Hello. My name is Ian Drinkwater and I blog quite a lot. I churn out thousands of words a day. Sometimes I enjoy them. Sometimes I don’t. I meet deadlines and I churn out more. For fun. For non-profit. Mostly to share that which I dubeth dope. Interesting. Intriguing. It’s a hell of a universe out there. It’s a hell of planet right here.

Monday Morning Commute. Every Monday I’m going to detail the various things I’m either currently or will be watching, reading, playing, and listening to in the next seven days. It’s Monday. You’ve got a long week of school, work, or compulsive masturbation to get through. Tell me what you’re diggin’ on to get through the drudgery.

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Playing / Bioshock 2
Do you remember that cartoon, Inside Out Boy, or some shit? Kid goes over the handlebars on his swing set, and turns inside out? That’s what Bioshock 2 feels like to me. Whereas in the original Bioshock I always found the gameplay to be a device that merely moved the narrative along, in the sequel I’m experiencing the inverse. Bioshock was all about narrative for me, the sequel is all about gameplay.

I could be alone on both accounts. I know people really loved the gameplay of the original, but I found it enjoyable enough to move along the storyline and allow me to experience the atmosphere. In the sequel, I find the storyline to be secondary. It all feels so derivative, even if it seems to be pitting Collectivism up against Objectivism or whatever. I just sort of yawn, and nod.

The gameplay is a different story, however. I rub up against the dual wielding capabilities lovingly. I love the remote hacking. It’s Inside Out Bioshock for me. I’m not disliking the game, but ultimately it is feels like its going to be forgettable.

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Fall approaches. I’m ready. I’m not certain if I’ll be saying that next week when classes kick-off, along with my assistantship. We’ll see. Regardless of the actions which populate my Fall palette, the setting unto itself is far more enjoyable. It is the scent of death within the air which invigorates me. Nature’s last orgasmic explosion, the leaves turn and the air does with it. It’s nice. At least to me. You can have your spring, and your summer. I’m most comfortable in the crisp autumn air.

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(more…)

Hello, sinners. How are you? Did you repent over the weekend? And if so, how far have you strayed from the make believe wishes of your one true savior, Lord Santa Capitalism? I’m just wondering. I sin, yo. I sin hard. I sin with my hand and with my heart and with my dreams. I sin and I smile as I sin and I write it off to being human while secretly despising myself and all of us barred up in flash-casks. I don’t lament too much though.

For we are but a magical lot, capable of some truly wondrous shit if we set our minds to it.

Like, for example: The KFC Double Down.

Monday Morning Commute. Every Monday I’m going to detail the various things I’m either currently or will be watching, reading, playing, and listening to in the next seven days. It’s Monday. You’ve got a long week of school, work, or compulsive masturbation to get through. Tell me what you’re diggin’ on to get through the drudgery.

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Watching / The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo
Every person who hasn’t read a recreational book since The Da Vinci code is currently strutting about with The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo pinched under their meat-hooks. Taking it to the beach. Taking it on the subway. Taking it to the gym, reading it while burning off last night’s cookie and cheese orgy.

Well, I ain’t readin’ that fuckin’ shit. But I did go out of my way to catch the Swedish adaptation of the book. I was curious, yo! I was intrigued. And while I have a plateful of books that I need to wade through before I can approach this novel, I could spare two-plus hours on a moving pictures show.

Verdict? Eh!
Verdict? I want to read the book, now.
Verdict? It was like The Da Vinci Code with rape.

The movie itself was decent enough. The pacing can kindly be called “quick” and cruelly called “brutal in a way that destroys any sort of character development.” I didn’t hate the flick, but I found it almost impossible to care about any of the characters. They’re all given so little time to development, that without having any idea who they are via the novel, I sat there thinking something like “Oh. Cool. Oh. Gross. Oh. Nice. Oh. Hmm. Oh. Cool. Oh. Rape. Oh. Murder. Oh. Credits?”

That’s about it.

I may have succeeded in getting me to read the book, though. The movie itself seemed more like an homage to the novel, setting selected scenes to film. So, it wasn’t like it was a dog-shit smeared crab cake or anything. It got me intrigued.

It also has me wondering how Fincher et company are going to be able to adapt this son of a bitch for the American peoples. Not only am I wondering how he’s going to get around rape scenes, but also how he’s going to handle the pacing. The Girl… wasn’t a great enough movie prior to being remade that I’m apprehensive about seeing the U.S version. Instead, I think I’m borderline heretical in my hoping that Fincher can actually craft something better.

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For we are but a magical lot, capable of some truly wondrous shit if we set our minds to it.

Like, for example: The ShamWow.

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(more…)

Monday Morning Commute. Every Monday I’m going to detail the various things I’m either currently or will be watching, reading, playing, and listening to in the next seven days. It’s Monday. You’ve got a long week of school, work, or compulsive masturbation to get through. Tell me the arts that you’re indulging in, to stave off suicide.

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Watching / Breaking Bad, Season One

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Iron rusts from disuse; stagnant water loses its purity and in cold weather becomes frozen; even so does inaction sap the vigor of the mind. So we must stretch ourselves to the very limits of human possibility. Anything less is a sin against both God and man.

jonathan hickman, S.H.I.E.L.D. #1

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(more…)

Welcome to the dance. In the corner you’ll find the teenage boys and girls awkwardly writhing against one another while their genitals engorge. Two teachers married to spouses they can’t stand are echoing the teenagers’ awkward behavior. modified slightly by decades of distaste and ennui. Don’t pay the $2 for the lukewarm cans of Coca Cola, okay? We’ll walk down to the local gas station and buy ourselves some for cheaper and cut in around the back. The police officer can be sort of a hard ass, but if we swear, pledge, take an oath, to never leave in the middle of the dance again, he’ll let us in.

He’s a sucker. But he’s sort of a nice guy.

Monday Morning Commute. Every Monday I’m going to detail the various things I’m either currently or will be watching, reading, playing, and listening to in the next seven days. It’s Monday. You’ve got a long week of school, work, or compulsive masturbation to get through. Tell me the arts that you’re indulging in, to stave off suicide.

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Reading / The Cold War: A New History, by John Gaddis

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I didn’t go to many school dances. However, I distinctly remember one. I must have been in middle school. It was a sweaty lunchroom stuffed with adolescents, all of us not really understanding the implications of our newly hormone drenched bodies. Namely, that we had entered into the beginning of a life where our core desires were thrusting and receiving until we blasted internal and external fluids. The beginning of a life where all we wanted was fourteen panting seconds in a bedroom before acknowledging that we could feel the insatiably flesh creep back into the corners of our minds.

I was no different.

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(more…)