News Round-Up

It's not every day you wake up, fire up the Google news aggregator and are treated immediately to some front-page Thizz Face. I learned just this weekend what a Thizz Face is, so I was really excited. And before you roll your eyes thinking "Tony is such a white-bread noob, how could he not know this?" let me tell you exactly how much of a white-bread noob I am. I learned this because I was at a party watching a documentary about Bay Area hip-hop and the "hyphy" culture with a bunch of other white dorks. This is how I spend my time.

Today's post is a round-up of online stories--"news" doesn't really describe all of these--that I think are awesome, ironic or otherwise worthy of comment. I will comment in a humorous fashion on these stories and you will read them before reluctantly resuming your work day.

Boogie Nights: Where are they now? I happened upon this as I was looking at a legitimately interesting "A Christmas Story" slideshow. These features work for movies like that. It was made 25 years ago, starred numerous child actors who've now grown up, had an older generation of actors playing their parents--"where are they now?" is a legitimate question. Not so for "Boogie Nights." Not only was the movie made barely a decade ago, but it is so goddamn loaded with marquee Hollywood talent that "where are they now?" is a silly question. Oh yeah, Mark Wahlberg. Now I remember! Whatever happened to that dude? And who the hell was Julianne Moore? Heather Graham? John C. Reilly? Burt Reynolds? I can't believe this movie even got made with the bush league talent the no-name director had available. Honestly, the least-famous people in this entire slideshow are a couple TV actors who played minor characters in single scenes (meaning I have no connection to them or their characters). Everybody associated with this movie is so goddamn famous that even the cherry-picked no-names on pages 15 and 22 are celebrities. The first guy is Ralph Lauren's nephew, married one of the honeys from Saved by the Bell and paints nudes for Hollywood actors. The second guy is a famous soundtrack composer and is married to Aimee Mann. See? This is probably the worst "where are they now" concept ever conceived by human people. Crab people have done worse, but their online dailies are notoriously shitty and I think it's unfair to pick on them.

*****

It was nice to see Italians engaging in their culture's typical form of political discourse: punching each other in the face. The French are really envious of this kind of freedom, but their most hallowed tradition has been outlawed. Progress never comes without cost. Here's my favorite part: the man who attacked Mr. Berlusconi is apparently a disturbed individual. He has a lengthy history of mental illness and in most societies the discussion would end there. But in Italy, this guy was just doing what most Italians wanted to do anyway. If President Obama were punched in the face, Americans would be horrified. Even the right-wing folks who despise him would be upset. I'm sure Fox News would find some way to offend the senses, but the guy wouldn't be hailed as a national hero the way this tchotchke-wielding dingbat is. The media doesn't even care that the dude is deranged, because honestly any one of 200,000 people would have loved to punch the Prime Minister in the face. They just don't want to be arrested because of the bad wine in Italian prisons.

As a person of Italian descent, I can say we are very good at some things. We can handle any activity where emotionality and passion are assets (painting, opera, sex). We fail at activities requiring precision and temperance (government, automobile design, war). This is the way of the world, and it's why the typical European model of parliamentary democracy was a really bad idea for the Italians. It's a form of government that is wacky and unstable by its very nature. The British have joke political parties and allow heckling in Parliament. They can barely keep their shit together, and these are people who design great cars, saved the world from Hitler and have terrible sex. Did Italians really think they could handle this? Really?

*****

One more slideshow--this one's gone pretty viral by now but missing it could get you prosecuted in the Hague (it would be a crime against humanity. Ugh, this blog needs footnotes.) These pictures defy description, so please take a few minutes to absorb them. There is a distinct possibility that Mr. Steele is intoxicated for this shoot, and honestly I wouldn't blame him. The seething awkwardness of these photos practically sears my eyeballs, and props to Mr. Steele for hamming it up in what I'm sure was a really terrible situation for all involved. This is the sort of shit that comes out in therapy down the line.

