The Box Co.

See What I Mean?

Behold, the literary works of n64nut and Renegade.

Leon knelt down by the man, and peeled the tape from his mouth.

Man: “Ouch, not so rough!” Leon: Turns the man over “Quiet down.”

Leon unties the man’s arms, who rolls onto his back and sits up once his arms are free. The man looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties, with long brown hair, tanned skin and had a hispanic accent.

Man: Rubbing his wrists “Gracias, amigo.” Leon: “Who are you?” Man: “Me llamo Luis Sera.” Leon: “Care to explain why you were tied up?” Man: “Local hospitality.” Leon: “Do you know what is going on here?” Luis: “No, I have no-”

Luis stops in midsentence; they both hear yelling coming from outside.

Luis: “They’re here!” Leon: “We have to get out now!”

He notices a nearby window; it was borded up but the wood was rotting through; streams of light filtered into the room. The two men started pounding on the boards and they eventually broke free. Luis climbed through just as three men entered the room; two villagers along with a large man in a green trenchcoat. Leon’s heart froze in mid-beat. He had seen something that looked almost like this man before.

I especially like this line:

“The halls didn’t change in appearance as Leon lead Ashley down the scorch marked halls. The doors he tried were either locked or too ruined to gain entry. The place brought back memories of the Umbrella lab back when he was a rookie cop for the RPD, but it wasn’t as dark and abandoned. He looks down at Ashley who was following closely.”

And look at this conversation between Ada Wong (a secret agent/spy) and Albert Wesker (her boss).

Woman- Agent Wong. Voice- Ada, what’s your situation? Ada- It seems the locals here have already been infected with the “package”. I guess your prediction was right. Voice- Trouble? Ada- I had a run in with his subordinate, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. He and the others have more important things to worry about at the moment. Voice- Subject A? Ada- Yes, but I don’t know if he’s made contact with Subject B yet. Voice- It is important that he succeeds even if you have to help him. Make sure your feelings don’t get in the way of your objectives. Ada- I feel nothing so you don’t have to worry about that. Voice- Good. I wouldn’t want to regret what I did back then. Ada- … Voice- One more thing. Has there been any sign of Sera yet? Ada- No, but I’ll keep looking. Voice- Keep me updated. Ada- Understood.

Apparently, they are so confidential, they can’t even tell eachother about their targets.

Literary Desideratum


Act One: Inspired by John Moore

In this modern age of illiterate idiots and writers who are sans-creativity, it is a wonder that the written word hasn’t been laid to ruin on some God-forsaken spire in the netherworld. The communication revolution that has occurred within the past few decades is surely to blame, as the advent of e-mails and instant messaging as left the populace incapable of stringing together subjects and predicates to save their lives. Instead, our vernacular has been watered down - with the filthiest of diluted substances - and we’ve been met with the birth of “Netspeak”.

Comparable to Orwell’s Newspeak in so few ways, Netspeak has simply riddled our verbal exchange with acronyms and slang, leaving the English with as much substance as a class taught by Ms. Aideen Moss. All this Internet jargon occasionally runs over into real life. Sadly, I have heard people say “Don’t worry man, I’m JK.” Some even go as far to use the nerd-gangster language of the digital underworld known as leet (l33t). Any gamers will constantly refer to serious “pwnage” or how they “pwned” someone. Then, students go and wonder why we are required to pass a Literacy Test before we graduate from high school.

Put your mental faculties to good use, and put 2 and 2 together.

Recently on CFRB, they were discussing how e-mail has single-handedly brought about a revolution of the English language. Needless to say, it is a rather negative revolution. The discussion focused on how the ability to send out e-mails, memos, etc. in the blink of an eye has left a generation with no ability to form a sentence. Many callers talked about how their bosses couldn’t form a coherent memo, and the “valid” excuse was that “There isn’t time for it.”

