Pomegranates
I’m not sure why, all of the sudden, pomegranate flavored stuff is EVERYWHERE. I mean, like a year ago no one knew what a pomegranate was, let alone how to spell it. I’m not sure why the fruit lords didn’t choose a fruit that’s easier to spell to shove into the faces of the masses so hard and fast. Seriously, though, why pomegranates? Why now?
Being the connoisseur of conspiracy theories that I am, I of course quickly jumped to the conclusion that somehow an overabundance of pomegranates were grown somewhere, somehow, by mistake, and the powers that be decided they must foist the fruit onto the populous as the second coming of Jesus in order to get rid of the excess.
A friend of mine pointed out one glaring flaw in my reasoning, however. Fruit flavored stuff does not typically contain anything that resembles actual, real fruit. Generally I suppose it’s just corn syrup with the smallest of dollops of fruit flavoring. Maybe. It’s probably all mostly a placebo. So, I am not able to discern its cause. I can’t figure out why every aisle of the grocery store is brimming with pomegranitey goodness. I don’t know why there’s pomegranate tea. Why there’s pomegranate 7up. Why there’s pomegranate salad dressing. Why there’s pomegranate toothpaste. Why there’s pomegranate Preparation H. Ok. I made up the last two. But I wouldn’t be surprised to see them in the future.
I wonder actually what makes one flavor different from another in the world of artificial corn syrup flavoring. I know that I generally prefer pink flavored stuff over purple flavored stuff. I hear that pink is typically strawberry and purple is typically grape, but let’s be honest here. Neither pink nor purple flavored things have flavors which bear any resemblance to a fruit. If I ate a pink mentos, which I fucking love and adore by the way, and then bit into a strawberry, I would see no resemblance.
I won’t complain about the pomegranate insurgence, however. I loved them before they were cool. As a child, I stained my clothing many-a-time with the tiny jewel fruitlets inside of those bulbous swollen ovaries known as pomegranates. I bought one this year and my husband tried it for the very first time–I suggested he eat it naked so as to not ruin any of his clothing. This advice was not merely for my visual pleasure–those little fuckers stain the shit out of your clothes! Pomegranate juice is no joke.
I wonder what the next wave of fruit will be? Perhaps the kiwi. I also liked those before they were cool, for the record.
Sparkly Unicorn Story: Part 3
Traveling Toward the Second Power: Please Get This Over With So I Can Take A Hot Bath
You and the Unicorn don’t get ten feet from the Elf’s abode before Le’lapo’s voice begins to chase after you.
“Wait!” He calls. “Wait for me!”
Khamaleth sighs and rears its head back in a display of annoyance.
“What is it, Le’lapo?” It asks.
“Let me go with you!” Le’lapo sounds as if he’s almost begging. “Please? I’ll be a big help I swear! I’m as strong as an fox and smart as an ox! I mean–”
Khamaleth sighs deeply. “I really don’t think our mighty champion will need help. Really.”
“Well, how about we let her decide?” Le’lapo folds his arms over his chest and snorts. “She might want some company!”
You contemplate this for a moment. You thought Le’lapo seemed annoyed and aloof when you first met him. Now he was a different elf. Perhaps his previous attitude was just boredom. “Sure!” You reply. “I like company!”
Khamaleth seems to grimace–well, about as much as a Unicorn can grimace–but Le’lapo becomes elated. He practically starts dancing. His feet practically leave the ground.
“Yipee!” Le’lapo beams.
“I don’t think this is a good idea.” Khamaleth sighs.
“Why not?!” Le’lapo pouts.
“Look.” Khameleth goes into story-telling mode. “Long ago, our first champion was accompanied by the power-granters. It was a tradition that continued for many years! Le’lapo, do you remember when you replaced the last giver of the strength power?”
“Yeah!” Le’lapo’s face suddenly fell. “Yeah, oh, wow. That was bad times.”
