World of Goo

I got World of Goo, which came out last month, and it’s totally under my skin. Did you ever play Lemmings back in the day? It’s kind of like that, where you have little objects that need to be directed or controlled, but there is an unpredictable physics component to it as well. Initially, WoG has the feel of one of those little casual flash games that you get obsessed with for a week and then forget it existed, but it’s more than that. The look is much more polished (the art is cute but not cutesy), the original music is very pretty and sets the mood well, and it has good replay value. There is an underlying story, as well, that unfolds like a mystery which urges the player onward.

The objects that you work with and control are “goo balls,” round living creatures with cute blinking eyes. Each type of goo ball has a different property or “talent.” (remember the digger Lemmings that would go and go until you were totally screwed?). The Player is introduced to different types of balls in the four chapters of the game, which is broken into the Summer, Autumn, Winter, and The Information Superhighway. The Epilogue, unlocked after you make your way through the four chapters, is “Spring.” The balls can stretch out and form arms that can be used to build towers and span gaps. If you build them too high or unsteadily, they can topple over or pop on spikes or you can listen to their sad cries as they fall into pits. The goal is to get a predetermined number of balls of goo into a goal pipe at the end of the level, which sucks them in.

There are two things that make this game compelling to me. The first is the writing and the plot. There is an unseen sign painter whose hints appear on signs in almost every level, as well as narration throughout the game. The plot hinges around the World of Goo corporation that harvests gooballs and turns them into food or beauty product–sort of a mass-consumer Soylent Green flair. There is a very tongue-in-cheek attitude towards corporate life and Big Brother, and advertisements for the World of Goo corporation abound through the game. I am convinced that the writer has spent some time at Microsoft. However, I think kids can probably ignore this subtext if they’re not hip to it and just enjoy the puzzle/building aspect to the game.

The second thing I find compelling is the variety of the puzzles. On some levels, the player can plan perfectly and easily set up the level for success, much like toppling dominoes. On others, it is just a matter of luck and quick building and thinking that will allow the player to barely squeak by. I had to give a few levels several tries before I figured out what I was supposed to do or the right way to solve it. This is not to say that the learning curve is too steep or the player is set adrift, like in Myst. There are “learning” levels where the player can get a feel for a new task or material before having to go into panic mode.

There is another component to the game that I have explored less, which is play in the World of Goo corporation screen, where players can build towers with the goo balls they’ve collected throughout the course of play. Players can connect online and see other player’s towers, and compete to build the highest one. This isn’t my bag, but others may like it.

World of Goo is addictive, well-written, crazy entertaining, and at $20 for PC is a great price point for holiday gifts this year. And HEY, it’s DRM-free. Be sure to check out the downloadable demo on the the 2D Boy site and check the screenshots.

(Also available for Wii and Mac.)

Well, At Least We Won’t Get the Plague, Probably

Ugh, what a drag, we have a flea infestation up the ass.

I am fighting the big fight right now, doing pretty much every recommended thing under the sun to be rid of them. The cat is NOT helping at all. We treated her with Frontline on the nape of her neck, and she cleared up in a couple of days, but she is not helping by being a mobile poisoning unit because she figured out where the fleas were and avoids those areas now! Frontline is supposed to work by allowing fleas to jump on your cat and ingest the poison in their blood. Sadly, Nietzsche is now spending all of her time on the kitchen stepstool, a sewing machine that for some reason lives in the kitchen now, and an end table in the living room. She refuses to set foot in the girls’ room, where she dropped her big load of fleas in the first place on their little rug.

I have tried shutting her in the girls’ room for short periods of time, trying to get her to sleep on their beds in the sun, and she cries and paws the door. Useless thing!

So I am vacuuming, putting their blankets through the dryer on hot, washing things, sweeping, and spot-spraying with Knockout ES. One morning we wake up and the girls have no bites, and the next morning they wake up with twelve. Of course they have no self-control, so they scratch and scratch, and end up all scabby. They insist on showing me this repeatedly: “Look, this one burst!” Ugh, lovely.