Please try to understand my dilemma as a humor writer viewing these images. I am an impoverished coal miner who descends the shaft and finds himself in an undiscovered chamber filled to bursting with gold. The stuff is practically falling out of the walls into my pockets. Now, in this scenario does the miner proceed deliberately and with caution? Does he ensure he's always given himself a way out? No, he just starts swinging. He hews the shit out of anything and everything in reach because there's so much and he's never going to be able to carry it all back anyway. This sort of thing happened a lot in "The Oregon Trail." BEHOLD THE DESPERATE FLAILING OF A MAN WHO HAS LIVED OFF BISQUICK WAFFLES AND LITTLE CAESAR'S FOR THE LAST THREE DAYS.
**Either the GOP is employing midgets as interns, or Michael Steele is a lot more intimidating than I gave him credit for. Both scenarios are possible, but I think we need to see some 1-on-1 half-court between Steele and Obama. I would watch it and so would you.
**This is how I imagine most transactions between Republican staffers go. No human interaction is complete until money has changed hands.
**He's not really crushing her; she has severe scoliosis and he wants her to feel less self-conscious. You can even see the back brace outline through her shirt.
**Mr. Steele opposes same-sex marriage, but here we catch him proposing to what is clearly a live Pterodactyl. The Christian Right doesn't even believe these animals existed, and you want to marry one?
**"I'm 'a get all these white bitches pregnant." If you think that was offensive, just wait. Remember, I need these gold nuggets to feed my family.
**Imagine a giant old-timey chemical apparatus, with dozens of beakers and tubes and Bunsen burners. This is a special assembly that, through processes both chemical and arcane, can distill into liquid form the Platonic essence of awkward.
**This young man is not an RNC intern. He was actually Photoshopped into this image from a Yale promotional brochure, circa 1982. Nice belt, dick.
**Steele had never met this guy before in his life. After several frames that were too awful to even make it into this slideshow (seriously, can you imagine the stuff that didn't make it out of the darkroom?) the photographer bailed them out by suggesting they point to something off-camera.
**Trig Palin, best-case scenario, circa 2029. In 2034 he'll take over on Fox News for the retiring Glenn Beck. See, I told you to wait.


Happy Monday to everyone and especially to Rob on his first day of work! This has been a big few days at 245 South Humboldt, with Nick (the Wild Card) celebrating a birthday and Rob (either The Fat One or The Techie, he hasn't picked yet) celebrating his triumphant return to the work force. Congratulations to both you little lemmings. Thanks to everyone else for reading.

Correspondence throughout History

Our understanding of history changes all the time. We reach new perspectives and we uncover new information or primary sources that alter our understanding of what came before. In years past I was privileged to attend a Great Institution of Higher Learning and I still have some friends there languishing in History grad programs. By "languishing" I mean "gainfully employed." They've been kind enough to furnish me with some transcribed letters from ages past. These are actual historical figures holding forth on the issues of the day. It's fascinating stuff and I hope everyone is enlightened by it.

Tsar Nikolai Alexandrovich Romanov, to Grand Duchess Olga, 1915

My Dearest Olga,
It snowed again in St. Petersburg. Your mother believes I should not spend so much time at the Winter Palace, but if I am not here the serfs swiftly demonstrate all the worst signs of sloth and idleness. I have put them to work tilling the fields to the East of the palace grounds and their bounty is everything I expect from servants of the crown. Captain Grigor informs me the response from the serfs has been nothing but positive. For I see with my eyes what my people see with theirs: the fallen snow represents a bounty of fresh water that we ought not take for granted. These are not wasteful people; when water falls from the sky, they will drink it with their mouths. When it is on the ground, they will likewise drink it with their mouths. Such is agriculture. Wnd when the spring comes around, these people will not have the sleep of Winter hibernation in their eyes. A Winter spent working prepares one for a Spring spent working and I have no doubt the fields will yield the greatest mud harvest in half a century! My advisors tell me the Palace's mud is the envy of the Empire. This is something I take great pride in, for I take great pride in all my endeavors. Remember this, my little steppe thistle.

