Sick, tired, and restless.

I called in sick to work today. I woke up and just felt...icky. A light pounding in my head, right behind the eyes, accompanied by a sort of queasy sensation radiating from my gut. It isn't that bad; I probably could have made it in to work, but I honestly didn't want to chance it; illness is born and festers in that tiny little sick box that I work in; at any time, four to seven human beings sit in relatively close quarters, breathing the same air, coughing and sneezing everywhere, and touching stuff. All the hand sanitizer in the world couldn't prevent illness from spreading around in that room.

I could have gone in today. But being the reasonably intelligent individual that I am, I decided my health (and that of my co-workers) is more important. So I stayed home, buried myself in a thick blanket, and alternated between some light reading and napping. The down side is I'll probably be up all night, and I will be going in to work tomorrow; being one of the working poor, I have little choice in the matter.

Still, I find myself being in the vexing situation of being tired and feeling yucky, yet also restless; I desperately want to move about and do stuff, but I find that getting out of bed drains me of energy faster than a suitable metaphor involving an activity that's overly taxing.

Yo.

But seeing as we've entered the second week of the new year, and I'm bored and restless, I figured I'd choke back my urge to vomit, ignore the minor aches and pains, sit down and write. And  today's subject is *drum roll*... an update on my resolutions!!

"Animal showed up for this?!"

I know, I know, I already did an entry talking about the various goals I'll probably crash and burn. Well, tough. It's my blog and I'll be repetitive if I want to!

I've decided the best way to keep myself on track is to regularly post updates on this here blog. That's right kids, you'll be hearing me drone on and on and on and on about the same subjects! Cool, right? So basically I'll be doing what every other blog does. Original, I know. I'm known far and wide for my awesome creativity and uniqueness.

So...

I've completed my first week back in the gym. Not having been in some months, I've naturally noticed a decrease in strength and endurance. I've decided to ease back into being a gym rat, and my workouts this first week have reflected that; I'm really trying to focus on proper form and building a solid foundation before I get heavily into it.

For this first month or so, I'm going to hit every major muscle group once a week, and have a single day of light cardio. I'll be going lighter than I normally would to get my muscles back into it, as well as to solidify my form.

One particular issue I will be devoting much of my attention to (outside of melting down the rolls of flab I'm carrying) are my hips and core. I have what I'd like to refer to as Old Man Hips; my poor hip flexors have always been weak, puny things. Even as a child, I found sitting cross legged uncomfortable. As an adult who spends the majority of his time sitting down, it's naturally gotten even worse; eight hours spent in a chair at work, followed by several more hours spent in front of a computer or 360 or PS3 has absolutely ruined my hips.

Now whenever I stand, I can feel my glutes tensed up, trying to compensate for the fact that my hip flexors and core are too weak to keep me standing straight. Which, by the way, I don't do; I notice myself leaning forward whenever I'm distracted, and have to consciously adjust my posture.

"Me too!"

I'm short enough. I don't need to lose a few precious inches by having a perpetual slouch. And don't forget the inevitable back issues if this keep up.

So yeah, that's fun!

I'm also pleased to report that I've been following through another of my resolutions and writing more. I've finally gotten around to finishing up a short story that's been gathering dust on my hard drive. Well, not finishing so much as working on it. But hey, baby steps. It'll get done sooner or later. I hope.

Okay, that's not very encouraging. I'm trying, dammit.

Evolve Or Die

First off, let me get the obligatory Happy New Year cheer out of the way:

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!

There. Now that that's done with, we can get to the real reason I'm writing this particular blog entry; for that matter, the real reason people get so excited and festive about this time of year, every year, since humanity started tracking and recording the passage of time:

No, not booze. That's a close second.

The New Year means it's time to make Resolutions! And everyone loves making those. Literally millions of people go through this fun ritual each year. They sit down, faces frozen in a thoughtful frown while they pensively review their lives and what needs to be eliminated, altered, or improved, and how to go about it. Once they've pinpointed those niggling little wrinkles in the glorious tapestry of their lives, they stand up proudly and declare to themselves and the universe at large: "This year, I will do/change ----- !"

