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guthrie
They came for the dinosaurs, and I did not speak out, because I was not a dinosaur. They came for the giant robots, and I did not speak out, because I was not a giant robot. Then they came for the nerds. And I was screwed.

Age 35, he/him

Nerd Final Boss

University of Texas

Space Mountain

Joined on 8/28/03

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guthrie's News

Posted by guthrie - December 13th, 2009


I remember the first time I rode a bike. I was really young, and my dad pushed me so I could get going. I went for a while and then fell down.


Posted by guthrie - June 17th, 2009


This question has been in my mind for a while, popping in and out every so often, but today something happened that really pushed me to ask a certain community about this, hopefully infrequent situation.

My sister, who just graduated high school (last night, actually), has a lot of cool friends. Ever since I graduated high school and started going to college, I've lost touch with most of my friends at home and started hanging out with my sister's friends, partly out of convenience, but also because I'm really busy with my internship at a local engineering firm.

I really like her group of friends because they aren't the partying type, which I have tried to avoid most of my life. One of the things they will do on occasion, though, is during car rides to and from places (the destinations aren't really that important), one person will scream out the window at pedestrians to illicit a reaction.

We live in a mostly white community, which I haven't been happy with since we moved here from Chicago. Most of the people that we're screaming at are middle aged white guys or girls, but occasionally, we see someone who isn't white on the sidewalk, and if someone starts to look like they're going to scream at them, the other people in the car will try and stop them, with the reason that it would be racist.

Isn't the fact that we have to be selective racist in itself?

Today, I was driving back from the Home Depot from getting some supplies for a project, my sister was the only other person in the car. She rolled down the window, scoping out a victim, and saw a group of people.

"OOGA BOOGA" was her choice of words, which wasn't the best, as I noticed right afterwards that there was a black teenaged girl at the rear of the pack, apparently concealed by a car on the side of the road. My sister may have seen her, she may have not, but she didn't understand that what she said could have been taken to be racist.

Is it racist if she didn't know it could have been?

This is silly, and I really hate that society tells us that we can't have our fun unless we're ostracizing white people. Maybe we should just grow up.


Posted by guthrie - February 9th, 2009


Every time I see her she has flowers in her hair
I'm the only one that sees them, but I'm pretty sure that they're there
When she speaks I hear gracious melodies
A beautiful duet in perfect harmony

She doesn't know that I think about her every day
She doesn't know that I live just to see her
I should have told her by now
Why haven't I told her by now?

Where she stands, the clouds above part and blow away
Whenever she's around its like a perfect sunny day
I turn to see her face and all my senses start to blur
While shooting stars are falling just to catch a glimpse of her

And I say she doesn't know I think about her every day
She doesn't know that I live just to see her
I should have told her by now
Why haven't I told her by now?

And I can't help but smile every once in a while
When she's on my mind I know that I'll find a place no further than a mile
Where I'll never be lonely, and love is in style

And whenever she talks or laughs or breathes or smiles
I'm getting lighter, man I'm moving upward
Think I'll float a while

I can tell that she's no ordinary girl
I think I'm almost ready
I think I'll tell the world

Standing love that's all-controlling
On my shoulder she's condoning
One day she will understand
Open up and take my hand


Posted by guthrie - January 13th, 2009


I might be going out on a limb on this one, I don't know if anybody else has noticed this but, for some reason a few days ago it really started bugging me. You definitely have to pay attention to some of the entertainment news to get this, but, John Mayer, "musician", has been talked about a LOT lately because he's dating America's "sweetheart", Jennifer Anniston. Now, whenever these fist-biting, starry-eyed morons talk about this relationship, they always refer to him as "rocker" John Mayer.

Look... JOHN MAYER DOES NOT ROCK.

He sings WATERY, PUPPY-DOG, PANSY BALLADS.

HAVE YOU HEARD YOUR BODY IS A WONDERLAND? You find a way to convince me that that song rocks, and I will KILL YOU for your despicable brand of sorcery.

I kind of like his voice, and I know he COULD rock (if he wanted to). I've seen him perform with BB King and Eric Clapton. Instead he chooses to sing melancholy heartstring pullers for new dads (like Daughters).

The guy is THIRTY-ONE. He should be playing like Layla Clapton, NOT Sun Out the Window Clapton. Nevertheless, I don't really care what he plays. There are plenty of artists that are really talented that I don't like listening to. My real problem is people referring to him as "rocker" John Mayer. That makes about as much sense as saying "Heavy Metal Queen" Amy Grant, or "Jazz Giant" Britney Spears. He rocks about as much as I tap-dance on rooftops.