I do not bear many new tidings, except to say we had to massacre another dozen protesters last Tuesday. This has become something of a chore, and honestly I fear the ennui it elicits in me. It has been nearly a decade since the unfortunate events at the Winter Palace and we still have found ourselves unable to top it. You tell me I build up my expectations too high and perhaps you are right. But nonetheless, I am disappointed. A dozen is insufficient for the Tsar of Luxembourg, to say nothing of myself! It was like that time Rasputin dragged us out to Tunguska. I am sure you remember; Alexei got a splinter and nearly bled to death before we could apply the poultice of pomegranate and quicksilver. But we got there and there was nothing but dead trees. A mighty empire full of living trees and that daft old monk drags us to the only place where they are all dead. I am simply a man who expects the best. This is what the Tsar is supposed to do, after all.
I hope this letter finds you well, my dearest caribouska.
-Papa Nicky

William Randolph Hearst, to himself, 1937

My Dear William,
Bully for us on a great legislative victory! With the passage of the Marihuana Tax Act we've not only secured our material interests with respect to publishing, but also deprived countless thousands of degenerates from enjoying its smoky embrace. Armenians and Sodomites all! There's no place in decent American society for such vices; and is it so unreasonable after all to think that the planet's smaller folks might enjoy their nightly relaxation out of a snifter, as the Lord intended? Heed not the braying and neighing of the opposition--for they are by preponderance Appalachians, and Appalachians as every man of Science knows hold no real authority in public debate. Their hips and wrists are wider than the common man's, leading oftentimes to a persistent ague that can over time drain the wits and turn the libido towards bestiality.

Blood and thunder! Millicent is making a racket downstairs. I write from the Ranch and she takes no pleasure in the present arrangement of poolside statuary. I have given her the authority to speak directly to Havier. He is our statuary manager, an Hispanic, and insisted at first on spelling his name as his people do. I would have none of it. They take their meals by eating out of corn husks and this I will endure. I will not see the English language miscegenated! But I digress. The pool will be arranged as Millicent wishes. It is impossible to feel attraction to a woman named Millicent, just as it is impossible to convince a she-Pole to wash her clothes with both soap and water. With any luck, Caucasians of good breeding will retire the name permanently.

I tire of writing and will retire soon to my customary nightcap of cigars and bourbon. My doctors have insisted that I begin drinking vinegar regularly, as it improves the constitution. I will endure this. Doctor Jameson comes from the finest stock (not a drop of Welsh in the man!) and I trust his advice. One last event of note: the mongrel writer Steinbeck wrote to me once again. He wishes me to expand cultivation on the Ranch's grounds. I am sure he misunderstands the function of my estate. It is a place of relaxation. How, precisely, are Millicent and I to relax when the grounds are filled with common laborers? I am told Mr. Steinbeck is something of a novelist (an artistic form that appeals to lactating mothers and Mediterranean types), so his whinnying does not surprise me. California is a magnificent country, but its open spaces lend themselves to degeneration.
You are my truest friend, and the one man on whose judgment I may always rely.
-William

Goblin King Jareth, to his sister Cecily, 1986

C,
I'm at my wits' end and don't know who else to reach out to. It's been too long since we spoke and for that I apologize. Ever since Dad died and we sold the house it's hard to think of family. As I've said, if I could reach out to somebody else I would.
I've put myself in a sticky situation. Without getting into too many details, I kidnapped a baby from Earth. I'm not proud of it. As soon as I re-materialized in the castle with him I asked myself why I did it. I couldn't answer my own question. I mean, I kidnap Human babies to turn them into goblin muppet slaves. That's what Grandpop did, that's what Dad did and that's what I do. I know my responsibilities. Hell, the kid's sister summoned me to the human world just to grab the kid. But you know something? I hate muppets. Every one of the goblins in my castle is just fucking obnoxious. I hate them; you've seen me go off on them when you've come to visit. I'm trying to uphold my responsibilities here, but honestly the last thing in the world I need is another dumbass muppet hanging around the castle. The kid isn't changed yet and in all probability I'll turn him into a goblin anyway, because I'm a moron who could never say no to Dad.

I hate this.

