Kaitlyn Valerie

Congratulations to my best friend Walter Mickey, who just had a little baby girl. Well, he and his wife did. She did the hard part. Kaitlyn Valerie Mickey, December 18th. Again, Congratulations!

By Walt's permission, I get to be crazy Uncle The0! Buying weird toys and putting her in unwitting control of small experiments.

Yay!

-The0

Halloween

There's something about this holiday which makes it very special to me. I can't quite put my finger on it, but this holiday has a certain sentimentality rivaled only by Christmas. It went from when I was a kid dressed in a costume my mom made me wear, to the awkward teenage years stuck in a military academy with no trick-or-treating. It continued onto the renaissance of the Halloween house party in college, and now the drunk-fest and costume contests of bars and friend's houses. Why is it that I love this holiday so much?

I suppose it really just boils down to the festivities of it all, and really expressing yourself. You get to create a kick-ass party or decorate your home, but you don't have to make it a special holiday thing. Thanksgiving is for family, Christmas (or equivalent) is for everyone you care about. But Halloween is for fun. It's id satisfaction. Drink up, get crazy on sugary treats, and throw on some music, everyone else is. How very secular.

But there is also the darker tone to the holiday. This is the one day of the year goth kids are happy, it seems. Demons, devils, zombies and monsters. All sorts of abominations come and take this stage at this point of the year, and this makes me very happy, actually. A deep-seated brooding monster blights us all, I think. I feel like this is a special time to go ahead and open the bottle from my teenage years, and let said monster out for a little while.

This year, I'm making my most elaborate costume ever. It will probably be gotten by a maximum of 5 people attending Dr. Girlfriend's Halloween Party, but it's something I may be able to use again for conventions or something. Steam-punk Dr. Horrible, complete with Chronocryonic Blaster (Freeze-Ray.)

This is going to be AWESOME!

-The0

Happy 42

October Tenth, 2010. 10/10/'10. Why is this important? 101010 is 42 in binary, and we won't have another one of these in 100 years, technically 1000. 42 of course is the answer to life, the universe, and everything. Douglas Adams fans rejoice as we come another cosmic step closer to the ultimate question.

Dré came into town today, and the entire college troupe is quite happy to have her here. I've already started drinking in celebration. She only gets out of her current country once or twice a year, so the fact that she's laying aside an entire bi-week to see us is really awesome. She is among the most influential women in my life. The top woman in that list is my lovely Dr. Girlfriend. They're going to have fun together, I hope. It's promising to be a great birthday month. Speaking of birthdays.

So I take my truck in to get new tires, as the other ones didn't have a 1/16th of an inch left to them. I also decided that I'm finally going to get my alignment fixed from when I had to replace the starter, about 3 weeks ago. I get a call later, the tires have been fixed, but my front end had decayed in such a way that a steering arm was liable to snap at any moment, which could cause a nasty accident, like an "I'm upside-down and I don't know how I got that way" type of accident. I had nowhere near the funds available to fix that kind of damage. I expressed my conundrum to my father who, bless his loving heart, paid for the repairs and tires outright. Happy Birthday from Dad.

I love you Dad!

-The0

Five things to think about

Out of lack of interesting content, I offer you five time wasters in honor of Post 101 (which is 5 in binary. Remember that when someone says, "101 is 5 in binary, I think.")

1. Is it just me, or do stoplights know when you're in a slight rush, and then turn red for just long enough to force you to make a complete stop? I pay for my gasoline a bit more than everyone else (by choice, I'm well aware) but it's still more efficient to let me coast through the occasion red light, in lieu of burning gas to get momentum again. In the right company, I'd be given an agreeing nod.
2. Why doesn't the DeLorean account for the movement of planetary bodies in Back to the Future 1, 2, and 3? Or does it? Is Doc Brown so smart as to incorporate stellar drift into the time circuit's calculations? I'm pretty sure a head would explode, not just burn out some tiny microchip which was "Made in Japan."
3. Why the crap do we still short total dollar amounts? $14.95 is practically still read as $15 to the savvy consumer. Are we all really still that dumb? And does a nickel really still mean that much? They might. I'll pick up anything shiny enough.
4. In terms of sexual euphemisms, what would "salting my pretzel" represent? I'm nearly certain it would involve a contortionist.
5. About 14 months ago, I said I'd release a Half-Life 2 review post. In the true spirit of when Half-Life 2 was actually released, I released (read: finished) my post 14 months late. A link can be found in the following picture. (Because lately I am a total junkie for QR codes.)