“Yes. It was. We never did tell you why Ja’mare had to be replaced. I suppose I must tell you now, so our champion can make the right decision as to whether you should accompany us. You see, Ja’mare and the fifth champion fell in love.”
“D’aww, did they run away and make babies?” Le’lapo interjects.
“Don’t interrupt me!” Khamaleth orders, and then clears its throat. “They did everything together. Fought together, cooked together, lived together, played canasta together–you get the picture. This seemed fine, until Ja’mare’s mind became slowly corrupted by the evil. The champion could not keep her head on straight. Her love for Ja’mare blinded her to the corruption–and they became agents of evil together. We scrambled to find a new champion, but they nearly laid waste to the eastern borders of this world before we could do so.”
“Wow!” Le’lapo is saucer-eyed. “I swear I will totally not fall in love with anyone!”
“Yeah, I don’t think it will be an issue.” You interject. “Look–as a lawyer it is against the ethics rules to engage in relations with clients. I’ll just pretend anyone who travels with us is my client, and boom! It’s all good.”
“What?” Khamaleth and Le’lapo say at the same time, obviously confused.
“Just trust me.” You sigh. “Le’lapo can come with us, it’ll be fine!”
Khamaleth seems uneasy, and its voice is stilted. “If you say so, champion, I must adhere to your wishes.”
“Don’t worrrry about it, Khamaleth!” You pat the horned-horse’s glittery flank. “I’ve got it all taken care of.”
“All right, then.” Khamaleth sighs. “Let’s be on our way to your second destination.”
The three of you began traveling away from the elvish woods, toward the east, away from the setting sun. You chatted about various nonsense as a landscape of lush grass and woodland gave way to a sandy expanse with a vast body of water in the distance. You’d arrived at a beach! You hadn’t been to a beach in quite some time, and you enjoy the light taste of salt which begins to form upon your lips as the seashore gets closer.
No I will not dig through turd piles for you!
Oh man, when I played warcraft I freakin HATED those quests where someone would ask you to dig through poop for whatever reason. I especially hated the one where this endeavor culminated in the unearthing (or unpooping, I suppose?) of a bunch of berries which you FREAKIN EAT in order to breathe under water. It’s like the developers were sitting around thinking, “LOL dudes I totally bet if we make a quest where people dig through shit, and then eat stuff inside the shit, they will totally do it. They’d probably do a quest if we made them say ‘I am a sparkly turd pile and I eat mice fetuses while vomiting all over my body’ for 10 experience points.’” They’d be correct in that assessment. If a cool item was involved they could probably get people to call their mothers and confess to having buttsex in a bathroom stall at Chuck E. Cheese.
I always hem and haw about these quests. I whine that I really don’t want to dig through poop. I want the stupid elves to go poo diving themselves and quit asking me to do it. I would just go all role-player and skip the quests, but my husband is like “experience is experience!” He doesn’t have any qualms about subjecting his pixelated persona to the humiliation of eating turd-encrusted fruit.
If I designed an MMO, I would have the option of just slapping the living snot out of anyone who asked me to get anywhere near a turd pile. I’d be able to respond with, “no I will not dig through dog shit for you to look for prayer beads, I’m just going to pummel you in the face until you give me what you want.” I mean, I defeated Ragnaros and Onyxia! (Obviously I am not a hardcore gamer) digging through excrement is a little bit below my pay grade. This is also why I hope Fable II comes out for PC, because I’m not in a position right now where I can afford an XBox 360, and I hear Fable II is full of opportunity to smack people around if they annoy you. I like a game where my options are “comply with the request” or “beat this person into submission.”
Oddly enough, I don’t enjoy Grand Theft Auto even though I have a small affinity for random violent mayhem. I mean if someone asks me to dig through poop they sort of deserve the beating I’d like to give them. I don’t really get a thrill out of smacking random bystanders with a bat. I’m not desensitized enough to find that amusing. I might slap some annoying elf around if I lived in a fantasy world, but I wouldn’t hit random people in the street with a bat.