Isn’t time to learn your own language? Being able to get across your tone and meaning in a piece of writing is of paramount importance. Otherwise, you may form some letter or memo that will offend someone, or come across as complete gibberish, or seem like a hate letter when it is actually a joke.

Returning to Netspeak, you see that - when someone is joking - they often have to follow the block of text with the world-renowned “smilie” [:)] .

In today’s society, it seems a person cannot be an adept at his/her own language. Now that I have brought up this issue, I’ve decided to segue cleanly into Act 2.


Act Two: Plebeian Scribes

A brief visit to the community forums at Capcom.com has led me to believe that there are no good writers left on the planet. There are two fellows at these forums: n64nut and Renegade. When Resident Evil 4 was released by Capcom on January 11, 2005, it was met with great reviews. IGN gave it a 9.8.

There wasn’t a person who would speak ill of this game. Many said that the game brought “the series kicking and screaming out of its rut”. It was true. Although the pre-rendered backgrounds of the previous games had been a huge hit, the potential was available to move the series into full 3D. So, the transition was made, and people couldn’t be happier. With the release of Resident Evil 4, the series lost everything that made it terrible and retained everything that made it good. It was all there; an in-depth story, addictive gameplay, excellent weapon selection and most importantly, terror! This game can be frightening, whether you are fearing for your life or fearing where the ravenous Ganados (Spanish for cattle) will attack you next!

Over on Capcom.com, n64nut and Renegade were raising quite a stink. They didn’t like the story, and they made sure people knew it. The conflict was simple; Resident Evil: Code Veronica has some powerful last lines. Behold:

Flying above Antarctica in their jet, Claire reached forward and gently touches her brother’s arm.

Claire Redfield: Chris, promise me, please promise that you wont leave me alone again.

Chris Redfield: I’m sorry Claire, but it’s not over yet. There is still something we’ve got to do.

Claire Redfield: You mean…?

Chris Redfield: Yeah. It’s payback time. We’ve got to destroy Umbrella. Now. Let’s finish this once and for all!

The fighter jet speeds towards the camera, and behind them, the Antarctic facility explodes in a blast of nuclear splendor.

That was the last game released before Resident Evil 4. There was a prequel and an online game that didn’t affect the storyline. For half a decade, that is what Resident Evil fans were left with. They sat at their computers and debated about what would happen. How would Umbrella finally be defeated? Would Chris kick Wesker’s ass? What the hell had happened to Rebecca Chambers? Etc?

When Resident Evil 4 was released, it turned out Umbrella had been decimated in the background. Many were disappointed, but their ill-feelings towards Capcom were largely misplaced. Umbrella isn’t an evil terrorist organization where you can kill everyone and win. It is a multi-national company that excels in medicinal and digital products. It has shareholders, laboratories and innocent employees.

Nevertheless, the disappointed n64nut and Renegade desperately wanted to infiltrate Umbrella headquarters and start shooting people.

Clerk: Hello, sir. Can I help you with something?

Chris: I’m looking for the head of Umbrella. I’m an old friend.

Clerk: Okay. Take the elevator over there to the 71st floor, and walk to the end of the hall.

Chris: Thank you.

Chris would then fire several thousand rounds of ammunition into the poor clerk. A grenade would be forced into the mouth of the corpse, and detonated in a cinematic after Chris enters the elevator.

It was ridiculous what these people wanted out of a game. The government knew about the outbreak in Raccoon City because they nuked it. Unfortunately, they nuked a lot of proof they could have used in a criminal investigation of Umbrella. So, perhaps Resident Evil 4 should have been your character running through the Supreme Court offices looking for evidence and talking to District Attorneys. Exciting.

Killing Umbrella off behind the scenes was a damn good idea. n64nut and Renegade don’t think so. I am perfectly content to accept their opinion, even if I don’t like or agree with it. This isn’t entirely what annoys me.

