It arrived, as is usual for such things, during a firefight involving orks

The not-quite saga of my application for a trainee studio writer's job definitively ended last night with a text from my brother; the process has ended without anyone being hired. The reasons for this are unknown. Perhaps everyone else was rubbish? My knowledge of people leads me to conclude this the most likely explanation.
This information at least gives me a little joy. I didn't get the job, so no-one else should. Schadenfreude* aside, I suppose there exists the chance the job will some day be re-opened for applications. Another chance to apply would certainly be welcome. Learning from my defeat, I have surely levelled up to such a degree that victory is a possible, no, the probable outcome.

Whatevs though, my doggs. The trip to the frozen wastes of Canada draws ever closer. I wonder if you have to wrestle the polar bear before or after you go through customs? Soon I will know.



*does it really count if the others are nameless faceless supposed entities? Also shut up scadenfreude is a word I use everyday for reals

A mystery

A friend on facebook posts a general link to a crappy looking world war two themed webgame. He does this a lot. Fantasy themed games. Mafia themed games. Nothing new, nothing noteworthy. A reply though, from someone I do not know:
"I've already expressed my feelings to you on this."
His name is unfamiliar to me, his profile picture face stern and humourless. The background dark, although vague suggestions of a party are present. Who is this man? What are his feelings, and why must he tell the world about it in such a passive aggressive manner? Is it the WW2 theme he takes such umbridge at?
Maybe his beef lies with webgames in general.
Perhaps this is the final straw in their relationship.
A drama unfolds, the likes of which we can only guess at.

Quit getting sad at the fragility of life

A new post, and it's not even going to be written by me. Still, crazy people who blew things up was too tempting a subject not to copy/paste this up here. You know, for reference.

On the topic of scientists who were more than a little crazy, one of my recent favorites is '30s and '40s rocket scientist Jack Parsons.

Now being a rocket scientist in '30s America was already enough to qualify you as insane if not downright suicidal. Before WW2, rocketry had next to zero credibility with the scientific establishment, who considered it the stuff of trashy science fiction pulp magazines. Not to mention that whole "it involves explosions that can very easily kill you, and everyone around you" stigma.

On the plus side, this left the "I am a rocket scientist" bar low enough that Parsons, a college drop-out and self-taught chemist, could just show up to the California Institute Of Technology and jump right in to blowing shit up with some CIT grad students dubbed "the Suicide Squad". Which is a good thing, since he developed the advances to solid rocket fuel and rocket-assisted aircraft takeoff that eventually helped jump-start the American space program. The "Suicide Squad" founded CIT's Jet Propulsion Laboratory, which is now part of NASA, and Parsons even has a crater on the Moon named after him.

So what makes him notably more eccentric than his fellow pioneering rocket scientists?

Jack Parsons thought he was the Antichrist.

The same urge to explore the unknown that inspired Parsons to tinker with explosives and rockets inspired him to delve into the occult. He eventually became a devotee of infamous British occultist Aleister Crowley, also known as "The Great Beast", "The Wickedest Man In The World" and "Oh, That Guy Ozzy Wrote That Song About". By the time Jack Parsons and the other rocketeers at the Jet Propulsion Lab had become well-paid government employees, Parsons was also leading the California chapter of Crowley's "Ordo Templi Orientis" organization.

And by "leading the organization", I mean "living in a mansion with a bunch of other eccentrics, doing lots of drugs and having orgies under the guise of 'sex magick' rituals".

When Parsons' wife left him (shocking, I know), he decided that the best way to snag himself a new partner was to perform a sex magic ritual known as the "Babalon Working", which in addition to altering the fabric of the cosmos and ushering in a new era of Dionysian sensual liberation would summon forth a living female embodiment of the Biblical Whore Of Babylon. Once she appeared, Parsons would then fuck her brains out as part of some other, even more esoteric magical sex ritual.

(Or in other words, what the plot of Weird Science would have been if they'd never invented computers.)

So Jack got his ritualistic freak on while another member of the O.T.O. took notes. Because apparently masturbating can only punch holes in the fabric of the universe if someone else is watching. Within days of the ritual, a sexy redhead named Marjorie showed up at the O.T.O. mansion and hooked up with Parsons, who declared the ritual a smashing success. Since he thought he was now fucking the Whore Of Babylon in an effort to usher in the apocalypse, he declared himself to be the Antichrist and started writing unauthorized additional chapters to Crowley's books on the subject.

Crowley didn't take this too well, and kicked Parsons out of the O.T.O.. Around the same time, Parsons lost his government job due to a combination of his eccentric lifestyle becoming public knowledge and the science of rocketry becoming complex or at least academically acceptable enough that self-taught amateurs like Parsons were no longer invited to blow shit up with the more book-smart scientists.

He then took some private sector gigs, and founded a boat company with the half-sister of his ex-wife and her new husband, the former O.T.O. member who took those notes during Parsons' big sex magic ritual. This turns out to be a horrible idea, as said half-sister and husband run off with all of Parsons' money not once, but twice.