Anyway, I’m not sure why I randomly started thinking about this, yet here I am writing about it. I need some new material.
If I pay $500 for a seat, I can chant what I want
So, I was watching the Lakers game, and the announcer was whining that the crowd was chanting “MVP” too much when Kobe Bryant was taking free throws.
Hey dude, guess what? If I have to sell a fucking kidney to get a ticket to sit and watch a bunch of dudes go back and forth and put balls in holes, I’m going to chant whatever the fuck I want. The crowd should be able to chant “eatus a fetus” if they so desire.
Go back to making homoerotic comments about penetrating the hole so I can keep playing my basketball drinking game, ok?
It is unlikely your kid is going to be a professional athlete
I’d think the title of this post would be pretty fucking obvious, but I have learned over the years that oh, it surely is not. I remembered listening to some dude on sports radio whom I HATE, seriously this guy is a colossal jackass, but I can’t remember his name–and he was talking about kids and sports.
He basically said that he would not want his kid to participate in soccer rather than baseball, football, or basketball, because there “is no future in it.” He found the idea of kids playing soccer laughable because in the United States, there is no way one will ever become a professional sports star from playing soccer.
There are quite a few problems I have with this discourse. For one, his discussion pretty much revolved around the assumption that all kids, and ergo all kids involved in sports, are male. Apparently women spawn from some other dimension and materialize on earth for the consumption of men. I don’t know. I guess he would probably defend himself by saying a woman could be in the WNBA (would he then say women should only play basketball?) but I’m pretty damn sure what he was saying assumed that little boys are the only kids who matter. And for that, at least, he can go eat a bag of dicks.
Second of all, I find the assumption that people should only encourage their kids to involve themselves in sports that might lead to riches and fame laughable. I’m sure this kind of mentality is what leads to little league parent syndrome, and other obnoxious parental behavior. The idea that one day their kid will have millions of dollars, and it will benefit THE PARENT. If it was what was best for the kid that mattered, the kid would be able to play whatever the fuck sport he or she wanted.
I was trying to think of what other reason a parent could have for fantasizing about their kid making millions of dollars. My husband thinks it’s more general than “I want money” and more of wanting extreme success for one’s child. But my problem is with a parent defining success for the child. If someone is happy working at a blood bank, he or she should do that.
If I had a kid I’d prefer he or she be in soccer, well the AYSO sort, because it’s not competitive, it’s co-ed, it’s for fun and exercise. I seriously would not buy a kid a little baseball bat thinking, “now go out there and be the next A-Rod and make sure I never have to work again!” Your kid ain’t gonna be a fucking professional athlete. Fucking face it. I think kids should be allowed to be kids. They are not your little future money makers so you are set for life in your dotage.
It’s not just this one guy’s stupid rantings–I mean it seems like so many parents base everything they do on the idea that they want their kids to be this, or be that. I mean it’s pretty much a given that most parents will be disappointed if their kid becomes a fecal artist instead of a doctor. But in the long run–it’s your kid’s life. If spreading poop onto a canvas is what makes these short years on this earth tolerable, then I don’t think it should be the parents’ business. Of course, a parent can choose whether to fund that kid going to school to make sculptures out of menstrual blood clots, but I’m just always baffled by someone who would say to a kid, effectively, “I do not care if this path in life makes you happy. I want you to do what makes ME happy.”
As another example, most of the people on my myspace friends who put “yes on 8″ bulletins and such were concerned that their kids would be taught in school that it’s “okay to be gay.” Because, of course, the horror of horrors is having a kid that turns out to be gay, or at least doesn’t live a miserable life pretending to be straight so you can have grandkids. Even a lot of prop 8 supporters feel like it’s okay for “other” gay people to marry, but would be upset should one of their children decide to be gay or transgendered.
