This will make you all say, “What’s a usability specialist, and how do I become one?”.
“Usability is also similar to pornography…”
-Carolyn Snyder, Paper Prototyping
I was already excited about Usability, but this would make anyone excited.
When I find a blog I really like, I’ll go back and read all of the old posts as if it were actually a webcomic. Hyperbole and a Half is certainly like a webcomic. It has illustrations, plot, and a main character. It has more text than a webcomic, but it’s quality, funny text.
It also has mandatory sex parties.
I actually should say that it doesn’t have them, or I at least I couldn’t find one. It just made them famous.
Once upon a time the author wrote a blog post saying that she Googled the term, with quotes, “mandatory sex party”. The only hit that came up was her own blog. This made her sad. She called upon her readers to fix this and fill the internet with mentions of mandatory sex parties. Some people love audience participation, and even though I’m reading a year old archive I said, “I have a blog! I want in!”.
First I had a look to see what had happened since her post, so long ago, in the year of our lord, two thousand nine.
I searched “mandatory sex party” (including the quotes), and Google returned about 10,900 results.
I’ve seen and heard a lot of memes, and I’ve watched things go viral, but still I am amazed. Behold, the power of the mighty internet. Some woman (or superhero?) from the vast reaches of the internet says, “Jump!” to a bunch of faceless entities on the internet (us), and what do we do? We JUMP. Why?
I think the internet, as a whole collection of faceless entities, has a certain overall brand of humor for its most active participants. This humor thinks the term mandatory sex parties is really funny. This humor loves the idea of arbitrarily spreading the term, even if the actual concept that would lie behind such a term is kind of disturbing. That’s the weird thing. Most of these faceless entities not only will never experience a mandatory sex party (whatever that is), they don’t want to.
The term is funny, but the actual prank and humor actual has to do with search engines. The term is said and this is the reaction:
“What? Ha. What are you talking about? Haha.”
That’s it.
To the term “mandatory sex party”, add pranking a search engine. The term is said over and over until Google goes from one hit to over ten thousand instances of the term mandatory sex party. The reaction is:
“Wait… what? Really? Seriously? Hahahaha! That’s hilarious.”
Yes, I’m saying manipulation of a search engine is funny. We’ve come a long way from water filled buckets on door jams.
I’m interviewing for a different job at the company I work at. When you start interviewing for a job, sure, you want the job. When you’re in a multi-step interviewing process that extends over a week, you get very immersed in the idea of the job. You research it. You get ready for the questions about why you want it and why you’re so good that you’re the only person who could possibly fit this role. You start to think about ‘how it’s going to be great if’, and try very hard to not slip into ‘it’s going to be so great when’. Today I found out that I passed interviews round one, which means I get more interviews. Really, its sounds like being rewarded for eating your vegetables by eating more vegetables, but I’m still convinced there’s cake in this for me if I go far enough.
Mentally I can get ahead of myself. I think of all the different elaborate scenarios involving cake. I’m lost in the what ifs and the maybes.
It would be very easy for me to drop the phrase ‘the cake is a lie’ right now.
The not boyfriend is a rum cake I think. The mixing up of carriages and which side the horses go on it not always my fault. He’s certainly had his part in this.
Last post I joked about a ring, white picket fence, and four hundred babies, saying that would happen before he called me girlfriend. Next thing I know, he says that he loves me.
It was on the phone, so he couldn’t see what I’m sure was a priceless expression or me sliding down to the floor, leaning back against the door frame.
I said, “What did you say?” even though I was pretty sure I heard it the first time. I cried happy tears like a stupid diamond jewelry commercial.
Before he told me this he’d asked me a question out of the blue. It was the type of question where the person asking it prefaces it with a question. They ask if it’s okay to ask this strange question. How do you answer that question when you don’t know the next question? It’s a trap. It’s making the person feel like they’re okay in asking, as if they warned you and you consented knowing full well the consequences.
That’s not really consent, but me, you can really ask me anything and I’ll try to answer it, so I said, “Sure.”
Not-boyfriend asked me about what if I accidentally got pregnant. I’m sure he wasn’t looking for, “That would suck!” or, “That would never happen!” as an answer either. Unfortunately, my actual and quite honest answer of, “I don’t know,” wasn’t satisfactory either. I tried to elaborate on that answer with, “I’d talk to you,” which was also true, “But really, besides that, I don’t think I honestly know what I’d do in that situation. I think it would depend on a lot of things.”