And they'll mean it

But more often than not, that drive, that energy will fizzle out faster than your brain cells at a political debate; I estimate that by the end of January, 83% of all New Year's Resolutions will have been swept under the rug as energy and drive are overcome by the banality of 9 to 5 jobs, picking the kids up from school, or the fact that you're a lazy git with no ambition.

Wow, that came out a lot more gloomy than I intended. Believe it or not, pointing out the failings of others is not my goal in this particular entry (that comes later); rather, I'm laying out the grim cycle of Declare and Fail that plagues many individuals at this time of year, myself included. My purpose isn't to deride and mock, but rather to remind myself of just what can very easily happen.

For this year I have a large number of resolutions, and I want, no, I need them to succeed. Because 2013 sucked. This past year has sucked so very hard, and a lot of it had to do with my own failings. Not all of it; cruel circumstance and a staggering amount of outside forces have played their hand. But in the end, I can only blame myself.

The grim truth of the matter is that I cannot continue on as I have been. Changes need to be made, old patterns need to be revised, and I need a new outlook. Because I'm rapidly approaching a point at which the nihilistic tendencies that wiggle about in the back of my mind will gain a solid foothold, and I'll be done. Not suicidal or any of that nonsense, but something fairly close: numbly living day to day with no dreams or ambitions, waiting for the end to come.

Okay, that came out sounding even worse than my resolution diatribe; melodrama personally makes my teeth ache, but that doesn't seem to stop me from doing it. But that actually provides me with the perfect segue to the next part: the listing of some of my resolutions! Damn, I'm a genius!

My Resolutions:

Enough of the Melodrama- I don't think I need to go into too much detail, since I just demonstrated how tiresome this habit of mine can be; I'm sure all who have known me for a while will be grateful for this resolution.

Vaguebooking- As defined by Urban Dictionary, "An intentionally vague Facebook status update that prompts friends to ask what's going on." I'm sure I'm guilty of doing this a time or two, but I see it all the time on Facebook, as well as emails, texts, and in personal conversations. I hate that shit. From now on, I'm not doing that and I will no longer respond to it; I'm not a fish, you don't need to use bait in order to talk to me about something. If you want to talk, let's talk. But opening statements like "here we go again," or "that was weird" will go unanswered.

Getting in Shape- Let's do a maths equation, you guys! What does mindless snacking + depression + a job where I sit for 8 hours add up to? The answer is some serious SANTA BELLY. You'll notice the words are big and black, just like my body right now; I had to go out and buy new pants because I can't fit into my others pairs. I've also noticed that I'm a little out of breath when I climb the steps. Make no mistake, this is a problem. Gaining a pound here or there is one thing, but I've let things go too far; no matter what I wear, my stomach sticks out like Eddie Murphy at a Klan meeting.

"Hi there!"

The Write Stuff- I've got accept that fact that my muse is not going to actually do its job and rain inspiration down on me; at this point, I'm not even sure she's still around. For all I know, that bitch is cheating on me with some other struggling creative type; she and that other loser's muse are probably in the middle of a fantastic creative sex orgy, squeezing out ideas the way the Octomom births children.

She's full of ideas.

So I need to cut my loses and accept the fact that I'll actually have to *work* at being a good writer. Lame.



Get a Life- To say that I have a case of Cabin Fever would be an understatement; my reclusive habits have reached an all time high. My excursions for the past year have mostly been limited to going to work or grocery shopping. What few friends I have in this town, I see infrequently. Obviously, this is not healthy.
So, I'm going to get out of the house more. Maybe pursue a hobby or several that I've been thinking about. Hell, maybe even do some acting.


So to wrap this up, let me just say that changes are on the horizon. This year is going to be great! Because I am going to force greatness down its throat the way you had to choke down your veggies as a child. 2014 is going to complain about the taste and make faces, but it will eat its damn greens. Or it will be eating my fist as I punch it in the mouth.

