March 28, 2000 -- 11:44 PM EST

I want a T-shirt that reads "Whacked!"

Paul is trying to get my stupid 95 box alive again so he can install Doom so we can play over the network.

I feel like blowing the crap out of everything. I'm not any good at Dark Forces or Quake or any of those other sniper-killer games. I remember we used to play Castle Wolfenstein. But then in 1993ish the big bad thing was the Doom trilogy. That was what he used to play on my computer in the dorms at college my freshman year.

I remember laying in my twin extra long in the dark watching him play in my closet. (The dorms were tiny, I forwent having a closet in favor of putting my desk in there with my computer just so I'd have that much more breathing space.)

I remember once this big horrible pink thing jumped out at us that we'd never encountered before and we both screamed. The whole time Paul was emptying all his bullets into the thing and even well after it was dead we both kept hollering in a panic, these loud deafening death-doom-destruction noises coming out of my computer and us sitting in the dark, our faces shining with the glare from the monitor.

Fun.

The other monsters were gross too -- the brown claw-y guy, the big red monster ball guy with the horns, the tall centaur-looking guys who shot out this green stuff, those little flying skulls of flame.

Today he bought the trilogy. We both laughed because it's like $14 now for the whole thing.

I think we're both feeling pretty punky. He also got the sound track to Office Space and we watched it this weekend. Along with Fargo. Along with The Shining.

All these disgruntled type of movies where people go bananas.

Why am I disgruntled? Well, my regular life is fine. I'm just cranky over the Oscars.

I dislike hype.

I dislike celebrity worship.

I dislike the media fawning.

I dislike the media period -- look at all this body image angst perpetuating nonsense they keep generating. Bastards.

I love good movies, but I just hate hype.

Why should I give a flying flip what who is wearing? Why should I care how much Jenifer Aniston does or does not weigh? Why should I care if we see Jenifer Lopez's boobs fall out of her dress? Why should I care what star is boffing what other star's wife? What their favorite thing for breakfast is? What color their socks are? It's mindless drivel.

I never watch the Oscars if I can help it. I think all that crap is just whacked, whacked, whacked. The actual honor and recognition is overshadowed by the parazzi. If I am going to be looking at mindless drivel, I'd rather it be REALLY bad. AWFUL bad.

So now I want a T-shirt that says "Whacked!", God mode set on, the lights off, the speakers up, a big fat gun and monsters to kill.

~Astrophe