Latest inductee of the “I give up on life” car club

~ dannyhong ~ Leave a comment

The 2012 Subaru Impreza

When I speak about cars that say “I give up on life,” I am referring to vehicles, notorious for being driven by people who have pretty much settled down completely in life, cars strictly for practicality, function and purpose, but have absolutely zero fun or redeeming aspects about them other than the absolutely necessary. Prominent members of the I give up on life car club include the Chevrolet Lumina, Ford Taurus, Dodge Stratus, and more recently the Toyota Camry. The Honda Accord would make the list if not for the gallant efforts by its coupe iteration that keep the name from being completely square.

If you’re remotely car-savvy, or sort of familiar with the features of modern cars, you’ll notice that these are all cars that are nondescript four-door sedans that are essentially people movers and a means to an end. Nothing special, the basic of amenities and standards, to move from point A to point B in as much obscurity as possible.

You don’t drive any car in the I give up on life club for fun, enjoyment or leisure. Period.

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I now know what true love is

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In the past, whether it was your teef, lips or tongue which came in contact with the shell of a taco first, the flavor receptors in our mouths register something very nondescript, bland, ordinary; something serving functionality over enjoyment.  The shell that exists solely to harness and restrain all of the beefy, cheesy, veggie, saucy goodness that goes inside of a taco.  No longer, said Taco Bell – no longer would the shell be merely Robin’s utility belt when it could become Batman’s trusty cowl on the hierarchy of awesomeness.  And so they took the boring old taco shell which was the standard, the norm, and made a change that would flip the universe upside down.

I know what true love is now.  The heart-fluttering first kisses in life have no comparison.  Driving off the lot in my very first new car is but a distant third in comparison.  Watching the Braves mount a comeback on the Phillies isn’t close to as arousing on so many levels.

True love, is the Dorito Taco.

A little bit of live brogging

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I know the game is over.  Once Mason Plumlee makes the highlight reel with any sort of flashy dunk that happens for no other reason than the opposition being so flustered by defending the three, that they leave his lily-white ass open to do as many impressions of Dominique Wilkins as he wants.  Seriously, is there anyone in organized basketball that’s more goofy and oaf-like than Mason Plumlee?

As I type, Tech’s got 38 points, and I’m pretty sure that 36 of those points are either from three-pointers of free throws.  I’m not entirely sure why I’m still watching this game other than the fact that my other television is occupado with some Mass Effect action going on, but it is certainly brutal.

This game has been a big of a prick tease as they come; Duke’s missing most of their threes, but the problem is that Tech can’t make a bucket in the paint to save their life.  Tech is owning the boards and making their free throws, but someone forgot to let them know that they still need to occasionally make some actual field goals to put those requisite points on the scoreboard.  The game has been completely winnable for the Hokies, but so far they’re the only ones beating them, because it’s certainly not Duke.

Simple but brilliant

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Hulk Hogan’s mustache classified as new lifeform

I’m not sure how the topic of this came up, but for whatever reason, I was reminded of this brilliant Fark headline back many years ago.  As short as it was, it got right to the point and hit on all the metaphorical cylinders – nostalgia, current events, and love for lobsters.  It’s still floating around my idea of the bar set for what makes a good headline, to this very day.

Suck it, Climpson

~ dannyhong ~ Leave a comment

Sure, they’re probably going to obliterated by Duke tomorrow, with insulting sights of Mason Plumlee and Ryan Kelly dunking all over the place when Doc Rivers’ kid isn’t going apeshit from beyond the arc.

But if for one night only, it’s great to see Virginia Tech not pull a vanishing act in a postseason game, and actually look like a good athletic program.  Sure, they still did their typical bonehead shit like five-second violations and was easily confused by a full-court press resulting in an egregious use of timeouts, but when it came to the important stuff like making their free throws, they sank them confidently and kept the pressure on Clemson to try and respond and it certainly didn’t help that suddenly they’re the team that can’t make a free throw to save their life.

It was refreshing to have watched, and it puts me in a jovial mood.  I can wear my Tech shit to work tomorrow proudly, because tonight, we’re the winners.

Getting old sucks

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I didn’t play Mass Effect 1 until Mass Effect 2 came out.  Needless to say, I was a bit late onto the ME2 train, and even then I ended up sitting on the game for about three months until I started playing it because I literally had absolutely nothing else to do on a weekend.  Ultimately, it became my favorite game evar, seriously, even surpassing any and all of the Resident Evil games that I’m also very enamored with, due to the strength of its fun game play, compelling story, and brilliant story telling.

Upon completion of ME2, my initial thoughts were “man, I can’t wait for Mass Effect 3 to come out!  I’m going to pre-order that shit, and get it on release day, and if I’m working then, take that day off!”

Yeah no, none of that shit actually happened.  ME3 has been out for 24 hours now, I do not have it yet, I did not pre-order it, and despite the fact that there is a GameSlut within walking distance from my office, I have no plans of picking up a copy of it yet.  Because, frankly, I can’t find any time to actually play ME3 any time soon.  Mostly, due to the fact that I am in fact, getting old.

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The aftermath, in statistics

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One hour, 44 minutes, 25 seconds – my official time in the Atlanta chapter of the zombie run.  Yikes.

That’s 66 minutes and one second longer than it took me to finish the course in Maryland.  Sure, the mud played a gigantic inhibiting factor in the Georgia run, but who am I to kid that I probably couldn’t have done way better than that time, if I had actually tried, instead of dicking around with my friends?  To put it in perspective, literally only 29 people “survived” with slower times than I did.  522 people “survived,” and I ranked 493 out of those times.

The fastest survival time was 39:37:10, which was actually 1:13:80 slower than my Maryland time, to put in perspective just how grueling the mud made the Georgia run.  A 41-year old man bettered that time by five minutes, but had apparently lost all his flags, therefore not really “the winner.”

I don’t regret my course of actions during the run, and I still declare that I had more fun this time, screwing around with the zombies, but this is quite an eye-opener for me.  In contrast to the Maryland run, I was rarely winded, and my muscles often fatigued before my stamina did, and I know I could have easily crossed in under an hour if I actually put forth the effort, state of survival up for debate.

Upon completion of the Atlanta zombie run, a part of me would be content at never participating again.  But a competitive part of me wants a degree of redemption; I don’t have anything to prove, but I still kind of want to end on a really high note.