There is another problem. The sister; I've fallen in love with her. She's 15. I know you've been reading this letter all the while, wondering "when is the other shoe going to drop?" Well, here it is. I can't get this girl out of my head. I don't want this, not really, but sometimes the heart gets greedy. I'm only so strong, even after they passed those laws and I had to register online...I know you think less of me. I'm doing my best. But it's impossible. She's resisted everything I've thrown at her. She asked that the child be taken; I took him. I have re-ordered time. I've turned the world upside down, and I've done it all for her. And it's not enough. I'm exhausted from living up to her expectations of me. I don't expect you to understand or to condone, Cecily. I suppose I just want you to listen. I will find a way through this darkness. Please believe in me. I need some faith about now.
All my love,
-Jareth

This one isn't funny

Palin, though notoriously ill-traveled outside the United States, did journey far to the first of the four colleges she attended, in Hawaii. She and a friend who went with her lasted only one semester. "Hawaii was a little too perfect," Palin writes. "Perpetual sunshine isn't necessarily conducive to serious academics for eighteen-year-old Alaska girls." Perhaps not. But Palin's father, Chuck Heath, gave a different account to Conroy and Walshe. According to him, the presence of so many Asians and Pacific Islanders made her uncomfortable: "They were a minority type thing and it wasn't glamorous, so she came home." In any case, Palin reports that she much preferred her last stop, the University of Idaho, "because it was much like Alaska yet still 'Outside.'"

This slayed me. The full New Yorker article is worth reading if you have the time, but I'm only concerning myself with the Hawaii segment. I'd never before realized Sarah's connection with one of my childhood homes (I claim both Hawaii and Boston as separate-but-equal origins. Shut up, I contain volumes). A humor writer shouldn't become a blowhard, so without getting into politics I'll say this. I don't believe that Sarah Palin is a racist who hated Hawaii because, as the first link suggests, there were "too many yellowfaces." I think she was a sheltered young girl with a severe case of culture shock; disoriented by her surroundings and the sudden absence of the ubiquitous whiteness (with everything that entails, from skin color to diet) she'd come to expect from her upbringing.

Hawaii is hard to understand for people who aren't from there. I don't know what a good parallel would be--maybe a white South African?--but as a white person living in Hawaii, you are a minority. Not an oppressed minority, and that's an important distinction, but the fact remains. You suffer the petty indignities of your minority status (there will be certain restaurants where you get looks, certain areas where you get looks and you may occasionally hear a minor toothless epithet like "haole") without the larger indignities (less access to jobs, education, housing, low-interest loans to name a few). For a very sheltered person accustomed to being part of an overwhelming majority, this could easily be uncomfortable.

The other thing is that acceptance, love and hospitality practically ooze from the pores of Hawaiians. Uptight closed-minded people probably wouldn't do too well in a giant melting pot like UH. Fun story: the large numbers of Japanese-descended people in Hawaii are largely a result of the huge numbers of native Japanese brought in to work the cane fields. At first, the plantation owners brought in Chinese workers. But the Chinese workers would quickly marry Hawaiians, leave the plantation and never come back. The Japanese were brought in because they were the only people uptight and racist enough to NOT get it on with Hawaiians, who will make attractive brown babies with anyone.

So yeah, I bet Hawaii didn't suit Sarah Palin. The ironic thing is, the most cherished values of Hawaiian society are the values Palin claims are most important to her. This is a society that shuns elitism and snobbery, is composed almost entirely of poor people, is highly religious (Filipino Catholics and Muslims, Mormon converts, Jehovah's Witnesses), emphasizes unconditional love and generosity, prizes family above all else (Hawaiian children are brought up to consider friends as family members and address them as Auntie, Uncle or Cousin) and even surrendered their sovereignty to U.S. Marines rather than risk war and violence on Hawaiian soil. Sounds almost...Christian.

Design Doc: Assassin's Creed 3

To my colleagues on the AC2 team,
I can't thank everyone enough. We all made tremendous sacrifices to bring our baby into the world, and the folks out there are loving it! Special appreciation goes out to Nick from QA, who developed what I understand is some pretty serious alopecia during those last few months of 70-hour crunch weeks. If one day somebody decides to throw some health insurance your way, you get that checked out!

