wallowing in crapulence.
when i should be working, i’m drawing, when i should be drawing, i’m goofing off…. when i make time to goof off, i end up working. it’s a non stop cycle of shame and regret. ok, not so much, but lately, there’s been a common theme to the things i’m getting jazzed about, and i think i put m finger on what it is. they’re ‘guilty pleasures’. and that could be said of most things to a degree, but as Moe Szylak said, ‘I’ve done a lot of things in my life that I’m not proud of…and the things I AM proud of, are disgusting’
let’s start with the first one. i don’t feel so bad about this one, but a wrong must be made right. i just found out that if you play max payne 2, the whole way through, on the hardest difficulty, mona sax lives. how did i not know this?! in my mind, she died in max’s arms, and he went all caveman on the russian mafia. but no, not necessarily. so, in a way, she’s been in a shroedinger’s cat state of being dead, or not, based on a decision i stuck with cause i didn’t know better. then again, i could have just not wussed out and played it at a higher difficulty. the fault is mine and mine, alone, and i fixed it! so relax. 6 or so hours of a 15 year old game, marveling the whole way at the low poly count and inarticulate hands, with surprisingly hi rez textures for the time. the rag dolls physics also still hold up. in bullet time, slo mo blasting a corpse across the floor with a machine gun is an endless source of amusement. hm, maybe i’m a sociopath….. better keep an eye on that. but yeah. she does in fact, live. time well spent to see a extra few panels of a comic book cinematic, where she opens her eyes. in a way, it was better when she died. it at least explained why max payne 3 was so crap. everyone just gave up.
the other thing i’m pretty pleased about is something i probably should be actually embarrassed over, and that’s the return of celebrity big brother uk. and i know, before you even think it, i have accepted that one of the biggest things ruining culture is reality tv. and i agree. i think of it as junk food for the mind, and a month of it is probably going to do to my brain what a month of big macs would do to my ass. but i can’t help it. there’s something about watching british people flail around and start drama. maybe it’s cause the accents don’t seem to match the childishness, but american big brother doesn’t do it for me. it’s ineffable, and i’m an addict.
if you have any basic faith in humanity you’d like to stomp out for good, i’d recommend ‘leah remini: scientology and the aftermath’. i almost let this one slip by for a couples reasons. i thought the doc ‘going clear’ covered all there’d need to be said on the subject, nail, coffin, done. that, and leah remini has been diagnosed with 4th stage bitch face. it’s just her way. the genital shredding claws she sports doesn’t help soften her image either. i joke. i’m sure she’s a super lady. i wouldn’t eff with her though.