My grievance with these two morons is that they are now writing an “alternate Resident Evil 4” that is so pathetic it makes me want to kill myself. They claim that it is better than the original. That statement isn’t a suicidal motivation, but actually makes me want to cry. The story they have created is full of plotholes, bad dialogue, corny one-liners, and characters who ARE DEAD! The bad guy they have penned into the “epic tale” is Ozwell Spencer, the man who started Umbrella over a century ago. Yeah, so, a dead guy is the big threat. Just let osteoporosis finish him off, and end your damn story. Retards! Or maybe the main characters can just surprise him, and give him a heart attack.

Chris: Spencer!

Spencer: Chris! AGH!!!…

Spencer collapses, and Chris riddles his body with bullets in triumph.

Hurray! It’s over. Literary sacrilege has passed!

What’s worse is that they aren’t writing in prose. They are using RPG Net Format. Here’s an example:

Chris walks down the hallway

Chris: It smells nasty in here.

Chris opens the door.

The worst part being when they try to get “wordy” and kill themselves in a mass of words. There are two scenarios: redundant writing OR “look, I own a dictionary” writing.

Redundant writing: Chris looked at the doors that lined the hallways as he walked down the hallway lined with identical doors, each door looking the same as the one before it. (I’m not kidding, I’ve seen something like this).

Look, I own a dictionary: Chris promenaded betwixt a doublet of monolithic stanchions.

Wow…did you even get to know those words? No, you’re absolutely right. Being extremely wordy without any creative skill whatsoever is fine. Provide people with a cerebral overload and they will not care if you are an idiot.

I’ll post an excerpt of their stuff later, when Capcom.com is working…

Later

Artistic Pulchritude


Act One: Sin City

Frank Miller is a God, and as far as I’m concerned, other comic book artists should toss aside their brushes and palettes and papers and leave the business. Frank Miller’s monochromatic realm of Sin City is majestic. It transcends all others in the visual artistic medium. After going to the Book Vault and reluctantly detaching myself from one hundred and fifty dollars, I managed to acquire these salacious black and white tomes. No regrets. Each page is full of so much detail; it requires a reflective juncture to absorb it all. My mouth salivates at the thought of these comics.

Here are the cover pages for these beauties:

Left: The Hard Goodbye (Marv)

Right: A Dame to Kill For (Ava)

Left: The Big Fat Kill (Miho)

Right: That Yellow Bastard (Hartigan)

Left: Family Values (Miho)

Right: Booze, Broads and Bullets (The Colonel, Wendy, Dwight and Fat Boy)

Hell and Back (Wallace)

These books contain such spell-binding tales about love and loss, revenge, family, justice, and arrogance. They are truly spectacular. There are so many admirable characters. My favourite male hero is Marv, because he reminds me of me. My favourite male villain would have to be Manute (big black guy). My favourite female hero is Miho. She’s silent and deadly, and in Family Values, she kicks ass while using roller blades! It’s so absolutely bitching. You might chuckle a bit during Family Values, but the ending will knock your socks off. My favourite female villain is Delia, also known as Blue Eyes. She is a hired killer who works with Manute, under the omnipresent authority of Wallenquist.

They are apparently making two more Sin City films (I don’t know how, there isn’t enough story), and I can’t wait. I’m so anxious!!!


Act Two: In Dire Need of Music

I’ve gone on a quest for anything audible that is pleasing to the ears. Having an abundant passion for classic rock, I decided to track down and download 103.9 The Hawk’s Top 104 songs. So far, I’ve tracked down maybe thirty or forty. It’s taking a while. However, during my travels, I’ve discovered ethereal music.

Dire Straits.

Originally, I only listened to Brother’s in Arms because it was featured in an episode of West Wing. After downloading Sultans of Swing and Money for Nothing, I instantly became hooked. Now, I’m trying to track down every possible Dire Straits song available to me on the Internet.

It’s a wonderful tool.

Mark Knopfler (lead singer and songwriter) was in London performing recently. The Hawk was giving out tickets. It would have been cool to go, and check out the JLC and listen to a classic rocker do his thing. Alas, hindsight is 20/20.

