Iznogoud

My computer, Iznogoud, has decided that now would be a wonderful time to DIE ON ME. It kind of just sputtered and died. It pretends that it's running, but it actually isn't. Nothing loads. Nothing starts, and it's not, unfortunately, a mere dust problem. I know this because I actually opened the casing and dusted it just yesterday.

To no avail. And I REALLY hate dusting computers. Seriously. Q-tips are SO not the most efficient way. The cotton always gets stuck and frankly, my PC wasn't even that dusty to start with. So I know it wasn't a problem with overheating.

Which means it's something even worse. That's uncool. Very, very uncool.

So right now I'm using Dad's computer, whose keyboard settings AREN'T EVEN SET TO THE CANADIAN MULTILINGUAL as default. What the hell is up with that?? What kind of Canadian uses the English (US) settings?

Oh, I guess it's 'cause Dad doesn't write in French. STILL. What's up with the apostrophes?

Thankfully, I did a quick change and now I can type at my usual speed and not feel retarded for doing weird signs instead of commas. And apostrophes.

Anyway. It's something I consider a curse. Everything goes to hell every time Dad's away on business trips. Oh, you NEVER get any problems when he's there. It's like an electromagnetic field of happiness is tied to him, and when he's not there everything pretty much goes haywire.

So overall the DVD players keep skipping, my computer is dead, the shower faucets suddenly don't work (?!?), the front door won't open from the outside, and my mp3 player has developed a personality. (Let's not even mention the rental car Mom had to take while her actual Honda Fit is at the garage because some idiot rammed into it.)

Inanimate objects, especially electronics, tend to develop a personality in my presence, though, so this is nothing unusual or surprising. Still, the fact that they become BITCHY can be a little unnerving.

That said, my computer being dead suddenly revealed to me how bereft I am without it. That damn piece of machinery pretty much contains the essence of my existence, in the form of my music, games, videos, pictures, and especially my word documents.

That's right. I CAN'T EVEN WRITE MY STORIES while the bloody thing is on mental vacation.

Or open email attachments. Because this is my dad's computer.

Oh, I could do as Slim did all Easter weekend. One night, when he was over here to get work done (hahaha hear the excuse?), we ended up playing on the Wii for a couple of hours. He'd brought over Smash Brawl (which had given us a bad case of the excited screaming on the phone when he'd told me of this acquisition) and in exchange I'd shown him No More Heroes.

Oh, by the way, if you own a Wii and never played No More Heroes, you are SERIOUSLY passing up on one of the best games ever made. I'm not even kidding. I don't make a habit of recommending games or anything, but honestly, folks.

NMH is like the mind-numbing, hilarious, violent videogame that will not only make you feel infinitely better about gaming, it'll also deliver mind-blowing gameplay, extremely satisfying blood showers, crack-me-up one liners, deliciously funny situation humour, and it'll all be wrapped-up in a funky graphic style. Its borrowings from other games are well-placed, and its numerous references to huge cultural icons will keep you smirking or outright laughing throughout. The bosses are as eclectic and developed as graphic novel characters, and the fights keep you on the edge of your seat and your heart in your throat. The game also introduces a hilarious way to use the Wiimote speaker.

Sure, it for a mature audience, but I would NOT pass this up if you can handle a little sexual innuendos and gory violence.

Anyway, I showed Slim this game. I figured he'd be all 'meh, been there done that' about it. After all, he has played just about every game that ever was at least once. (He even played more Zelda games than I, and we ―in the quiet and secrecy of our one-on-ones― exchange numerous geeky facts about the series. Like that time where we listed all the MM masks and tried to remember how we acquired them. It was nerdy and mind-wracking.)

But Slim was not only interested, he also vowed he would purchase the game as soon as he could, because, and I quote, "THIS IS SO BADASS".

I didn't expect him to keep to his word, but the next day at school he stood from his table, came over to me, and said, "You'll never guess what I bought."

And ever since, we've been talking ―to everyone's utter confusion, for so many infidels have never tried or seen the game― about NMH. We were, until recently, racing to see who would become the Number 1 Assassin before the other. I was winning for a while, sitting comfortably on number 5, but then he made me bite the dust: he played NMH all Easter weekend, and reached number 3.

I wanted to call on cheating, but since we'd never established actual rules, I couldn't blame him. The game is ADDICTIVE.

So now that my computer's in the throes of agony, I guess I ought to catch up to Slim.

BUT DAMMIT, WHY DID IZNOGOUD HAVE TO DIE?

Love,
CM