Being a child born into the 90’s, I have grown up with the use of smaller and smaller technologies to
fund my entertainment. Most notably, the Gameboy. The tiny, handheld device supplied hours of entertainment while draining out AA batteries from constant usage (Gameboy Advance, First Generation). As of 2014 though, the Gameboy Advance is completely defunct.
That was what I presumed, until I found a Gameboy simulator for the Android. Shamelessly, I can state that I have amassed over 10 hours using most likely the best app to have come in the Play Store.
The instant I downloaded Pokemon Sapphire, I was done.
I can’t stop. And I refuse to stop. Yes, the graphics are pixelated. But it provides something that video games today can’t, even with millions of dollars spent on its programming: a relieved childhood. As I did when I was younger, I find myself staying up later and later to catch the next Pokemon that pops up at me or thinking about different strategies of placing my Pokemon in certain orders to beat other trainers.
There’s nothing more exciting than renaming a Pokemon or earning a gym badge. And I wish I could go on with all the wonders of exploring the Hoenn Region, but my Torchic (of whom I named Twerk) is calling. It’s time for another battle. EXP points don’t just earn themselves, you know.
When SnapChat gained popularity, it was deemed as an app meant for teenagers to parade their privates to someone (for 10 seconds or less), an easier and safer means of sexting. As an old veteran of SnapChat, I can assure you that I have not received, nor have I sent any nudes through the app.
Instead of sending nudes of myself to someone, I've taken the sexier route. I use my mind and my funnies to attempt to get into people's pants, opting out of the Myspace mirror shot without clothes. I've categorized them into 2 categories that accurately sum up my SnapChat expedition of thus far.
The Satire/Making Fun of Myself:
I willing drew me shitting myself. 'Nuff said.
The Unlikely Demises/Murderers:
Either a quarter killing stickies, or a metaphor about the government..
Who needs sexy nudes and dirty talking in less than 10 seconds when I have these?
Of all the essays I’ve written, I’m always most proud of the ones I throw together last minute. Unlike other hobbies (and pretty much anything else in this world), the more effort, time, and changes I put into what I do never truly measures up to the pride I feel in a piece of writing. Granted, this may be because of all the awards I’ve ever won for writing, none of them ever took more than an hour’s worth of work, including editing and revising. For each of my essays, it seems like the less effort I put into perfecting it, the more raw and real it gets — theory #1.
Like the deplorable perfectionist though, I try to perfect my skills anyway. I read essays, write more essays, and obsessively search Google for the sure-fire way to find my writer’s voice. But then Google tells me to write more, to read more, and to try to replicate a popular writer’s writing style to gain your own perspective. So I did.
My last two essays were side by side replicas of The Minimalists. I thought if I read the essays written by Josh and Ryan, I could amass their talents into my writing and hopefully write something of value. Instead, I ended up with a hostage situation of words bound together and a pitiful execution of the two masters. But, it it’s worth anything, I found that the best way to deal with the creation of two Frankenstein essays in a row is to summon the inner toddler in you and growl at the computer screen and at the keyboards — Effects are doubled with a nice bowl of chocolate with caramel on your lap.
Even through the horrors of learning how to properly find my “writer’s voice”, it’s nice to know that I’m not alone. As Geraldine said from The Everywhereist, “You will look back and be mortified by at least 20% of everything you’ve written.” Good, you’ve gotta suck first in order to get better later, right?