Look, up in the sky! It's a dark mood! Ok, maybe they descend more than levitate in the sky, but if they're descending, they have to come from somewhere, right? I've kind of been shrouded by a flock of dark moods the last few days. I wasn't sure why until I glanced at yesterday's newspaper.
It wasn't the $5.00 per gallon of gas snapshot that blackened my world. Not even the article about the Coachella music festival continuing without me made me too upset. That had happened before, and I'm sure it will happen again.
No, it was the big picture at the bottom. The proclamation that Grad Theft Auto 4 would be released, and I wouldn't be allowed to buy one. Yeah, that whole thing. "GTA 4, No Rob, No!" It was in the LA Times. It must be true. Ok, maybe I paraphrased a little, but that's not the important part. The important part is that there's a new game in Liberty City and I can't play.
I see all you protective moms folding your wings over innocent chick eyes, "Don't look Timmy, he's talking about perversion!" Yeah, well Timmy shouldn't be reading my blog, and besides, while you frown on the street people beat down and the highjacking of lowriders, you are totally ok with a little red plumber boy knocking defenseless turtles on their backs and kicking them to Koopa kingdom come for coins! Now who's talking perversion? Does the ASPCA know about this? What about PETA? I'm sure they'd like to show you where to put your coins.
"Oh dear, Timmy! Don't do that!"
Then there's you Halo fanboys and girls shooting up everything in site. Even if it's just a poor, tired, horded alien mass yearning to feed on the free. No, don't hate the GTA playa', hate the game.
I love the game. I can't play it. My last system is a PS2 and it's broken. It's broken CD drawer tongue extends like a malnourished dog. There is no light in his eyes and nothing I can do to revive him. I have a PS1 but that's about as useful for playing GTA as my Atari 2600. Somehow the square blinking away from the rectangle police helicopter to the "Beep, bop, boop" soundtrack doesn't seem nearly as fun. And half the GTA fun is the way cool soundtrack.
Maybe I could convince my friends over at Divorce 360 to buy me an Xbox. You know D360/XBOX360? There's a product tie in if I ever saw one! Cool etched logo on the case, and even a headless avatar screen icon. They could even create a divorce game. Maybe a simple first person shooter, the would-be hero/heroine trying to survive an UnSpouse onslaught? What about a Multi User Universe game like "World Of Divorcecraft?" It even sounds spooky--kind of like something from H.P. Lovecraft! Cue chilling music track and thunderclap now!
See, and game systems are one of the few things MyUnwife didn't even try to touch.
When did world
domination start
requiring more buttons? 
"Rob, you can pull down the electric fence and razor-wire from around the toys. I'm not going to touch your games."
"Damn straight! Not with the shock-o-matic 7000 protecting it. And don't even try to remove a CD from the shelf. I've placed media-mines throughout the shelves."
"You need help."
"No, I think I have this well under control."
"Weirdo…"
This worked fine until one of the cat's tried to pee on the fence.
WREEOW!
Speaking of music, my dark day ended in an interesting way. I worked out my GTA frustration on Billy Blanks. Or more like he beat the hostility from my soul like a Streetfighter exorcist.
"Get up you little girl-scout so I can beat the cookies out of you again!"
"uhhh."
Fatality!
Billy puts a TAEBO boot through my head and I explode into a confetti ream of blogs. He dares me to hit "restart."
The phone rings: Saved by the bell. Shambling towards it, I'm too late. The answering system gets the call so I can get back in the ring. Billy offers a come hither finger wave. Caller id says I didn't want the call, it's a bunch of zeros. Go ahead and see what Mr. Blanks wants. Huh…Well Zero-person left a message. I should probably make sure it's not life or death. I've heard of telemarketers leaving urgent messages with consumers. It could be me, or perhaps, I might already be I winner. I should see. Billy can wait. He stops waving and shows me a single finger. What can I say, this could be important. I call in to see what it says.
After playing keypad hopscotch to prove I am me, computerized machine lady says I have one new message. I listen.
It's music. Hold music? A telemarketer confused by my amazing technology? I continue to listen. It's weird, because the song starts from the beginning, not the normal hold patterns drop into the middle of a previously scheduled Muzak bland-fest. My message starts where the song starts. What's more, I know this song!
The sweeping orchestral strings, the over exaggerated sugar like cotton candy music, the Robert plant vocals, it's the Honeydrippers!
Do your remember when we met…
Wha? I don't know what to do; this isn't on Guitar Hero. What's it doing on my phone? Do I have a secret collection agency admirer? Normally they try to get you to call back, or leave important information like "you're a deadbeat!"
I wanna tell you, oh how much-[click!]
I gotta tell ya, it's not an effective sales approach but it brightened my day. Somebody wanted to tell me how much they somethinged. It's kind of noncommittal, but that's cool. I needed it just the same. In the same way we let the stupid stuff like GTA embargoes or our exes dating, jack our day and drive off, it's the simple things like mysterious glowing power pills and strange phone messages that can bring us back.
Now if I can just get that D360-X360 I'll be one happy boy!
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