Le Raconteur #2 -- End of the Beginning
Raconteur (n.) – One who tells stories and anecdotes with skill and wit.
Alright, so I’ve been absent for a little while, but it’s with good reason. What is that good reason, you ask; that all two persons of you? Well, school, dagnabbit. Freaking school never ceases to amaze me… even though I’m taking as few as 10 hours this semester, with one class ending way back in the back-way; I still felt like I was under some enormous pressure. (3 A’s and a B, by the way! That never happens, believe me. :p)
Anyways— I’m getting before my self, and my self befores I’m.
End of Independent Study
So, the independent study I was in finally ended, much to my sadness. I told Mrs. Horne that I felt as though some of my best work came out of that endeavor, and I wonder if she agrees in earnest, or if she was just humoring me.
Although not as ceremonious as the previous unveilings, I couldn’t help but want to go ahead and get this over with. So without further ad-… actually, didn’t you ever feel like the phrase “without further ado” pretty much is the DEFINITION of further ado? Not a lot, this is true, but— I digress. (Now, that’s more like it.)
The Hot Fuzz Triptic
This is a sort of test of a concept I had years ago, that I had tentatively entitled “Unsung Heroes of American Cinema.” The idea was to grab screens of cool supporting characters, or even speaking-part extras in big movies, and do LX-strations of them.
When I first saw Hot Fuzz, I thought the freeze frames of these three supporting characters laughing in the supermarket during the movie were hilarious. I thought, I HAVE to do this now, using those three faces— they are priceless.
But a problem arose— DVD screenshots SUCK for quality. Suddenly, I’m screwed. but good ol’ Chris (or as I affectionately call him Teenage Mutant Ninja TURDle) suggested I take pictures of the TV or computer screen with my digital camera, and used that. While that wasn’t perfect, it worked out pretty damned good. I’m not so fond of the middle one, Doris— mostly because her face is so contorted by laugh and heavy helmet, that she looks intrinsically unnatural. The Andy’s turned out fantastic though, imo. Especially the one with the bolognese.
Make Love, Not War.
Long story semi-shortened— I had a different project in line for my final piece of the study, but time has a way of not permitting, as you know. I opted to bump that back to a later, undetermined date and push forward a concept I had scheduled for the summer.
It’s not meant to mean something grand or overly political. Whether you believe in the Iraq war, or don’t… whether you believe in the current government rule or not… I think we can all agree that war is NOT a place we ever WANT to end up intentionally.
More than anything, it’s a throwback to a couple of things. The old spirit of the 60’s and 70’s that I was not a part of, but I’ve become enchanted with as of recent. But more than anything— Banksy. I like taking pictures of myself and immortalizing them in illustration… doing things I’ll never do, or things I wish I could do. Cigarettes, remember?
Doing graffiti is something I fantasize being able to do, I see Banksy’s guerrilla stencil work gracing the streets of London through the majestic windows of Digg and StumbleUpon and I wish ever so dearly that I could do even an eighth of the same. But I feel like… even if I could realistically find someone to teach me now, they wouldn’t because I’m not in tune enough with the streets.
I honestly couldn’t say they were wrong either. Oh well, maybe in another life.
Coffee Tab-LX
I made a little portfolio of everything I created in the study this semester to turn in to Mrs. Horne. Upon taking my collection of print-outs to Staples to be bound, I immediately received a huge boner; induced by the thought of having my own coffee table book of works I had completed. In any case, I made a little sumtin’sumtin’ to cover my portfolio. Thought I’d share it here— nothing special, but I like it.
Grandiose Burgling of Locomotives, of the Fourth Variety.
GTA4 is a pox. I can’t shake it. In my car, I fantasize about driving down the middle of the road, barely getting by; the possibility of being ejected from my car and sent sailing; wind whipping at my face, drying out my teeth as my ear-spread grin is bared to the world. When I see police cars by in traffic, my muscles jerk as I jam the steering wheel in the other direction, praying that our cars don’t make contact, lest I need to make a run from the long arm of justice. At night, I dream I am behind cover, throwing grenades over my shoulder at other felonious failures, begging to make a desperate reach to the next rung of the termite-infested ladder that is… the American Dream.
The game is fucking great. It’s not perfect. But it’s GREAT fun.
I have found no less than 4, unlabeled mini-games within that massive game, one of which— my favorite, that I will explain to you here.
Patriot Pummeling
Step 1) Get a Patriot.
Step 2) Drive.
Let the innate ability of the Patriot’s otherworldly destructive capacity overwhelm you. My personal most enjoyable method? Reach top speed towards an active intersection, and T-bone some poor motherfucker who thought his morning drive to the Golden Arches would be ANYTHING but laced with flaming metal and screeching tires… let alone death.
Generally, your target will slump over the wheel, foot still on the gas, driving headlong into the nearest wall or pedestrian (the latter is more hilarious), or they will open the door and get out to confront you, and promptly fall to the ground in a delayed fashion— unconscious or dead.
It’s wonderful.
…
I suppose this is the part where I tell you that the game isn’t all that evil, and the drunk driving isn’t fun, and it doesn’t celebrate crime or evil-doing in any manner unless you seek it out for yourself.
But get this… that’s common sense. I know that’s foreign to a lot nowadays, but if you can’t figure out for yourself that it’s JUST A GAME, without it being spoon fed to you by someone with a print-out license to drum up figures or write scientific poppycock… then you’re beyond help.
Get Down with the Sickness
Beth got me sick.
I hate being sick. The common cold is torture to me. My head feels like it’s always on the verge of caving in. My temperature is in a state constant variance. The scars from my tonsillectomy swell up and makes swallowing a burden, and talking painfully uncomfortable at best— which I’m sure pleases most of my friends. I get so congested I can’t breathe, and when I attempt to swallow, the congestion is so bad that my tongue actually sticks to the roof of my mouth like some sick vacuum; one that induces panic until I can right myself. My leg throbs from my old knee injury, and I have a general malaise that envelopes me like *a devil’s blanket. *
It fucking BLOWS.
The common cold is a vile strain, and unto to it, I raise an enfeebled but incredibly poignant middle finger.
Fuck you, Sick. Fuck you. I hope you get a cold.
~LX knows that it still hasn’t sunk in that it’s finally summer. Maybe because of this everloving sickness.