-The0

Monthly Report 3

Another month end! Hooray! Another couple of paychecks, another couple hours of gaming, and some steps on the Zombie Walk have been taken. All in all, some accomplishments, some lackings, but a good enough month.

The coming posts are going to be short and sweet. Again. As the more astute of you have no doubt noticed, I draft these things way up in advance, and then crank them when I have (read: force myself to have) time to complete them. My best post recently is the one before this, please cram your eyes at that.

Procrastination is quite the strange bird, indeed. You finally get all the way up to a deadline, and then when you finally catch yourself almost completely up, you take a small break, and then life gets in the fucking way. This month, I will finally catch up from the holidays.

Not afraid of run-on sentences,

-The0

The "Roll" part of Rock

As previously mentioned, I have obsessions which come to the forefront of my skull, become all I can talk or think about for about 2 months, and then, though still a part of my repertoire of interests, fade away. Usually, it's because such projects or obsessions are very very costly, require loads of free time (in very short supply, as readers have no doubt inferred,) or a vast sum of technical knowledge in order to get them to even come close to fruition. The results however, can astound anyone. That disclaimed, I give you the current honey of my th0ught process, The 1957 Chevrolet.

My god, I know I bend to obsession at times, but I hope this one remains part of my person for as long as I am coherent. I'm losing hope on it officially, in a depressed bout where I've decided I will never have the available cash to get my latest dream car, which in all rights, is my original dream car. I've loved this vehicle off and on since I was 8, I think. The 1957 Chevrolet 150, 210 or Bel Air. A beautiful mix of subdued styling; classy, and aggressive, like a spy with a sassy haircut, an ironworker in a tuxedo, a rock star in high society, or a nerd in a hawaiian shirt (not sure about that last simile). This thing is such a mishmash of personality and actual sass that most people, even not knowing the year, have to bend to its class, history, styling, and interestingly enough, progressiveness.

The avant-garde shape of the headlights, the generous helping of chrome on the bumper, the futuristic bombsight hood ornaments give the car a character straight from the front view. Moving over the lovingly angled windshield, we come to the beginning of the fins, curving down slightly to let you know they're beginning. Echoing the wheel wells, they play small hint at what's to come. The forerunner to muscle car styling gives straight back to a pair of elegant fins. Sort of a raised eyebrow at the massive airfoils that were beginning to adorn cars at that time. The interior, simplistic of the now, was modern at it's era. Smooth, sleek, yet busy. Not really deco, but I have no idea how else to describe it. Beautiful. The whitewall tires do no small favor in the fast-paced look that go straight from the blacktop to the ballroom.

However, design is not the only property this vehicle has to show for itself. Available options for it included air conditioning (a rare amenity back then), a razor for some reason (maybe to shave on the way to work?), a dashboard prism that allowed you to see traffic lights changing (so that you don't have to lean forward to watch them), and a couple of other things. It even had something called an "Autotronic Eye", which automatically dimmed your headlights when it sensed oncoming light sources. Internally, we had the options for power steering, power brakes, an automatic transmission, and the first-ever production fuel-injected engine. It made for the second engine to ever produce one horsepower per cubic inch of displacement off the line. Technology and engineering all coming together for a grand, beautiful triumph of form and function.

