A Blog About a Table

Yes, today I'm writing about a table. Now, I'll admit that great stories are often born from dull subjects, but, no, there's really not much of a story here at all. Just a table. A really, very large conference table, but, come on, does that matter? Nah. A table's a table, regardless of size.

First of all, remember this guy?

My hero, gamemaker-extraordinaire Shigeru Miyamoto? Well today, I saw... his signature! Yeah! His signature! In real life! You'll never guess where it was. Unless you read the title of today's post, or maybe skimmed the first paragraph, that is. Yep, it was on a table. Nearly two weeks since I've blogged anything, and this is the big, life-changing event that rocked me out of hiatus. Some dude wrote on a table. Whoooooooooooooo!

In all seriousness, though, it was totally awesome. The man has an nice signature.

Above: Not a table.

Not only did Miyamoto leave his name, he also wrote the date and doodled a little Super Mario face. The man draws a nice Mario.

Above: A table. Sike! No, this is still not a table.

Each of the table's corners had a signature, though I didn't have time to see who else was there. One person had drawn a Pokemon trainer with a Pikachu, which I would've thought would be the mark of Satoshi Tajiri. Like I said, I didn't get much of a chance to check it out, and I couldn't quite make out the handwriting. I think it was something that started with an S, but it didn't look like "Satoshi" to me.

Even if I didn't know who these people were, I would've found the table interesting (interesting as tables go, at least) because the autographs were sealed off in frames. I'm not sure how to describe this, exactly. They were like picture frames that clamped around the corners of the table. Bizarre. I wonder if they were custom made. I can't imagine the table-corner frame business being a big money-maker.

Inside Jokes Make the Best Blog Posts

Suitable for framing. Makes a charming desktop image.

Improv Update: Tonight was the night of the second meeting. Of the seven people who showed up last time, one e-mailed me in advance to tell me she was sick and one came forty minutes late to tell me he and his friend would be missing the meeting. All the others were no-shows. I did have four new kids show up, two of whom have actual, real-life improv experience. They also have loads of advice, which, really, is very nice, but most of it is along the lines of, "Hey, Jake, you should run this club in a completely different way." It doesn't bother me, but I do wonder what would compel a person to walk into a club and immediately start trying to change everything about it. Odd. Even more odd was that both of them were fully aware of what they were doing.

It was said that the drop in attendance may have been related to this being midterm week. Fair enough. Still, I don't want to battle each week just to get people to show up, but I do want the improv club to succeed. I'm going to try this thing one more time before calling it quits.

Oh, and it's been brought to my attention that there aren't any pictures of "naked chicks" on my blog. Consider this problem solved.

Don't Be Turkeys; Rather KISS the Comedian

Alright, let's talk about this improv thing. In case you haven't heard, I recently started an improvisational comedy club at my school. It's sort of an odd experiment - starting a club that requires confidence and gusto at a school populated almost exclusively with computer nerds - and the results were mixed. I was quite impressed with what I saw, but, as I'd suspected, not many people showed up. Eight people, myself included. School rules require clubs to have at least ten members, and I wouldn't want a troupe of any fewer than twelve, excluding me. In fact, I nearly cancelled the whole thing before we even began playing any games, but I'm glad I didn't. I've since talked to a few people who missed the meeting due to scheduling conflicts, and I now have a small, but enthusiastic groupof wannabe improv-ers seeking out new recruits. Next week I should find out whether improv at DigiPen lives or dies. I'm hoping for life.

Troubling pattern: I have heard two (2) separate people this week say (and repeat) that KISS is important, which is stupid enough, but then they had the gall to explain the acronym. Are we really still doing this? I didn't think it was funny or clever ten years ago, and it hasn't improved with age. What really gets me is the palpable sense of smugness that always accompanies these obnoxious phrases.

What I Did Today

Just Press the A Button

Two posts in two days? Can this be?

Don't get too excited. I'm not sure that video posts really count, anyway. Knowing that I'm a "blogger" makes me feel creepy enough, and making the switch to "vlogger" is something I can't bring myself to do. The thought makes my flesh feel like it's made of a trillion tiny Bumble Balls. Maybe not exactly like that. But I still don't want to be the guy who slaps a couple of videos on a page and wonders why no one visits his site.

I may be back with a bit of real news tomorrow, as I just recently returned from the first meeting of my new improv comedy club. I'd love to talk about it now, but I have loads of homework, and I'd much rather spend an hour explaining that I'm too busy to blog than spend ten minutes just writing about the club.

Right! Now on to a video!

Not just any video. I'm quite certain that what you're about to see means nothing to you, but it had me bouncing up and down, flailing and screaming like an eight-year-old girl at a Hannah Montana concert. Like an eight-year-old Olive Oyl.



The original No More Heroes may be the best game on Wii. (If not, then Metroid Prime 3 is the best, but MP3 doesn't let me perform Lucha Libre suplexes on homicidal baseball players, then cut them in half while shouting obscenities.) No More Heroes is only the best-or-second-best Wii game, it's one of the best games of all time on any system. And now there's going to be another one.

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek!!!

I Don't Truck Wit' No Devil!

By request of the mom, here is a bit more of that voodoo that I do so amateurishly.

Surprisingly fitting music stolen from The Elegant Too.