Anyway, I must continue downloading music.

If something interesting happens, I will make sure to birth a new blog post.

Poignant Fatigue

My job at the Waterloo Region District School Board is physically taxing. No matter where I go, I find myself falling asleep. It seems that the best strategy is to become a hermit of my own house, and absent myself from the rays of our glorious Sol. In the meantime, a blog post for the few faithful converts seemed like a good usage of time. So, let’s get crackin’.


Act One: Literary Adaptations in Movies

In general, when famous literary works are adapted into the form known as “motion picture”, the transition is painful and involves a large pit with spikes. Perhaps the writing community that has nestled itself ever so cozily into the movie industry has become quite content with whoring itself our to every sleazy director and production pimp who comes along wanting an idea that will generate fast cash.

It disturbs me greatly that the creative pool has somehow been tapped. Somehow, now that the well is dry, it is okay to bend over every good literary idea and sodomize it with a broom handle.

War of the Worlds is one such movie. The movie strays a great deal from the book, as it strives for a more modern story. However, the more modern makeup they put on H.G. Wells’s masterpiece, the more the entire ordeal begins to resemble a hooker in some back alley. The book was humbling, showing us that although we are masters of our planet, we are not masters of the universe. It showed that even things as simple as bacteria could help turn the tide in our favour, and help maintain this world as our own. It birthed a unity between man and the planet.

Steven Spielberg (although a brilliant director) was met with two jackass screenplay writers who think they can make an amazing tale better. Well, Josh Friedman and David Koepp tried and failed. Spielberg’s War of the Worlds came across as a futuristic War on Alien Terrorism. The final scene, where the United States military takes down one of the alien machines was sickening. The only reason they made this movie is because pissing on H.G. Wells’s wasn’t profitable.

The only good part of the movie was Tim Robbins performance. But if you think about it, how can you have Tim Robbins and not have a good performance from him? Oh, right. Make him the President in Austin Powers…no…wait, that was funny.

On the other hand, Batman Begins was a remarkably refreshing film, showing that not all literary adaptations fester into fecal waste. Excellent Batman film. It leaves me speechless. I am without speech. Go see this film! Pirate it! You must let these beautiful images grace the sticky surface of your eyeballs!


Act Two: I Work Hard For The Money

I’ve begun working at the Waterloo Region District School Board again. The period of intense schooling that forced itself between summers resulted in my cobwebbed filled mind omitting the horrible atrocities committed at the Board.

So far, I’ve spent the summer cleaning computers. I find this extremely ironic because a custodial position is not what I requested. In fact, I requested that I NOT get a custodial job. Nevertheless, I’ve spent the last three days purposelessly (not a word?) moving computers and also cleaning computers with Windex, paper towels, and Q-Tips.

That isn’t the worst part. They provide vinyl gloves to wear while cleaning, but they leave a disgusting white paste all over your hands. Some sort of chemical additive to prevent your hands from getting sweaty in the gloves. I don’t understand it. I’m not a chemist, I just play one on TV.

Honestly though, cleaning computers (codenamed PM’ing by the administration and punishment by the staff) is enough to drive a person insane. On more than one occasion, I’ve tried to get 103.9 The Hawk or CFRB 1010 streaming over the Internet so that something fills my ears beside painful silence. These attempts have ended in a rather unceremonious bloody siege as I curl up in the fetal position.

It’s terrible. Last summer, I talked to people in the ePals chatroom. Now, everyone has a full-time job (except Amy, but do I really want to talk to her?). I’m at a complete loss! Just strike me down God! It would be more merciful than this!!!

However, while the worst torture is PM’ing, the penultimate torture is my constant assignment to the worst staff member in the entire goddamn building. Last year, I was assigned to Sam, a bitter divorcee who was fired from the Board for drunk driving. This year, I was assigned to David, a pompous, power-hungry elitist who could crush a continent with his ego. Why couldn’t I be assigned to Dave B? He’s hilarious! Or even the other new guy, Christian? He’s cool. Or why couldn’t there be a third option involving an attractive woman (go figure no attractive women work in the ITS department)? No, instead, Jordan gets shafted.

