coryanotado: (Default)
I don't think I've ever posted this article here, but I'm rather fond of it, so I'll post it for your reading pleasure. It's from the March 28, 2007 edition of the La Salle Collegian.

In 1961, three students at MIT had a question: Can we simulate a spaceship? From there, things got more complicated. Can we simulate two spaceships? Can they shoot at each other? Can they explode? From there, Steve Russell, Martin Graetz and Wayne Wiitanen created the game Spacewar for the PDP-1 computer. The impact of the digital diversion was phenomenal; now everyone wanted to waste universities’ money by creating these computer games on multi-million dollar machines (machines that were supposed to be figuring out the secrets of space, science and math). Once again, a bunch of dorks screwed up the world.

From Spacewar’s concept of interstellar dodgeball came even more simulations of things that people could never accomplish in real life: shooting space invaders in Space Invaders, shooting asteroids in Asteroids and shooting white pixels in Pong. Games got more and more complex (shooting tanks in BattleZone, shooting wire-frame monsters in Tempest, shooting gangsters in Hogan’s Alley), and soon gamers started to want something else in their endeavors: a reason. The rift of telling a story versus not telling a story is one of the most distinguishable lines in an industry where mixing game genres (action, puzzle, racing) is more common than mixing drinks (gin, vodka, rum), even though both are prevalent and were part of the formula for creating Katamari Damacy. It’s a curious question then: what is more appealing, short games without a story or longer games with a narrative? The answer’s more difficult than the puzzles in Final Fantasy X.
Read more... )
coryanotado: (Default)

I love snow. Snow brings me back to a simpler time. I don't know what it is. Liz, she hates the snow. Gia does too. It's bitter and cold and wet and yucky. Me? Snow brings me joy. Not even happiness. Pure joy.

When I was a kid, I loved the snow. It always meant something good. Whether it be staying warm inside, missing school, or going outside and playing (or even shoveling, I love shoveling snow), snow always meant something fun. My dad always hated it, because it meant he had to drive to work in really crappy conditions. My grandmother hated it because it made her arthritis flare up. My grandfather was indifferent, I suppose because he was born in the Philippines and immigrated to America in the 1970s, he never grew up with snow and still found it fascinating. Me? Usually, a winter snow in Philadelphia meant waking up early and listening to the KYW NewsRadio for our school's Emergency Closing Number. I don't know if other places have this system, but your school was assigned a number, and they would read your school number if your school was closed or had a delay. I remember it vividly; our school's number was 193. Now, we just check La Salle's website (or you'll get 50 IMs, depending on if you leave your computer on or not), which takes some of the suspense out of the game.

I don't know why, but the first snow makes me happy.

coryanotado: (Default)
As per [ profile] wyldlittlepoet's post on taking a career test, here's my top 20:

1. Director of Photography
2. Website Designer
3. Special Effects Technician
4. Desktop Publisher
5. Cartoonist / Comic Illustrator
6. Animator
7. Actor
8. Craftsperson
9. Potter
10. Fashion Designer
11. Director
12. Multimedia Developer
13. Professor
14. Set Designer
15. Costume Designer
16. Comedian
17. Graphic Designer
18. Computer Animator
19. Artist
20. Casting Director

I'm about on point. Yay!
coryanotado: (pwned - zidane fighter)
Cory: Now it smells a little like penis.
Suzanne: What does penis smell like? Equate that to something.
Cory: PENIS! Penis smells like penis. It smells like male vagina or something.

coryanotado: (home - philippine pie chart)
Last night, me and Suzanne went to the Boulevard Diner after a day shopping at Franklin Mills. You know this diner, Philly folks: It's the one next to the Nabisco plant up the Boulevard. It used to be the Ritz diner, and after a while laying dormant and decrepit (I remember getting a flat and turning into the lot of a boarded up, mirrored diner), they're back as the Boulevard Diner.

