Almost Christmas

Well, we have what, 7 days until Christmas?

I'm sure all of you have finished your shopping and are completely prepared in every way imaginable. I personally have to wait until the very, very last minute, as no one in my family can actually verbalize what they want.

There's a lot of 'oh, I don't really want anything' or 'no, you don't need to spend money on me' or 'you being here is gift enough.' This is obviously baloney and we all know it, but we say it anyway (it's a tradition).

This means that on the 23rd or so, there will be frantic flurry of phone calls, as people demand to know what the hell everyone else wants. We then, begrudgingly, tell each other and then we storm the malls to find the Deluxe Fairy Barbie with Detachable Kitten Cannon that Really Fires.

This will obviously be sold out, so we get the next best thing (Spontaneous Combustion Barbie) and hope it's the thought that counts.

Speaking of gifts, it would make Leigh and I very happy if you could take the time to vote for us. It's the gift that keeps on giving, provided you do it every day :)

Look for the usual blogs and posts next week.

Cheers,
-Jason

Tinfoil and Togas: Part 2

So after the mandatory 24 hours of psychiatric observation, I was set free. I immediately went to the nearest grocery store and purchased $40 in ingredients. Once I got home, I realized I’d simply bought 10 boxes of Lucky Charms, so I went back again (10 boxes would only last about 3 days, after all).

I then bought a whole bunch of other stuff that could conceivably go into a burrito bowl. I got several different kinds of cheese, copious amounts of rice, some spices, ketchup, beans, 9mm ammo, tin foil, a tiny shovel, and several other things I probably shouldn’t have.

Oh, yeah. Chicken. Like, 5 pounds.

I got home, spread my purchases out on the counter and stared at them for a while. I would like to say I was waiting for some artistic inspiration or something like that, but in truth I didn’t really know what to do. I picked up a can of beans and placed it atop the chicken. This seemed like a start, so I quickly built a little food pyramid. It was rather impressive, if I do say so myself, but it still wasn’t turning into anything edible.

It was time to get serious.

First of all, I needed the proper attire. I don’t own an apron, so I grabbed an old sheet and made a toga. I then made and donned a tinfoil hat. This was mostly for the look, but also just in case the chicken tried to use some sort of mind-control powers on me.

NOTE: Yes, I know the chicken was already dead. That just meant it might be a Chicken Lich, hence the precautionary hat.

Now, thusly clad for battle, I got a machete, a hammer, seven feet of rope and set about opening everything and putting it into the largest pan I could find. My oven is apparently ancient, as it had no ‘make edible’ setting, so I picked a random temperature and set it to ‘Bake’ or ‘Clean’ or something. I’m not really sure which.

In went the pan, I set the timer for 87 minutes (give or take) and then wandered off to watch whatever happened to be on the Military Channel.

It was around three hours later that I noticed the smell. After a quick check to make sure the ninjas hadn’t set me on fire again, I followed my nose (it always knows) to the kitchen, where I discovered smoke pouring out of the oven. I had forgotten to actually set the timer, you see.

Which takes us back to the beginning. My magnificent pan of burrito bowl fixin’s was now a thick, black rock that tasted terrible, regardless of the amount of ketchup I put on it.

I like to think I learned a lesson that Sunday. Something meaningful about hope and charity and the boundless joy and beauty found in nature. Or something. In reality, I just learned that while I can’t cook, I look really, really good in a toga.

The tinfoil hat works too.

Cheers,
-Jason

Tinfoil and Togas: Part 1

Last Sunday found me in the kitchen wearing a toga and a tinfoil hat. I was wearing the toga because I don’t own an apron. I was wearing the hat because I wanted to feel stylish. I was wearing both items because I was attempting to cook.

‘Attempt’ is the proper word, as the pan in front of me was covered in a thick, black, charred substance that at one time had been a chicken. Smoke was rising and for once I was thankful that the ninjas had replaced my smoke alarm with a fugu fish.

NOTE: I don’t quite know why they did it. I can only surmise that they assumed I wouldn’t notice it was a fugu fish when I went to change the battery and I would somehow eat one of the poisonous bits. It was a cunning plan, foiled only because I don’t like seafood. Or generally eat bits of smoke detectors.

You see, Saturday for lunch I had a ‘burrito bowl,’ which is what you get when you dump everything that normally goes inside a burrito into a bowl. As I ate, I happened to notice what my burrito bowl consisted of: namely, chicken, cheese, corn, rice, beans, and some salsa.

And then I had an idea.

I could, given the proper tools and ingredients, make this myself. The next few minutes were kind of hazy. I may have shouted ‘Eureka!’ I may also have leaped onto the table and done some sort of dance. Said dance may have involved ‘groinal gyrations.’ As I mentioned earlier, I don’t really remember. I guess I’ll just have to check the police report.

Tomorrow: Part 2

Three Things

First off, I’d like to apologize to everyone within a ten-foot radius of my cubicle today. While the Triple-Beefy-Beany-Cheesy-Magnum-Burrito with extra jalapenos I had for lunch was delicious, the aftermath was not as pleasant.

Secondly, Cataclysm-itis seems to have cleared up and the studio is once again filled with happy, contended workers who seem to do nothing but talk about Cataclysm. I haven’t actually played yet, but I feel like I have. At some point, I’ll be able to rock a Tauren Paladin.