First off, I just have to say how freakin’ sorry I feel for the kids of people who are like this if they do end up gay. Misery lies ahead of them. I also feel sorry for the gay kids in school who have to go to school with kids who are taught that being gay is a choice and made by hell-bound sinners. That is so dehumanizing, no wonder gay kids are bullied like they are. The reason these people don’t want their kids to be gay is pretty fucking obvious so it doesn’t really pertain to this blog, which is about people living vicariously though their kids.
What underlies parental disappointment if what makes their kids happy isn’t what they wanted for them? What makes a parent push their kids into sports where the environment is overly competitive, or to become a lawyer when they want to be a ballerina? What makes a parent with lots of gay friends suddenly squeamish if his or her kid isn’t straight? It’s like kids are play toys and what makes them happy doesn’t matter. They’re supposed to be this way, or that way, and if they deviate from that, it’s a shame!
I think it’s a shame that more people don’t see their offspring as individuals who should be able to live their lives in a way that makes them happy. And I’m especially talking about that asshole sports radio talk show host.
Ch 2 of the adventures of the Sparkly Unicorn
The Law Student and the Sparkly Unicorn: Ch. 2
The unicorn begins to gallop through the creek toward the east–its delicate hooves never breaking the surface of the water. You marvel at its ability to walk on water! Its speed continued to increase, and what appeared to be a rip in the space-time continuum (you’ve watched enough sci fi channel to have a general sense of what such a rip would look like) forms in front of you. The Unicorn leaps through the air into it, and on the other side you and the unicorn arrive in a pristine, meadowy world. A mountain range bordered the horizon in the distance, and beneath you is a grassy meadow covered in wild flowers.
The unicorn again kneels onto one knee, and you carefully slide down its side and land in the soft, dewy grass.
“This is our world.” The Unicorn explains, before you can ask anything. “Look around you, notice anything?”
You look around trying to see what the Unicorn might be referring to. You see lots of mounds that look like tiny ant hills–and nothing seems particularly peculiar to you until you notice tiny billows of smoke rising from some of the hills. You focus your eyes more keenly onto one of them, and you notice that it is a tiny, tiny house! You also notice some flying humanoid creatures buzzing about them, all about the size of a human thumb.
“Amazing!” You gasp, watching this take place. “Are–are these faeries?”
“Mmm hmm.” The unicorn nods. “They are one type of creature that lives in this world. Come with me, we shall meet some others.”
You walk alongside the unicorn down a path next to your spot of landing, careful not to deviate and cause problems for the faerie folk. You wonder how they don’t just get gobbled up by an anteater, which surely should have evolved in this world to take advantage of this abundant food supply.
“I’ll tell you about your mission while we walk. This peaceful land has been battling a great evil for centuries now, and it is only kept at bay by a champion born in your world. The current champion is retiring. You will soon meet him–and two others–who will bestow three powers onto you.”
“What kind of powers?” You ask.
“You will see.” The Unicorn decides to be a smarmy ass and not satiate your curiosity. “They enjoy passing this information onto you. I would not want to spoil their fun.”
You began to contemplate the Unicorn’s command of the English language, yet apparent inability to use conjunctions, when you notice some buildings in the distance. They are fantastically smooth for the most part, but bejeweled in some places. Still a bit blurry due to the distance, you wonder what lives in the cornucopia of colors ahead.
“We’re going toward a village of elves.” The Unicorn said, as if reading your mind.
“Do they dance naked on top of mailboxes?” You ask.
“What?” The Unicorn seems disturbed.
“Nothing.” You quickly blurt, wondering how you could be so casual and blase while walking down a golden path with faerie-laden, dewey meadow on either side of you. You still believed this to be a dream, perhaps.
After a great deal more walking, and after a few blisters had begun to form on your feet, you finally arrive at the doorstep of one of the buildings. It is like a great white tree, but its top branches do not end in leaves. It goes from a squat bottom half and narrows toward the top, and it has quite a few sparkling, stained glass windows. The door is dark red and appears to be made for a creature much taller than you are.
The unicorn taps the door with its horn to the beat of “shave and a haircut.” You now know this has to be a dream. You sit and wait for a moment with no answer. The Unicorn rolls its eyes and sighs and knocks again.