Whoever is paired up with Dave B. gets the best jobs. Francis (Dave B.’s compatriot) spent the day installing RAM in laptops and then imaging them. On the other hand, I spent the day in the basement computer lab sitting near a leaking ceiling whiping down eMacs with paper towels. Ridiculous. The job sucks. The only reason I took it is because it is honest work and the pay is good. Otherwise, I’d go balistic and murder everyone in that entire goddamn building (except for maybe, my dad, Mike, Miles, and that hot chick from Health and Safety).


Act Three: As We Go On…

As Alice Cooper belts out those truer than ever lyrics, I begin to reflect on how much of high school I will miss. Even though I am returning for a fifth year, everything will be different. So many important people will be absent, and the course load will be pathetic.

I’ll miss my trusted and true friends who have been with me since elementary school: Binkle and Andrew. Through all the time I have known them, these two (as insane as the three of us may be when combined) have gotten me through the tough times (although Andrew was once the cause of a tough time). They’re good friends, and irreplacable. I haven’t talked to Binkle since the summer started. Same with Andrew. This does not reflect well on the status of our friendship as we move further apart in life. Even if I never see them again, I will always remember the good times. Beyond, Sci-Tech, Queens, Gr. 9-11, and so forth. Cheers to my homies.

I’ll also miss the friends who I grew close to through the duration of high school. The ever so cool Caleb, the cocky and in your face Fraser, the…well…how the hell would you describe Andreas? Even Nathan (didn’t know him so well), Dean, Blake and Jenn. I’ll miss them all, because they are good people. They are a rare breed. Cheers to you guys.

I’ll also miss the friends who I have only become truly acquainted with this year. Adam Sheldon was a good guy, and always a laugh in Calculus and Discrete Math. Somehow, he always had a song to sing. His optimisim was unmatched. Melissa, who I discovered was a complete geek-type and therefore, instantly cool. James Wybrow, who I knew through Writer’s Craft, both Maths, and Religion (I think that’s all). He was a good guy, and it sucks that I only met him this year.

Sadly, what I’ll never miss is the stuff I didn’t have. However, I will be saddened by the fact that I didn’t have it. Plenty of people are leaving who I didn’t get better acquainted with…and now that opportunity has passed. This blanket of sadness is so stifling, and I’ve only avoided the sadness until now by occupying my mind constantly with other things.

Cheers to you all. You’re all good people. The last bunch of a dying breed. You will be missed.

The Bitch is Back


Act One: My Triumphant Return to Showbiz!

To keep everyone aprised of stuff, I was banned from the internet for almost a month. Only recently have I returned in a blaze of glory to this important medium. I was elected into Student Council. My full title is: The Honourable Jordan Aulden XXXXX, First Minister of Communication, Supreme Lord of the Galactic Empire, Omnipotent Being of the Fringe World, All-Around Cool Guy.

For short, you can just call me Jordan.


Act Two: Grad

The Graduation Ceremony was relatively painless.

There was a bit of confusion regarding when to stand and when to sit, but otherwise the whole event went off without a hitch. It was enjoyable. I was awarded a bursary from the Royal Canadian Legion worth $500 dollars to be redeemed three months after my enrollment in a post-secondary institution. I also received two $100 checks for having the highest mark in Discrete Mathematics and Geometry, as well as the highest mark in English. These awards left me literally brimming with pride. Unfortunately for me, I missed out on the Writer’s Craft award by one percent. Brett Kelly (the girl who beat me) offered to split her winnings with me, and after chuckling at the idea, I declined. She made the suggestion with six beers in her. I’m not the type to take advantage of a drunken person, in any shape or form. Besides, she’s a good writer. She earned that award, fair and square.