This morning I was stretching before my run when I stopped to slap some of the bites on my ankles, rather than scratch them. I have tried to teach the girls to do this as well, but when Strudel gets mad at me or tired, she claws herself raw. That will show me who’s boss.

Franny noticed I was itchy and said, “Mom, do you have flea bites too?” All amazed.

“Yes, of course,” I said.

“I didn’t know!” she said.

“Well, I don’t complain about them.”

It was like you could see the hourglass turning over. I love these moments where there’s a little glimmer of realization that adults have problems too. Sometimes it takes her a couple of days to discover that I have the same cold she does. She is always amazed. I am not playing momtyr, but I was raised not to complain until I am half dead, so generally I don’t. That’s what this place is for. Nyuk nyuk nyuk.

In Other News: The Wall, I Have Hit It

Oh my heartbreak this morning as I was out, dashing happily around the lake, when I was taken out by shin splints. I was so angry I thought the top of my head was going to pop off. I NEED this running right now.

I slowed down and stopped to rub my legs. “FUCKITY FUCK FUCKLOAF ASSBURGER FIDDLESTICKS COCKTOAST…Oh, hello, ma’am, I did not see you and your stroller full of impressionable preschoolers there.”

The lake is kind of a funny place to run, since I kind of fall into myself and pretend I’m invisible when I’m doing it, and it’s full of people. This morning the center of the lake looked dead white, like it was the gateway to the edge of the world or something. I saw herons and falling yellow leaves. I am so happy that I can’t see shit generally, except, er, when I’m driving at night. People’s faces are a blur. I pipe music in through big ass cans instead of ear buds, which always hurt. This makes the world even more muted. Today I was listening to A Night at Birdland, and with Art Blakey’s wet cymbals you can’t even hear the gabbling, latte-swilling stroller moms.

So I hit that wall and walked until they settled down. I think I need to change a few things: more stretching, and new shoes. I think I am resting enough. I also need new jog bras. My currents are from before Strudel, and they are not quite doing it. They fit around, but the cup…it is a little like putting a small egg into a regular egg carton. It just rattles around and looks sad in there.

By the time I got to “Night in Tunisia” my shins felt okay again. That’s gotta be one of my all time favorite songs. I think I have a dead musician crush on Lee Morgan. I have almost all of his albums and a few of Blue Mitchell’s. I think trumpet is my favorite. Rock N Rolla!

Lunchtime Scotch with Notwist

What a fun afternoon! My musically-omnivorous friend Ruby invited me along to this cool lunchtime concert thing KEXP is doing at The Triple Door. I felt like such a flaneur, drinking Laphroaig before noon, people watching, and then seeing this band I’d never heard of (the last part is unsurprising, I think). The sets range from 30-45 minutes, five songs or so. I think they played for a half hour. That is exactly the size of my rock show attention span nowadays. Ruby says she will go see hippity hop shows with me since I have no one to go with. Woot! I can’t remember the last time I was at a rock show, let alone enjoyed myself at one.

Pictures by Ruby, who has a nicer camera, a better eye, and actually remembered to bring her camera.

This certainly made up for this morning when I was at the dentist being savaged by a strange hygienist, since mine was out of town. She got out this thing called the Cavitron (I am not making that up) to blast off my nasty teeth and I thought I was going to go through the roof because the cold water it was blasting me with was so painful. And then it was my fault because my gums are receding a little. I did not enjoy my lunch today, because I could tell it was just reheated Monday’s dinner, and the server made like it was just me, since customers usually clean their plates. Today it is my fault. Feel free to let me know what you blame me for. However, Ruby was nice and blamed me for nothing.

