"You're picky," The Dog told me.
"I'm sensitive," I said, "and besides, it's true. Nutmeg is the playground bully of spices."
"Okay, you've got me. Explain."
"As soon as nutmeg makes its way into any dish, it walks around to all the other flavors, kicking them in the shins, making them feel miserable, until whenever you taste the dish all you can think is 'nutmeg has been here,' and then you're as miserable as the food you just ate."
"You're picky," The Dog told me.
But I'm not. I'm sensitive.
--Pete
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Ice cream and Kzargotskistan
It's a scam.
You're not likely to believe me, because you're saying to yourself, 'I just had some yesterday. I know ice cream is real.' And you're right. Ice cream is real, and that's not why it's a scam. I know, if you've read the book or heard me talk about The Dog, you're used to my saying that things you thought were real aren't actually real, but that's not what I'm saying here. So when I said it's a scam, it's not because it isn't real, though you might naturally have thought that, but I'm telling you that's not what I was saying.
The Dog says I need to move on.
So you had some ice cream. You put it in your mouth, you felt the minty-fruity-toffee...ee goodness melt around in your mouth, slip past your tongue and slide down your throat, cold and satisfying. You felt all that, BUT! Once it hits your stomach, that's where the magic kicks in, and it's not your friendly-flowers-and-stylish-yet-comfortable-chairs kind of magic.
Let me explain about Kzargotskistan. People don't generally know about Kzargotskistan because they imploded under their own magical and physical weight due to excesses in both areas, and now occupy a very small space--about 3 cm x 7 cm--on the border between Ukraine and Russia. Their only hope of ever reopening their borders is to shed both magical and physical energy. The magical you generally don't have to worry about, since it flies off in a direction you can't travel and makes life confusing for a dimension you'll never visit.
The physical energy, however, they pass off in the form of calories. You see where I'm headed with this. Yes, the catalyst for this shedding of calories is ice cream. It started through a treaty over forty years ago with Poland, who sent two agents to New York to found the Häagen-Dazs brand. From there, they made highly profitable arrangements with Dreyers, Breyers, Benjamin and Gerald's, and McDonald's. When that ice cream hits your stomach--VORP! A portal is opened to Kzargotskistan, and calories are pumped directly into your innards. Doesn't matter if you do the whole 'non-dairy frozen dessert' thing, either. They still get you.
So this is why I tell you it's a scam. And yes, I still eat ice cream. A young man has to choose what battles to fight, and Kzargotskistan beat me the moment my sister gave me Häagen-Dazs chocolate.
I surrender, Kzargotskistan. You win.
--Pete
You're not likely to believe me, because you're saying to yourself, 'I just had some yesterday. I know ice cream is real.' And you're right. Ice cream is real, and that's not why it's a scam. I know, if you've read the book or heard me talk about The Dog, you're used to my saying that things you thought were real aren't actually real, but that's not what I'm saying here. So when I said it's a scam, it's not because it isn't real, though you might naturally have thought that, but I'm telling you that's not what I was saying.
The Dog says I need to move on.
So you had some ice cream. You put it in your mouth, you felt the minty-fruity-toffee...ee goodness melt around in your mouth, slip past your tongue and slide down your throat, cold and satisfying. You felt all that, BUT! Once it hits your stomach, that's where the magic kicks in, and it's not your friendly-flowers-and-stylish-yet-comfortable-chairs kind of magic.
Let me explain about Kzargotskistan. People don't generally know about Kzargotskistan because they imploded under their own magical and physical weight due to excesses in both areas, and now occupy a very small space--about 3 cm x 7 cm--on the border between Ukraine and Russia. Their only hope of ever reopening their borders is to shed both magical and physical energy. The magical you generally don't have to worry about, since it flies off in a direction you can't travel and makes life confusing for a dimension you'll never visit.
The physical energy, however, they pass off in the form of calories. You see where I'm headed with this. Yes, the catalyst for this shedding of calories is ice cream. It started through a treaty over forty years ago with Poland, who sent two agents to New York to found the Häagen-Dazs brand. From there, they made highly profitable arrangements with Dreyers, Breyers, Benjamin and Gerald's, and McDonald's. When that ice cream hits your stomach--VORP! A portal is opened to Kzargotskistan, and calories are pumped directly into your innards. Doesn't matter if you do the whole 'non-dairy frozen dessert' thing, either. They still get you.
So this is why I tell you it's a scam. And yes, I still eat ice cream. A young man has to choose what battles to fight, and Kzargotskistan beat me the moment my sister gave me Häagen-Dazs chocolate.
I surrender, Kzargotskistan. You win.
--Pete
Monday, September 28, 2009
The Problems with Final Fantasy XII
Where to start. I've made it halfway through this game, and I can't do it anymore. It's completely unrealistic, and I'm not even talking about the abs on the teenage hero. (Seriously, no one I know looks like that. Well, there's one girl on the cross country team, but I wasn't looking.)