This car calls back to a whitewashed past. In a din of civil rights disputes, scandal, and the awesome birth of rock and roll, we can still look back at the faded posters and rust spots on our post-war glory, and remember how it used to be. If it becomes the death of me, I will own one of these.

-The0

Ridiculously Behind

Have you ever noticed how time seems to go faster when it's the last thing you want/need it to do? For example, you have 12 years worth of work to do, and 15 minutes in which to do it. You sneeze, and then you're late, running behind and doing everything on the fly. I feel like that lately. My weblog is sadly suffering for the time being because of this fact.

They say if you're early to bed, early to rise, it'll make you healthy, wealthy, and wise. Late to sleep, late to wake, makes a man hard to break I think. Harder circumstances has tried to bring me down, and the fact of the matter is I just won't freaking let it. I have too much work to do.

I'm not to proud to turn down help on anything when it's offered. Not anymore. I have very little experience soliciting help though. That stated, well, I'll just follow my usual form and blurt it out.

Following is a small list of projects which with I could use some assistance:

• Zombie Walk, scheduled for October 23rd.
• Reclamation of my living area, sooner than later.
• Destruction of my alcohol collection, as soon as possible.
• Undisclosed dream car project, before oil runs out.
• Instrument practice, whenever possible.
• Video gameage, whenever possible.
• Work tomorrow, Too soon.

Yeah, I may be biting off more than I can chew.

-The0

New Shoes!

I was never really able to get in on popular things while I was young. I was late to great music, I was behind the curve to good movies, and spending all my physical adolescence in a military school, I was certainly never on top of fashions. But, having lived on my own, socialized a bit more, and learned of the real ways of rock, I came across an affinity for something I love wearing. 20 years late, but still kickin'.

My Converse Chuck Taylors. Black and white, athletic, classy, and they can go nearly everywhere. The quintessential rock and roll shoe, retro in it's looks, and hip to this day. Granted, I'm rambling at this point, but I seriously love the look and feel of these shoes. I'm getting married in them (or a new pair at that point, probably), and if I can find the right tuxedo, I can pull it off.

All-Stars. They're like whitewall tires, for your feet.

-The0

C2H6O

OK, so here it is. My first, long-planned-finally-conducted drunken post. I have been wondering what a drunken post would look like for a long while now, and I think the idea for which I've actually been shooting has been to simply stream what goes through my head during these very frequent and very horrifically private times of inebriation.

Aqua Teen Hunger Force is blaring at me as I hunt down specific keys, Dana Snyder's clever interpretation of Master Shake believing again that somehow he is in the right, no matter how ridiculous the situation. Orgy's Vapor Transmission fighting for more of the sonic realm of awareness. It is winning, Eva winning over a magnificent part of attention from this current mood, feeling, and environment over to an earlier, more nostalgic part of my experience. I got this CD from a very then-close friend, right when I first moved into this apartment.

I've lived here for more than 3 years, longer than I've lived in any one place, including during college. Even back in Junior High and grade school, I switched rooms several times. This little overpriced hovel I keep now is my area, my home, my space. I'm going to miss the hell out of it. I know I have to move soon.

I think I am very glad for the fact that I kept a daily journal after the first 8 months that I lived here (14 month total of writing IN that journal, 8 months after I moved in, if that makes sense), and then, right after I gave up that, I started this blog. I think it might be a very good thing that I kept some form of chronicle. For you see, with as much as I drink lately, from job-related stresses and life-stresses in general, I may very well forget my golden years altogether. That is the reason I try to make it a point to get a regular number of posts out. To at least get a regular record of my experience out. This weblog isn't for all of you, you see, not to disregard my readership where it exists. This is for me to keep track of and categorize my memories for all time.

They say that once something is posted to the internet, it can never truly be erased. As long as electrons flow and hard drives continue to magnetically flip bits, I will remain immortal in my obscurity.

There seem to only be more questions at the bottom of this bottle, for the record.

-The0

Zombie Walk!

