What I've Read: A Death In Belmont

When I first read The Perfect Storm I was stunned. Floored into reading this tragic true life story of some fisherman from Massachusetts who were caught in one of the freakiest natural events ever. Three massive storms all colliding at once off the Atlantic Coast and the ship, The Andrea Gail, simply disappeared. All the crew were lost, and the story had such impact they made a movie out of it. The movie wasn't great, but James Horner's soundtrack has been used countless times since and it does have a home on my iPod. I've always possessed a fear of drowning, but this book took it to a whole new level, describing in aching, scientific detail over 4 pages how a human being drowns and what happens. I wish it upon no one. And it certainly gives you an idea of how effed up waterboarding has to feel, and how wrong that practice must be.

I was a huge fan of author Sebastian Junger from the minute I started reading Storm. As a journalist, he brings a realism and passion to his writing that is easy to understand and yet compelling stuff you don't want to put down. I eagerly have been awaiting a sequel, and it came in an unexpected form.

A handyman who worked on his house when he was 9 years old was arrested for raping several Boston-area women and then, while in prison, confessed to killing 13 more as the Boston Strangler. So his perspective and point of view in A Death in Belmont takes on a much more intimate and personal feel. Like any good journalism story, this one has some great twists. Without giving anything away, there is the strong possibility that a man named Roy Smith was improperly arrested, tried and sent to jail for life for a crime he may not have actually committed. The man who admitted to the killings, Albert DeSalvo, may have died with all the secrets buried with him. I really enjoyed the book, for the questions it leaves you debating and the randomness of the events that are all interconnected. I highly recommend the book for anyone who enjoys a fascinating (and real) crime story.

What I've Watched: Galapagos

So people who know me openly acknowledge my love of movies and watching films of just about any nature. I'm not always as high minded as my friends Dan and Luke, who regale their appreciation of French films and stuff that they studied in film classes back in college. Me, I was raised in a household where National Lampoon's Vacation and Airplane! were on regular repeats. Even in my adult life now I have a give-and-take with my lady, where I can sprinkle in some great films she would normally never watch (Cache, political documentaries and the like) by allowing her to drag me to romantic comedies and anything involving singing and dancing (don't get me started on her love of Rodgers and Hammerstein flicks.

So earlier this week I watched a great BBC documentary about the Galapagos islands, where Charles Darwin first formulated his theory of evolution. I won't get into the merits of evolution, because I think it speaks for itself and if you believe in creationism or intelligent design or anything notion that T-Rex, Jimmy the Caveman, Adam, Eve and all the mystical ponies were all living in the same space together, then I am no sure what to do with you.

But I highly recommend watching this doc. It comes from the same production house that gave us the brilliant Planet Earth series (first on BBC before being ported over to Discovery). The visuals are obviously stunning, as you see first-hand some of the crazy species that exist only on these islands. Iguanas that swim and hunt in the water, Darwin's finches that evolved from one island to the other ... it's all here in stunning clarity and just appreciating this and more gave me a stunning sense of how much larger the planet is than we often give it credit for. We focus so much on what happens in the immediacy around us, that we lose sight of the bigger picture, and it's outstanding films like this that help bring me to a calmer, more peaceful place.

Always "The Rick"

Besides reviewing video games, enjoying photographer and being a dork in general, one thing I love doing is playing golf. I began playing when I was in grade school, thinking I could be as good as my dad and one day beat him at his country club, but things just didn't work out for me that way. I continued playing in high school and stopped for awhile in college when a golf course and money was hard to come by (plus, video games and beginning a journalism career sidetracked me).

I picked it back up when I started my first job in St. Petersburg, Florida, and have been enjoying it nonstop ever since. Five years ago I thought the only way I could compete with some of my better golf friends was to go to golf school, and I found one down in Myrtle Beach that I could both afford and which seemed to provide somewhat personal instruction.

There I met Rick Mommsen, the lead instructor and a guy who would reform my golf game forever. Yeah, he was that good. After the first year, I thought it was worth it to go the next year. And then the next. Three straight years I traveled down to Pawley's Island, SC, and Rick was a big part of the reason. When my pal Kelly went with me the second year, it took about 3 seconds for him to discern that Rick was an Ohio guy. Not only that, Rick was a former Columbus cop, who golfed like a pro but without gloves and enough gold rings and bracelets to be a pimp. He also sported a bushy gray mustache and had hilarious and yet not-so-PC ways of instructing us, but it was just his way. He improved Kelly's game in three days, though Kelly broke his elbow skating and that derailed his golfing.

The third year in a row my buddy Dan went, and was also impressed by who now became The Rick. Dan was never much for people telling him what to do, so the instruction has taken as much as I thought it would. But The Rick certainly helped make me more consistent and in golf consistency is key. And he definitely helped shave nearly 10 strokes off my scores.