CAR COMPANIES ARE BETTER AT MAKING MONEY THAN JOHN MAYER IS AT MAKING ROCK SONGS.

You know how I know that he doesn't rock? (Beyond the fact that I have ears) I don't know ONE man who owns any one of his albums. Ergo, he does NOT rock.

From now on, you will refer to him only as "sissy bitch-crooner" John Mayer.


Posted by guthrie - October 16th, 2008


.
/* */
I know you don't have anything else to do right now, so go ahead, I'll wait.

Well? Are you outraged yet?! I know a large percentage of you are fluent in Korean, thanks to WoW and Halo, but for those of you who aren't, it basically advertises a new kind of stuffed crust pizza - with hot dogs!

People, this is brilliant! Talk about the next major breakthrough in stuffed crust pizza technology. It's the perfect, epic heart attack in a slice. Order a large and you could easily get three meals out of that baby, probably even four, thus making it a poor college student's dream food.

And yet, it serves as just another sad reminder of how far the United States has fallen when it comes to engineering developments. Those eternally think Easterners have beaten us at our own game again.

"But Matt, how could this travesty possibly have been allowed to occur?" you ask. Indeed, I've spent many long, sleepless nights wondering this myself. I mean, come on, we are THE nation of muffin tops and beer guts! The tubby citizens of this great country invented the stuffed crust pizza long before those short, Korean brainiacs got their hands on it. The Wisconsinites should have thought of this twist ages ago and even they never saw it coming (the good for nothing morons)! Why did this happen? In classic, 'bitter old man' fashion, I can only blame society.

You see, in the old days, before commercials scared us into trying shady fad diets, asking our doctors about drugs we don't really need, and joining class action lawsuits against the very medical industry claiming to be our savior, America ruled the world of artery-clogging comfort food. Before Oprah Winfrey, PETA, and a very scary man named Richard Simmons decided beef was bad for everyone, a delicious cheeseburger, hearty meatloaf, or satisfyingly messy sloppy joe was a weekly staple of the American diet. From creamy chicken pot pie to gooey macaroni and cheese, we were damn proud to sport the waistlines and highest cholesterol readings, and our mothers never thought twice about feeding us lots of butter, lard, cream, salt, sugar, and second helpings, as long as we choked down our vegetables.

Then came along doctors, research scientists, celebrity exercise instructors, and those ever-bitchy dietitians, all constantly bleating about how everyone must change their ways if they want to live to see 80. Soon, dozens of fat-free/cholesterol-free/sugar-free/l ow-calorie/low-sodium/taste-free foods hit the shelves to be purchased by newly health-conscious soccer moms, feeding the ever growing paranoia of the average American sheep. We suffered through gritty fat-free ice cream, the unholy substitution of ground turkey for ground beef, sugar-free cookies, and vegetable oil 'butter' spreads. We quietly stood by while cheesecake was demonized, ham became a vile curse word, and the consumption of virtually all flavorful foods was made a dinnertime capital offense. Soon, even those sinful bastards at McDonald's sold out, offering rabbit food meals with step-counters and bottled water. Finally, in perhaps the most treasonous move of them all, Cookie Monster was forced into court-ordered rehab and now spends his days telling kids to consume large amounts of FRUIT. (Thank you to Mr. Colbert for raking the muck in order to get the scoop on that one). Now, it is painfully obvious from the video that even pizza is becoming vulnerable.

The point of this is, we've had enough of this shit. America needs to graduate as many ingenious product engineers as she can, in order to start putting the calories, fat, and flavor back in to the foods we love before it's too late. Do we really want the title of World's Greatest Artery-Clogging Meals to fall back into the clutches of, say, the French? I didn't think so.

So, with that in mind, I'm off to lobby my senators to send more money up here in support of this fine University, and perhaps I'll also draft a letter to Pizza Hut urging them to introduce such a great product on this side of the Pacific Ocean. In the meantime, I think I'll see if South Korea can get a group of their six year-old geniuses to work on teleport delivery.


Posted by guthrie - September 4th, 2008


Just before summer started, it was revealed to the country that everybody's favorite water bottle, the invincible Nalgene, gives off hazardous chemicals that apparently cause cancer. Not all of them, just the lexan ones that are the only ones people actually use. Because of this, Nalgene is going to start phasing out the good kind and likely replace it with a subpar version. For this, I have one thing to say.