“Who is it?” You hear from the other side. The voice is deep baritone, and the words are said in a sing-song manner.
“It’s Khamaleth!” The Unicorn answers. “Whoops, did I forget to tell you my name?” The Unicorn, Khamaleth, asks you. “So sorry.”
The door opens, and a tall, chiseled figure steps forth. His skin is dark brown, and he has tall, pointy pinnae, as you imagine an elf would have. His hair is short and has two tones–a fire red and a sparkling gold–the former closer to his skull and the latter adorning his tips. His arms are folded across his chest, and he appears a bit grumpy.
“Le’lapo!” Khamaleth begins. “This is the new Champion. You need to bestow your power upon her.”
Le’lapo begins to smirk a bit as he looks at you. “This smidgen of a human? Surely we are all doomed.”
“Hey!” You frown. “I didn’t get my ass dragged through a rip in the space-time continuum to just be insulted like that!”
“Saucy, as well!” Le’lapo laughs. “All right. I shall bestow my power–which is the power of great strength. You may have noticed that I have rather impressive muscles. I work out a lot.”
“I did!” You reply.
“Quit being a braggart and get on with this, we have two more stops!” Khamaleth snorts.
“All right, all right.” Le’lapo steps forward and puts his hands on your shoulders. He begins chanting in a tongue you do not recognize, and his eyes glow fiery red while he does so. They return to their normal emerald color when he is finished.
You don’t feel any different, anyway!
“Go on!” Le’lapo encourages you. “Test it! Try and pick me up!”
Surely you would not be able to lift this massive elf into the air! You crouch down and grab his ankles, thinking he is just going to make an ass out of you, when you inadvertantly toss him over your head about six feet!
“I’m sorry!” You gasp, as you run over to help him up. “I–I didn’t realize–”
“Humans never do!” Le’lapo grumbles as you very gently help him up. “You’ll have to get used to it. I should really stop encouraging Champions to test their strength on me!”
“You’d think you’d learn!” Khamaleth clicks its tongue. “We must go now, Le’lapo. Thank you for doing your duty.”
“No problem!” He nods.
“We have two more places to go.” Khamaleth looks towards you. “Come, we have a long journey ahead of us.”
You realize your blisters are about to get worse.
Navigating Cooking Websites
I love looking at websites for recipes to make. Some of my favorites are all recipes, and the food network website. I don’t know how to make stuff off the top of my head, so I look to the wisdom of people who have tried and tested various recipes in order to make my own.
The funniest part of browsing these recipes, however, is some of the total schmucks who review them.
The first kind of moron reviewer is one who basically made something ENTIRELY different from the recipe. These people either loved it or hated it, but either way, the food they made was not what the recipe was! People do this all the time. Their reviews are like, “I made this blue cheese burger recipe, but instead of blue cheese crumbles I substituted ranch dressing and the dried semen of satan, and instead of burger I used aged tofu from the depths of a cave in Bhutan. I also didn’t grill it, like the recipe called for, I dried it into jerky. I also didn’t put it into buns, like the recipe called for, I chopped it up and used it as burrito filling along with ortega peppers. This is the best recipe for blue cheese burgers ever! Thank you for sharing! I’ll be making this again and again!” Or, alternatively, “this recipe was so horrible. The dried semen satan was really bitter. No one in my family would eat it. Maybe next time I’ll actually come close to following the directions but it was so bad I’m giving it one star.” A subset of these reviewers says their family doesn’t like spicy food, makes a spicy recipe, leaves out all of the peppers, and says it was bland. Or they see a recipe that asks for sugar, leave out the sugar, and say it was bland. Just don’t fucking bother reviewing it if you change the recipe in some fundamental way! Find a recipe that doesn’t require something you don’t like in order to have flavor!
Now, there’s a difference between someone who altered the recipe to their tastes and then reviewed it, and someone who cooked a whole new recipe and then loved or hated it. For example, in my favorite baked ziti recipe, it calls for sour cream. Many of the reviewers substituted ricotta because they prefer it, and so do I.
