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March 7th, 2005

(no subject) [Mar. 7th, 2005|10:50 am]
This will probably piss off hardcore Star Wars fans. Myself? I think I might buy it as it looks like someone played too much Zelda on the N64 one night and in a sleep-deprived stupor found themselves playing with some Star Wars lego sets afterwards and thinking how cool it would be to make a Zelda game with Star Wars legos.
Link2 thoughts|whaddya think?

(no subject) [Mar. 7th, 2005|11:32 am]
It occurs to me that the number of PC gamers that I associate with has dwindled down to the single digits and now I don't really have anyone to turn to for suggestions on hardware upgrades unless I spend hours pouring over forums. What I'm needing is suggestions on a graphics card for the new PC that I bought recently. Right now I'm living off of the integrated card which can handle older games just fine, but I'd like to be able to run some newer games as well. Can anyone suggest a card in the $150 and under range?
Link1 thought|whaddya think?

Were you ever so bright and sweet? Did you ever look so nice? [Mar. 7th, 2005|05:25 pm]
[Your mom ain't listening to |The Postal Service - Against The Odds]

The first warm spring rain storm rolled into town last night. It's a good thing I don't have any neighbors because they'd have thought me crazy when I got home because I spent about ten minutes just standing out there staring off into space. There's something about an early spring rain that strikes a chord inside of me. Unfortunately I'm like a one-hit wonder or 311 and am made up of the same three chords, but that's neither here nor there. I'm a sucker for anything even remotely cleansing, even if it doesn't do anything but make me more nostalgic and pathetic.

Someone must have stolen my Delorean because it appears I've gone back in time two years to end up exactly where I was back then, only with a larger music collection and intimate knowledge of a couple bodies that aren't my own buried in a filing cabinet slated to be dumped into the ocean for lack of usage and future need. It seems that reading over old journal entries has been the "cool" thing to do lately. I must confess that I've been skimming through my past with a strainer, looking for any chunks of meaty goodiness that I can find. No one ever told me that I used to be a halfway decent writer. Maybe I can find that boy again and put him to work writing up the dozen or so things that are constantly floating about in the ether between my ears.

I'm homesick for a home that never existed outside of my own mind. Can you define home as the feeling of comfort brought about by the support structure you've built for yourself? I know that the empty husk that I go home to each night for rest doesn't qualify as anything more than a place to lay my head. Any fond memories that might come to mind come with barbs attached, like designer anthrax-laced love letters, creating a brief moment of euphoria followed by a stabbing pain in your throat and an acrid sting around the tear ducts. Combustion and destruction work well for disposing of the physical evidence, but I've got a luggage rack full of baggage that can't be so easily torn asunder. Luckily I suffer from a rare skin disorder that causes my skin to grow thicker and thicker as time goes on. One day I will be a walking callus, immune to the pin pricks, the bar pricks, the dumb pricks.
Linkwhaddya think?

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