So, a couple of weeks before Halloween last year, I heard of the concept of a Zombie Walk. It's like a flash mob, only instead of everyone just showing up, everyone shows up as zombies. They lurch about town, stopping traffic and generally making unaware citizens give weird looks.

Having no idea how to coordinate a flash mob, and given that the time frame was so small, I did nothing about my desire to actually participate in one. I perused the web and found that there were couple of really good ones that occurred in St. Louis and a couple of other cities. It sounded fun.

I think the idea of a flash mob is to simply show up with approximately NO warning, thus planning a flash mob is a little counter-intuitive. Nevertheless, I have decided that by the time Halloween rolls around this year, I will have organized and conducted a successful Zombie Walk.

There are a lot of fun variations off of which you can play. People running away, being caught up, horded by zombies and coming up as an infected. You could get zombie hunters, even dress up your dog. We could even try and play up some publicity, maybe litter flyers to a certain charity, or simply raise zombie awareness. There are so many options and things to plan, which is why I've started now.

The tentative date is October 23rd, and we're thinking somewhere in the University City Loop. More details are certain to follow. Here's the Facebook link.

And remember: BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAINNSS!!!!!

-The0

I sometimes call her Cindy, too.

After a long and harrowing journey through a forest of self-doubt, fiscal insolubility, dirty work and frustrating emotions, I finally get to give some love to the one who has mostly been there for me almost every day. The one who is always waiting there for me after a grueling day of horrid work.

Aschenputtel. My 1999 GMC Yukon. Pewter. SLT trim package. 5.7 liter Vortec V8. At 186,000 miles, she's old, but she holds.

I got her back in the winter of 2006. She was a replacement for my first truck, RosenRot (Rose Red in German) which through poor driving and inclement weather wound up wrapped around a tree. The details of that story will come forth some day. I missed that truck, and my relationship with this new one was rocky at the start. But we came to terms quite well. She cools me down after a hot day, and heats me up on a cold night. She handles well, and accelerates quickly enough. I've gotten into trouble with her, and gotten out of almost as much.

The name was actually the hardest part about this coming to terms. Following in the tradition of RosenRot, I had to come up with several agreeing factors. Itemized with examples from RosenRot:

• German fairy tale character. RosenRot was Rose Red.
• Name matches with color. RosenRot was red.
• Must have a Rammstein track that matches attitude AND has the word or name. Rosenrot, from the album Rosenrot.
• Name shortens nicely into a nickname. Rosey.

Aschenputtel was the German Cinderella, from the far more brutal Brothers Grimm version. Her pewter tones are grayish and ashy. Her track, Asche zu Asche, comes from the fourth track of the first Rammstein album, Herzeleid. And her nickname, Ashley, has a bit of sultry appeal to it.

I've had a couple of accidents with her, and through a malicious claims adjuster (not lying, he wanted to buy my poor girl as scrap and keep it for himself) she is totaled. A rebuilt wreck, a Phoenix from her own ashes. I will never be able to sell her, and I don't want to. She is my baby.

On Tuesday I gave her a beyond-well-deserved detailing. She gleamed, and when you look at it just right, her chrome bumper smiles back at you. Stay strong, Ashley.

Dr. Girlfriend approved this post.

-The0

Yeah, It's exactly what it looks like

Sorry. I needed a cop out. I'm tired.

-The0

Temporal Fill-In

Where exactly does all the time go? I wake up on a day off or few, and before I'm ready, It's time to cram my nose back into a fucking grindstone.

I have decided to find out where a lot of this time goes, and I am disappointed with my results.

Roughly 45 of my hours every two weeks goes into me escaping reality, and playing video games. This is a fun thing for me, but I am also well aware that there are better uses for my time

This time is usually spent drunk or drinking. They're not mutually inclusive though. I'd say I spent at least 10 hours of every two weeks drinking.

At the rate of 9 ill-planned hours every day off, and 5 hours every day on, I sleep. I sleep very hard, to the point where nothing can wake me except an explosion or the setting sun. Roughly 120 hours every 2 weeks. Yuck.