I had to explain that no, it’s not something I’d already thought about and decided for future reference. It would be a lot of talking. It would be a lot of thinking. There would probably be tears and anxiety involved.
“Are you asking me if I’m pro choice?” He explained that is not what he’s asking, and even though he wants kids, he’s not pro-life or anything. He wasn’t thrilled about my answer, but he was satisfied that I would involve him and not just get an abortion without even saying anything.
“I know how much that would hurt you. You should understand I’d never do something like that to you.”
Then came something that might have been as powerful as saying, “I love you,” he tells me that if it happened and wanted to have a baby, he would want me to move in with him. He would want to take care of me. I joked that he was a perfect target for women trying to trap men, and we laughed a bit about it. He clarified that it wasn’t something he’d do for any crazy woman he’d dated. He just wanted to let me know that if against odds it happened, and if I kept it, he wanted us to have it together.
Saying, “I love you,” may equal, “I would have a child with you,” for some people, but I don’t think most guys who say one explicitly mean the other. It’s almost like it qualified the “I love you” with “This is how much I love you.”
The labels don’t matter. I don’t know why those labels have been such an issue, but with what we have become to each other, I guess really doesn’t matter.
I’ve been having some back, neck, and shoulder pain issues lately that have interfered with me enjoying my normal routine of kicking ass doing Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu (which by the way involves no kicking, but my ass might sit on someone while submitting them). It’s equally painful to sit for long periods in front of a computer or in my truck which I need to do for the job thing. I always tap out before my neck gets really cranked, but let’s face it, that’s still just not good for soreness that’s already there. Sitting for long periods of time sounds harmless enough, but I assure you, it’s even worse. When I exercise my muscles get loose and happy. When I sit in the same spot all day driving, typing, or talking on the phone my muscles are like, “Um, can we like go do something?”. When I tell them no, they get unhappy and tight. Lately no amount of stretch breaks and lay on my cube floor breaks have been helping.
I turn to vitamin I. Vitamin I is also known as ibuprofen. I’m always the good person who takes it with food and drink, but apparently sometimes I still can’t handle it. I’ve been getting terrible heartburn off and on which may be due to taking more vitamin I than normal, or it could be completely unrelated. All I know is that if your back hurts in a tight, achey way and then your chest burns with pain at the same time, it interferes with your happiness.
I’ve been trying to get the not-boyfriend to give me awesome massages, but I swear he was way more interested in this activity before we were dating. I guess I shouldn’t think about that too much.
To be fair he has been sick and stressed and I’m sure that the last thing he wants to do is look at me and think, “More work I need to do. More that is expected of me!”
For those of you wondering about what a not-boyfriend is, since I don’t think I ever blogged about not-boyfriend, we’ve been dating since shortly after the boy dumped me. I call him not-boyfriend even though he has told me I can tell people he’s my boyfriend and he introduces us as boyfriend and girlfriend. I do this because I am silly over literal and dedicated to the truth. I mean, I can’t tell you the difference between him and a boyfriend, because all of the components are there, but we don’t call each other by these names. If we can’t say it to each other, it just feels weird saying it to other people. “This Guy I’m Dating” is just too much to say and/or type. I’m starting to try out the phrase, “My boyfriend was saying…” but I’m just not there yet. Those of you with a good sense of time (or are stalking me) will know me and the boy broke up last October. It’s now this November. If you ask not-boyfriend, he’ll say we “officially started dating” in February. If we don’t call each other boyfriend and girlfriend, how does one know when you officially start dating? I don’t know either. I personally also can’t recall anything about the month of February that indicated we were official then and not in January. Additionally I think we’ve since become closer in March and all those months after. Lately he’s been further confusing me about throwing in, “Now that we’re more serious,” and “Since we’ve become serious.”. You might be asking how serious it can be if you have issues with the words boyfriend and girlfriend? I don’t know, but if I suddenly have a ring, white picket fence, and four hundred babies and we’re still working on wording, someone might have to intervene. You may have to sit us down and say, “Look, you’re boyfriend and girlfriend. Just say it already fer chissakes.”
So I did get a massage this past weekend and it helped a lot, but it’s now Wednesday.
