Adam Dorsey.com

With 9/11 fast approaching, P and I are starting to get excited for America and stuff. He made a picture with a 9 building next to the towers, so then I made one too with a flag and boobs and Jesus. You know, all the things that make America great. NEVER FORGET.

We learned everything we needed to learn about Photoshop when it bombed the towers.

TypeTrigger

A friend of mine in Seattle is working on a website called TypeTrigger. It’s for writers, with the intent of defeating writer’s block. Every few hours they have a new “trigger,” and you use that trigger to inspire a short bit of writing (300 words max). Then you can read what other people have written using the same trigger. I think it’s super cool.

You can check it out at http://www.typetrigger.com but they’re in beta right now. That said, if you’re a writer, a friend, and you drop me a note, I can probably hook you up (I’ve still got 3 invites to give out).

Below is the piece I wrote today, from the trigger “While I was out.” It is exactly 300 words, because I am crazy like that. Enjoy:

I wake up in a pile of my own disgusting. This isn’t like that movie The Hangover at all. There’s no exciting action montage. There’s no hilarious Mike Tyson. There are no friends. I’m just here alone, on the floor. I’m not having awesome adventures trying to remember whathilarious antics took place the night before. I remember everything that happened the night before. I just don’t remember why I would ever think those things were a good idea. 

It’s a sobering experience. It really is. You know, besides the fact that I’m still completely drunk, it’s a totally sobering experience. 

We used to just drink Jack and Cokes. Then she started being concerned about a nonexistent tummy pouch, and so she switched to Jack and Diet Coke. I figured I’d one up her, so I switched to Jack and… well, to straight Jack. In retrospect that’s probably where things took a turn. 

Last night, in between the shots and the sipping, I remember ordering a Jack and Diet Coke. Keeping it near me, I nursed on it between my other drinks. That bitter mix of booze and aspartame made me feel like she was there, like we were sharing a drink again. 

So then I called her, to tell her about my Nutrasweet flashback, and she said hello half asleep and I said hey, Kara, Diet Coke and whiskey, remember? and she said Adam and I said yeah and she said it’s late and I said yeah. She asked me if I was okay and I said yeah. Then she stayed on the line for a while more and then she said goodbye. 

The cool think about sleeping in late is that you can start drinking immediately.

Tipping for Quality

I wrote this today, but it is fiction, because I had a really good cup of a coffee.

I go to put a dollar in the jar, but then my hand hesitates. I remember that godawful mocha in that Shitbucks on La Cienega. I tipped there. I tipped before tasting, you know, which is the norm, but it’s a stupid norm. I felt so guilty having tipped—I feel so guilty still, today—because maybe my single dollar-bill and loose change encouraged that barista to keep barista-ing. I mean, it tasted like Yoohoo squeezed from Satan’s anus, someone should have been fired over that fucking mocha.

The dollar is already out, though. Do I put in the dollar? What else do I do, I mean, keep it until I taste the coffee? She’s cute. That shouldn’t matter, but it does. So maybe the dollar doesn’t matter. Maybe the coffee doesn’t matter. —No! Eff that, this is L.A., everyone is cute, the hard part is finding a good cup of coffee. I’ve even tipped dudes down here because they make a good cup of coffee, and I mean, that goes against everything I believe in.

Oh god, she thinks I’m stealing this dollar. My hand is literally in the cookie jar. What facial expression do I flash to make her aware that I’m not taking this money, but instead putting it in? Well, not putting it in, but thinking about putting it in—ultimately taking it out, but thinking about putting it in. Oh god, I’m sexualizing this, aren’t I?

I drop the dollar in and smile. She gives me a fake-smile and passes me my mocha. It’s a pretty smile. Maybe I can keep coming back here. Maybe I can ask her out. Did that smile mean something? Maybe it was a fake-smile because her mind was so busy thinking about me putting my tip into her tip jar, then taking my tip out of her tip jar, then putting my tip back in her tip jar, over and over again. Yeah…

I smile at her again. I take a sip. BLSHFSFD! A spit the coffee all over the clean white floor. Why is Satan drinking so much Yoohoo and then selling his concentrated shit to Los Angeles area coffee shops? Fuck this town.