Confession time, folks.

I must have spent close to an hour staring at my computer screen, waiting for words to spontaneously ooze from my brain meats, travel down to my fingers, and then transfer to the blank Word document. Despite my protest, that didn't happen.

Originally I was going to discuss some drama that I experienced this past week at work, but I decided against it for the time being; while I have no problem talking about the incident, I do know that a few of my co-workers have access to my Facebook and thus my blog, and it wouldn't do to make a bad situation worse by talking about it. So as the great Bard Billy Shakespeare once said, "Seal up your lips and give no words but mum." 

"Preach on, brother."

You get bonus points if you can tell me which of Shakespeare's works that line comes from without using google or wikipedia.

So with my first idea for a blog entry cancelled, I found myself in the vexing situation of wanting to write, but having no subject matter. That is sadly an all too common occurrence with me; the spirit is willing, but the brain sucks a Krogan Quad.

"Go on..."

With that being said, I thought I'd give a general update on what's been going on in the insanely awesome world of Darren.

To summarize, the only awesome thing happening in my world right now is me. Everything else seems to have decided to get together and SUCK. I know I throw that word and others of its ilk around a lot, but I really mean it this time. Things are pretty bad right now.

In the order of the least SUCKTASTIC to the most:

1. My social circle has been cut in half. One of the few friends I have in this city is moving to Spokane, the armpit of Washington State, to go to college. Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled he has a goal that he seems to be passionate about, but it kind of sucks for me. He's a recluse who has no problems spending everyday indoors playing video games or browsing the interwebs, so he'll be fine with friends. I, on the other hand, am a social animal (I know, right? Who knew?).

2. My financial situation becomes more and more untenable; student loan repayments, rent, bills, and food are sucking my paychecks up faster than I can save them. As it stands, I don't have the money for all the things I desperately need, such as my own place or a car. Looks like I'll be living went family for years to come.

3. My creative well seems to have dried up for the most part. I'm sitting on a few short stories that aren't going anywhere. Hell, even writing the blog has been difficult, as you can plainly see from the wide gap between updates. I try to power through and write something, but nothing happens. I feel...thin. Sort of stretched, like butter scrapped over too much bread. I need a holiday, guys. A very long holiday.

"That's MY line!"

Which brings me to:

4. The Thanksgiving Disaster. The whole family (My mother, older brother, younger brother, his girlfriend and their three kids, and yours truly) decided to go and visit my Grandma down in our home town of Kansas City, Mo. I cannot express the disdain I feel for that city. The sheer, venomous loathing that wells up from the pit of my stomach.

Kansas City is a disgusting cesspool filled with every negative black stereotype you've ever heard of, and some you haven't; ignorant thug wannabe's gleefully run the streets mugging and robbing folks for whatever they have. The public school system is an absolute disgrace; I was considered a nerd by the other students because I managed a C average in the brief 10 months I went to High School there before my Mother wisely decided we should move back to Alaska before I was killed. And no, I'm not joking; I had a gun pulled on me 14 times *on school property* by various knuckle-dragging primates determined to prove how tough and cool they were.

I could go on, but I'm sure you get the idea. I will sum up by saying this: Kansas City is a filthy pile of concrete and has the highest homicide rates in the entire country. It's worse than Detroit and lacks the star power.

Had Obi-wan ever visited Kansas City, he would have revised his opinion of Mos Eisley.

"You will never find a more pleasant neighborhood of polite, honorable heroes. And the housing market is excellent."

As you can imagine, my enthusiasm for returning to the city of my birth was nil. I can honestly say that every time I set foot in that city, bad things happen. And my streak continued. While we were there, my Little Brother managed to piss off and basically alienate the entire family, my three month old niece caught pneumonia and had to be rushed to the ER, I only managed about 9 hours of sleep the entire four days I was there, and my Grandpa's wallet was stolen.

