DaMadFiddler

When I was a kid, I used to play portables on the road a lot... but now that I'm the driver, that's not really an option. There are three main times for me:

- on the bus to/from work
- when my fiancee is using the TV, making the consoles inaccessible (such as right now, when she's absorbed in Skyrim)
- curled up in bed

Of course, a good game is a good game, and I'll get just as hooked on a good handheld game as a console game... so the portable games aren't "only" for times where a console is impractical.

Looks like a heaven/hell dynamic to me.

This would make a really nice late birthday present. My partner and I have had a rough last couple of months, with lots of good people losing their jobs at my office (I work for the local school district), and several setbacks in regard to our personal plans. In addition, her computer is on its last legs, and she's desperately hoping it'll hold out until she can finish her degree (one more year), as we really can't afford a new one right now. She really only uses it for writing papers, taking notes in class, doing research on the 'net, and iTunes, so the iPad would be an ideal replacement.

We are both very creatively oriented people, and would get a lot of use out of an iPad. I am sure there are people more in need than us, but it would certainly be a wonderful pick-me-up to get a shiny new iPad. Plus, then my partner won't have to worry about what to do if her laptop dies before we can afford a new one.

I would have to call it something like "Dr. Phineas H. Copperstone."

Not only is it absurd, it would also give me the opportunity to charge into battle spewing horrible one-liners like "The Doctor is in," "The Doctor will see you now," and "It's time to operate."

I'd like to think I've been nice... I worked with my union this spring to help save low-paid employees' health benefits. I helped a couple of different people move this year. I donated a guitar to charity, I've made liberal use of Freecycle to I made a concerted effort to do my shopping at local stores instead of online, and I've been driving less and riding my bike more.

On the other hand, I do spend too much of the work day on the Internet, and I haven't been eating as healthy as I have in past years (too much sugar).

A nice package of excellent PS3 games would certainly be incentive to do better next year!

I have an old G4 Mac Mini running Leopard. It serves as the heart of an old radio console that has been converted into an iTunes jukebox.

I bought a ruined old RCA radio console from the 1930s, restored the wooden case, and replaced the rusted-out radio hardware with a Mac Mini, an LCD where the radio used to be, some controller knobs (so that it still looks and works almost exactly like the old radio did originally), and new speakers. The volume and bass are controlled with front-mounted knobs (just like the radio used to be), and the Mac boots directly into Front Row, which is navigated with a Griffin PowerMate USB knob mounted where the tuning knob for the radio used to be.

The project isn't quite finished yet (I still have to solder the volume and tone knobs back to the controller board for the amplifier, and make a brass faceplate for the CD slot I cut in the front), but it should be done in the next week.

Here's a picture at about 80% complete, before I had cut the slot for the CD drive or mounted the volume and tone knobs:

http://photos-c.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc1/hs206.snc1/7318_655135076958_6706141_38253688_7398856_n.jpg

This would be perfect for a project I just started:

I am taking a broken 1930s Philco floor-standing radio, and using a Mac Mini and some custom controllers (to give the front knobs Apple Remote-like functionality) to create a retro-style iTunes jukebox for my apartment.

However, I have been torn thus far on whether to hook it up to the TV (which would mean having to turn the TV on whenever I wanted to play music) or remove the classic radio dial and put a small screen in its place.

If I had this, I could just have a small display that sat on top or to the side, and not have to worry about the hassle of a TV or ruining the classic look of the radio.

My girlfriend would see it first... pretty much unavoidable since we live together. Actually, she would probably end up getting it, since I have a DS Lite, and "her" DS actually belongs to her brother down in San Diego. She could give it back, and then have a new one of her own. Between the two of us, we'd have a DS Lite for GBA games, a DSi for new games, and (with the two of them) two DSes for multiplayer.

There was once a brotherhood of a thousand and twenty four monks.

After many years as wandering teachers, these monks decided to settle down, and build a monastery from which they could further their studies and teach their peaceful ways. They spent many more years exploring the countryside, searching for that *perfect* spot. One day, they found an absolutely ideal location: it was a flat surface up in the mountains that was large enough for the building and some gardens, right next to an old hiking trail on one side and a freshwater spring on the other. At the base of the mountain was a rich quarry they could use for materials to build the monastery.

