March 07, 2004 - 3:22 p.m.
Even though Santa Barbara was flooded with rain only a week ago, now it is hot. Like, summer hot. I love summer, so I am thrilled. It is due to the heat and not for any sexual reason that Laurie is (she is going to kill me, if she ever reads this) currently playing Strip DDR as I type this. For every A she gets, she is taking off an item of clothing. She just got a AA rating. Her MPAA rating is now PG-13.
Realize that Laurie is both playing DDR AND removing her clothing. Now realize that I am here at the computer, typing this, fully clothed. That is the loyalty I have to you bastards. Another weekend, another update.
Hee hee.
"I think I'm gonna have to put clothing back ON for THAT song." --Laurie, scoring a D (as do I) on the totally nonsensical "Secret Rendezvous"
Hee hee hee.
So I went to Ventura to pay my speeding ticket. I took a day off to do this, because I couldn't pay by phone without knowing my "case number." As soon as I got back from Ventura-- where I was informed that I had to pay by phone to use a credit card-- my case number arrived in the mail. Figures. Adding in the cost of traffic school, which will let me erase this from my driving record, it amounts to something like two hundred dollars. Rar.
It's not that I can't afford it, I'd just rather not HAVE to. I can't really complain, though, because I was caught quite obviously speeding. I think I was actually going five miles per hour faster than the number you see on my ticket. Thing is, in a perfect world, it wouldn't have been a problem. It was a long, flat stretch of road with four lanes, only one of which had a car in it at all, and that car was mine. Crashing at high speeds is still deadly, of course, so again, I'm not complaining.
Actually, in a perfect world, we would have cars that steer themselves by now. Hell, Hollywood promised us, in a number of movies created under the supervision of people who were paid to accurately predict the future, that by the year 2020 we would all have FLYING cars. I know it's sort of a cliche complaint, but THERE ARE NO FLYING CARS, DAMMIT.
But we do have flying PLANES, and some of them can tell if you are speeding. Those signs that read Speed Checked By Aircraft are not fucking around as we like to say. Don't speed, folks.
Monday in Ventura was not a total loss, however. Laurie and Matt came with me and we spent too much money in an arcade. Matt is quite good at Guitar Freaks, which is good because he gets easily frustrated. He's addicted to Initial D and I'm improving at Drummania. I'm also getting the hang of this weird Korean (I think) DDR ripoff called Pump It Up that has the buttons arranged diagonally with an additional trigger in the center. That arcade also has the world's crappiest DDR Extreme machine, with a non-funtioning left pad, a dimmed and improperly calibrated screen, and sound set to volume 1 that comes out of the left speaker exclusively.
Also in Ventura is the best video game store I've ever seen, called Treasure Island. I have no idea how they stay in business, because they have a Never Open, Ever policy. There is a sign outside with their store hours written on it, but it may as well be a picture of a kitten, because that would probably be more accurate and informative. On several occasions I pressed my nose up against the glass and peered in, trying to see as far back into the store as possible. I saw racks upon racks of game cartridges, boxed rare systems like the X-Eye and the CDX, and balls of specialty controllers hanging from the celing.
But this time, finally, they were open.
It was surely my lucky day, because even though I had no spare money, I decided to see if they were open anyway. I figured my chances were good, simply BECAUSE I had no spare money. I knew my chances of the store actually allowing me inside to purchase things were inversely proportional to the amount of spending money I had. Somewhat hilariously, right after I went in, the guy turned the Open sign around to close the store yet again. Simply for my own amusement, I asked him at that moment what his exact hours were, and he told me he was open from 2 to 6 PM. It was, at that moment, 4 PM.
Also note that even if his sign were true, it would mean that he is open for a grand total of four hours per day. In the business of selling used games. Unless he's paying his bills with future POTENTIAL revenue generated from MY BRAIN when it scans his merchandise, I don't know how he can afford to keep his store open. And on a prime Main Street chunk of downtown Ventura real estate, at that.
Again, I'm not complaining.
I broke down and bought two Nintendo Power Gloves from him, breaking in a new credit card I swore to use only for emergencies. Why two? Because I could picture in my head the exact face and noise I'd get from Laurie when she saw them. She is, I am sure, the only female who ever wore a Nintendo Power Glove to school as a child. At some point in her history, her sister's rabbit chewed through the cord and also urinated on her Glove, and she's wanted a replacement ever since.
The face and noise I got both exceeded my expectations.
The Gloves are sadly worthless without the original sensor boxes, though.
Well, worthless for playing actual games with, that is.
Hee hee.