5. And finally, the reason for our trip: my Grandma doesn't have much time. For 10 years now, she's been fighting a losing battle with cancer. She's been holding out well, but it seems it's gotten worse. Now she's feeling pain where there was none before. And she's tired. We can all see it; the only reason she continues chemo is for our sake.

Last week she had to go to the ER because she was having trouble breathing. Her red blood cell count was low, and there was signs of internal bleeding. She had to have a blood transfusion, and thankfully they found the source of the bleeding and fixed it. But things are grim. I honestly don't know if I'll ever see her again. But I suppose that's just existential truth.

So, that's pretty much it! A lot of stuff going on in the life of Me, and almost all of it SUCKS. I'm trying that thing where I'm positive and wait for the shit storm to blow over. It's difficult; my positive muscles are not unlike the fat kid in gym class who was forced to run a mile by himself because all the other kids managed to finish theirs a half an hour earlier.

That was a lot of depressing, unhappy subject matter, so here's a picture of an adorable kitten. Don't say I never did anything for you.

The Worst Mistake

Going to college is without a doubt the worst mistake I've ever made.

I didn't want to go originally. In fact, I had planned on avoiding it. But a good friend of mine convinced me that not going to college would doom me to a life coasting from shit, low paying job to shit, low paying job. In fact, I remember his exact words: "Dude, you can either spend the rest of your life working some shitty minimum wage job, or you can go to college."

That ill-fated conversation still rings in my head to this day. So thanks for that. You know who you are.

But once I seriously considered the idea, I grew excited.

Like many an ignorant youth, I was brought up on the idea that going to college would be good for me; a great education, new friends, some parties, and as a cherry on top of that supposed Awesome Sundae, I would receive a shiny piece of paper proclaiming to world the incredible might of my brain meat.

Afterwards, employment opportunities would rain from the heavens, money would flow freely, and I could live happily ever after flying around the world in my private jet.

That sounds awesome, right? Of course it does.

What I got was the exact opposite of awesome. The college scene is highly exaggerated. Being the simpleminded youngster I was, I didn't realize that. But I quickly discovered my ideas of higher education were *ahem* flawed. My classes, rather than being the fonts of wisdom I envisioned, were for the most part a big waste of time and money; especially money, but I'll get to that. I can honestly say that within a week of the semester ending 80% of the information I learned in nearly all of my classes seeped out of my ear like rancid snot. I don't know whose at fault for that colorful imagery; the American Education System, the inability of my professors to motivate me to really learn the material, or the fact that I could give two fucks about some bullshit required course that had no meaning to my life goals and would have exactly zero usefulness in that frightening place adults called the Real World.

Regardless, I found myself increasingly dissatisfied with my education.

The social scene was little better than it was in high school; I found a small group of people who shared my interests and clung to them like the neediest sloth to the worlds most comfortable branch. Outside of that tiny circle, I associated with people as little as possible. So just like high school, I was in a clique. And so was everyone else for that matter., so nothing new there.

And worse of all, I got no shiny piece of paper. Yes folks, I never graduated.

There are a myriad of reasons (or excuses) why I never got my Magic Paper of Awesome. And since I know you're interested, I'll share. Aren't I such a nice guy?

Reason the First: The administration was complete shit. All they were good for was near constant increases in tuition and every other little added fee they could slip in; the price of housing, the meal plan with its inedible swill, the on-campus activities and events all went up in price and down in quality. And any major decision was met with delay after delay. If I didn't know better, I could have sworn that the university was being run by congress.

All in favor of as inept as humanly possible, say "Aye."

Reason the Second: The Hiring Freeze. During a ghastly three semesters, we were without an official Technical Theatre professor. That might not sound like such a big deal, except that I was a theatre major and I kinda need my technical theatre credits! How cool does it sound to have to sit and wait for the Admin's to get their shit together and provide the students with a teacher so they can complete their major?! Stage Construction, Lighting Design, Sound Design, and Production were all things I needed to learn, and yet could not.