Once they had settled on the location, all the monks began working diligently, mining rock and metal, harvesting wood and food, planting crops, laying a foundation, and finally building their monastery. It was a large building, but humble...everything about it said "quiet dignity." And, with these thousand and twenty four monks working around the clock in shifts, they managed to get it built in just one month. Upon the completion of their new mountain home, the monks decided to take an evening of rest and prayer. They all gathered round together, and chanted and sang and read and prayed and cooked a slightly (but only slightly) more extravagant dinner than usual. Everything was going splendidly, and the monks were having to chant and pray very hard to keep themselves from feeling a little pride.

Just then, there was a knock at the door. Brother Bartholomew, one of the oldest and wisest of the monks, broke from his brothers to go answer it. After opening the great oak door of the new monastery, he was surprised to find a funny little green man standing on his doorstep. The odd figure asked Brother Bartholomew for a glass of water, which the monk--still puzzled--was happy to fetch. He brought the water back to the little green man, who gleefully gulped it down. However, the instant the water touched his lips, there was a terrible rumbling sound from deep inside the monastery. Not ten seconds later, the walls began to come tumbling down, sending the monks into a panic.

After the dust had cleared, the monks discovered that half of their brothers--including Bartholomew--had been killed in the collapse. There was no sign of the little green man.

The monks dutifully buried their fallen brethren, and used what materials they had to set up temporary shelter until they could decide on their next course of action.

Eventually it was decided that the monastery would be rebuilt. They would build it smaller, out of harder material, and even more simple and austere than before, to ensure its safety and durability.

They had to go further out to find some harder stone and stouter wood to work with, but eventually the rubble was cleared away and work resumed. Due to the longer distance, the added difficulty of working with the tougher stone and harder wood, and the fact that there were now only five hundred and twelve the rebuilding effort took the monks two months to complete what had before only taken them one.

They finished just as summer began, and a travelling band of gypsies just happened to be making its way through the mountains. The monks invited the gypsies to come celebrate the opening of the new monastery with them, and that evening was filled with food, drink, stories, dance, and the soulful sound of gypsy fiddles. The celebration lasted late into the night.

Sometime that night, about an hour before dawn, one of the monks who was still a bit too giddy to fall asleep, heard a pounding sound. Thinking it was just a hangover, he shrugged it off--at first.

But it kept coming. Eventually he realized it was someone at the door, which he then dutifully went to answer.

Standing at the door was an odd little green man, who in an odd little green voice, said: "May I please have a glass of water?"

Of course our brother monk saw no harm in this, and ran (rather, stumbled) to go fetch the man some water. He handed the glass to the green figure at the door, who gulped it down in a single swallow.

As soon as he did so, the monk began to notice something. There was a terrible split running through the ceiling and all the way through into the main hall. He didn't remember that being there earlier.

But before he could do anything, there was a horrendous grinding sound, and the entire structure began to split and then crumble under its own weight.

By dawn, there were only two hundred and fifty six monks left alive.

This was followed by a great period of mourning. The monks had lost many of their companions, and the pristine land they had chosen as the site for the monastery was quickly being filled with graves. The grief-stricken monks were tempted to build a memorial to their fallen brothers, but in the end decided that such an act would go against the humility of their teachings.

As the weeks wore on and winter approached, a chill became increasingly pronounced in the air.

Fearing even greater loss of life from disease and exposure to the elements, the monks began tunneling into the side of the mountain.

They excavated a large, square chamber, with three smaller chambers leading off from the back and sides. The whole affair was crudely constructed, but would serve well enough as a shelter during the cold winter months. The digging took four months of hard toil, but was finally ready for habitation by early November.

As the snows set in and the monks spent most of their time within the protection of the cave, they filled the time by smoothing out what at first were rough-hewn edges and adding homey touches.

First, the main cavern was turned into a proper meeting hall, complete with dining tables and benches (built with materials salvaged from the monastery). A large pair of oak doors were set into the cave's mouth, which could be closed during a storm to keep out the bad weather. The two side chambers became sleeping quarters, with extra wood and clothes used to build simple cots. The rear chamber, which was in complete darkness except when lit by torch or candle, was reserved as a place of worship.

As January led into February and February bled into March, the monks found themselves quite at home within the mountain. It was simple, natural, and quite easy to maintain. The back room had since been fleshed out into a full chapel, and the area at the mouth of the cave was fenced in for livestock and vegetable gardens.

All in all, life was quite happy in the mountain, and life returned to normal for the Brotherhood.

That is, of course, until one rainy April night.

The big storm doors were closed to keep out the pouring rain. Thunder shook the mountain, and though they could not see it in the depths of the mountain, lightning streaked the sky.