They Say It’s Better The Second Time/They Say You Get to Do the Weird Stuff

Woo! Today I spent a jolly morning at the DMV. My picture makes me look like my head was farmed in one of those melon containers that makes melons grow all square. FFS, people. At least it’s not stroke victim. It’s more perturbed blockhead.


Artist’s Representation of New Driver’s License Photo.

Then, as a reward for finishing that hein (tm Maisnon) task, I went to the costume store to get missing bits for the girls’ Halloween costumes. Strudel is going as Bad Horse, so I have to make her ears and a tail, and she has a set of brown clothes. I was going to make her a horse head, but her little body is so wee I thought she would do better with face paint. I got myself some bad ass gloves for my Captain Hammer costume. I wouldn’t have fussed with it at all, but on Saturday I am going on a fun run with a cross-dressing superhero theme. I have been wearing the shirt all summer.


Please Hammer Don’t Hurt ‘Em.

Yeaaah. I have no explanation for my behavior.

Quickly changing the subject, Calliope the Easter Egger laid her first egg. Alas, it was on the glass fake eggs in the broody box, so it incurred a dent. I think it will be okay til tomorrow in the fridge, since it looks like the membrane is intact. Eyuck, these early eggs are so bloody on the inside. But if I was laying eggs for the first time, I imagine I would bleed some too.

My complaint is not about the bloody eggs or even the hole, but the COLOR. Calliope! You are laying grey eggs! BOORING! REFUND! What a rip.

I am going to start slow-cookin’ stew made out of some animals and stuff I found (freegan, lol A) and go for a little run. If you see some crazy lady running around on Saturday running and shouting “The Hammer is my PENIS,” then please move to one side and do not obstruct the flow of impending justice.

Imagine me wearing nothing but pants and sunglasses

I guess that’s right. What’s the female equivalent of risky bidness? I dunno.

My point is I am HOME ALONE this weekend! Woo! I do have a friend coming over on Saturday night to drink the wines with me, and I will make copious plans to do cool girly things or cool alone things, but I will probably just fall asleep and wake up with the imprint of the corner of whatever book I’m reading on my cheek. Drooling on library books, that’s what I call living.

Although it can be fun to sleep with library books sometimes, because they often smell so weird. It’s your own personal bed adventure that will probably not result in an STD. Who knows what kind of dreams you will have if you sleep with the one that smells like patchouli, or the one that smells like chili powder, or both of them at once.

I especially enjoy reading cookbooks from the library in bed. You’re flipping through and all of the sudden a flat piece of spaghetti jumps out. Foreign pasta snake! in your bed. I have to say the library cookbook that made me the most furious was a Chinese cookbook, I think from Wallingford branch. It had all these notations in it about nutrition, most of them verifiably wrong. They were all written in this precise, minuscule block writing. I could hear it hissing at me off the page. There was a particularly long screed about the dangers of incorporating the amount of salt that the “Orientals” like to consume could have disastrous results when combined with the typical American diet. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Almost every recipe was marked with a scold of some sort: “CUT SALT IN HALF!” or “THESE MUSHROOMS HAVE NO NUTRITIONAL VALUE!!” Calm down, dude. Live a little.

So, yeah. Home alone! Canoodling with library books. If it got more exciting, my head might explode.

Asshole Martin Graduates

Breakfast: Leftover hairloom (yum) tomatoes with balsamic vinegar and salt.

Photobucket

Lunch: Heartburn, no doubt. Woo!

I’m a little sad–I was thinking I would have tales of temp hilarity to share by now, but it’s slow going. I took a Word, Excel, Outlook, and typing test last night and it almost broke my brane. It was all Office 03 stuffs, and I guess I have really gotten used to Office 07.

Also enjoying this crazy kitteh, via ICHC. Seriously, every time the cat appeared on screen again, I laughed.

Additionally, I am trying to get into Le New 90210. I talked about it with K for WAI too long last night, and we both concluded that the new kids seem all worldly and jaded, whereas, as she pointed out, the old kids seemed kind of excited by the glamor of the Beverly Hills Lifestyle, or whatever. The adults are the most interesting part to me, and I don’t think that’s just my age showing.