Reason the Third: I didn't need college for my career goal. Ever since I stumbled into my first drama class in middle school, I've wanted to be an actor. Naturally, being young and dumb, I figured the next logical step after high school productions would be college. It wasn't until I faced my pointless delay in receiving my technical theatre credits did I realize that I didn't actual need a degree to act. I had at that point been acting fairly regularly in shows around town. It then hit me that the best way to learn how to act was to go out and act. Audition, work on monologues, see plays, and read.
Don't get me wrong, I did learn how to act while in college; I took every acting class offered, and then some. I had great professors who taught me how to come out of my shell and really perform. But looking back, I could have done that without enrolling in college and wasting thousand of dollars struggling to fulfill course requirements that were unnecessary.

So I quit. And now I suffer the consequences of my foolishness in the form of student loan payments.

My college career has racked up quite the bill, and I now find myself being slowly crushed under the weight of all that debt. Like poor Atlas forever condemned to bear the weight of the celestial sphere, I feel that I'll be forced to endure a life time of this nightmare. For years I've been going through one crap job after another, unable to afford payments; some years, eating and making the rent has been a challenge. And of course, as I run and hide from my doom, it persists, eternally the Pepe Le Pew to my Penelope Pussycat.

Dealing with this debt is causing me serious anxiety, and I don't know how much of it I can take. I'm so sick and tired of having the Sword of Damocles looming over my head. As it stands now, rent, bills, food and transportation plus my loans leaves me barely able to live, let alone save money. And if something serious comes up, like a trip to the hospital or an early release of Kingdom Hearts 3, I'm absolutely boned.

And I have no real options.

What do you want to be when you grow up?

Autumn is officially here. The air is crisp with the precursor to winters chill. The trees weep tears of gold and orange and brown. This is probably my favorite time of year; wrapping myself up snug in a blanket, with a mug of hot chocolate in one hand and a good book in the other, I feel more relaxed than at any other time of year. I also get reflective, as I'm sure many others do. So I find myself contemplating years past and dreams unfulfilled. I have a question for you:

What do you want to be when you grow up?

When I was a child, I wanted to be an environmental scientist. At the time, Captain Planet was my favorite television show. I'd record every episode on vhs tapes and watched them over and over and over again. I'm pretty sure my mom got sick of me running around the house, yelling "go planet!" at all hours. I'd give stern lectures to the neighborhood kids about the selfishness of littering, of how their waste was killing the planet.

As you can imagine, I didn't make many friends.

Time went by, and I mostly grew out of that phase. Or rather, I just became more subtle. I realized after a while that no one likes being preached at, no matter how worthy the cause; get in peoples faces enough, and they'll eventually hate whatever you endorse. After all, no one likes being told what to do and how to think.

Eventually I changed my mind about becoming an environmental scientist (whatever that is); while I slipped the bonds of sheer fanaticism, I'm happy to say that I didn't loss the desire to save the world. I still care about the environment, and as a result am far less anthropocentric than the majority of people I know. Anthropocentrism is one of the roots of my misanthropy, but that's a rant for another day.

When I was in middle school, and just entering my teen years, I joined a drama class on a lark (and by lark, I mean I needed a creative arts credit) and discovered the grand world of acting. And during that year, my desire changed.

"When I grow up," I thought to myself. "I want to be an actor."

In that nearly forgotten drama class, I discovered a side of myself that I was previously unaware of. For the first time since I was little hell raiser, I had found something I could be passionate about again. In a play, I could fall into someone else's life; like a shapeshifter, I could assume a different form. I could be a king, or a murderer or beggar or a god. At times it was hard. But it was always fun.

I carried that passion with me when I went to high school. I fell in with the theatre nerds, and felt right at home. It was a wonderful time in my life; my greatest concern was getting to class on time, and cramming for a random test that I had forgotten about (ignored) until the day before. After classes ended, it was off to the theatre department to rehearse or goof off. It was good times.

