If I had a quarter for every time I had one... I'd have about three-fitty.
I, as I so often like to do, spent much time in thought today. My careful deliberation of the world is sometimes skewed, but I try my best to keep an open mind to all that is the planet Earth. I try to gaze upon our world without malice or ill-will. Of this, I often fail.
Is it just me or have movies became exponentially worse over the last few years? For the last six months, there's been about two movies I'd even remotely wanted to go to, and by now they're both on DVD. It seems every movie coming out is the rehash of the same idea, same theme, or same jokes. Yes. We get it. Brokeback Mountain has homosexuals in it. They have sex in it. Get over it. By the way, they raised sheep in the movie, not beef cattle. Get the jokes right, assholes.
I suppose I'm greedy. I want something new and interesting to sink my teeth into. Thus, I've developed a newfound love for both eighties movies and anime. Berserk recently caught my eye, and I love every minute of it. Not necessarily for the gore (and Jesus-tap-dancing-Christ, Kentaro Miura was not shy of the gore), but for the plotline and the general atmosphere of the show and manga. It's not just typical shonen (boy's manga) hack'n'slash. And that's what makes it so damned good. Good enough for me to spring for the overpriced manga set out from Dark Horse, the Dreamcast game and the entire DVD boxset (on sale, naturally). Oh, and the action figures. No geekaloid collection is complete without action figures.
But I digress... My point is that the world seems to be running out of originality. Is it me? Am I getting old? Is this a sign of my coming-of-age, so to speak? Or is the world around me really becoming so copy and paste that it overlaps the the originality and replaces it with something mundane? I've only lived a fifth of a century, so I desperately hope this isn't the truth. Then again, we do tend to like things better as kids...
Then there was the anime convention... Yes, like a fool bedazzled by shiny beads or rocks, I went yet again to Sakura-con. This time, I was staff. This would have been fine, well, and dandy, except the hotel we were staying at sucked the balls of donkey, then a monkey, and then a large, hairy, sweaty newbie. Then I got sick. And oh man, did I ever get sick. Two and a half days I laid in that craphole of a swaying shanty they called a hotel with only Tylenol and a wet facecloth to alleviate my pain. But that's another article for another day in detail, methinks. What pisses me off most, however, is that my copy of Pokemon Colosseum, the Pokemon Colosseum collector's disc, my memory card along with ALL my Gamecube game data and two GBA-to-GC gamelink cables were stolen/lost.
Now, I can understand somewhat if someone stole these out of her hand while she wasn't looking or someone somehow ninja-crept into her hotel room and took that but nothing else, but losing them? Argh. Then lying to me about it, saying they had it? Argh˛. I'm starting to think I shouldn't make new friends anymore. Every damn time they find a way to let me down, then lie to me.
I don't know if I've mentioned this, but I live in the state of Montana. To give you an idea what it's like, the western part is the area with all the pretty Rocky Mountains, forests, and good stuff. I live in the south-eastern half. We have grass. Brown grass and hills. Not as bad as Wyoming, mind; Wyoming is about as interesting as my cat's vomit and almost the same color, save for Yellowstone. Driving across Montana is an exercise in boredom.
A lot of hicks live in Montana. Not the inbred slack-jawed kind you find in movies, but real ones. Hay-balers who drive 20 MPH in a 35 zone, or whose idea of driving is to run a red light "if no one is coming". Strictly speaking, it's like going out into a war zone just to get downtown on a weekend. To give you an impression of just how many there are, I've never seen the parking lot of the two local Hicks-Marts empty, even at midnight. Why do I call them that? Because that's where all the hicks shop.
But what Montana is really known for is our nutjobs. The Unabomber's cabin was in Montana. The Freeman were in Montana. And now, just recently, we had another asshole go off the handle. Some moron from Kalispell went to a "rave convention" (by the way, what the HELL is a "rave convention"? I think I've lost braincells just typing the words themselves) in Washington and shot like, seven people. Way to go asshole. Make us all look like crazy retards.
This article seems to be going nowhere, and I'm about as funny as a decapitated clown. But then again I was never very funny... Just good at pointing out the innate idiocy of items or people. Perhaps I ought to liven it? Make some jokes about Bush, alluding first our president then making a wise-crack ending about lesbians and the eating of carpet? Or perhaps pointing out just how freakin' cracktastic the anime Naruto is. Still yet, I could contribute the basic elements of a knock-knock joke only to fool my audience with a witty, well-written ending that will cause many chairs to tilt as the internet indeed "rofl"s.
But I won't.
Why, might you ask? Standards. Standards make me attempt to at least try to make my humor witty, if not inane and rambling as it is now. Inviting a poor joke unto my site is the same as inviting an STD unto my body. A painful, burning sensation when I urinate and possibly debilitating side effects. I'll make a crack about shitty Inu Yasha players, but I shan't lower myself to playing a dancing monkey for the nameless, faceless masses.
Or will I?
Perhaps the writing of this very article suggests I do in fact have no scruples and place any flaming bit of my random thought on the internet for a few viewers to gawk over before they move on. Am I a ham? Do I love the limelight? Do people regularly read and quote my work? Am I what is called a 'comedian'? Or am I merely amusing myself... deluding myself with the idea someone will read this? They say if you put it on the internet that someone eventually will find it and read it.
Am I obligated to be funny?
Maybe so. I have found that laughter is the key force that keeps a person coming back for more. Like a veal cow, it hobbles to feed on the sweet, delicious nectar of hilarity. I suppose to keep viewers, I must write. And to write, I must be funny. Or at least that's the theory I'm working with. I'm quite often prone to long, usually arrogant meanderings about any and everything I can think of at the time. Much like right now.
Why am I talking in broken paragraphs?
I really didn't know how to end this article, but this makes a good stopping point. Plus it makes it seem a bit more organized, doesn't it? This article was pointless. I have no sense of shame...