Rick and I had had drinks my first year when rain cut short a round, and now after a third year in a row he had remembered me, so by then we were joking with each other frequently. He remembered everything about previous students. Swing patterns, bad habits, things that needed correcting, and he always knew how to get a chuckle out of the class. So when Rick had to miss the second day of class that third year, I asked him coyly "You got something better to do than hang out with us, Rick?" Classic Rick, he laughed it off and said he did and left it at that.

I found out the next day that Rick had cancer, and that he was going for his next round of chemo and surgery the following week.

Rick died of cancer last year. Last month a memorial tournament was held to raise money for a local cancer research center. Kelly, Dan and I could not make it down there for the tournament, but I sent a check along with a letter expressing my thanks for all Rick did, even if I only spent a total of nine days with the man on a golf course.

I'll always hope he didn't take my joke personally, and I will never live it down because had I known I would have never made it. I'm sure The Rick is doing something better right now, hitting fairways and greens and smiling all the way. Hit em long and straight, Rick. We miss you.

Just How Bad Can It Get?

Seriously? We have an economy that has not yet figured out how to "trickle down" to the rest of us, a war without end that the nation has seemingly forgotten about, and we still have several more months of the moron as our president. Of course, the McCain and Palin (or is it the other way around?) camp are still more interested in those pesky gays, an outrageously "sexist" media and boy o boy, we best start drilling for oil soon. And if you didn't think it could get any more ridiculous ... check this out.

GOP Obama gag plays to racial stereotypes
Associated Press

WASHINGTON – Activists at a conservative political forum snapped up boxes of waffle mix depicting Democratic presidential candidate Barack Obama as a racial stereotype on its front and wearing Arab-like headdress on its top flap.
Values Voter Summit organizers cut off sales of Obama Waffles boxes on Saturday, saying they had not realized the boxes displayed "offensive material." The summit and the exhibit hall where the boxes were sold had been open since Thursday afternoon.
The box was meant as political satire, said Mark Whitlock and Bob DeMoss, two writers from Franklin, Tenn., who created the mix. They sold it for $10 a box from a rented booth at the summit sponsored by the lobbying arm of the Family Research Council.
David Nammo, executive director of the lobbying group FRC Action, said summit organizers were told the boxes were a parody of Obama's policy positions but had not examined them closely.
Republican Party stalwarts Newt Gingrich and Mitt Romney were among speakers at the forum, which officials said drew 2,100 activists from 44 states.
While Obama Waffles takes aim at Obama's politics by poking fun at his public remarks and positions on issues, it also plays off the old image of the pancake-mix icon Aunt Jemima, which has been widely criticized as a demeaning stereotype. Obama is portrayed with popping eyes and big, thick lips as he stares at a plate of waffles and smiles broadly.
Placing Obama in Arab-like headdress recalls the false rumor that he is a follower of Islam, though he is actually a Christian.
On the back of the box, Obama is depicted in stereotypical Mexican dress, including a sombrero, above a recipe for "Open Border Fiesta Waffles" that says it can serve "4 or more illegal aliens." The recipe includes a tip: "While waiting for these zesty treats to invade your home, why not learn a foreign language?"
The novelty item also takes shots at 2004 Democratic nominee John Kerry, Obama's wife, Michelle, and Obama's former pastor, the Rev. Jeremiah Wright.
The Obama campaign declined to comment.
Wearing white chef's aprons, Whitlock and DeMoss were doing a brisk business at noon Saturday selling the waffle mix to people crowded around their booth. Two pyramids of waffle mix boxes stood several feet high on the booth's table.
"It's the ultimate political souvenir," DeMoss told a customer.
Asked if he considered the pictures of Obama on the box to be racial stereotypes, Whitlock said: "We had some people mention that to us, but you think of Newman's Own or Emeril's — there are tons and tons of personality-branded food products on the market. So we've taken that model and, using political satire, have highlighted his policies, his position changes."
The socially conservative public policy groups American Values and Focus on the Family Action co-sponsored the summit.

Hey, those are two GOPers, not me

Not that I am disagreeing. But it's nice when pundits get honest about their own.

Maybe a Graphics Card of God Needed

As you may remember from my opening post, one of the other jobs I have is to review video games. I write a weekly column, and while I don't exactly make money off it, the hundreds of free games every year and free consoles and so forth definitely make a difference, so I don't complain. While I may not post every review of every game I play, I may share some of them when they are appropriate. My column is released each Tuesday, and normally I review 2-3 games per week. This week one of the reviews flowed like water, written in about 3 minutes. I think once you read it, you'll understand.