Parsons, broke and out of work, moved back in with his mother and took random movie special effects jobs, all while continuing both his chemical and mystical experiments. Eventually one of those chemical experiments went terribly wrong, when Parsons dropped a coffee can full of unstable explosive material and set off a massive explosion that blew off one of his arms and chunks of his jaw and his three other limbs. This explosion didn't kill him immediately, however, as he lingered for several hours before eventually dying. His mother, upon hearing the news of his death, killed herself.

Now Jack Parsons is a footnote in the history of space exploration, but has developed a cult following, no pun intended, amongst folks who can say the phrase "sex magick" without laughing.

Oh, whatever happened to the guy who watched Jack Parsons ritualistically masturbate and then twice scammed him out of his hard-earned cash? He combined his love of ripping people off and his love of writing and after a long and controversial career of doing both, died at the age of 75. His name?

L. Ron Hubbard.

Found here.

Brains?

Like a whole bunch of people it seems, this past few weeks I have been amusing myself with the sublime Plants vs Zombies. Tonight I thought i should update this blog with a few Zombie versions of people I know.
Starting with myself, and then in no particular order:

Stlyin'

So today I got a new pair of glasses. Those of you with prefect vision will be unfamiliar with the process of getting new glasses, so let me tell you it is odd and not unlike being given a new pair of eyes. Subtle differences in the way you see things, a whole new outlook on life. Well, at least for an hour or so until you get used to them.
Mum says that I look like Sylar from Heroes in them. I think it was meant to be a complement. Does Sylar even wear glasses? Maybe she meant Mr. Bennett. Hmmmm.

EXTREEEEEEEEM

Despite being the correct age I was never into G.I. Joe as a kid. After all, giant fighty space robots beat regular-sized fighty soldiers. I'm vaguely familiar with a few of the characters through the backup stories that used to be reprinted (though infrequently read) in the back of my childhood Transformers comics, but I have nothing in the way of nostalgia for the series. I did, however, spend a part of this evening watching my way through G.I. Joe Resolute. It's a recently finished micro-series, written by Warren Ellis (of A-Bunch-Of-My-Favourite-Comics fame) and directed by Joaquim dos Santos (who apparently is notable for his work on the final few episodes of Avatar, and probably other things too). The animation is pretty spiffy too. Taking the form of 10 (or 11, depending on how you number them) 5-ish minute episodes, it's hugely entertaining, and also surprisingly brutal in places. You'll probably recognise a few familiar voice actors in there as well.


In other, related news, check out this, from the 90s. It seems bizarre to imagine a time when the word extreme was used without irony, but here it is.

It's all down hill from here

That's it. As a race, we have officially peaked. All of the technological, sociological and psychological advancements that we have ever made have led up to this point. Rejoice, friends, because you were the generation that produced Robot Dinosaurs That Shoot Beams When They Roar.
Nothing will ever be the same again.

On spending

I've been on something of an internet shopping spree this past week. Nothing terribly life changing. "What's wrong with me" I think, "I don't need any more stuff. I have plenty I'm not using as it is!" I figure recovery from major surgery* gave me licence to spend money though. Getting stuff in the post is fun!
Today me and mum went looking for a new dining room table. The place we went had two, both of which were tiny so it was not a very successful trip. However, they also had computers, and mum has been thinking about getting a new laptop for a while now, so we had a look. She spotted an iMac. "Oh!" She said "I didn't know you could get them without towers! The whole reason I wanted a laptop was because I didn't want the tower, but this is much nicer!" About 5 minutes of thinking about it followed, and then she was at the check out. "I'm only buying it because it looks nice!" she said.
I wonder where I get it from.

*It was not major, and wasn't really surgery either, more of a day in hospital to be probed. Shit was traumatic though. Traumatic enough to make me buy a high elf monolith from the internet. Fuck yeah!

Remember Captain, I'm here if you need me *wink*

Ahh, how predictable. How like me, and my blogging ways. A month since the last update, and indeed 3 since anything of note. But not for this blog a decent into obsolescence! Not yet anywayz.
I say that like I leave a trail of neglected blogs in my wake. Just the one for me. I wonder if it's still online? Maybe i'll dig it up and go and find out what I wrote about 6 years ago, or whenever it was. Probably coco pops.
So. WoW has released it's hold on me for a few days, and in the gap before it inevitable consumes me again I have returned to a few titles I never quite finished the first time around. Such as Command and Conquer 3, starring the entire cast of Battlestar Galactica and That Guy From Lost. And not just their voices either. Full outfits, bad acting, it's all there. The first C&C came at a time when FMV cut scenes in video games was kinda how shit got done, but it's the only one that kept 'em, even if it is in knowingly bad way. And for that, I salute you!

Notes on a graduation

Back home, massively tired, overwhelming urge to listen to beastie boys.