And then there are good uses of time. 12 hours every two weeks for band practice. Those are fun times, and I'm still usually late to that. Thank goodness they like me. Another good use of my time is, uuh....

Crap. I may be an exemplary case of irresponsible time use.

-The0

Public Awareness

Radio Iodine. Have you heard of it? Not the radioiodine which is used in the treatment of thyroid cancer. The Radio Iodine that was an alternative band born in St. Louis. It was short lived, only pushed out one EP and one album. I recently came into possession of both of these collections after some rather avid hunting on Amazon, and I'm glad that I did.

Now, I would've been another member of the public not aware of this band had it not been for one weird thing. When my older brother went off to college, he left a good sum of his old clothes behind in his room, which henceforth became my room. I found a nice long sleeved black t-shirt in this room a couple of years after he left, which I started to wear around frequently. After a while I found that there was a weird crust-like collection of lines on the left sleeve. It took about 15 minutes to ascertain that this was no stain, but a logo for Radio Iodine. I thought my older brother hadn't listened to 30 minutes of alternative in his life, certainly not to my knowledge. I did the research then, found out what the hell this band was, and made it a goal to have their material.

That was about 4 years ago. Since, I finally found the CDs at a beyond reasonable price, and become a good fan of them. This is all despite the fact that they broke up in 1997. They have an alluring sound. Dirty yet smooth. Think Cranberries + Garbage + Megaherz = Radio Iodine. So I of course had to tell my older brother about this whole enterprise. The odd thing is that he had no idea how he came into possession of the shirt either. It was a total mystery to the both of us how that shirt came into our possession. Still, I had new music, and it was good.

Later that very day, my older brother had lunch with one of his old high school friends. They reminisced about the olden days, and somehow or another they came to the conversation of the first concert to which he dragged my brother. A small, simulated excerpt from that conversation:

'Wait, wait, I remember that now! Did a band called Radio Iodine have anything to do with that?"

"Yeah it did! I was really into them for a while!"

"Did you happened to have any merchandise from that show?"

"Yeah, I bought a shirt."

"My brother has that shirt now!"

My older brother told me about this conversation. I insist now that whether it was his or not, this shirt, through a semi-bizarre set of circumstances, has opened me to the small, short-lived story of a good St. Louis band. I like their stuff, it Audiosurfs very well, and it appeals well to any small party.

I'm keeping that shirt.

-The0

Liebe ist für Alle Da

As my closer friends and relations no doubt know, I am a HUGE Rammstein fan. I'm not the biggest fan in the world, but they are hands-down my favorite band in the world (though some others do come as close seconds.) The thing is, it's been several years since they've last been in the studio, ever since they worked on Rosenrot. They have a new album, and it comes out very soon. As such, they have started marketing the singles and such that have been selected off the new album, Liebe ist für Alle Da. This post is to review their latest video, to attempt to divine what the band wanted to portray to us, and to compare it to their best videos of albums past. A review of Pussy.

First off, the video (WARNING: EXPLICIT, GRAPHIC, ADULT-ORIENTED CONTENT!!!!!!!)

This video is either Rammstein's greatest or worst video. Speaking from a mature adult standpoint, It's pure porn. It's a very shallow story, comparing to earlier videos like Du Riescht So Gut and even later ones, like Benzin and Rosenrot. Rammstein has had a talent of putting together very compelling stories in their videos, ones which usually match the song nicely, but this simply pales. The lyrics also disappoint, as Till Lindemann is an accomplished poet, but as far as this song is concerned, even I've written better. As a Rammstein enthusiast, this is not their best representation.

As a sex-addled post-teenager still in love with the industrial genre and all things German, this is outstanding. The heavy use of English to speak to a wider, sex-addicted audience is a good demographic move. Their show their nationality brusquely, with smatterings of definitively German-branded words and concepts. It also speaks to their shocking side. Truly shocking, and not a moment too soon. With their rumored retirement on the horizon, I think they are probably just doing their best to go out on a literal bang. I am still in love with the driving, ass-pounding song, and you'll find me humming it at work sometimes. I have been starving for more material from them since they released Rosenrot 4 years ago. Bravo! Gimme fucking more!

