The little things that kill (me)

Wrongness.

I don't know who's heard about this, but the idea that fast-food companies, or indeed ANY company that develops a game solely to advertise their product is just plain evil.

And I'm not talking about the sort of evil that's kinda evil, but still fairly cool. You know, like selling your soul to the devil for cool powers. Or selling your soul for some hot demoness lovin'. Or Nale hitting on Haley in the OOTS comic. All good stuff, if a bit evil.

No, advergames are a type of evil that's more in tune with like say, building a wall out of people. Or cooking kittens. Or watching Desperate Housewives. You know, the irredeemable kind. (Ok, I might be able to forgive the first two.)

I might ask who in their right minds would buy such a game, but we all know the answer to that one. And, let's face it. They are only $4.00 US a pop. Will this be a trend for the future?

Sometimes, I wake up screaming.

As if that wasn't enough, another thing has been bugging me lately. Last Friday, there was an event that I may have objected to. Every once in a while, our college undergrads (and some graduates) sell their "services" for charity. On the surface, it seems like a good idea. Some people in college are undeniably talented, and their services would be in great demand. Who wouldn't want the services of a talented pastry chef for a day? A artist to paint one's portrait? A computer technician to reverse the damage done to one's computer after downloading bales and bales of pornography? Indeed, such a thing would have been laudable.

The "slaves" however (their words, not mine), would be performing more mundane tasks, such as washing dishes, doing laundry etc.

Their "skills" were advertised in a different way.

To this date, I have no idea what dancing around in one's ginch has to do with one's dish doing ability.

I did point out that I though such a thing might be inappropriate, since it is in a college common area and very sexuallized. I also couldn't help pointing out that if there had been any women 'sold' in this event (instead of just men), we might have been able to build some new student accommodations with the number of bricks that would have been shitted. I therefore questioned the wisdom of having such an event in its current location.

A few things were said in response.

"You're such a prude!"
"It's all for charity!"
"There just going to wash dishes and stuff."
"Where's your college spirit?"
"Throwing around that dry-ice filled pop-bottle might not be such a good idea." *Explosion* "Oh shit! Campus Security! Run fucker! RUN!"

Ok, That last one might have been from something else. But I hope my point has been made.

So, I must ask you, the reader. Do I have a point here? Or am I simply nuts, and will have to accept the presence of Sergeant Skidmark on the way to my beloved MCR watering hole?

The Beav knows too much...

Well, the beards coming along. It'll probably need a few more weeks before it starts feeling like a part of me.

Haven't been up to too much lately. I was kinda hoping to be working right now, but that hasn't been in the cards. Thus my list of accomplishments is somewhat small:

1. Grew a beard
2. Became a Pastafarian
3. Maybe played one or two video games
4. Eluded the Man

Just watched Grizzly Man, which is a interesting documentary on a documentary. It couldn't just be a plain old documentary, cause the guy who made it was eaten by a bear. Of course, Treadwell spent every summer for 13 years with grizzly bears, and for 12 of those he didn't get eaten. Which is pretty good in my book. In any event, it's an amazing movie, and really does show why someone would consider rejecting civilization for the "bear" world.

It reminds me of a time when I was perhaps too curious for my own good.

It happened not too long ago, in an English Pub not far from here. Granted, if you are Canadian, you might say that all English Pubs are not far from Cambridge, given that England is a relatively small country. Fine, smart ass.

Anyway, it was a rowing event, and I was talking to boaties (rowers), both past and present. So I taking to (not chatting up) a female ex-rower.

"So what do you do in Cambridge?" I ask.

"Well, I work as an analyst." She replied.

"An analyst? What do you analyze?"

"Nothing. It's sorta boring."

"Well, I was in computing for a while, it's gotta be more interesting than that."

"Well, I analyze information for MI5. So what do you do again?"

"Wait, MI5, Like the intelligence agency? That's not boring! That's freaking cool!"

"Nah, it's really boring. What do you do again? Something with computers?" She was really trying to change the topic, and looking uncomfortable.