On this night, the monks were sitting around after having finished a particularly tasty stew. They were telling stories of the old days, and of the wisdom of the late Brother Bartholomew...when there was a slight sound at the mouth of the cave, different from the white noise of the storm.

They listened again--it was a definite, rhythmic knocking sound.

After clearing his place, the monk at the end of the row of dining tables got up from his seat to see what poor soul was caught out in such horrid weather.

He swung open the big storm doors, and at first saw nothing but the torrential downpour soaking the mountainside.

Looking down, he was caught by surprise at the sight of a very short man with a sort of greenish hue. Before he had time to react, the figure held up a tin cup and said, "Please, brother, may I have a glass of water?"

But even as he held the cup forward, it was being filled with rainwater.

The cup was overflowing less than a minute later, and with a gleam in his eyes, the odd little man brought it to his lips and drank deeply.

At just that moment, there was a flash of lightning, followed by a clap of thunder.

But the thunder did not abate. Instead, it seemed as if the whole earth had begun to tremble.

Moments later, the hapless monk was caught in the frantic stampede of his brothers fleeing the depths of the mountain. There was water and mud everywhere, and the only word he could make out in the confusion was "Cave-in!" When the crowd had settled out in the grass, he took roll and was dismayed to discover that only a hundred and twenty eight of them, including himself, had made it out of the cavern in time. The little green man was nowhere to be found.

All of the monks were muddy and bruised. Still too shocked to suffer the effects of grief just yet, they sat numbly and washed the mud from themselves in the cold rain.

When the storm had passed, it was agreed that they must retrieve the remains of their brothers and give them a proper funeral. Otherwise, the monks reasoned, their lost souls could be trapped in the mountain forever.

It took three days for the rain to pass, but eventually the sun peeked out from behind the clouds and the monks set to work.

They very slowly and carefully excavated all four caverns in their entirety, adding reinforcements as the went, salvaging holy relics, and bringing out the bodies of their brothers for to be re-buried with the proper customs. It was slow work, and it took eight months with all hundred and twenty eight monks working diligently before they had retrieved the last of their fallen kin.

Once the funeral rites for the last monk had been completed, the Brotherhood found themselves with a new problem. Their work had taken them well into the winter months, and now they were without shelter.

Having little choice, the retreated into the mountain sanctuary with as many raw materials as could be collected.

They were very careful. They had identified the point of the original collapse as a weak spot in the left barracks, and filled and sealed that room. Given their loss of numbers, it was no longer needed anyway.

They also set about reinforcing the cave in every way they could. Framework and bracing materials ribbed every surface, and stone columns held up a reinforced ceiling. Cutting the stone from the quarry in the dead of winter was hard work, and hauling it up the mountain in the snow was harder still, but the monks persevered.

The end result was a marvel of safety and ingenuity. People would come from miles around



...Okay, I'm bored now. They finish, Little green man. 64 left. They finish, little green man. 32

left. They finish, little green man, 16 left. 8. 4. 2. Eventually it boils down to one monk, who

takes 1,024 months (that's over 85 years!) to build a monastery. When he finishes, the little green man shows up, knocks at his door, and asks for a drink of water.

The last remaining monk looks at the little green man, his ancient eyes filled with the pain of loss and hundreds of years and toil.

"For hundreds of years, whenever we have finished the monastery, you have come back and asked for water. And whenever we give it to you, there is a terrible disaster and the monastery collapses and kills half my brothers. Well, now I am all that is left. Please tell me: why are you doing this?"

The little green man looks up at the ancient monk with a goofy little grin and says:

"I don't know."

~THE END~



This joke is best told verbally, and is a lot more fun for the teller than the audience. The rules are simple enough; the only concrete parts of the joke are the basics: the numbers, the green man asking for water, and the ending question with the inconclusive answer of "I don't know." You can embellish the rest as you see fit, trying to make it as long as possible to maximize the listeners' pain at the lack of closure. The whole point is that it's a long, drawn-out shaggy dog story, that builds the reader up to nothing.

Camera, GPS, internal storage, and a better (read: fixed) LCD seem the most likely candidates. However, what I'd *like* is a touchscreen. I like how they've started pushing digital distribution, and I hope that trend continues. But really, the DS and the iPhone have opened up the possibilities of touchscreen gaming in the last few years, and that genie can't be put back in the bottle. The PSP is a portable, after all (even if Sony doesn't always treat it like one), and touchscreen capabilities provide a wealth of opportunity for good and unique portable experiences.