College was a rude awakening for me. My faith in my acting ability was cracked when I witnessed people with far greater ability than myself perform; I was a guppie transported to a large lake, a lake with much bigger and hungrier fish. It was also in college that I discovered that awful truism that serves to shake the foundation of so many young actors: the business is a ruthless, cutthroat entity. Actors good and bad, with talents great, small and nonexistent all desperately struggled to climb to the top, to get roles and recognition.

Most don't.

Still, I held my own for a good long while. At first I auditioned and auditioned, only to be rejected time and time again. After a while, as my craft was polished and I became more skilled, I was cast in roles. Some bigger than others, but I was acting.

My downfall came once I allowed the prospects of going out into the cold, harsh world and plying my trade, of joining the rat race, of being lined up in a potentially endless parade of cattle calls and being judged suitable for a role based solely on how I looked or how tall I was or any number of details get the best of me. I let fear slip into my heart and take root.

And like that, I abandoned my second passion.

Oh, it's still there, burning like a feeble ember in a vast darkness. But I don't seem to have the courage to breath on it; doing so would mean having to actually try, and that's out of the question. My inner C-3PO keeps spouting the odds of success, and my inner Han Solo is absent, probably off somewhere making out with my inner Leia or shooting Greedo or whatever that charming bastard does when he isn't telling inner C-3PO to shut the hell up. Han is an ass.

Look at this smug bastard.

So what do I want to be when I grow up? At this point, I honestly don't know.

Tomorrow, September 18th, is the anniversary of my birth. That's right, it's my birthday. I'll be 31 years old. It's strange; I'm not filled with the bittersweet feeling that has accompanied my birthdays the past few years. This year I'm just..introspective.

 Since my 28th birthday, I've experienced a kind of panic whenever September came around; it was at that time that I realized how much of my youth I'd been wasting. It embarrasses me to write this, but I'd been in college off and on for around a decade, and had nothing to show for it. Well, I guess I shouldn't use past tense, because I still have nothing to show for it. Okay, that's not completely true; my 10 years of higher education did gift me with around $50,000 in debt, and a mountain of interest that continues to add to it.

The point is, I started experiencing what I can only describe as a panic depression, a weird fusion of the frantic desire to do something NOW and a crushing sense of defeatism; desperately trying to cram some life and good experiences won't make up for the fact that I had less time on this Earth than I did a year ago, or ten years ago when I was a fresh-faced high school graduate who had the entire world before him and the indomitable will to accomplish anything.

How the hell did I become so world weary without actually doing anything?

We fast forward to the present day. I'm sitting here, contemplatively absorbing the fact that today is last day of my 30th year; on Wednesday, September 18th at 2:23pm, I will have officially aged another year. And I have nothing to show for it. Just more of the same.

You can relax, I'm not about to slip into some "woe is me, woe is me" pity party. I think I've already mentioned that I'm done with those.

For once, I'm not sinking down into the murky depths of the past. Rather, I'm pondering the future, and what I want to do with myself. You see, I have this aversion to what most people call the Real World.

Best. Show. Ever.

The Real World involves waking up and dragging yourself to a job that you probably don't care about to do menial tasks that, in the grand scheme of things, don't really matter. You spend 8 hours of your day doing this distasteful whatever and then, exhausted, you shuffle zombie style back to your dwelling, where you spend the next few hours "relaxing" before you go to bed to get not enough rest so you can do it again the next day. You dance to this tune day in and day out, your only hope that distant beacon of light called the Weekend. You spend all of your energy striving for that glorious reprieve from the tedium, and once that shiny ray of light is finally in your grasp, it vanishes in the blink of an eye. And you're right back where you started.

You spend 5 days of the week striving for the last two, and in the meantime life passes you by.

And you'll probably follow this pattern for the rest of your adult life until you either retire, hit the lottery, or die.

