윤

(Cf. crazy fucking chink.)That Ducati on my wishlist? Too scared to ride it now.

Before:

Now:

Latest blood test says mine have doubled in the past two years, which somewhat corresponds to the increase in the difference between my calories consumed and spent running. Crossing into borderline ought to motivate me to get out more, because I’m determined not to change my diet. Whatever awaits me in the great beyond, it’s unlikely to come with physical pleasures, so I might as well indulge myself now. Witnessing firsthand 老婆’s 阿嬤 make the rest of her family grow sick of salmon so she can keep watching TV and taking naps indefinitely has taught me to live not only without fearing death, but so that when it does come—and it will—it won’t come as a relief to everyone. Besides, what’s living without the freedom to be treated to the occasional meat cake topped with mice?

Thing I’m surely missing from running lately, which I hope to rectify with my recent shoe upgrade, are the flights of fancy my mind’s allowed while only otherwise engaged in whatever autonomic function is required to keep my heart from exploding. (Well, that and my self-imposed health benefits.) News from Comic-Con is that All-Star Superman will be animated, though it beats me how they’re gonna fit all those wonderful stories onto an hour-and-a-half DVD. No, my concept for a Man-of-Tomorrow film to appease the Statler and Waldorf’s of the Internet would be teased opening with a crate full of weapons, handled by seedy African pirates or warlord’s henchmen. A wrinkled newspaper was packed inside, the headline exposing corporate corruption at the highest level—story, panning below it, by Clark Kent of the Daily Planet. The men arm themselves and begin a night-time raid on a poor village, and all looks bleak until they are engulfed in light. He has arrived, bringing with him all the powers of the sun, to this most remote part of the world, and makes quick work of a very different evil here, too. A little boy thanks him and he winks in return, then telescopically hears a woman cry for help thousands of miles away, and he’s off.

Funny how things turn out: the Stargate MMO never makes it, and STO lies unopened in my drawer. Story reminds me of Earth 2 (again), and I wonder how effective it’ll be in a persistent world, but I’m sold on Amazon’s pre-order bonus.

Sounds like a Betty & Veronica story title. Came across this entry from more than seven years ago while searching for anything I had written on the Outer Limits, whose draft I’ll get around to eventually, after I heap some praise on Christopher Nolan’s Inception. Alas, technology’s still not here yet for

[…] a personal trainer who’d holographically be visible only to the wearer of, say, specially-equipped Oakley Wires. She’d take the form of a busty Japanese idol, of course, run backwards at your pace and motivate you to improve it. Upgrades would allow her to sweat in kind. Problems I foresee include my legs buckling under the added weight, or tripping over it outright, and keeping an eye out for cross-traffic.

And the broken image:

…And yet the comicbook-geek in me cannot resist.

[Compare less favorably to hand-drawn representations.] Can’t tell if it’s Ryan Reynolds or Will Ferrell. Look, there’s a Thor movie coming out, too!

…And yet I don’t think the problem’s been solved. I could supply a dozen reasons why, from the inevitable uneven weight distribution to cramped quarters dictating one side swiveled over the other, but it’s more a matter of the conflict behind it sustaining itself. After all, would a ménage à trois really sort out Ginger v. Mary Ann? Regardless of your place in the dialectic, petulant Larry David-types like me need this to justify our natures—and distinguish them from everybody else’s. Like the cup analogy, some may see one, half-full or empty, and say, I’ll have what they’re having; I ask, what kind of person would leave it that way in the first place?

[Had this story tabbed for quite some time, so I thought I’d dispense with it.]

Idea I had with the advent of high definition was for a Metroid-like old-school platform-explorer that’d take advantage of those extra pixels and make each stop an enormous cavern, requiring far more than the usual flick of the X-ray visor to find the hidden missile target. Boss fights could be insane romp-arounds. Why must the push, in even 2-D remakes, always be for denser, more detailed models the same size as the low-res sprites we were once perfectly happy with? I think this every time I watch sports on TV, too: let me occasionally see the whole World Cup field and all the players in relation to one another on it, not just the fucking corporate sponsor logos more clearly! (One thing I admire about Taiwanese TV, they sure know how to get the most out of their real estate. Their news looks like a newspaper.) Why can’t one by-product of our big-screen generation be a greater sense of perspective? Okay, next.

Not sure what possessed 남재 to resurrect 진수’s classic, but thanks to DOSBox—and not my 200 MB Windows 3.11 HDD—we can all relive the rich fantasy world that developed (most likely out of necessity) during the mid-90’s between two often snowed-in houses in North Kingstown, Rhode Island.
Truly the greatest accomplishment in our family (which is not to take away from those of others, but mostly any less from it). If only I had taken that Ultima III construction set beyond making avatars of my friends on graph paper. At least there’d be evidence of who we were back then, too.