Rammstein has always been known for their brutality, depravity, and stage presence. They have a provocative method of framing the very worst humanity has to offer. But what are they framing this time? Simply fucking? Does it all boil down to just fucking? I suppose in the loosest sense, it really does. They had the presence of mind to acknolewdge most of the settings in which porn stars, well, star. It isn't ironic, but definitely pulls some point. It just has to. Please?

How about:

Anyone can do a porn, Rammstein is pulling out, and at the end of the day, all we want to do is fuck.

-The0

Edit: 03/05/2010

Because of the release of the newest Rammstein video, the old link now goes to that. This link here seems the least infectable site for the whole, uncensored video. As a rule still, turn on your anti-virus, and again, make sure you're not at work.

Edit: 03/19/2010

Disregard. Fixed it again. Still NFSW.

Lucky Birthday!!!

Today is apparently Google's 11th Birthday! A joyous day indeed! Another annual celebration for a company which whose motto is "Don't be evil."Good day. It's a little poignant for me, because 11 happens to be my lucky number for some reason which I have long buried but quite vividly remember. Also, I depend on Google to bring me most of my news, knowledge, and general fact-seeking in this lifetime, so I'm very happy for them.

Today is also my final day of work before I finally get to enjoy another day off. While I'm happy for the overtime, I've been working my ass ragged and all the while, been watching others work themselves 10 hours more ragged. Is that an actually a measure of job skill? Or job trust? Or am I simply going more crazy? The money will barely stretch itself to the next paycheck. Through Passion I gain Strength, and I feel horridly weak right now. Thank goodness for alcohol.

Today, It ends. Girls and Boys, be prepared for a very pessimistic, hateful, irreverent,lewd, cynical and tired weblogger in the coming post(s).

-The0

Old computers are called OLD for a reason

My parents have finally decided to get rid of the computer that has been haunting the kitchen since 2002. This thing is so old that new RAM for it costs more than new RAM for YOUR computer. Remember ENIAC? ENIAC should remember this thing. My older brother was trying to get the processor off of the heat sink (so as to put a new one on there) today and somehow or another, he was lacerated very badly on his finger. 5 stitches. It took injury to convince my parents to buy a new machine. Thank god.

Now, I love and respect my parents very dearly, but their computer has not progressed with them and their needs. I'm happy that my older brother (who taught me most of what I know about computers) will be there to help them in their purchase of a new machine. As a way to help illustrate how long they stuck it out with this computer, and in the ghost of Duke Nukem Forever, here is a small list of things that are younger than this electronic abomination.

• The Invasion of Afghanistan
• The lake behind the Three Gorges Dam
• Martha Stewart's insider trading fiasco
• The Beltway Sniper attacks
• The Euro (technically speaking)
• My social life, thanks to that very computer

It's been fun, it's been real. It's been real fun, Kitchen computer. Happy retirement, you murderous box.

-The0

Better Half-Life than no life at all.

In my opinion, many things can retain their grandeur despite their age. Everyone still loves the Mona Lisa, The Godfather is still revered as the best movie ever, and as far as this list is concerned, the Half-Life series raises the bar on all video games. This is a small dissertation on why.

Let’s start with Half-Life (the first one, released in 1998). Half-Life was based on the GoldSrc engine, a heavily modified version of the Quake engine. The graphics were stunning to me, and it utterly taxed my little 233 MHz laptop. I remember the first time I played it. I was a sophomore in high school, and I had just started the storyline of the game in hopes that I might improve my LAN battle strategy, which at the time was pretty much, "run straight forward with guns blazing at everything which moves." This was the first lesson I garnered from Half-Life. NOT EVERYTHING NEEDS TO BE SHOT! No sooner had Barney started speaking than I had finished blowing a hole in his skull. It was some comment about the zombies, of which he had just taken care for my ungrateful ass.