The massage was something like:
“You don’t feel that tight.”
“Yes, I’m making it up.”
“Nooo, that’s not what I meant. I’m just saying your back doesn’t feel that tight.”
“Well then you’re not pressing hard enough.”
“…”
“Can you go harder than that? …That’s what she said.”
“Is that too hard?”
“No, you can go harder than that.”
Eventually he cracked his knuckles loudly and declared that was all he could do. That is exactly what it feels like, no mater how much I stretch or rub the muscles, it still feels sore and tight. Before everyone recommends some fancy deep tissue massage, I have four words for you: You pay for it. I’ve never had a professional massage since I’ve never had expendable income (yet). Even if I could come up with the money to do one of these, I’m sure one little session will not be the end of it. Massages are an addictive drug even when you don’t have any pain. A professional massage when it gets rid of pain sounds like I’m filling up a credit card.
One thing that has been helping is using a heating pad before I work out to loosen me up. The gym I train at is nice enough to heat one up for me to put on my back while I begin to warm up. If it helps then, it can help at other times, right? So now I need to buy something. It always comes back to money.
As I was commuting this morning and posturing and stretching, wiggling in the driver seat, I decided it was time to visit a pharmacy to get a heating pad of my own. I couldn’t imagine sitting for at least eight more hours and then commuting home without doing something other than giving myself heartburn. In this case I think it’d be okay to be a few minutes late. This was going to make me into a happy worker bee.
There was a long line at the register of people buying one thing a piece. One of the guys in front of me tried to do the, “Oh, ladies first!” to a good looking woman who pointed out,
“There’s people behind you.” Score one for fairness, minus one for flirting. So much for looking at her backside.
“We all have like one item a piece, it shouldn’t take too long,” I stated to the line.
This apparently cued the guy in front of me to just start talking. He was certainly talking to the rest of the line, but he wasn’t continuing the conversation, “Man some retard was blaring his horn this morning and I was like I wish I had one of those devices that could just like disable someone’s electrical system. Z-pow! No more horn for you!”
I couldn’t think of any kind of response to fill the silence. He started again,
“Wow, I ate steak for breakfast. I have a wicked rush right now. It’s like my blood is on fire!”
Another register opened up to help the next person in line.
“I’m running late for work. Anyone mind if I cut in front?” a guy in back of me walks to the front of the line not waiting for anyone to answer.
“Ya, actually, I’m on my way to work too,” I say before he gets to the register. The guy glares, throws down the breakfast bar he has, and stalks out. Immediately a third cash register opens up, and one more person at the register finishes. As he walks out the door, he could have been going up to a free register.
I walked up, put down my heating pad, and commented on how some people just thing the world revolves around them.
That’s not the best part. The best part is me imagining him being late and telling his boss that he was late because of some *expletive* chick who wouldn’t let him cut in line. His coworkers all make non-committal noises and comments he takes as agreement as they really think, “Wow! What a jerkface!”. I love thwarting jerkfaces. Call it a hobby.
There are all kinds of gamers out there. Even though I own newer consoles and play new games, I think I’d still have to classify myself as a classic gamer.
I don’t really know why old games facinate me. I’m sure that nostagia has a lot to do with some of them since they’re what I grew up with. However, I am equally (if not more) excited to play old games that I never had or played growing up. Maybe it’s still nostalgia; I’m six years old again and somehow got a new game I’ve never played before.
A lot of the games I played over and over again as a kid was becuase I only owned so many games. There was a small selection of rentable games across the street in the video store that was owned by a guy, his pug, and an iguana. Most of my friends didn’t own game systems and some even had parents who thought that video games were bad for you or the work of the devil. New games came from birthday and Christmas (or money from birthday and Christmas). Even then, it was usually a one game deal.
This was also pre-internet, so the only way to figure out all of the ins and outs of the games was to replay them over and over. In some cases you could find the right magazine. I was never allowed to call the 900 number.
I can’t be six years old again and I can’t give games to my past self, but I can now play any classic game ever made. It’s enjoyable even if I don’t have as much time and it’s a little less exciting. I don’t know how kids today ever leave their room.