In some reviews, people mention additional spices they added because they personally like them, and people who like those spices might follow suit. These reviews are useful.
I’ve learned over time that I really have to trim down the ingredients for a lot of recipes–particularly the food network ones. Most of those recipes require you to find the pollen of a flower deep within the Amazon rain forest while standing on your head and reciting the Magna Carta backwards. When I first started cooking I just swore these all off. Now I use them–but I simplify them in a way that I can make them. I sure as hell do not review the recipes after I alter the crap out of them, though!
I think it’s best for everyone to see recipes as a base of sorts. Follow the recipe the first time, and then every time after that add the things that make it good to your personal taste. If I see a recipe that calls for a small amount of red pepper flakes, I add an ass ton more. There is no way any recipe creator is going to satisfy the tastes of everyone–but that doesn’t make a recipe worthless. Just know if it calls for 10 fresh jalapeno peppers, and you cannot tolerate a packet of mild hot sauce from taco bell, you will probably have to add fewer.
Sometimes it’s the recipes themselves that drive me nuts. People try to get too cute with stuff. I spat my wine all over my keyboard and shouted, “what the fuck is this horse shit?” when I saw a deviled egg recipe that called for cod roe. Recipes try to get too cute too when they are obviously just asking for a pinch of every spice the person had in the spice rack. This should only be done for a chili! 
Anyway, I may occasionally put up some recipes if I make stuff that’s particularly good. Everything I make is VERY FREAKIN’ SIMPLE, so they are not for people who would make something like squash curry soup for dinner, at any point in time. If I want something fancy I generally have to go to a restaurant.
Spanksgiving
OMNOMNOMNOMNOMNOM
I enjoy holidays when I get the day off for them. I am making quite the feast today–and I shall devour it with reckless abandon.
This reminds me of how I often see stupid obnoxious magazines while going through the grocery line which admonish people not to “break their diets” for the holidays. I seriously think they do this so people will
A). Say, fuck this noise and eat some goddamned turkey, stuffing, deviled eggs, chips and dip, pumpkin pie, cool whip, fudge, oh man. Which leads to
B). Guilt, and give them
C). a reason to blame themselves when their diets inevitably fail, and therefore people will buy more magazines telling them how to become skinny.
This is a smooth move. And not the “smooth move, exlax” kind.
I seriously do not think one day of eating what you want could possibly “ruin a diet.” I myself do not diet but I just sense shenanigans when people are so eager to act like if you stuff your face once in November and once in December, you’re totally boned forever and you’re going to have to be airlifted out of your bed and put on an agriculture scale on the set of Oprah. C’mon! Even though I fundamentally disagree with dieting in general for various reasons, I can see the logic behind “don’t break your diet most of the time,” but I cannot possibly see the logic of “one day of french fries is going to give you a heart attack.” This is silly.
So, I will enjoy thanksgiving dinner. My husband and I eat the freakin’ dark meat too. It’s tastier AND better for you, seriously. I plan on becoming totally comatose and zoning out on my sofa for hours on end. Well, after I adorn each of my fingertips with a whole olive and stomp around my abode like Godzilla. We also plan on eating so many deviled eggs we will sprout horns and tails.
RAWR.
Daydreamin’
I always wonder how many people, and how often, people daydream. Daydreaming is a serious pasttime of mine. It keeps me entertained in class, on the toilet, before I go to sleep, on the bus, while waiting in lines for various reasons–daydreaming is totally awesome.
I think, though, that my daydreaming might be stunted compared to a lot of people. I hear people say they can still smell and taste something they’d eaten before, or dissected before. I’ve never once had a memory of how something smelled or tasted. The closest thing I’ve ever had to experiencing that is an after taste, which I do not enjoy. I’ve never smelled something or tasted something in a dream, either. It’s all visual. My brain is all up in the occipital lobe hizzle, I guess.