I have a soft spot for 90210, because I started watching it in the eighth grade, abandoned it when my friends started driving, but then watched it from START TO FINISH when I was pregnant with Franny. All ten years. They were showing it every goddam day on F/X, which was amazing. My favorite part is still when Donna gets pushed down the stairs.

This, however, is exciting the shit out of me. They got it up faster than I could torrent it. I am giving myself over to television this fall, wholey and completely.

An update on my neighbor: my chin is up, and I am taking action. I will let you know what happens when it does. All is well. Thanks for the comments.

At The Library

I left Franny and Strudel alone in the children’s section, reading happily, and walked a few feet over to the CD rack to see if I could find some reasonably non-offensive CDs to be played at bedtime again and AGAIN until they are spun into silvery dust.

There were two little girls sitting at the tables directly adjacent to the children’s CD racks. They were engaged in that eight-year-old girl psychological warfare that adults either miss, or choose not to notice.

“Your teeth are so YELLOW,” one girl hissed to her companion. “You should really brush them more often.”

“I DO brush them,” her friend retorted, in hushed tones.

“I mean, I have never seen such yellow, dirty-looking teeth as yours. Ugh.”

“They ARE NOT!”

This exchange went on for a few minutes until the girl with the teeth lost it and socked her little frenemy.

“OW,” the taunter said, at full volume. “You shouldn’t hit people.”

They remained unsupervised and I paused in my browsing, looking up at the sound of the taunter’s louder voice. She looked up at me, now visible, and the girl with the teeth slowly looked over her shoulder. They both waited to see what this adult would do. I looked at the girl with the teeth.

“I would have hit her, too,” I said, and went back to browsing.

More Apathetic Than You

The hamster got lost for two days, and no one noticed but me. I decided not to say anything. No need to rile people up around here, and either he would turn up, or not…. But no one noticed the cage was empty. It made me realize how much time I spend running this little farm around here, but my older daughter sure likes to take credit. Ah well.

The hamster turned up on the basement stairs as I was doing laundry, with a dusty butt and looking tired. I took him home and he had a bite and went to bed.

Other than that, I’ve been doing odds and ends that aren’t worth mentioning, let alone writing about. Do you ever have those stretches of days where you feel like you accomplish not very much, yet the household keeps running and the world doesn’t end? I am idling. I am always kind of a dud in the summer. They are predicting rain for the next week, so maybe I can regain some of that winter angst that makes me go. I’ve got a bead on a job, though, so I hope that pans out.

Something funny did happen last week when I went on Franny’s class camping trip. We slept in cabins with double bunks, meaning there were two people on the top, and two on the bottom. I slept with my kid, and the girls above me were early risers who had to use the bathroom. I could hear them whispering: “I have to use the bathroom.” “Meee tooooo.” I thought, OH they are going to totally wake up the other mom, because she’s the nice one (I’m the fun one, until someone loses an eye). I wait and wait. There is more whispering, followed by a quiet creep down the ladder. “Let’s wake up SJ.” Darn, but probably for the best as I was indeed awake.

“Fraaaanny,” they stage whispered, “Wake up your mom!”

“Mmm,” I heard her say, waking up. “Mom? Mom? MOM?” The stage whispering grew louder. She was inches from my face as I laid there playing possum.

“BOOO!” I whisper-yelled at her, watching her eyes go ginormous. Heh heh heh. That is a good way to wake up. The girls went to the bathroom and I lay still next to her. She soon got the wiggles and was making Marty Feldman face at me, followed by a rendition of “PYT.” I didn’t even know she knew the words to “PYT.” It’s small things like that that remind you that you maybe don’t know your kid as well as you thought you did, and they can surprise you. For my part, I think I peed a little laughing.