This is my perception of it anyway. Perhaps I've made it seem bleaker than it is. After all, that doesn't account for people who genuinely, truly love their job or feel passionate about it. Those lucky few are truly blessed. The majority of us are not so fortunate.

For as long as I can remember, I've been deathly afraid of the Real World. I don't want to spend the rest of my life struggling at some job that I hate. I don't want to wake up one morning to discover that I'm 80 years old and I'm nearly out of time, while I wasted all of my youth and energy amassing money for trinkets and toys. I've seen how that movie ends; my own mother works 11 hour days, five days a week, and has nothing to show for it.

I can see myself all too easily falling into the same trap.

This represents the Real World, and your foot represents your hopes, dreams, youth, and energy.

It is far too easy to grow complacent. Complacency is one of the more deadly traps the Real World throws at you. You fall into a set routine and before you know it, tomorrow is your birthday. You blink in wide-eyed astonishment as that fact hits home: you are one year older, and that much closer to the end of the race.

The only escape from the Real Worlds' trap, the one thing that will bridge the gap between mere survival and truly living is finding something that you love, something that you're passionate about, something that really interests you, and doing it. Don't let little niggling fears and doubts and haters get in your way; most people are miserable and will do everything in their power to bring you down to their level. The worst thing you can do is let them.

This shiny ray of brilliant optimism has been brought to you by your Friendly Neighborhood Black Man. Don't forget to tip your waitress.

PAX! :O

I can think of no better way of spending a sunny Monday afternoon than doing what I do best: being a huge gamer geek. And I can think of no better way of being a huge gamer geek then doing so at PAX!

Just in case someone who happens to stumble onto this blog doesn't know what PAX is (I can't imagine such a thing) I'll tell you. The Penny Arcade Expo (PAX) is a series of gaming festivals held in Seattle, Boston, and Melbourne, Australia. It was designed to give equal attention to Console Games, PC Games, and Tabletop Games. In these glorious conventions, gamers of all shapes (mostly round) and sizes (mostly LARGE) can come together and check out the latest games, play demos, collect loot, attend tabletop tournaments, and have an awesome time.

Until today, I've never had the pleasure of attending PAX; being dirt poor, I could hardly afford a plane ticket out of Alaska and a hotel for the weekend. Now that I'm no longer living in Alaska, and am no longer dirt poor, it was a simple matter of spending the $30 for a day pass and recruiting an awesome friend to give me a lift to and from the Washington Convention Center to experience what cruel circumstance has denied me for far too long.

Upon arriving, I had an epic nerdgasm.

One box of tissue paper and a change of pants later, I was ready to go. All about, people moved to and fro, going from gaming booth to gaming booth. The constant buzz of conversation competed with the ambient melody of computerized Pings and Bleeps. It was beautiful.

Not having access to a map (those apparently disappear within a few hours of opening on the first day), I spent the first hour and a half exploring, attempting to get my bearings while working on a plan of attack. With six floors across at least two buildings, I had my work cut out for me. I'm fairly certain that I missed out on a bunch of stuff despite my efforts.

For 6 hours, I experienced the glory that is PAX. I stood in lines for everything; whether it be for food, merch booths, game demos, or the disturbingly sticky floors of the restrooms, there will be lines. As someone who hates lines, I was surprised that I didn't mind waiting that much. It was all part of the PAX experience. Plus it afforded me plenty of opportunities to do another thing that I love: people watch. People are fascinating, for obvious reasons. Gamers, even more so. During my time there, I saw:

~ Boba Fett, his arm linked with Princess Leia's (in her slave outfit, of course), who in turn held the hand of an adorable young padawan learner.

~A guy dressed like Deadpool running through the crowds, slinging cheesy one-liners, and actually eating a freaking chimichanga.

~ Countless attractive (and hideous) females dressed as various anime characters, sexy maids, video game characters, and things I honestly have no names for.