I felt proud when I was handed my diploma. Although, it also left me a little crestfallen. On the one hand, it provided a deep satisfaction in the sense that all the work of the past four years has finally paid off in a few pieces of paper that opens a great many doors. On the other hand, it generates a deep sorrow concerning the loss of some of my classmates. No doubt, Binkle will respond to this with the undeniable fact that 75% of the people are returning. This is flawwed.

First, 75% are not returning. 75% are just not going to university or college. Some of that 75% are going into apprenticeships, some are travelling, some are just taking a year off to work. Second, the people staying aren’t my friends. The people leaving are my friends. It would be nice to leave with them. As things stand, I am socially inept. What chance do I have of establishing new friendships at St. Mikes? It isn’t likely to happen. I’ll probably just hang out with Josh and Brian. They’re cool.

But, back to the ceremony. I found it funny when Dianne won her award. Although she didn’t know which award she won, as the description of the award was read out, she kept grinning bigger and bigger. I chuckled to myself at the sight. It was certainly better than when a few of the other awards had been announced and she had looked broken-hearted. Curse suspense! Curse you!

The highlight of receiving diplomas was when I was told (after the fact) that Monica van Schaik let out a friendly “whoop” when I went up to receive my diploma. That’s reassuring to know that some people in the student body care. Thanks Monica.

The afterparty was pretty good. I drove up with Binkle. On the way there, we pulled over to help some girls who were stranded by the side of the road. Some girls from Ohio, or Idaho or something. I don’t know. They mentionned where they were from, and I made some joke after. We laughed. Then they said they had someone coming to help them, so we went back to the car.

We got lost on the way to the party. First, we drove to far. We were told it was between a gas station and Wildwood. As we drove past Wildwood, we realized something was wrong with our current travel plan. So, we turned back and pulled into the wrong house. Turned out we had stumbled into a twelve-year-olds birthday party. After getting directions from the pedophile fearing mother of these kids, we found the party. Hurray!

Everyone was trying to get Binkle drunk. It was pretty funny. Dave MacLennan was intoxicated before we got there (the laymen’s terms used are ‘sloshed’, ‘pissed’, or ‘wasted’). Jenny Joye (apparently an alcoholic since the third grade) pushed Binkle into drinking, and insisted on apologizing for not knowing me. I wasn’t overly concerned.

I talked with our valedictorian, commending her on her speech. I have to admit, for something she wrote the morning before graduation, the speech was pretty damn good. Monica van Schaik took a picture of me (only God knows why she would want one). As she tried to take a picture of someone else, she kept leaning back into me. It felt really awkward.

Luke told us about his experience with a police officer. It was an interesting story, and had something to do with a body in the trunk. I don’t remember. The smoke from the fire kept bothering me. Dave Horst got extremely drunk, and was stumbling around all over the place.

I talked with Nikki Grobbecker about her university selections, and had a discussion with Brett Kelly about how she was very drunk, and how her boyfriend is, apparently, a stupid jock. This was when she offered me half of her Writer’s Craft winnings. The wierdest part of the conversation was when she put her arms around Binkle and I and said “This is where I belong.” Kind of bizarre, but hey, that’s alcohol for you.

After a while of being forced to drink, Binkle felt it necessary to leave. He kept saying that I looked bored, but that was actually the most I’ve socialized with anyone all year. I had a blast. But, if he wanted to leave, I had no objections. He was worried about the fireworks (which I think were fountain-type fireworks (no bang)) and the fact that someone was juggling and breaking beer bottles. This juggler was David Horst, and we gave him a ride home. In that sense, Binkle couldn’t be assured of his safety from the drunkard filled with glass shards. At least David and Travis sat in the back, while the sober thespian Binkle sat up front (he pretended to be drunk the whole night, and everyone believed him).

All in all, it was a great experience.

That’s all for now. I’m going to post this, and get cracking on another one about the summer, the two movies I’ve seen recently, and the majesty of Sin City.