"I do things to books. It's lame. Tell me about your job again!" I had a couple pints of enthusiasm in me at this point, and was choosing to ignore the clear signals.

"Look, I can't talk about it." As this point, I get a look. It's a proper "Fuck off. I already told you it's boring work. Leave it alone, or I'll hurt you" look.

At this point I'm a bit scared, and I'm looking around for the ninja/sniper who's going to take me out. "Ok." I meekly slink off to get another pint, and to talk to people who might not hurt me.

In any event, I heard later on that if one expresses too much interest in the work of an intelligence agent, they may have to write up a contact report. I'd like to think there's a report about me that's sitting in a filing cabinet in MI5 headquarters. And I think it might go something like this:


Subject Name: Kevin Sporns

Nationality: Dutch?

Reason for report: Being a dick in a pub. And now I have to write this stupid report.

Threat Level: Banana

The most important decision a man ever makes...

Of course, if I could grow something like this, my decision would have been easy.


I think the decision to have a beard or not is a damn important one. More important than voting, religion, and the decision to go to war combined. But alas, there is no forum for the important decision, and no easy answer.

Mine is a true dilemma, as I have both a baby face (i'm 28, and still get ID'd) and my beard comes in patchy. The lesser of 2 evils was always a goatee, confining my facial hair growth to the strongest region of my face. Of course, this was unacceptable to the Wife, and since the Wife and I have a number of mutual defense pacts and very strong trade relations, the Wife has quite a bit of influence with the council of elders that govern the sovereign nation of the Beav. Thus, until recently, I have been a clean-shaven sissy boy.

However, of late there has been another proposal that the Wife has been pushing. A full beard. Yup, it's either a full on, patchy beard, or nothing at all.

So here I am. About day 6, and the beards a bit - well, not that great. I was hoping the Wife would cave in, and ask me to shave it off, but she loves it. She has continued to produce apple turnovers, as per our trade agreement, so diplomatic options that will remove the beard are limited.

I think the beard's here to stay. I'm hoping that with time, the length of the beard will compensate for the lack of follicle activity in the border regions, which is the same vain hope that leads to terrible comb-overs.

Alternatively, a strong resolution from the international community may sway opinions of either the Wife or myself.

I'll try to get a picture, if anyone has strong opinions.

Slumberland

Well, still in limbo right now, but I'm taking the net's wisdom, and planning on working on an artsy project. I can't tell you what it is (its still in the concept stage). What I can tell you is that I will be hunting down others to assist me in various ways. Sorry to be nebulous, but, hey, that's me.

I'm also still on the job search, but not progressing the way I want it to. Damn you Wind Waker with your varied and addictive gameplay!

On a side note, I've been sleeping a lot. First: some background. I have l337 sleeping skillz. Therefore, my dreams are pretty in depth.



I dream in colour.
People sing songs in my dreams. I can sing them later, when I wake up.
There are plots, and sub-plots.
I feel pain in my dreams.
I sometimes dream lucidly, but not all the time.
I have a re-occuring dream about high school. I'd really, really like to stop having that one.

Oh, and by the way: The whole "If you die in your dream, you die in real life" is BS. I die all the time in my dreams. Sometimes, my dream starts out that way.

When I was sick, my dreams were pretty awful. One dream had me buried alive under a pile of writhing worms. In another dream, I was Sparticus, and was being tortured to death. Not fun.

Lately, my dreams have been better. One of my latest had me as a jet-pack racing champion. Score!

On a side note, some dreams have been um, how do I say, more "interesting" in nature. I must admit, I'm a bit surprised at some of the women my subconcious trucks out for my dreamscape adventures. Let's just say the ol' brain can surprise me from time to time. Ok, maybe I'm being a bit vague. Sometimes it's the wife, sometimes it's someone else. Women. Not relatives.

Thank you for paying attention for this long. As a reward, please enjoy this clip of Borat teaching Texans how to sing a Anti-Semitic country song. What a guy.