~ A table flip. An honest-to-gods table flip. I happened to be passing by the Magic: The Gathering gaming tables when one high spirited neckbeard bellowed in rage and flipped his table, much to laughter of myself and countless others. He was asked to leave; I wanted to offer him a drink in thanks for the entertainment.

~ Vast seas of bean bag lounge areas where folks could take a load off and game on handhelds. But no plopping is allowed.

 Beyond the people watching was the actual game demos. Due to my tendency to wander, as well as the length of some of the lines, I didn't play as many demos as I would have liked. But unless you were fortunate enough to snag a 4 day pass, I doubt anyone got to play all the games they would have liked.

I tried out some of the latest greatest from the big wigs:

~I jumped on Final Fantasy XIV for a couple of 20 minute intervals throughout my visit. It was fun; what can I say about an MMORPG that isn't already known. I will say that it successfully rekindled my itch to play an MMO, as well has my desire to play a good Final Fantasy game (Fuck off, XIII). I *may* give the game a try once I pick up a PS3.

~ I got a glimpse of the much anticipated Beyond: Two Souls. In BTS, you play a girl who has a psychic link with some kind of entity. It can possess enemies, produce telekinetic shields, and a variety of other effects. It's looking like I will be picking this game up in October.

~ Wolfenstein, which is a game about an alternative Earth where the Nazi's won WWII using crazy cyber tech. It takes place in the 1960's and has an awesome atmosphere.

~ Elder Scrolls Online. Wow. I only got to play for about 15 minutes; the Bethesda Security Goons are strict about time. With people in the hundreds waiting in line to try the game out, I guess I can't blame them (grumble). I'm still iffy about an MMO Elder Scrolls, but from what I got to play, it will be a blast once it's complete.

~ Dying Light. A really cool looking zombie survival horror with a heavy focus on freerunning. It was fun. and worth the wait in line. 'Nuff said.

I took my time and went to the XBOX One and PS4 sections. Surprisingly, there was a decent crowd at the XBOX One, despite the recent *ahem* unpopular system design choices and alacritous retraction. I will hand it to them, they have some pretty cool looking exclusives coming out:

~ Killer Instinct, a remake of the classic SNES fighting game, looks freaking sick. Seeing it revamped with the latest graphics brought a nostalgic tear to my eye. I think I'm past my desire to play arcade style fighter games; with the exception of the occasional Soul Caliber match, I've pretty much outgrown them.

~ Battlefield 4 was clogged full of nerds for the entire time I was there, so I didn't get a chance to play. But I did watch a few rounds, and it's looking pretty nice. If you're into FPS, that is.

 I just hope for their sake that those exclusives are good enough to overcome the extra $100  hurdle compared to the PS4.

In addition I got to check out some  awesome Indie Games. A few stick out in my mind:

~ Delver's Drop, a 2D action RPG based around three characters trying to escape an ever-shifting dungeon.

~ Aztez, a game that combines a compelling combination of turn based strategy and real-time beat'em up violence.

~ Assault Android Cactus, a really fun and engaging twinstick arena shooter. I lost track of time and blew close to an hour playing this game.


So what did I take away from my very first PAX? You mean besides playing a bunch of awesome games and being able to fully immerse myself in glorious nerd culture? Of being able to bask in the aura of gamer geekdom?

Shirts.

I became a shirt whore at PAX; I can't count how many lines I stood in or the number of newsletters I signed up for or the number of games I preordered (and promptly cancelled once I was out of sight) on amazon, all for the promise of a shirt. You see, game companies have two sure fire methods of attracting interest and potential future customers at PAX. 1) An astonishing number of attractive females acting as lures for salivating nerds, attracting them into their devious clutches like BBQ attracts black people (It's okay if I say it), and 2) Free shit. Key chains, posters, stickers, and SHIRTS. Shirts galore! You get free clothes, and in exchange they get to use you as walking advertisement for their product. Everyone wins!

So I got shirts. By my count, I have 15 new additions to my wardrobe. All for the price of NOTHING. Damn I love PAX!