Gaming Reverie

All tooth complaints aside, I’m pretty brokenhearted over the horrible, horrible state of the Adventure Genre. I’ve been writing about adventure games for a good while now, and the market is changing from saturated-with-crap to saturated-with-nothing. At this point, it feels like only TellTale Games can save the genre. But of course, with more casual and episodic games being their forte, people will still need that Big Game. Maybe the legendary Ron Gilbert could save us. I don’t know, but I haven’t played anything fantastic since Grim Fandango, which was released something like a decade ago.

And… this is where I get up and clean the filthy, damp blackness that is mold that’s been invading my house. My lungs are feeling greasy. Good thing, though: the mold may not come back. I’m going to (attempt to) suck out all the moisture.

My maintenance guy came today with a dehumidifier, an object large and square and cold. I’m not sure where I’m going to put the huge thing, or if it’s something that can even be put — it’s far too unwieldy. So, for now, it’s just sitting in the middle of my apartment being loud and weird as I type.

Whirrr… burrr… whirrr… burrr….

On a lighter note, I’m quite happy with this trailer for the ridiculously titled Super Street Fighter II Turbo HD: Remix.

Oddly, its music paring has erased all relevancy and special memories of what I once deemed the “Karate Kid Anthem”. In two minutes, it just became, for me, Street Fighter Anthem.

Kinda weird how that happens.

Internet, Let Us Whine About Teeth. (Edit: Removed pretentious usage of Old English. For my own sanity.)

As mentioned before, I have a veritable tooth-sickness, and every day feels like dying and suffering. Clarification: This isn’t depression, this isn’t discontent. My life is grand. It’s pure physical, stressful illness. The pain from various tooth problems is steadily weakening my immune system, thus hampering any liveliness of the soul. Quite frankly, it’s fucking awful. I seriously feel too cold, too often.

This, friends, is the feeling of death in your throat.

I’ve had multiple root canals, and need more. I have neither the money or insurance to cover any. It kind of gets worse. See, I’m a neurotic. Like, big time. And when your tooth needs a root canal, said tooth feels pressure-sensitive. When it’s too late for one, you feel nothing. So here I am, worrisome me, letting cold water run on rotty teeth to make sure they’ll still be there.

Yes, I’m whining. Yes, my hygeine could’ve been better as a child. My soda intake alone was obscene. But truly, I just hope none of you feel like I do right now — sick and weak and cold.

I’ve received an ungodly deluge of spam the last few months. It pains me, all this excitement for could’ve-been comments snatched away.

Oddly, I only have been deleting spam on one of my posts — Pure T & A. Yeah, be careful with those cheap puns in your blog post title. It ain’t worth the wit.

And yes, I realize that I’m attracting a cavalcade of hideous spam-bots by mentioning the title again, but I don’t care, I’m ready. I’ve been fighting robots conceptually for years.

Bring it on.

I’ve been extremely anxious about the election, so I’ve decided to take up bathing. For the past three days, I’ve found a weird, new relief in sitting in a tub and reading John Fante. It’s beautiful. And I love him. Not romantically, it’s not like that. It’s an appreciative love. His writing is self-pitying, hilarious, and most importantly, it has nothing to do with the election. I can see where that old dog Bukowski (famous for calling Fante “his God”) learned his tricks.

And let me tell you about the bathing: it’s divine. I’ll lay back reading for an hour or so, I’ll think simple, mindless thoughts. I’ll have very few worries.

But this is a problem. The worries I do have are extremely petty. See, as I’m pining over, say, the water that seeped through a quarter of a page, I should be much more worried about the percolation of my laziness into the normally-productive part of my day.

And now that I think about it (I’ve never thought of it before), I feel displaced about that fact that I take baths. I’m not ready for the role, it’s not me. I’m 27 and now, suddenly, I take baths. I’m not sure if I can handle a Facebook or MySpace profile with “enjoys bathing” sticking out like a beacon. I’m not ready for the bathing community. The bath parties. The bathhouses. The bath snobs. The knitting-circle housewives that shun me for not including Epsom-salts during my Tuesday baths. The expensive shampoo. The oils. Oh! the oils! The herbs.

Hmm. Y’know, those showers aren’t so bad.

{And for all parties interested, I’l be playing LittleBigPlanet and will be playing LittleBigPlanet exclusively for at least a few more decades.}