Legend: Hand of God
Platform: PC
Genre: Role-playing
Publisher: THQ
ESRB Rating: M for Mature
Grade: 0 stars

This may be one of the easiest reviews I will ever write. This is not because Legend: Hand of God was a breakaway hit or an outright failure. What makes it so easy to review this game is that I could not even get it started. Yes, that’s right, the game would never load.
It’s not like I took the disc, set it on the table and stared at it, hoping it would load itself. No, no. Trying to load it onto my PC was an absolute failure on many levels, and it’s all because for some reason Nvidia’s PhysX software – installed separately to make the game work – always crash my system and this rendered the game inoperable.
Failing to lose hope, I tried installing it on the machines of several friends and co-workers, figuring maybe it was just running into a bug since I test games all the time on my PC, so lord knows how many weird files are having a fireside chat in my hard drive. But this same thing happened on five other machines, and after encountering the same problem each time, I figured something was up.
Even with an entirely new disc (yes, I was not silly enough to think my disc could just be corrupted somehow), the problem persisted. At this point, I turned to the almighty Google and came across several message boards where a band of others were sharing my pain. Some even found a workaround, but by that point I was nearly too frustrated to care. I did finally get the bloody game to start, but I was so annoyed after nearly a week-and-a-half of failures that nothing the game was showing me made all the effort feel worthwhile.
I checked around and it sounds like you play in a fantasy world as this guy Targon. Sounds like a Periodic Table element, until I found out it’s actually a mouthwash for smokers. Wow, maybe the universe does make sense afterall. Just avoid this game, it’ll leave a nasty taste in your mouth.

You Got Krullers In There?

I'm not a morning person, so my routine is to get up, get clean, get clothed and get to work without much hassle. I work at Metro Center in downtown DC, so even when I am rolling off the train at 7:30 a.m., things are getting going in the big city. The Metro Center train stop is a huge hangout for musicians to play each day. Most of the time they are on a regular schedule (shitty panflutters on Monday, crazy religious guitarist on Tuesday, you get the picture). There are a couple jazz players who are actually pretty good, so those feel like bonus days. 

Last Friday I came up the escalator to what sounded like some decently played Coltrane. A bassist and sax player were doing their thing, and about 15 feet away a guy was selling doughnuts as part of some fundraising effort. Could have been for his sister's new kidney, might have been for a self-help book to teach his bird to sleep in the garage. Anything is possible. I walked into the Caribou Coffee next door (Starbucks can bite me) for a scone, because I was groggy and forgot my breakfast. 

Upon exiting said establishment, things got interesting. It seemed while jamming out to Coltrane, the bassist was having a problem with the doughnut guy (DG), whose "Buy some doughnuts! Fresh doughnuts right here!" was clearly ruining this duo's chance for a Carnegie Hall audition. DG clearly was not buying a CD from these guys, and he was trying to move product, so he just kept getting louder. I would have just continued on my way if not for crazy bassist (CB) losing his mind and thus screaming back that the DG's doughnuts were poisoned and he was using the money for drugs. Work could wait while I let this play out.

Sadly, cool sax dude (CS) decided to go into a free-form solo, which was great. DG and CB began their own duo, which was less like Coltrane and more like Jerseyites on a bender listening to Billy Joel or something. Just like Streisand and Diamond, these two had a duet of Grammy-winning proportions. 

"Your fucking music sucks, buy my doughnuts."

"Don't buy his doughnuts, he's a pedophile."

"A Mexican whore plays better music with her toes! Fresh Doughnuts!"

"You're buying boxed shit from a fucking pedophile homo."

I was in heaven. And I was not alone. A nice crowd had formed, one you're more likely to see give money to street dancers but instead were getting a first-rate lesson in small-business market dynamics. I don't know how it finished off, but as I turned the corner and made my way to work, I thought how much I enjoyed "Fucking Doughnut Shithead (The Blue Note Sessions)"  and hoped a CD would be for sale there next week.

This Pixelated Beginning

Hey everyone,

So for years family and friends have been griping at me for not sharing my work, reviews and general life thoughts on the Series of Tubes (aka the Internet). Well, I'm going to give it a shot and see how it goes and how long it takes for everyone to get sick of me and run this blog into the ground.

I called my blog This Pixelated Life because, well, after thinking about it I realized my life seems to be all about pixels. For those of you just catching on, I am a graphic designer in DC for a nonprofit. I also review video games in a weekly column that runs on several websites and newspapers across the world. And to top it all off, I take a lot of photos and fancy myself as a pretty decent photographer (though I am shamed by several friends who are much better at it than I am). So with those three things under my belt, I figured 95% of my life is spent working with pixels. Thus you have This Pixelated Life.

My idea for this blog is to share some slideshows of photography I've done, some thoughts on the gaming industry and games I have played, some reviews of books I read and movies I watch (my buddy Kelly will often claim I remember the most insane pieces of casting/plots/characters/quotes than he can imagine one person holding). And living in DC, there is always something f-ed up going on which I'll just need to share, so if you cannot handle the occasional cursing, this might not be the place for you.

Thanks for joining the show, I'll be back soon with some opening remarks. In particular, a morning showdown between a doughnut salesman and a jazz player. Yeah, I'm starting strong.