In Which The Princess Is Not In Another Castle

Last night we went to the 4,000th Survivor’s Banquet for the Puget Sound Mycological Society. There were about 100 people there so I guess a lot of people survive. They had a few schmancy chefs and everything was all mushrooms all the time. Mushroom soup. Mushroom salad. I encountered mushroom pataaaaay. Then, of course, the chicken had a mushroom ragout on it. The dessert was shaped like a mushroom, but did not contain mushrooms (I think).

The servers were pouring champagne for a toast as one of the founding members had died recently. I was sipping on mine and a server came up and topped my glass. “You’re going to want to SAVE some champagne for the toast,” she told me sternly. I just looked at her. I felt like I had just Bushuru’ed all over the flower arrangement or something.

Someone was awarded the Golden Mushroom award, and I found it awesome that such a thing exists. You get a golden chanterelle pin, which is at least worth the price of admission. This is a crowd that obviously enjoys their NOMs if they are willing to go out in the natures and procure it themselves. So after dinner, the schmancy main chef and pastry chef, who are members, came out and spoke. Where else can you go to a banquet where the chef speaks?

On the way there I saw a billboard hawking something called Moonvertising. Since I don’t yet have the internet in my arm, I flipped out and called a couple of my friends. “Explain this fuckery,” I demanded, but they could not. When I came home, I googled it and discovered Rolling Rock, which is the shittest beer on the planet, is threatening to become the shittiest beer on the moon as well.

I know I fall under the category of “crackpot” in about twelve different ways before noon, but I find this idea, even in jest, infuriating. It has to be not a huge deal because none of the real news services have picked it up. I think they are going to get a lot of attention but I think it will backfire.

When I got to the part in The Time Machine where the moon cracked up like a broken molar I cried while reading it. I have had nightmares since I was a little kid about people fucking with the moon and it always freaks me out. It was hard to get to sleep last night. Not much bothers me in the scheme of “idiocy the rest of the world is up to” but I will take to the streets with a pitchfork if they try this.

PS, your moonvertising site is slow and sucks, and even my grandma who tried to answer a mouse that she thought was ringing once knows it. YOU SUCK.

CALL ME NAO for yer TOTALLY NOT FREE AT ALL readin’

HEY. How was your weekend? Did you wonder if I am dead? No such luck. Although I did have a few dreams where the IUD punctured my uterine wall as if I was riddled with scurvy. It seems to be taking okay, and the cramps have subsided.

I also had another dream which is one of the most absurd ones I’ve ever had. The girls were on the counter and Strudel pulled her pants down. I was worried she was going to fall so I grabbed her, and she fell over on top of me, and her butthole went right on my nose. Companion showed up and looked over the counter.

“I have poop on my nose, don’t I?” I said.

“Yeah,” he said.

Analyze that, chakra-pokers.

Also this weekend I had a dinner party. I made a giant, giant ham for the first time ever. I was never that interested in ham, but I am tired of cooking other things, and I wanted something springlike to eat. It came out of the oven and was like Wall of Ham. My tastes have really changed. Ten years ago I hated hams. Now I think I can eat donkey scrot. I dunno.

You may recall that I went to San Fransisco in January to do a reading for Can I Sit With You?, which was fantastically fun. So now there is going to be a not free reading on April 25th at the Annex Theatre.

How it worked last time is that you can show up, listen to stories, and no one will hold you upside down and shake you. Or you can buy/bring a book, have it signed, or drop a little money in the hat. I will be out drinking after. NOM. Also, because I know you huffed too much glue, I will remind you when it gets closer. You should come, so I don’t have to stand on your lawn and read loudly at 3 a.m. That could get embarrassing for everyone involved.

OKAY UPDATE: EPIC FAIL! It is not free. See comments. For the admission price Companion says I should wear one of my cocktail dresses too. DAMMIT. Sorry, Shannon. I feel conflicted now because this is for a good cause, but expensive.