No, I'm talking about realism where it really matters: the magic. Specifically, the massive creatures that these people summon at the drop of a hat. Totally bogus.
The Dog is telling me to calm down, but I'm not sure I can. Look, once I tried to summon a shupling. Not a big one, just a little one, because I thought it would be cool to have wings. I'm me, The Dog was reasonably helpful--I think he wanted to see me with wings, too--and it worked. Bam. There it was, right in front of me, a small shupling.
"'Sup," he said, his head bobbing to whatever was on his iPod. "Just a sec, I'll be with you."
"They have iPods on Shup?" I asked.
"Apparently," said The Dog.
"Love that song," said the shupling, yanking the buds out of his stretchy ears. "What can I do for you?"
"I want to fly," I said. I was fourteen at the time, and flying was one of my earliest ideas for getting to school without taking the bus.
"Sounds fun," he said. "Where to?"
"I thought I'd just start small. Maybe up and down a few times, get the hang of it, before we did anything serious."
"Rock on. Hit it." Then he stared at me. I stared at him. I lifted my hands in a 'let's go' kind of gesture, then he lifted his hands in a 'what are you waiting for' sort of shrug.
"I don't think you're communicating well," said The Dog.
"I can't fly unless you climb on my back," I said.
"Wait, what? Dude, are you nuts? I may be stretchy, but I'm not that stretchy. I thought you had your own wings hidden someplace."
"Not so much," said The Dog.
"Forget this," said the shupling, and he was gone.
"You need to work on your summoning circles," said The Dog.
So you get my point. Instantly summoning a massive creature of wrath that rains fancy fire or gravity or lots of cactus needles down on your enemies? Just doesn't happen, and the gaming industry needs to get their heads around this. If they don't put in a little more realism, people are going to get tired of it and the next gen of gaming console will end up as really expensive paperweights.
End of rant.
--Pete
No, I'm talking about realism where it really matters: the magic. Specifically, the massive creatures that these people summon at the drop of a hat. Totally bogus.
The Dog is telling me to calm down, but I'm not sure I can. Look, once I tried to summon a shupling. Not a big one, just a little one, because I thought it would be cool to have wings. I'm me, The Dog was reasonably helpful--I think he wanted to see me with wings, too--and it worked. Bam. There it was, right in front of me, a small shupling.
"'Sup," he said, his head bobbing to whatever was on his iPod. "Just a sec, I'll be with you."
"They have iPods on Shup?" I asked.
"Apparently," said The Dog.
"Love that song," said the shupling, yanking the buds out of his stretchy ears. "What can I do for you?"
"I want to fly," I said. I was fourteen at the time, and flying was one of my earliest ideas for getting to school without taking the bus.
"Sounds fun," he said. "Where to?"
"I thought I'd just start small. Maybe up and down a few times, get the hang of it, before we did anything serious."
"Rock on. Hit it." Then he stared at me. I stared at him. I lifted my hands in a 'let's go' kind of gesture, then he lifted his hands in a 'what are you waiting for' sort of shrug.
"I don't think you're communicating well," said The Dog.
"I can't fly unless you climb on my back," I said.
"Wait, what? Dude, are you nuts? I may be stretchy, but I'm not that stretchy. I thought you had your own wings hidden someplace."
"Not so much," said The Dog.
"Forget this," said the shupling, and he was gone.
"You need to work on your summoning circles," said The Dog.
So you get my point. Instantly summoning a massive creature of wrath that rains fancy fire or gravity or lots of cactus needles down on your enemies? Just doesn't happen, and the gaming industry needs to get their heads around this. If they don't put in a little more realism, people are going to get tired of it and the next gen of gaming console will end up as really expensive paperweights.
End of rant.
--Pete
Sunday, September 27, 2009
What The Dog actually looks like.
I realize I just posted earlier today, but don't get used to this kind of speed. I have a life, you know. I'll post here once a week at least, but don't get your hopes up for more.
Anyway, I figured we should get this out of the way. People keep bugging me, wanting to know what The Dog looks like. Instead of telling you myself, I figured I should avoid offending him by having The Dog tell you. So I asked him.
"What do you look like, Dog?" I asked. "People want to know."
"People, who?" he asked.
"So far my blog has four followers. I think at least two of them want to know."
"No."
"No what?"
"I'm not doing it."
"Why not?"
"You'll take whatever I say and mess it up. You'll probably compare me to Lassie, which is annoying, because for all my not being real, at least I'm more real than Lassie."
"You're confusing me," I said.
"Lassie was the first successful computer-generated animal actor. Most people don't realize that the same technology used to produce Lassie was used for Flipper and to fake the Moon landing. And Bill Cosby."
"Who?" I asked.
"So I'm not getting involved, because I don't want to be compared to Lassie, or Bolt, or Zuckerman's famous pig."
"Dog, you are way defensive about this. You're a good looking guy, so I wouldn't worry about it."
"I," said The Dog, "am not merely 'good looking.' I am one-of-a-kind."