The internet might tell us which games are worth playing, but sometimes I get the most satisfaction out of the weirdest, glitchiest, bad games there are. I know I’m not the only one with this facination. If you look up The Angry Video Game Nerd, you’ll find someone else who is a glutton for punishment. Most people probably watch and say, “Wow, I now know not to touch Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde for the Nintendo with a ten foot pole.” Me? Unless The AVGN covers the game completely, title screen to finish, I’m just tempted to check the game out myself.
This post about a game I tried out recently for the Nintendo called 3D Block. From the title I imagined the game is both 3D, or as 3D as NES games can be, and has something to do with blocks. Though they were being pretty literal with the title, I suspected this game didn’t just contain a single block.
If the title was literal, the title screen was… no, not figurative. It was somewhere in left field, or maybe more like Mars. 
I imagine some guy with a handlebar mustache saying, “3D Block? That won’t sell. You want to know what sells? Sex. That’s what sells.” That’s the only explanation I can come up with for the random shadow of a pin-up model: pointy nipple, high heels, and all.
Oh. There are a few blocks there under her. I guess that makes it relevant.
I don’t know why this guy has a handlebar mustache, but I don’t need a reason. This is my imagination.
You begin by pressing start and then get a selection screen where you can pick the stage and speed you start off with. I left it alone since I didn’t even know what I was playing yet. The game starts and I immediately say, “3D Tetris”, because that’s what it is.
I generally love puzzle games, but I never actually got into any versions of 3D Tetris I played. Puzzle games are fun when you get a smooth rhythm going, but you never do with this game. It’s not that it’s a bad version of 3D Tetris, I feel that way about every 3D Tetris game I’ve played. You’ve got an exponential amount of space, blocks, and block angles to deals with. It’s just too much.
A and B rotate the blocks, one controlling each axis. Start makes the piece drop if you get it in place and want to speed up its decent. The side tells you what’s next as well as what row you’re on.
Surprisingly, I actually can figure out where to put the blocks and get them there. For this reason, I already like it better than the version for the Virtual Boy. Well, okay, that’s probably not surprising.
It constantly feels like there isn’t really enough time even when the blocks ares’t moving that fast. You’re rotating in two directions and have to position up, down, left and right. After the lowest level and lowest speed setting, it all goes downhill fast.
That being said, I’m a bit confused on that point. In Tetris, the blocks move down faster every stage. At first this game does that, but then in goes slower again in the next stage. Then you notice a new kind of block. Then it gets faster again. I guess they were trying to make it more interesting or less hard. I just think that’s confusing that stage 3 is easier than 2.
You can see through the block you’re putting down which helps. The grid is clearly marked. The height of the rows is indicated by what color each square is.
The music is bad. Without playing much, it’s a forgettable cute carnival merry-go-round like tune. After not too long, it’s like one of those really evil children’s toys that makes irritating noises and music.
It takes awhile, but eventually you complete a row. In Tetris you have a single line across the screen, where here you have a whole floor. You can see why game play is a slow crawl compared to Tertris. You fill in the last bit and- the screen goes away. Where did it go? The it’s back and the row is gone. I’m not really sure why the whole screen has to go away for a row to disappear. Maybe that row of blocks is embarrassed to be associated with the skimpy shadow on the title screen and wants to make a quick get away. Maybe that row of blocks is sneaking away to go under that same scantily clad shadow like it depicts in the title screen. “Ohhh yeah! Blocks!” I have no idea.
I wish I didn’t have to write like I do. I wish I would just think in a narrative and the words would form on the paper. Or, at least I wish I could write as fast as I think. So many stories and ideas I think up are left unrecorded. My mind seems to be most active right before I go to sleep. It’s the only time where there’s nothing else I can or should be doing. It’s the only time I don’t have to think of anything, so I’m allowed to think at my own leisure. All of what goes on in my head while I sleep I’ll never be able to record. I seldom remember what I dream. All I can remember is how strange or extraordinary or amazing it was. Even if I do remember, I don’t remember it enough to write it all down. I don’t remember things as they initially were when I thought them up. I will think of something and it will be forgotten, maybe because I think too much. One thought comes after the next, piling up quickly and soon they replace the previous, lost forever.It will probably never be thought of again. There are too many things to think of. My thoughts are story ideas, sayings, analyzing, poems, songs, what I need to do, what I want to do. Thank god for paper or I would never remember anything. Events slip away. I would really have to think if you asked me what I did yesterday. I remember routine, but only because it is routine. The things I do remember, I can’t always remember the order when they happened.