I daydream about everything, from how I’m going to make deviled eggs for thanksgiving, to plots for various stories I’ve concocted that I will one day set down to write, to an elaborate Mary-Sue post-apocalyptic world where I have totally awesome super powers. It’s also really hard for me to answer the question “if you had a super power, what would it be?” Because I cannot decide what is most powerful. Sometimes I think it’s super intelligence–then I could discover cold fusion, and I could make myself a robot and a robot suit and be all powerful that way. I know super strength is not my forte, I wouldn’t want to accidentally squish people or something. I think having some sort of psychic power to influence people’s thoughts would be insanely powerful. If a genie came to me and asked what super power I wanted I’d have a hard time deciding, is what I’m saying.
If I ever write a book or a comic or tv show or something with someone with powers in it, there are a lot of things I’d throw out the window. #1, husbands who won’t let their wives use their powers. I thought Bewitched was such a load of shit, if I had awesome witch powers and I was with a dude, and I told him about my powers, and he was like “you must never use your powers” I’d say “you must never use your penis” and turn it into a frog. Ok maybe I wouldn’t be that harsh. But I’d definitley call him a jealous fuck, and the relationship would probably end right there. I would not be too worried about him “telling people” my secret. If he went around like, “dude that woman I was dating has POWERS!” the person he said that to would be like, “hey, the looney bin called, they said there was an escapee!” And then I’d smite the dude.
#2, just not telling your significant other. Super heroes often have significant others they don’t tell about their secret identities. I understand this is to keep them safe, but let’s be real. If I had super powers and I was suddenly making excuses for being out all of the time, my husband would think I was cheating on him. Plus, I can’t even stop myself from telling him what I got him for Christmas months ahead of time, there is no fucking way I could have super powers and not tell him. It just would not happen. A lot of characters EVENTUALLY tell their loved ones, but the plot mechanism of “hey let’s find ways to keep a secret” is milked for a good long time. I’m saying my character would tell RIGHT AWAY. I don’t imagine that every fictional character could be so tight-lipped about this if I couldn’t be, so I’d make my character spill the beans for a change.
#3, I’m pretty sure someone who acted as a super hero would have to wear a burqa and gloves in order to not be discovered immediately all over youtube. To have a secret identity, there would have to be some other mechanism there. The Hannah Montana wig thing would be insufficient too, is my guess.
That’s all I can think of for now.
I also have a lot of ideas for MMOs, if I could ever design one. First of all, it bothers me that in an MMO I can totally decimate a population of a certain type of people, pirates in Booty Bay, for example, and I just become more and more hated. Look–after I ravage them for so long, they should be begging for mercy. I should go from loathed to exalted. I should be the pirate queen. If I made an MMO, that would happen. But before you became exalted, you would be hunted down everywhere you went. If you were just drinking some ale in a major city, you might suddenly be attacked by a band of pirates. People of the opposite faction who are friendly with the pirates (or if no opposite factions and the game is a throwback to evil, free for all MUDs, just random people) would get quests to kill you. You would have to go through hell for your choice of making the pirate civilization your personal stomping grounds.
I also think a Super Mario Bros. MMO would be the freakin’ shizzle. There are already two obvious factions, and I would totally play as a goomba. The races would have to be thought out a little bit since there’s so much more to work with on the side of evil (not all the forces of good can be stupid toadstool people), but it could be done. I would totaly play this and it would be supremely awesome.
Speaking of cute, colorful MMOs, I am so disappointed with the Hello Kitty MMO. I’m disappointed in it for the same reason I was disappointed with animal crossing. LET ME PLAY A CUTE LITTLE FUZZY ANIMAL. I do not want to be the human in the world of furries. I am no furry, but goddamnit it if I’m playing an MMO in a world full of adorable creatures, I want to be an adorable creature!
I thought for a second I got off track with the daydreaming thing, but I really didn’t. This is the kind of drivel which swirls throughout my screwy brainmeats day in and day out.