But now it's time to get back into what we do best: designing games! We plan on topping our previous achievements in every way possible. We took our franchise to new heights with our second game and we're going to push the envelope with the third one. We'll expand on the features our users enjoyed and re-work those they didn't. Here are just some of the exciting developments we have planned going forward:


Improved Storyline
The reviewers love that we've created the most lovingly detailed, realistic breathing representations of history and married them to a plot involving the search for a magical secret golden volleyball that controls the world. People are also responding to our searing rendition of a drab future that utterly lacks context or detail aside from some basic futuristic-dystopia cliches. Remember Mirror's Edge: sterility without explanation is great design. It's so mysterious!

In AC3 we will be focusing almost exclusively on the "present," which is the future. Our hero Desmond will occasionally use a pocket-sized Animus to visit the memories of his ancestor Julio. Julio is a young Assassin of Cuban descent, in keeping with our franchise's practice of featuring young coffee-colored heroes(coffee ice cream, not actual coffee). In the "past," which is the present, Julio is attempting to infiltrate the Beijing Summer Games in order to assassinate Misty May and Kerri Walsh. They are running the show for the Templars in the past-present and they plan to use the Summer Games as a platform to unveil the Magical Golden Volleyball which will allow them to brainwash the entire world. Only Julio can stop them.

Meanwhile, in the present-future, Desmond and Lucy are fighting the Templars. Desmond uses his Assassin training from AC2 to operate in the present. Because the memories of his ancestors' actions are a fine substitute for actual physical training, he possesses enormous agility, coordination and strength. Who needs muscles to move your body when you have the power of your mind? Eventually, fighting dystopic future-cops gives way to fighting aliens, which we did a great job of introducing with a minimum of explanation at the end of AC2. In AC3, the aliens will return to Earth (having departed ages before) to take back the Golden Volleyball and establish their own ruling order. Desmond will have none of it, and fights them using the hallowed Assassin disciplines of Stabbing and Crazy Parkour Shit. Those aliens might have mastered advanced weaponry, psychic powers and interstellar travel. But can they jump rapidly from one conveniently-placed pole to another in rapid succession? No, and that's where humanity's hope lies. Later stages will get progressively more and more challenging as the aliens catch onto Desmond and start removing said conviently-placed poles. Desmond will be forced to fight in the parkour-less world of the future, where walls are made of poured concrete and windows aren't built with exterior frames. The horror.

Enhanced Weaponry

In AC2, we took the limited selection of historical weaponry from AC1 and added some much-needed panache. It was pretty cool that Altair had a hidden blade--why couldn't Ezio have TWO hidden blades that also could deflect enemy attacks and deliver poison to boot? The hidden pistol was another fine addition. A tiny pistol strapped to your wrist that (despite being built in the 15th century) was incredibly accurate even at long range and never misfired or took longer than 2 seconds to reload? Sweetness. We're going to take it up a notch in AC3, and I'd direct you to the attached diagram for some of my ideas. Click the image to expand it.

Attractive Human Beings

Be warned, I am going to be a bit negative here. It is a little ironic that we at Ubisoft, who invented and coined the Jade Raymond Model for Public Relations, can't make a game where every characters hasn't been beaten by the proverbial Ugly Stick. Look at the attached image: we have taken a real woman of almost incendiary hotness and rendered her as a putty-faced strumpet who's spent the better part of her life being socked in the face by her mulletioed (it's like mustachioed, only the awful hair is on a different part your head) boyfriends.

Desmond himself looks like something I'd have slapped together out of modeling clay in high school art class. I received a C- in my high school art class. That is not a joke. "Let's put a scar on his lip" turned out to be insufficient visual character development, as the polygon count on Desmond's face is in the low teens and the scar just looks like somebody sneezed during the modeling process. Also, why do Ezio and Desmond have the same lip scar? Are scars genetic, like memories? We should ask some scientists. Authenticity is one of the hallmarks of this studio and we need to take pride in it.