So there you have it. The Dog is 'one-of-a-kind,' and I'm not touching it beyond that. I have to live with the guy. I hope this has cleared up a few things.
--Pete
Anyway, I figured we should get this out of the way. People keep bugging me, wanting to know what The Dog looks like. Instead of telling you myself, I figured I should avoid offending him by having The Dog tell you. So I asked him.
"What do you look like, Dog?" I asked. "People want to know."
"People, who?" he asked.
"So far my blog has four followers. I think at least two of them want to know."
"No."
"No what?"
"I'm not doing it."
"Why not?"
"You'll take whatever I say and mess it up. You'll probably compare me to Lassie, which is annoying, because for all my not being real, at least I'm more real than Lassie."
"You're confusing me," I said.
"Lassie was the first successful computer-generated animal actor. Most people don't realize that the same technology used to produce Lassie was used for Flipper and to fake the Moon landing. And Bill Cosby."
"Who?" I asked.
"So I'm not getting involved, because I don't want to be compared to Lassie, or Bolt, or Zuckerman's famous pig."
"Dog, you are way defensive about this. You're a good looking guy, so I wouldn't worry about it."
"I," said The Dog, "am not merely 'good looking.' I am one-of-a-kind."
So there you have it. The Dog is 'one-of-a-kind,' and I'm not touching it beyond that. I have to live with the guy. I hope this has cleared up a few things.
--Pete
Introductions and My Biographer's First Book
Here's the deal: I'm new to this blog thing, but my biographer thinks the book we did together is pretty good, and he's been bugging me, so here it is.
An introduction. The Dog says I should do one. The Dog thinks he knows the interweb. The Dog would probably like to claim he invented the internet, or at least gave Al Gore the idea. The Dog also can't type on this keyboard, so I'd appreciate it if he'd back off and give those of us with hands (and those of us who are real) a little space.
Okay, an introduction. I'm Pete, The Dog is The Dog, Andrew C. is my biographer, and the rest is in the book. Which costs money. Learn to adjust. However, so you don't go too crazy, here's the cover.
That didn't work. Ready...HERE'S the cover. See, there it is. No, Dog, I didn't read the 'Terms of Service.' Nobody does.
You can get this thing a
t Lulu (right here), and it costs a little, but it's worth it just for the descriptions of Nancy. Just then my eyebrows did a little bob thing. You couldn't see it, but it was descriptive. Articulate. And all just with my eyebrows. Now The Dog is mocking me, but he doesn't get to type, so you'll miss out on his keen wit. I'm weeping for you, truly I am.
Most of the stuff on this blog will be from me. If he's nice to me, I'll tell you about Andrew's other projects, maybe put some stuff from his other stories here for you to read. If The Dog is nice to me, I'll type half of what he tells me to write, then completely warp the second half. (I'm telling you, this blogging is giving me a feeling of power beyond almost anything I've experienced. It's like I'm feeding those gremlin-chickens all over again.)
As soon as I figure out how, I'll throw you the first chapter of our book. Pete and The Dog. It's named after me. Which is cool. Yes, it's named after The Dog, too, but you notice, it's not The Dog and Pete. That would be lame. That would be tacky. That would be...under consideration for the title of the sequel?
This place needs some outside help.
--Pete
An introduction. The Dog says I should do one. The Dog thinks he knows the interweb. The Dog would probably like to claim he invented the internet, or at least gave Al Gore the idea. The Dog also can't type on this keyboard, so I'd appreciate it if he'd back off and give those of us with hands (and those of us who are real) a little space.
Okay, an introduction. I'm Pete, The Dog is The Dog, Andrew C. is my biographer, and the rest is in the book. Which costs money. Learn to adjust. However, so you don't go too crazy, here's the cover.
That didn't work. Ready...HERE'S the cover. See, there it is. No, Dog, I didn't read the 'Terms of Service.' Nobody does.
You can get this thing a
t Lulu (right here), and it costs a little, but it's worth it just for the descriptions of Nancy. Just then my eyebrows did a little bob thing. You couldn't see it, but it was descriptive. Articulate. And all just with my eyebrows. Now The Dog is mocking me, but he doesn't get to type, so you'll miss out on his keen wit. I'm weeping for you, truly I am.Most of the stuff on this blog will be from me. If he's nice to me, I'll tell you about Andrew's other projects, maybe put some stuff from his other stories here for you to read. If The Dog is nice to me, I'll type half of what he tells me to write, then completely warp the second half. (I'm telling you, this blogging is giving me a feeling of power beyond almost anything I've experienced. It's like I'm feeding those gremlin-chickens all over again.)
As soon as I figure out how, I'll throw you the first chapter of our book. Pete and The Dog. It's named after me. Which is cool. Yes, it's named after The Dog, too, but you notice, it's not The Dog and Pete. That would be lame. That would be tacky. That would be...under consideration for the title of the sequel?
This place needs some outside help.
--Pete
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