What. The. Hell.

Seriously, who's in charge of making Nalgenes around here? The Nalgene Company or the state of California, where everything from breast milk to stinky shoes is outlawed? I'd like to think companies can make whatever they want, no matter how dangerous or unhealthy. So, if Nalgene is going to bow under the pressure of one rotten scientific study, I'm going to conduct some science of my own, Guthrie style.

Bleach. Every time you put bleach in with your clothes, you are running the risk of killing yourself. Haven't you ever stopped to think that by putting bleach on your clothes, it's like putting bleach on yourself? And I'm not bullshitting, bleach hurts.

Air. Air is probably the number one killer in the history of the world. Everyone who has breathed has died of cancer, heart disease, AIDS, Spanish Inquisitions, or cannibalism. Those few who have tried to not breathe to avoid these fates have also died. Therfore, air is just as bad as Nalgenes.

Work. Working causes stress, and stress makes bad things happen to the body, like depression and the desire to shoot your coworkers. This shaves years off your life. Maybe we should all quit working to save our health for when we're happily on welfare.

Lunchmeat. Salami, bologna, mesquite smoked turkey, you name it, it's deadly. Just ask anyone who has choked on a sandwich - oh, wait... you can't. They're dead. Supermarket deli clerks ought to be put behind bars for spreading such dangerous food around.

Airplanes. Thousands of people have used the same airplane you just rode in. Chances are they're all going to die at one point. Unfortunately for you, death is contagious and now you're doing to die too. Sorry for the late warning.

Computers. Not only do they make you fat and more prone to catching cancer from Nalgene, they give off a million billion harmful waves that will bake your brain before you can say "OMG I <3 LOLKITTEH ^_^."

The Sun. Before you were even conscious, the sun gave you cancer. Probably every kind, too. You can blame your parents for bringing you out into the harsh UV rays when you were still a baby. Now you'll die a premature death.

Food, fire breathers, sidewalks, skyscrapers, albatrosses, German sports cars, Venetian gondoliers, hamsters, Mt. Everest, Vladamir Putin, clock radios, mirrors, air conditioners, the late Douglas Adams, Alpha Centauri, that lady from the supermarket, car keys, Texas, Nazi Germany, and the pillow you sleep on at night. All of these give you cancer.

Last but not least, The bacteria infesting your Nalgene bottle will also give you cancer, and there's absolutely nothing you can do about those unless you drink anti-bacterial soap. So toughen up, weakling. If you can't stand having a little bit of chemicals leeching into your body, I suggest you quit at life and go live in the center of the Earth At least there you won't find any Nalgene bottles there - they melt at much lower temperatures, so you're safe.


Posted by guthrie - May 6th, 2008


We're walking downtown during lunch. It's a cold spring day and the sky is dark gray behind the buildings. The wind blows through the static corridors, flicking dust and throwing papers.

We go the block or so to have some Chinese food. I get an order of Siam Noodles. They know me there, so they pack the clamshell with so many curry noodles that the cashier can hardly close it. The plastic bag around it sags and the tied handles pull tight on my fingers.

We move around the corner. It seems we've walked this route so many times that I can't count them. The smell of diesel fumes billows among the derelicts and businessmen standing in the sunshine.

I can see him in the distance, a lone figure in khaki pants, black shoes and belt, a white shirt and a long black tie. He paces back and forth, a black rectangle in his hand. He beats upon it with his fist. He looks like a tiger tracing circles in a cage. The sun brightens his white hair, but there is no halo.

We approach him slowly. I can feel your eyes on me - you know what I'm thinking.

You're right.

When I turn to look at you I can see your anxiety. You've heard the bile I spew and you know that I want to turn his words around on him. You know I'm crazy enough to try and argue down a crazy guy with a Bible.

His voice carries above the sound of traffic and people. He repeats damnation, damnation, damnation... it would seem that the end of the world is coming.

"The preacher man says it's the end of time... he says that America's rivers are going dry. the interest is up, the stock market's down..."

I want to slow down as we pass him. He yells and screams at passers-by. He talks about the end of the world, he talks about the end of time, he talks about the end of the family.

He holds up his book and swings it around like a sword - "The sword of God!" He holds it above his head. "God shall smite us with his wrath unless we repent! The Lord shall come down upon us and take his children like a thief in the night." He takes a breath. "Will you be here when the mighty trumpet sounds?"

I slow down and you push me forward, I feel the tips of your fingers in the small of my back as gentle pressure.

