andy gillette

So, I know that I’m a few years late here, but today, for the first time ever, I played World of Warcraft.

I was having another fun-filled morning obsessing over internet memes.  And I think it was while reading TEH HOLIES BIBUL that I decided I needed to play WoW and see what it was all about because these have simply GOT TO BE my people.

Among the more obnoxious things that I LOVE: Lolcats, Rickrolling, Kittens Inspired by Kittens, David After Dentist, and the god-damned absolute genius of Kittens Inspired by David After Dentist.  And all of these things are possible because of places like 4CHAN and Something Awful, which means they are possible because of the same people who play World of Warcraft.

There’s an oxymornic aspect to nerd-dom.  They’ve got some very high-tech pursuits and are fueling technological innovation, but they’re also the only people who still use really low-tech online services (like 4CHAN).  They’re on IRC way more than iChat and on old-school, 1980s-style bulletin board services way more than facebook.

But anyway, this is way off-topic.  The point is WoW.  I downloaded the trial version this morning and got it all loaded up because I love IRC and 4CHAN and LOL.

The first character I built was a dwarf rogue with a big red beard.  He died, pretty quickly.  I didn’t realize, at first, that you can just respawn yourself, so I went back and made a new guy.  This one’s a human warrior and he and I got stuck.  I don’t know how or why, but hours passed.

So, I get it, kind of.  For me, anyway, part of the draw has to be that the game universe is a lot like the actual universe (vast and ever-expanding).  So you can just go forever.  And your character grows.  I mean, it’s not exactly analagous to really human growth, but where it differs it’s actually better.  You go through experiences and challenges and buy and sell things, but unlike real life where it’s generally impossible to figure out why you’ve done anything or whether you’re better or worse off for it, in the game it’s obvious and numerical.  You are constantly improving and you can see it happening.

I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep it up.  I’ve got the kind of mind that can obsess over these sorts of things, but I also have the attention span of a 4-year-old.  For now, I think I’d like to get my little human up to level 10 (he’s a level 8, as of this writing) because that would be the first official “milestone” in his young life.  So if I just stop posting altogether in the near future you will know I have run off to live the sad, lonely, but delighfully controllable life of the gamer.

I’m currently working on ‘PARTYFOOD: A Novella’ in collaboration with lil brother.  What follows is an excerpt.  Suggestions, comments, opinions and money are all welcome.

PROLOGUE

“cud u tell teh diffrents?”

The vacancy in PARTYFOOD’s stare says he’s been daydreaming again. “wot r u TALKIN BOUT?”

“if u wud splode in S P A C E and u wud crush inna oshun … cud you FEEL teh diffrents tween em?”

“ur silly PIG. jus we cud FLOAT in dem.”

“u cant floats cuz u dont ‘gets it’ yet.” PIG’s face is a sagging caricature of depression.

“i dont get it.”

1.

The discarded remains of a week-long binge are piling up, threatening to overtake WALTAR’s lumpy, ancient beanbag chair. Someone in an adjacent apartment is blaring an old Bill Hicks’ record: “More Snickers! More Coke!!!” The phone has been ringing every twenty minutes or so for nearly three days, but WALTAR has been too drunk to bother finding it. As he shifts his weight to let out a slow, wheezing fart the ringing becomes noticeably louder. He reaches deep into the beanbag’s ass-shaped divot and comes up with the receiver.

“Heh-oh?” He hasn’t moved, let alone spoken to anyone in days and the words get stuck in his throat on their way out. “Hello?”

“WALTAR, its PARTYFOOD. haz u seen PIG?”

“What? What do you want, fag?”

“i cant find PIG. HAZ U SAW HIM?”

“oh, yeah. That little cum-rag is cowering in the corner right now. I had some friends over for a little piggy party, if you know what i …”

“SRSLY WALTAR!!!”

“Haven’t seen ‘em.” He hangs up and tosses the phone in the general direction of the toilet before taking a hefty slug of whiskey.

You can roughly estimate the length of one of these binges by the caliber of whiskey in WALTAR’s hand. He starts out running through the ranks of the Johnny Walker color wheel and ends up in realm of plastic jugs with completely forgettable names. The “Barret’s Special Blend” clutched between his swollen knees was a bad sign. The desperation would set in soon and send him, slobbering and grabbing and stinking, out into the world.

2.

But for the light pollution that suffuses much of the North American sky, an idle stargazer in southern California would almost be able to see, just above the horizon to the southwest, a small cadre of DOLPHINZ in the star-dappled sky.