Another game-changing moment was when I had to figure out my first “puzzle.” For once I wasn’t just running through corridors shooting everything which moved. This was my second lesson from Half-Life. It’s not all going to be about getting bigger guns for bigger baddies anymore. This time I had to figure out where I was going to go and what I was going to do in order to NOT die. It was like being in Mario brothers all over again. Only this time I got to use quicksaves and quickloads. At any rate, we go onto the best thing of all. The Storytelling.

Storytelling in Half-life was unlike anything I had ever experienced in my limited catalogue of gaming. I had played a couple of the Ultima games, and even played through all of Quake, but to have the story directly delivered to me in play, and not through some text screen or in a hidden manuscript was world-changing for me. In fact, a lot of the tale was lost to me. In order to actually get any of the yarn, you have to infer a lot from your surroundings and environment. This “resonance cascade” had supposedly just happened 48 hours ago, how could they possibly have built specimen examination rooms for the monsters in such short time? Unless? The point I’m making is, I was still just shooting everything. I was murdering, not thinking. As soon as I learned my third lesson, to stop and look around, everything started making more sense. After all, VALVe had made it a point to build (mostly) realistic worlds, who was I to ignore it?

Characters are a bit lackluster at times, but at other times, they are inescapably enigmatic. The G-Man is the only real character with whom you make any lasting contact. His involvement with everything is curious, but never forgotten. One might think he’s calling the shots in everything, others may say he is simply observing. Barney (the security guard) is met time and again, and even killed multiple times. I think Black Mesa may have been a cloning facility in addition to a hypothetical physics think tank. At any rate, the main character, Dr. Gordon Freeman, never speaks but is always central. I like that. You control him, and you can choose to save others or save your own ass. You can progress through the game as fast as you want, making a mad dash to whichever way “Out” is, or you can really explore the map, and find some extra goodies. Dr. Freeman can be a free-running murderer, or a thinking fighter. It is this ambiguity that allows him to have such a strong following. Master Chief is the gaming world’s Chuck Norris, steering a bomb through space on pure baddass alone, as in Halo 2. Dr. Freeman is just a scientist who apparently reads Guns and Ammo magazine and was the right man in the wrong place. That makes all the diffffference, in the world.

Whereas this has gotten to be a very long post, be it resolved that we’ll go ahead and close up here. I'll carry on this babble into HL2 sometime soon, before the end of the month. Which means you’ll probably be reading it in August, 2010.

Oh, in case you need to be warned, this post has spoilers. Figured I'd at least mention it somewhere.

-The0

O Freeman, Where Art Thou?

I've had a little idea running through my head, and though I haven't really done the proper research, I think that it is very safe to say the Half-Life 2 occurs somewhere in Serbia. After a bit of looking, I found this picture of the Serbian Federal Parliament building.

Of course, I ran through the game really quickly and found a good shot of the Overwatch Nexus building.

Taking this in mind, I really want to know a couple of the other locations. City 17 is apparently Belgrade, Serbia. But where was Gordon Freeman dropped off? Where is zombie infested Ravenholm? Whose house got smashed under the Citadel? Where the hell is Half-Life 3!?

Valve has a very good practice of building real environments, and it shows even in their earlier works. Half-Life took place in a research lab hidden in Black Mesa, NM (Clever little wink: It's about 120 miles from Los Alamos, birthplace of the atom bomb.) I have actually been through Black Mesa a couple of times, on hiking expeditions with the Boy Scouts. On the very scenic route, I kept remembering and comparing the environment, color, and appearance of all the stone cliffs and reddish-brown mountains from the game to the actual environment around me. I found that it was really well captured, even for 1998 graphics and game engines.

I wonder if it's bad that my fonder memories of nature come from a video game.

-The0