"God has turned his back on us! We are a nation of baby killers and drug addicts, child molesters and homosexuals!" He turns and faces the street. I notice that people around him have started to turn their backs on him.

They don't want to catch his eye, they don't want to gain his interest, they don't want this crazy man in their midst. Everyone is fearful of him. Not for his message, but for his manic and inane screaming. They see him as a festering boil on the sidewalk, worse than a beggar for change. If he was a beggar he would probably go away.

I wonder, has he ever won a single soul for Christ, yelling like this? I wonder, has he ever done more than stand on the street corner so that others can see just that he is a "holy man". Does this notoriety help him to sleep at night? Does he have any friends?

Your fingers push me on. I look at the preacher man now as he speaks the "words of God".

I don't think he understands anything at all he says. I look at the preacher man, I look at the preacher man, I look at the preacher man.

But he doesn't look back.

"The preacher man says it's the end of the world..."

We walk towards an empty staircase to have a quiet lunch on the steps. Behind us the man's voice fades into the rush of traffic.

"The preacher man says it's the end of the world..."

I open my box of noodles and they spill out like bliss... I wonder if he ever opens that book in his hand.

"The preacher man says it's the end of the world..."

But d'you think the end of the world is coming?

No. So says the preacher man, but... I don't go by what he says.


Posted by guthrie - April 10th, 2008


If you're like me, your life can easily be described by your experiences with vending machines. Simple, elegant, and justifiably the most useful mechanical device devised by man, the vending machine is both a bane and a godsend for millions of people. Causing pain and suffering while simultaneously unleashing joy, vending machines are an integral part of nearly all of our lives.

"Blasphemy!" you may be saying to yourself. "I can hardly recall a time when a candy dispenser guessed how I was feeling at the time. It's not like it's got a mood meter or something, right?" Wrong. Well probably not, but I figure they must; either that or fate has a huge part in the matter.

Don't believe me? Here, in brief, is a summary of my life story with the vending machine.

As a child, I was happy and uncaring. Just like any boy who was not being molested by priests or pedophiles. I climbed trees, smashed bugs, and more than anything else in the world, enjoyed trying to fish candy or sodas out of vending machines with my small arms. This brought me little success until that fateful day when I discovered a soda machine that kept the money within arm's reach. Needless to say, I was extremely satisfied with myself for having found something I was good at. At least until they replaced all those types of machines in the area.

This made me very sad, and I entered a period of my life that I can sum up as being "not really worth describing." During these unexciting times, I was swindled out of countless dollars of change by vending machines hellbent on ruining my life. What had I ever done to them? All I wanted was a KitKat bar or a Sprite, and instead I got grief. Whoever stocks candy machines with grief ought to jump off a bridge.

As I slowly began to lose trust in those monoliths of simplicity and con artistry, my life took even more of a downturn. I became depressed, and was forced to please myself by digging holes and chopping down trees for which I would build a mausoleum to bury my forlorn body once I was finished. I also continued to have bags of chips hang on by a thread, just outside of my reach on the other side of the very breakable glass.

Yet I resisted unleashing my anger. I knew that someday, maybe, I would be happy again. All I had to do was hold on, and maybe I'd find what I was looking for. A machine that I could call "friend".

And so I waited, hoping, knowing that my time would come. Finally, after years of longing, I had found it - Michigan Technological University. A haven for vending machines, I knew that deep down, some of these machines had to like me. It was a new beginning for all of us.

Soon, my hopes were realized. Time after time, E5 after B7, Mountain Dew after Sunkist, I was not disappointed. In fact, I could go as far as to say I was happy again, and with every clunk of a falling soda I was reminded of the good times from my childhood.

Which brings me to last Friday, when I was greeted with a beautiful Spring morning, pleasant smiles, lovely spring flowers, and a 2-for-1 deal on Mountain Dews. My life could hardly get any better.

Or could it? I have yet to ever get a 3-for-1, or a candy machine that keeps spinning and deposits the entire row of Skittles into my arms, as if gold coins falling from the sky. Hey, a guy can hope, right?

Completely true story. And I bet I'm not the only one. I'm sure we're all part of this Vending Dimension, where all our overall lives accurately follow our vending machine experiences. Take a minute and think about it. Then decide whether it's worth putting change into that shifty looking change machine. It might be better just to go to the café instead.