Office Ukulele →

This video has a simple charm.

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I find few things funnier than the squinty face that Leo makes in that last panel. Too bad whoever made this spelled “Michael Caine” wrong.

Here is a video I found on YouTube of Kangaroo on the Atari 2600. This was probably my favorite game as a small kid. I haven’t seen it in like 15 years. YouTube is pretty cool.

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I find this infinitely amusing.

When popular comedian Paul F. Tompkins was trying to get his twitter verified, he apparently took this picture of himself, holding a piece of paper to prove that his twitter was actually ran by him. Then some guy wrote the brilliant comment: “Nice try, Mark Twain.” I have seriously laughed at this like at least five times today.

How to be a hipster.

Why doesn’t Princess Leia get trained to be a Jedi?

stephenjayy:

She is the daughter of Anakin/Darth Vader. So, why doesn’t anyone train her how to use the Lightsabre and the Force like Luke was?

This guy makes a really good point.

Business Time

Yep, there it is, my first ever business card (with my phone number blurred out, stalker). Moo was having a 48 hour sale last week, and I decided to pick up some mini-cards. They’re smaller than normal business cards, but I like to think that Patrick Bateman would still be a fan. Thank you P. Nathan Smith for providing the awesome art of yours truly. Because it was a short sale, and because I was working that day, I didn’t have much time to fuss over the small stuff. That said, I had no idea what text I should actually put on the card. I guess my title right now is freelance writer. I get paid for writing random stuff for random people, but I’m not sure if that really explains me on a card.

So I went to Twitter, where I spend 140 characters every few hours trying to explain myself. In my bio there, I say that I am a “Filmmaker, Screenwriter, Gamer, Rockstar, and more emo than you’ll ever know. I get paid for writing comedy.” It’s a little long for the back of a card, but it does describe me pretty well. In narrowing it down, I lost “Rockstar” because although I do rock, I’m not sure it’s going to help me on a business card. Next I slashed the emo part, because I am an emotional dude, but I’d rather not be the sort of emotional dude who advertises it to the world. Then I change “screenwriter” to “writer,” because hey, I do lots of different kinds of writing.

But Gamer. That has nothing to do with my job. That has nothing to do with employment. And then I had the realization: The majority of my income over my lifetime has been money made from doing something with videogames. Testing them, playing them, or making videos about them. Nowadays, since my job isn’t videogames, I feel bad devoting so much time towards them. I play a lot. I spend even more time studying the industry and the gaming press. I try to keep my gaming website over at www.multiplayersingleplayer.com updated on the reg. And yeah, most of the time that I’m doing all of those things, I feel a strong guilt about it. Like I’m wasting my time.

Making these business cards, I realized that I shouldn’t feel guilty. Videogames have paid my rent more than any other industry, and they’ll probably pay it again at some point. I studied film and writing in school, and I’ve spent my life working towards working in those fields, but nothing interests me more now than the storytelling possibilities in today’s games. And I should stop feeling guilty about that interest.

There are tons of people who still look down on games like they’re a waste of time. They think that videogames are a toy that you’re supposed to grow out of, and if you don’t, then you’re some sort of degenerate. Whenever I hear anyone say this, I know immediately that they haven’t played a game in the last five years. The industry is moving so fast, and maturing so quickly, that every three months a new game comes out that fits into my all-time desert-island top-ten games ever. In the past year alone I have been in awe of Uncharted 2, Little Big Planet, Assassin’s Creed 2, Mass Effect 2, and more. These are games that make me proud to be a gamer. And when I realize that there is a huge group of people who are too greater-than-thou to even know about these games, then I feel sorry that they will never have these wonderful experiences.

So yeah, my business card says Gamer. If you had asked me to predict that when I was in college, I wouldn’t have been able to even guess. Now it turns out, it’s who I am. I blame my parents for letting me play a Pac-Man arcade machine when I was three. And by “blame,” I think I mean “thank.”