isn't like me, know that I'm just as puzzled. I know that I'll pick up and move on, eventually; it's the waiting that's the tough bit.
Do I use too many semicolons?
music: Blur - Music is My Radar
Posted by Gerald at 00:45
December 24, 2003
December 23, 2003
I've noticed that the ad up top changes to advertise to whatever I've been writing about lately.
I've also noticed that Google seems to be giving me an awful lot of blank space.
Posted by Gerald at 09:18
December 21, 2003
December 18, 2003
December 17, 2003
return of the king was fucking awesome.
go find out for yourself, if you haven't already.
props to naf for getting a geek crew together.
monday was the first day I'd set foot in Vancouver in a week, which was bizarre.
I want a still of the shot of Gandalf sitting in Minas Tirith, not moving, where he's all in white, and the walls are white, and he's sitting in deep thought (or sorrow).
Jaw-droppingly well composed shot.
house of brown.
Mountain Madness did not kill me.
or cause stomach pains.
Posted by Gerald at 16:24
December 14, 2003
"It's the moments that illuminate it, though. The times you don't see when you're having them... they make the rest of it matter."
-Neil Gaiman's Death
My life so far has been filled with moments; passing fragments of time and space, which can be relived but not rewound, cradled but not clenched. Castles of sand on the beach of my memory.
I'd try and make as many of them as I could in my last 48 hours, both for me and for my loved ones.
If I'm off to the Intergalactic Council of Poopy, then I'm going to need them.
If I'm dead, then those who will have known me will be needing them.
Grab a shovel and bucket, or just use your hands: there's moments to be made, and not much time to do it in.
Posted by Gerald at 01:09
December 13, 2003
December 08, 2003
answer the following, please. I think my comments box has a word limit, so you might have to stop at #10 and then post a second comment.
1. Give me a nickname and explain why you picked it.
2. Am I lovable?
3. How long have you known me?
4. When and how did we first meet?
5. What was your first impression?
6. Do you still think that way about me now?
7. What do you think my weakness is?
8. Do you think I'll get married?
9. What makes me happy?
10. What makes me sad?
11. What reminds you of me?
12. If you could give me anything what would it be?
13. How well do you know me?
14. When's the last time you saw me?
15. Ever wanted to tell me something but couldn't?
16. Do you think I could kill someone?
17. Describe me in one word.
18. Do you think our friendship is getting stronger/weaker/or staying the same?
19. Do you feel that you could talk to me about anything and I would listen?
20. Are you going to put this on your livejournal and see what I say about you?
Posted by Gerald at 21:25
December 07, 2003
I'm staring at my hands.
Examining the tracery of lines and creases that my skin assumes when my hands are clenched.
Knowing that the moment I stop, the thought begins. The endless reexamination. Where I shouldn't have said something, or walked away, or simply let it roll off my back. The words held back, things I meant and didn't say, things I said and didn't mean.
I'm sitting in one of the countless sushi joints in Kerrisdale, across from the only person who sees through my projected calm to the stormy seas beneath.
He looks at me, a question in his eyes. I catch his glance; motion for him to finish his thought.
"No. You'd probably kick me for asking."
"And this is different from any other question, how?"
"Fine. Why do you bother? I mean, if none of it makes sense to you, then why carry on with the rituals and the restrictions and the rest of it?"
The waitress arrives, bearing beef teriyaki for him, vegetable tempura for me. Silence from both ends, teenaged boys too deeply enveloped in the material to discuss matters of the spiritual.
Halfway through, he steals a piece of squash, then motions at his bowl. "Did you want some?"
Usually, this is a joke - endless mockery as a hallmark of the friendship we share. Today, it's a loaded question.
Usually, I glare at him, and the question is answered. Today, I take a moment to think.
Too long, it seems. He inhales the rest, saving me from answering the question.
We finish, pay, leave.
On our walk back to the school, he taps me on the shoulder. "Were you actually considering it, or were you just leading me on?"
I look at him.
"That's what I thought. Assclown. See you in biology."
We part ways.
I haven't answered the question.
Posted by Gerald at 19:41
December 05, 2003
December 03, 2003
Sarah C. now has a blog.
for those of you keeping track, that's three blogs and one pair of headphones.
maybe I should just move into drugs.
I need to organize an expedition to my subconcious.
tonight's dream: we move to Louisiana, and I end up at LSU. not just me, though - I seem to remember Loewen, Vanessa, Graham, Collins&Costa, that annoying loud girl from Theatre 150, and possibly Spencer.
no, wait, Spencer was eaten by an alligator, and we held a wake.
I spent most of said dream stumbling through the Theatre Department's writing classes; most notably "Effective Playwriting through Hallucinogens", and some class where I had to cover for Loewen's absence and then got locked in the trap room, which was full of zombified monarchy.
The Queen Mother and I had tea, although she had to restrain King George multiple times; he wanted my brains.
and then I woke up.
Posted by Gerald at 09:09
December 02, 2003
You are water. You're not really organic; you're
neither acidic nor basic, yet you're an acid
and a base at the same time. You're strong
willed and opinionated, but relaxed and ready
to flow. So while you often seem worthless,
without you, everything would just not work.
People should definitely drink more of you
Which Biological Molecule Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
Posted by Gerald at 22:13