Amber Night (rebooted)

President Bush:

“I don’t think we’re headed to recession. But no question, we’re in a slowdown.”

Shit. We’re headed into a recession. And it’s gonna happen fast.

I for one am glad someone’s finally looking in to this.

A Beta invite to Warhammer Online.

A friend of mine got in. The conversation went something like this:

Me: So how is it?
Jerkface: It’s cool.
Me: Yeah? So tell me about it.
Jerkface: Can’t. NDA.
Me: Oh come on. It’s me!
Jerkface: You have a blog.
Me: Have you read my blog lately?
Jerkface: Sorry, I can’t break NDA.
Me: Jerkface.

Come on EA/Mythic. Don’t be a Jerkface!

From an otherwise interesting story on Gawker (who are the boss of Kotaku) :

Gawker Media’s gaming site Kotaku, says editor Brian Crecente, goes out of its way to stop boy’s-club coverage. Both sites have enjoyed years of rising traffic.

(emphasis mine.)

O RLY?

The above NSFW link (hint: it has boobs) brought to you by Mr. Crecente, two weeks after the Gawker story was published.

Update: Pensive Harpy has a little to say about it too.

My dad loves that song. Growing up, when I was at my unhappiest he’d say “cheer up punkin. This time next year we’ll all be drinkin’ free Bubble Up and eatin’ rainbow stew.”

The guy in the computer section of my local Borders is an odd fellow. He has cornered another customer and is proceeding to tell her all about his “Linux box,” how he has configured it to block spammers and IP addresses and stuff, all the while ignorant of the fact that he is scaring her. He is clearly off his meds. He is rambling and seemingly unaware of the reality around him. He thinks he is having a discussion with this woman, but it’s not a discussion. It’s a monologue.

She listens politely but nervously for awhile and then interrupts long enough to say she has to leave. The babbling man pays no heed, keeps talking, and follows her as she walks away.

I watch from the next aisle over. I could be that guy in a couple years. Eyes unfocused, hair mussed, rambling on about plot, the “rule of threes,” and dangling participles staring down at my shoes.

You spend a long time with someone. You get to know them. You get comfortable with them. You love them with all your heart but you stop going the extra mile to show them because you just don’t have the time. Then you stop even going the normal mile. You get to a point where you know you could be doing more, but you don’t. You think “I just need to get this project done and then I can patch things up,” and then another project comes along. And then another. He grows resentful, but he doesn’t show it. In fact, he flat out denies it, but you sorta know anyway. He doesn’t want to stand in the way, and besides, he’s got things going on too. You fool yourself into thinking things are cruising along fine, and the project is just about to wrap up. You even begin talking about a long weekend together, maybe a little jaunt down to Mexico or that Catalina trip you’ve talked about for months. And then something about Catalina reminds you of the next project you have coming up, and you forget to talk about Catalina. You start talking about the project and he smiles and then remembers something he has to do.

You fool yourself into thinking it’s all good, but you are genuinely surprised to learn that you lost him a long time ago, and that he’s just going through the motions until he figures it out himself. And then one day…he’s got it figured out.

There is a commotion up towards the front of the store. The woman is frightened and the man just keeps talking and following, blocking her with his body. He won’t look straight at her though. He looks at his shoes, the ceiling, and around her, but he won’t look her in the eyes.

And so the pleading begins. The “I can change” talk. The “let’s work it out” talk. The “I just need to wrap up a few things” talk. But he’s way ahead of you. This is not the “working on our relationship” talk, this is the “goodbye” talk. He’s decent enough, polite enough to give me the closure I’ll eventually need instead of just walking away, but this is not a conversation. This is a monologue. This is the formalities. It takes me weeks to figure that out. It takes an evening at Borders watching a crazy man to figure that out.

A large, imposing employee grabs the babbling man’s attention by…well, grabbing him. The woman uses the opportunity to run out into the night.

I’m babbling too, in a screamy sort of way. He doesn’t even have to dodge the half carat projectile headed his way because it bounces harmlessly off the wall not closest to him. I keep going on about the future, about working it out, about not giving up and for fuck’s sake will you please just stop and let me fix this? I think there’s a relationship left to fix, to make work, but there’s not. He keeps trying to explain this to me but I just don’t get it. I look everywhere for a solution, but I won’t look it in the eyes.

The employee detains the man long enough for the Police to arrive. From the chair next to the reference section I watch them ask the man to leave the store, and he does. I wonder what has happened to the woman. I hope she’ll be alright.

I ask him to leave…in a wet, hoarse, whispery get the fuck out sort of way, and he does. And it is well and truly over.

He has a mutual friend call me to make sure I’m alright. Everyone is worried about me. Everyone just wants to make sure I’m alright. Everyone has solutions. Everyone has advice. Sometimes I even solicit that advice, thinking that maybe there really might be some answers out there. I listen politely for as long as I’m able and then I try to get away.

Dad called this morning. “Just thought I’d say howdy and see how you’re doing.”

“Oh well…you know. I’m hanging in there.”

“Well cheer up punkin. This time next year we’ll all be drinkin’ free Bubble Up and eatin’ rainbow stew.”

“Yeah.”

§

p.s. Yes I’m alright, and no, I’m not going crazy or suicidal or (worst of all) emo. You can expect things to get a little more back to normal around here soon. I just needed to figure out how to get that out. I hope I haven’t embarassed myself too much.

Guitar Hero III is still fun.

Just a couple things:

- Dear god I want to live in the 70′s.
- Don’t give me too much crap about this. Real post on Monday, for reals this time.