And third, please vote for us! We’ve dropped a bit in the rankings and I while I realize that many of you are visiting friends and relatives and are away from your computers, please feel free to log in on their computers and vote for us. And make us their home page.

Have a great weekend everyone. We will be back next week with our usual page updates and blogs.

Cheers,
-Jason

The ‘Flu’

I walked into work this morning like normal, punched a mime, got some water, checked my email, fed the orca, y’know, all the usual things one does at one’s place of work if one happens to be a complete psycho.

After about fifteen minutes, I noticed . . . something. It took me a while to figure it out. At first, I thought maybe it was the lack of screaming, but that wasn’t it. Then I wondered if the coffee robot had broken again and everyone was asleep at their desks, but that wasn’t it either. Then I realized what it actually was: everyone was gone.

Seriously.

This had happened before. Sometimes, an emergency meeting will be called early in the morning and the whole studio will be in the big meeting room. So I wandered over and checked. Nope, no one was there either.

I passed one of the other designers. He was hurrying out the door, his hat and coat on.

“Hey, Volpar” I said.

He barely glanced at me. “Sick,” he said. “Gotta go home.”

“Ah,” I said, making a sign to ward off the evil spirits that had infected him.

And then Volpar was out the door. Leaving me alone again.

I began to wonder if I was the last man in the studio, if not the last man on the planet.

NOTE: I once saw a French movie about a man who was the last man in the world. Eventually, he met the last girl and then she died. There might have been a dog too. Needless to say, it was not a happy film.

So I did what anyone of us would do, which is why thirty minutes later, when a producer wandered by, I was building a crude shelter out of office supplies and not wearing any pants.

“Yo,” the producer said.

“Hi,” I responded.

We stared at each other in silence for a moment. He had enough wisdom not to ask why I was trying to make fire by rubbing two staplers together.

“So,” I finally said. “I kinda assumed I was the only one here.” I gestured at my crude barrier of paper boxes. “This was in case zombies attacked.”

“Makes sense,” he said. “You do know what today is, don’t you?”

“Is it my birthday?”

“I have no idea. It’s December 7th.”

I shrugged.

“Cataclysm went live today. Everyone called in sick so they could stay home and play.”

“Ah,” I said. “Why are we still here?”

“Good question.”

Cheers,
-Jason

Dresses – Seriously

There have been a few questions regarding our lovely heroines getting fitted for dresses during the last few updates. They have ranged from ‘why do the dresses look like that?’ to ‘wait, what?’ to ‘WTF?’

So, here’s a quick history of dresses:

In the way olden days, nice dresses were made by hand to fit a particular (wealthy) woman. They measured, cut out the necessary shapes from the appropriate cloth, and then stitched the whole thing together. Obviously, if the woman in question gained or lost any weight, the whole thing would have to be taken in or let out as appropriate.

A bit later, (in just the olden days) the individual parts for the dresses were pre-cut and then they fitted them to the individual lady. This was much faster, but everything still had to be custom-fit. And yes, still limited to only those who could afford it.

Only in the last hundred or so years have dresses (and clothing in general) been ‘off-the-rack’ so to speak.

NOTE: If you’re an expert on clothing and are now furiously screaming at your computer for my massive generalities (or mistakes), please do not resort to violence.

So in the scenes you saw, Lily and Iri were getting the second version: pre-cut pieces were being pinned on for fitting and comparison. Those were not the finished dresses by any means. You’ll be seeing those in a bit.

In short: trust us, we’re nerds. We live for the details. Heated discussions have been had over how a helmet would buckle, what kind of hilt a sword should have, and who was the better Captain of the Enterprise.

So have a good weekend and look forward to a new page on Tuesday! And vote! Pretty please! And don’t ask how I know so much about women’s clothing!

Cheers,
-Jason

TMHLLDJYD for Short

I had yet another amazing idea for a show. Hold on, this will take a bit of back story.

Last week I went to visit my mother for Thanksgiving. It was a pretty average visit, all things considered. I showed up at her door and she took a shot at me. I went to the bathroom, she took a shot at me. I reached for the remote, she took a shot. You get the idea.

And yes, mother is a terrible shot.

Anyway, on Tuesday evening she insisted on watching the finale of Dancing with the Stars. I decided to go ahead and watch it with her, owing to the fact that she was armed. In short, it was a two-hour finale with about ten minutes of actual dancing.

Now don’t get me wrong, the dancing was fun to watch. I found the majority of the show rather dull, but it did live up to the name: there were stars and they danced. A bit.

The big problem I had with the show was the fact that there were about a dozen gorgeous female dancers on hand, all of whom seemed to be at least three-quarters leg, and the show didn’t spend nearly enough time on them. I wanted to watch the pretty girls dance. A lot.

So here’s my idea: make a new show called Thirty Minutes of Hot, Long-Legged Dancers Just Y’know, Dancing. Or TMHLLDJYD for short. It would be much cheaper to produce, seeing as you wouldn’t need the judges, audience, stars, or honestly, much in the way of wardrobe.

Oh, and if you liked to watch the guys, we could have a companion show called . . . uh . . . Dancing . . . Guys. It could use the exact same set and come on right after. Everyone would get to watch the group they preferred and some would want to watch both, so bonus for them.

And ideally, the guys would distract my mother long enough for me to get away. She’s gonna get lucky one of these days and I’m a big fan of not bleeding.

Cheers,
-Jason