Virtual Flaneurism

No, it's just Chuck Testa.

:(

"Remembering that I’ll be dead soon is the most important tool I’ve ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything — all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure - these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart."

- Steve Jobs

This guy was in Bridesmaids, which I saw last night. Was crying in the theater, I was laughing so hard. GO SEE IT.

Today is the 21st anniversary of Jim Henson's death. A sad day for kids and adults everywhere.

I realize that this will mean very little to most people, but I was just very sad to hear that Diana Wynne Jones, one of my favorite authors as a child, died today. Her Chrestomanci series shaped my youth in a nerdy, wonderful way, and I know that I will pass her books onto my kids one day.

For everyone else, she is the author behind Howl's Moving Castle, Eight Days of Luke, and Darklord of Derkholm.

Do with this what you will.

What a sad, wonderful little song...

Finally, someone who shares my love for bird corpses.

I haven't posted an online game in a while, mainly because the majority of them lose my interest after about ten seconds, but I feel compelled to direct you to TOTAL JERKFACE.

The premise of the game is simple - ride your character's bike/Segway/shopping card/wheel chair to the goal. Oh, and try not to explode into a sea of blood.

My favorite character is irresponsible dad (less at left). I appreciate that his emotional distance allows him to watch the stage dice his child like so much butchered meat and keep on keeping on toward our goal.

This reminds me of a story:

As a sophomore in college, my friends and I understandably played a lot of video games. We were young, greasy and had a deeper relationship with the hidden pornography folder on our laptops than any living being.

One week our attention was absorbed by a wonderful game called Burnout. Burnout is a series of car racing games known not for their main schtick but a mini-game of sorts included with each release. This mini-game involved hurtling one of Burnout's racing cars into an intersection or heavy traffic in an attempt to create the most expensive car accident possible. It was sadistic and absolutely addictive.

We tune back in at the weekend, when my roommate invited over a friend and the three of us set about playing, virtual Christian Crusaders storming Jerusalem, if the Crusades is an acceptable metaphor for ramming race cars into mini-vans, tankers and school buses. We were knee-deep in mashed cars when my roommate asked his friend where he'd been that week -- apparently he'd missed a handful of classes.

"Oh, I had to go back home for a few days," the friend said, mashing the buttons and not taking his eyes from the television screen. "Funeral."

My roommate and I gave our apologies, and he asked who died.

"Friend from high school," the friend continued, still playing. We asked how he died.

"Car accident."

It was about that moment that Burnout lost our interest.