윤

Don’t remember a mini-game where you had be “finished off”, but maybe there ought to have been one.

[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.

Jailbreaking with Spirit was easy as pie, PdaNet worked so well I bought a license, but I just had to be greedy and try Martin’s Chinese solution to install api’s. Cookies in apps no longer saving—and no, the permission fix didn’t help—and some even stopped working altogether. So yeah, full restore with an old backup. (If I were more daring, I’d have tried the firmware downgrade at the time, because I’ll have to, eventually.) Next day I get back on the Itchy and Scratchy Land log ride for Marcelo’s cracked TV player to watch the World Cup. Sucks when you’re not satisfied with Steve Jobs’ vision of the world for everyone.

老婆 got this pot holder from one of her co-workers (who’s since been sacked) last Christmas or for her birthday, and I’ve been meaning to share my puzzlement with its design, but you know, baby, work, TV. I think I see the Greek letter Φ, which Grant Morrison said in Doom Patrol contains all of existence reproduced digitally, the Stargate symbol, Mensa’s table and things that could either be from Prince’s dictionary or that episode of The Simpsons where Lisa couldn’t figure out the brain teaser. Could the reputed cheapskate have unknowingly passed along an item of immeasurable worth, or been a tragic figure who tried to get a secret message out to the world?

One Internet pundit beat me to it by describing the sensation as “the closest I ever come to swallowing a mouthful of semen” (to which I add, never say never), but it’s not got the taste of the delicacy I remember from the streets of Taiwan. Steel can, however, is giving me a nice desktop workout.

…Outnumbers my storage of actual junk, and here’s an example, a story I began after an outing to a state park almost 15 years ago. The Smashing Pumpkins dates it horribly, but there are some gems (“If you eat poison and die, take consolation knowing that whatever—or whoever—eats you, will, too.”), cryptic references between old friends and no idea how things would turn out for them. I could care less about Facebooking to catch up, or even Electric Dreams on DVD anymore. But really, I didn’t know where I was going with this at all. I think I meant for where I left off in fact not to have been a dream, and a sexy Chaka-ette to join the cast, cause somewhat of a stir by snuggling up with the one guy who was married back then, which who knows, might have matured the source material to predict more Lost-like drama. Update: Wiki about the second series says it’s been done, and before me, though not quite how I imagined. I prefer the concept version of a Holly Marshall return. Jungle girl shows up in cave with horny Asian guys and nothing happens? This wasn’t supposed to be real life, after all.

TV’s will soon be so thin they’ll be recessed, but they can’t invent a scanner that slides between pages?

All pictures of me must have background wallpaper with the words 「パンツ」　「スケベ本」　「女湯」 and　「女更衣室」, too.

There was a moment in my catching-up of Lost last night (or would that be catching-back, as the show’s already over), during a fifth-season episode called “LaFleur” where Sawyer’s trying to convince Juliet to stay on the island and the next scene’s of them living together three years later—as confusing as the back-and-forth must’ve been to temporal laymen, I for one found the dating transitions unnecessary and an artistic hindrance—I realized the appeal to me, the idea that time is not so much an illusion, but more a matter of perspective; my memory takes me back to a point when I pitched far less charming proposals to the woman who is now feeding our child. Sure, you say, it’s narrative manipulation to the tune of omitting bathroom breaks on 24, or just catering to my attention deficit, but knowing that each excruciating second of him crying will lead someday to his graduation from school and beyond makes them all so bearable.