I have no doubt that AC3 will be a step above our previous achievements, and I can't begin to tell you how excited I am for the developments to come. Everyone should be on the lookout for next months FHM magazine; Jade has a really tasteful spread where she discusses our latest build-compiling practices, as well as the challenges of localization for big international projects like ours! I can't wait.

Like when we'd climb the ropes in gym class

So many different feelings. Let's start positive: I appreciate that the young men of Hammerfall are eager to support their nation's representatives at the Winter Olympic Games. I'm not sure Sweden is allowed to participate in the Summer Games (UN Resolution 1729, "Concerning Frozen-Ass Countries"), but they're really getting mileage out of their Curling team. I was going to ask where the men's Curling team got to, but my europhile friend Adrian informs me that Curling (like Softball, Soccer and Field Hockey) is exclusively a female sport. Which is just as well, because I'm not sure the added strength, speed and athleticism of men would really enhance the activity. That little puck is going about as fast as it's gonna go.

It is a little unfair to rake Hammerfall over the coals for this. They are not a terribly serious band. They play power metal, a genre of music that could charitably be described as "gayer than an anime theme song." At the same time, I hold up European metal as the gold standard of brutality. If they were doing this back in 2006, imagine the new generation of horrors to be visited on us in 2010.

Here are my favorite moments from the video, in no particular order:
**19 seconds in, an incredible moment of tension. The Curlers run into the bad boys from Hammerfall! They're scared! Two things might happen. First: sexual assault. Second: palling around on the ice! The Gang picks Option B. Good thing the guys from H-Fall love fun more than rape! Don't be offended; owing to their Viking heritage, Swedes have always struggled making these choices.

**57 seconds in, Hammerfall makes a crucial error. Not only do they allow the CILFs to sing along, they allow them to sing along to the gayest part of the song. This is power metal and conventional rules on gayness do not apply, but this just seems like a mistake to me.

**1:44...It'd be hard to see a laptop screen from this angle even if you were standing right there. On camera it looks like absolutely nothing. And we never learn what was on the screen, so this shot is a complete waste of time.

**At 1:04, the singer is standing behind two CILFs with a big ol' grin on his face. This is what he wanted ever since he saw the treatment for the video. At first everyone was down on the idea, but then they saw how fine those old Swedish Curling Team ladies were and everything changed. If there's one thing I've learned from Skwisgaar, it's that Swedish metal dudes love old ladies. This Hammerfall video is just the damning evidence.

**One of the curlers who has not yet hit menopause is really putting in the effort at 2:23. "But Tony, anyone with long hair could pull off a couple seconds of headbanging." When the extent of your athletic activity is rapidly scrubbing a piece of ice with a broom, you risk serious injury and years of chiropractery (one of two words to be invented in this post) pulling stunts like this.

**At 1:55, we see the singer and guitarist made to stand in the middle of the shot and perform while their bandmates stab them in the back. The guitarist on the far-left takes this opportunity to engage in a deplorable act of cunterfuge and swoop on those fine old ladies. The rest of the band is busy lip-synching? I'll just sidle on back here and grab two handfuls of Goretex-swaddled sugar. I see you, guitar guy. Don't think your bandmates didn't as well.

It's really difficult to pick any quality moments in the last quarter of the video, because they take what was already a pretty questionable operation and run it Titanic-style into the worst bridge in modern musical history. Not even the guys in Hammerfall, whose job it is to be fired up about such things, are excited about this bridge. It's like the opening of "Blue Monday," where they drop some badass heavy drum beats, and then the song just plummets into mincing Caucasian mediocrity 52 seconds in.

Ultimately, however, who saves us from the horrible bridge? Who use their last shot (Run? Scuff? I know nothing about curling) to punk the shit out of Hammerfall and claim victory for the land of the Geats? Thems old ladies! They trade their matching cold-weather tracksuits for leather and studs, then tear it up to play us out! Bravo! Bellisimo! We made it through! Ideally we could have found some drums for the butch short-haired one, but we rocked all the same! I wanna thank Joacim for all the shit-eating CILF-nailing grins! Oscar for settling for the chunky one! Dave and Shravan for the original link, and Dave and Shravan all over again for "cunterfuge!" Drive home safely, and goodnight!