People go on and on about Halo 2 and Kingdom Hearts and whatever video game is the most recent and flashy. But my passion lies back in a golden age, a time of 8- and 16-bit games on the Nintendo and Super Nintendo consoles. Fortunately, there are fabulous little applications that allow me to play these classic gems such as Mega Man, Star Ocean, Earthbound, Super Star Kirby, and, of course, Super Mario Bros. Yes, the graphics are pixelated and rough, and you don't have the same complex control combinations to master, but the sheer gameplay is just so durned FUN it more than makes up for all the rest.

...No, I'm a man, and I believe in the promised land.
~Bruce Springsteen, "The Promised Land"

Thursday is not usually my kind of day. I have lots to do, and I tend to sleep in so I have to rush to get ready and never really get a chance to catch my breath, or actually wake up.

Today, however, I opened my eyes, and the sun was shining, and a smile crossed my face. I rolled around a bit to get comfy, and just lay there for a while. Then the phone rang, so I got up to answer, and it was Laura, calling to wish me a happy anniversary (our fourth month) and a happy birthday, cause I'M 18!!! WHAT!!! ^_^

It is a good day.

Tunes: "Prisoner of Society," The Living End (iTMS); "Minority," Green Day (iTMS); "F*ct Up Kid," Mest (iTMS); "New York City," They Might Be Giants (iTMS).

Hunter S. Thompson wasn't just a brilliantly talented writer, and especially not just a man. He wasn't more than a man, or less, but something else entirely, measured on a completely different scale. My friend Tim introduced me to Thompson's work several years ago, and it has since captivated me. I had reached the point where he'd achieved a certain level of immortality in my mind. If he'd beaten the odds and lived this long after all the drugs and violence and insanity, then nothing could bring him down.

I respected (and still respect) him greatly, as a writer, as a pioneer, and as an example to everyone who wants to live their life by coloring outside the lines.

All the best on this, your next adventure.

OK, I know that it's mid-February, and we're already a week into Lent, but I'm slow on the uptake, so bear with me. THESE TWO CHRISTMAS ALBUMS ROCK.

1. Barenaked For The Holidays by The Barenaked Ladies. If you know this band at all, you can see how their totally unselfconscious lack of dignity and pervasive sense of humor would create such a marvelous collection as this. I simply can't say enough good things about this. No matter which winter holidy you celebrate, you'll find yourself drawn into these catchy, beautiful songs.

2. Relient Christmas by Relient K. Everything from the covers, straight-up punked up renditions of classics like Angels We Have Heard On High to a cappella harmonies on Auld Lang Syne, to the originals, pure seasonal parody with Santa Claus Is Thumbing To Town and tearjerking loneliness on I Hate Xmas Parties, and everything in between, such as the distorted version of The Twelve Days of Xmas (What's a partridge? And what's a pear tree? / Well I don't know so please don't ask me / But I can bet those are terrible gifts to give). This band is a rare example of Christian punk done right. Check it out.

Thank you. We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.
*insert slow, mournful music here*

Not that I'd been really considering it, but Bob Jones U is not the place for me. Rules like this, I wouldn't even step foot on campus before being expelled. Although it IS somewhat amsuing to envision pushing those boundaries... "No, sir, I was not using my computer's DVD player to watch R-rated movies, I was using it to illegally pirate them and then view them off of my hard drive."

Tunes (special dedications to BJU): "mOBSCENE," Marilyn Manson (iTMS); "American Jesus," Bad Religion (iTMS).

My sister makes WICKED good chili.

Indistinct memories fade in and out, flashbacks to a time of pure physical release. A dark room, packed with people, all thrashing and flailing about in the waves of aural stimulus that bathe them in its vibration. Standing on a level only a couple feet above the floor, the perpatrators of this cacophony abuse their instruments for all they're worth, seemingly unaware that they hold a mob of people in their thrall. Impossibly, the noise grows even louder, the dials go up to 11, and everyone in the room finds their escape. Release. Joy.

Ways NOT to make sure you start your day well:

-Wake up from the pain of a knotted muscle in your shoulder.
-Read excerpts from the works of Franz Kafka right before bed the night before, ensuring very bizarre dreams.
-Realize that of all the things you have to do today, none of them are things that you would choose over a swift blow to the gut.
-Get a psychosomatic headache from thinking about all the downers you're facing.

Other appropriate factors include grey cloudy skies and dark, depressing rock music.

Once again, I give tribute to Nick Hornby.

"It's no wonder we're all in such a mess, is it? We're like Tom Hanks in Big. Little boys and girls trapped in adult bodies and forced to get on with it. And it's much worse in real life, because it's not just snogging and bunk beds, is it? There's all this as well."
High Fidelity

The man's a genius.