Redoing the site template, so forgive any missing stuff.

20 games that changed gaming forever. This features all the usual suspects, but it’s still a pretty nice concise list, and I enjoyed the nostalgia. After reading this I am struck with a deep need to pull out the ol’ console and boot up Mario 64. The game was damn near perfect when it came out.

I remember being awestruck over not having to stick to the set path of a platform game. I could run over here! Or over there! Get a couple of stars here, go get a few more there, do some thinking, some jumping.. it had something for everyone. The addition of hidden bonuses and extra stars, I think, helped herald in the current era of game achievements.

And I say all this that despite the fact that the racing penguin is my eternal nemesis. ONE DAY I WILL HAVE THE ADVANTAGE, RACING PENGUIN.
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Earlier this week a friend argued that the red leather jacket from Thriller is the most iconic music-related clothing ever, and I had a tough time coming up with a counter-argument. The closest thing I could think of was MC Hammer’s pants. So I suppose a link to MJ’s fashion legacy is in order. The glove(s) and epaulets industry will never be the same.

Also despite my angry rantings and impatience with the deification of celebrities, it really must be said that Billie Jean is a pretty perfect five minutes of pop music. I’m only human…

… but not human enough, I fear, to avoid linking to ismichaeljacksonazombieyet.com.
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I know this carnivore support group sign is making the rounds across the internets, but that’s because it’s damned funny. (Vegan-curious?!?! Give me a break.)
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Starting to realize that I’m getting old. There is a certain point after which you have to stop saying perkily, “30 is the new 20, you know!”

Famous people dying makes me irrationally angry. I should say up front that it’s not the fault of the famous person themselves. They didn’t want to die, and it doesn’t matter who you are or what you did.. it’s unfortunate, and the world is slightly less interesting with every person who leaves it.

But as I look at my Twitter, with Michael Jackson news interspersed with snippets from the streets of Iran and news stories of Kim Jong-il talking about bombing Alaska and I just don’t even know what to feel. There’s no Twitter rush to cover someone who dies during protests in another country (unless they’re a pretty girl). People in my office don’t start tearing up and hugging each other because another Somalian died in a turf war, or a Dad in the midwest dropped dead of a heart attack.

CNN didn’t do a bulletin blast when my Mom died. No one cared. And you know what? She was a better person than Michael Jackson. And yes, I feel qualified to say that.

So fuck you CNN. Fuck you Twitter, fuck you fucking western society fuckers. I’m sitting at my desk crying like an idiot, but it’s not for the famous names we lost today. It’s for those people who work and live and love and be good honest wonderful people and die, and no one makes a sound. Someone should cry for them.

I’m tired and cranky today, so a link dump:

The NYT reports that there is an exodus from blogging because it is not, apparently, making people rich or famous. Imagine that. (I was going to link to the article, but NYT has a stupid free login system thing and they can STUFF IT IN A SACK.) Pith and Vinegar is 10 years old this year — oh my god — and I feel right on track with its development as I am neither rich nor famous. I’m not even internet famous.

I will say that much like one woman stated in the article, a popular weblog can be a bit overwhelming. At its height Pith was getting thousands of visitors, was mentioned in magazines and the radio, and .. it freaked me out. That’s a lot of pressure, real or perceived, to produce content every day, and with a large following it’s easy to start reigning yourself in and try to appeal to the widest audience.

Today I post whenever I want. I write on whatever I want. And no one reads it. It’s truly delightful.
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I’m reading Pride and Prejudice and Zombies right now (poor Charlotte Lucas), but it does not hold a candle in the weird department to The Haunted Vagina. “It’s difficult to love a woman whose vagina is a gateway to the world of the dead…” Really. Of particular note is the outstanding comment that this book “gives me hopes for my own writing career!” Mmmmmmmmmmm, pass!
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Rick’s Custom Squirrels. Wall-mounted squirrels with the GI Joe toy accessories of your choice. I wonder if he’d make one with a kitty wig…
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Really had the urge to properly write something again lately, but every time I sit down and stare at the text editor I just go blank. Maybe I should sojourn in a cabin until the woods fill me with peace and self-understanding and then I will start to write my great novel (or book of dumb personal essays) until one day hillbillies stumble across the cabin and kill me and possibly eat my body. I’m pretty sure that’s how this artistic process works.