My Life and the Vending Machine


Posted by guthrie - March 28th, 2008


Atari has recently announced that they plan on creating another sequel to their 70's arcade hit Pong, with new features, story, and gameplay mechanics. That's right, I said another. There are multiple remakes and remastered editions reaching Pong IV, along with Super Pong, Pong Doubles (two player co-op), Quadrapong (four players!), and Doctor Pong. They've also branched out and made single players pong where its you versus a bunch of bricks in Breakout, the Pong for the antisocial. But this new Pong, The Legend of Pong: Rise of the Anti-Paddle, will be the Pong to end all Pongs.

This Pong will have a fully immersive story spanning three disks. The graphics are breathtaking, with enough foliage dew and luminance to make you think the player just got a fresh waxing. The music will be spectacular, combining the musical talent of John Williams of Star Wars fame, Nobuo Uematsu of Square Enix AC/DC, Daft Punk, and the re-animated corpse of Mozart with the standard "beep" and "boop" of the original Pong.

The characters have a relatable quality that makes it feel as if you are facing the grave dangers of the hero's quest yourself. The motion capture was done so well you'd think that you were watching live-action human movement (due to budget constraints, 93% of the FMVs are actual human beings in front of a green screen; you could hardly tell the difference). One could only imagine the size of the balls those actors were sporting. The developing team was also not shy in implementing anime cut scenes and cell-shaded graphics where necessary! Don't be surprised when a fleshy human (William Shatner) is carrying a compelling discussion with a spunky, bug-eyed anime chick.

The game follows the adventure of a dashing, young 18 year-old (the only ones qualified to save the world, apparently), voice-acted and motion captured by Captain Kirk himself, as he quests to save some princess who appears to have been chosen by lottery in mortal danger. You quest around the kingdom of EightBit, recruiting allies of various species and hues all the while defeating hordes of goblins, crumbling dictators, and frequent minigames involving interbreeding giant chickens with their parents and masturbation contests. The story revolves around and evil spirit called the Anti-Paddle that possesses your brother and slaughters your family in one of the most gruesome random acts of violence ever to be depicted in claymation. You and your brother meet face to face after 3 disks and 50 hours of straight FMVs and have one last sword fighting action sequence with Quicktime events involving colorful button-mashing just for the hell of it. Your swords break and your shields fly off in opposite directions.

Now here comes the part where you actually get to control the character! Its you and your brother as he holds up his shield of Anti-Paddle magic and you with your shield of Holy Pong. In the charbroiled walls of the castle with no escape you notice the base of the back wall has become terribly weak. Yet you also take note that the wall behind you is ready to crumble at any moment. You use your shield to cast a spell on the nearby cannonball to give it tremendous momentum and launch it towards your foe. The enemy deflects it with their shield! The battle begins!

The gameplay has received exciting new tweaks this time around. Now developers added forward movement, a hate meter, AI, and mana gathering! Granted, the mana cannot be used since you don't know a single magic spell, though you can read about the awesome ones in the game manual! There are invisibility spells, fireball casting spells, and demon summoning spells! When the head of development was asked how these additions would change the strategy used in previous Pong games, his reply was "There was a strategy?".

To be a fair reviewer, I must point out the flaws of The Legend of Pong: Rise of the Anti-Paddle. If one could look past the shoddy controls, obvious plagiarism of nearly every game on the market, and Nazi propaganda, then this version of Pong could easily replace all other games in your collection (which it will, since it immediately writes its own data into all nearby data storage devices it comes within three meters of, including your brain).

The release date for The Legend of Pong: Rise of the Anti-Paddle has not been officially stated, but fan speculation seems to be that it will be released a few months before the mystical game Duke Nukem Forever hits shelves on Jupiter. Because of the awesomeness that is this game, no modern console or PC could ever hope to run it. It will be released for the Xbox Hypersphere (infinite degrees of fun!), Nintendo Mario (it might as well), Game Boy Supreme Lord of All Mankind (already is in my book), Playstation 5000, and the IBM Blue Gene Supercomputer Home Edition.

The Legend of Pong: Rise of the Anti-Paddle


Posted by guthrie - March 25th, 2008


It starts off with an ebonic greeting like 'aww yeah' or 'right right right'. Then the beat kicks in. Just to be certain you tell them the song started. Like 'Here we go' or 'It's on'. Then you make a reference to drugs or anal sex. Or if you're old-school, the po-po. Then if you aren't old shool you mention the one you didn't mention before (drugs or anal sex) and the rest of the songs about that.
The videos are to tell you 'I'm better than you because my wheels keep spinning after my car stops moving'.