Walking in, the diner was reminiscent of the Midtown I and II (Suzanne noted), but to me, it looked like an diner straight out of the 80s. To give an even better old-time diner feel, and much to my surprise, XM Radio's 60s station had a throwback to old-time WFIL. For the clipping from, click here. ) It was cool, if not a bit bizarre.

For dinner, I had my normal breakfast type dinner: challah french toast (oh my good gravy so freaking big) and two eggs (which were tasty, if not a bit dry). Suzanne had spanakopita with a Greek salad and thoroughly enjoyed it. For desert, Suzanne had a rather tasty strawberry cheesecake, and the bite I had made me agree. Between us, both cost a bit above $20. We were both fill. I don't think we finished a thing.

For entrees, Suzanne found out that a drink and dessert are included in the price of the entree.

I recommend the Boulevard Diner whole heartedly. Lasallians. Who's up for some eatings soon?
coryanotado: (Default)

Spot the Nickelodeon stars!
coryanotado: (Default)
And I came across this letter.

It is an actual, ten-page letter from what seems to be about the early 1940s, so around World War II.

It is extremely dirty.

Granted, we tend to forget that in the early part of the 20th century, people were allowed to be pervy and nasty and sex-driven; at least, I do. This letter is a fresh reminder that even since the early 20th century, some people were real freaky nasty.

Confessions of a Southern Girl
Circa Early 1940s
Transcribed by Cory Anotado
Note from the transcriber: Best ten bucks I ever spent.

I was married quite young, not quite sixteen, but was good looking and had a good husband, and was mother of two children: a boy and a girl. Everything went fine until I was 28 years old, then my husband died.

After a year or so, men began to pay attention to me again, but there was no one dear to me but my deceased husband.

There was a burglar scare about this time in my neighborhood and I was all worked up about this and afraid to go to sleep at night. Some of the neighbors advised me to get a dog that would be respected by strangers. I saw an advertisement in the paper about a lady going north who would like a home for her Saint Bernard dog. I went over to see him. He sure was a beauty; so large and gentle like a lamb.
Can you see where this is going? OBVIOUSLY NSFW. )
So there's the story. If I can get to a scanner, I'll scan it in.
coryanotado: (homestar - strongbad's lost)
coryanotado: (la salle - Explorers)
No matter what happens with people, whether it be stress over tests, strife over relationships, troubles with teachers, or anger over life, here at La Salle, there's one thing that unites everyone together, even if only for a few hours.

That thing is Charter Dinner.

What is the Charter I speak of? Well, when La Salle was started, a charter was signed and the university was officially founded. Well, every March we celebrate that occasion with a giant dinner. Engulfing our ballroom and the outer patio, food is everywhere, people are talking, a lot of the faculty serves food to the students and everyone has a great time.

People who I don't normally see smile are jovial and happy. People I haven't seen all semester I am able to talk to with glee. For one fleeting moment, everyone drops their prejudices for one meal.

And there's a chocolate fountain. Yes sir.
coryanotado: (la salle - katie's lover)
Me and [ profile] katieliz have dubbed this weekend the VH1 Best Weekend Ever™ for me. Why, you might ask, is this weekend the Best Weekend Ever™, or even to a lesser extent, why this weekend is starting on a Thursday. Be patient, my friend, for this is an explanation worthy of awe.

Tonight, me and Katie went to the Barnes and Noble on 18th and Walnut to hear Frank Warren speak. Frank Warren is the keeper of PostSecret, a website where anonymous strangers send postcards with secrets to Frank. They can range from humorous to serious to downright scary, but the most important part is that they are all real; someone out there has felt this secret you're reading on your screen. I bought his newest book, My Secret, and he signed it for me. Katie got one too. Cosi for dinner and no parking ticket rounded off the great evening.

Tomorrow is the La Salle Haunted House. I made the poster for the haunted house, and ever the helpful one, am going to be a zombie. I'm not sure, but I think I get to count it as work for Late Night La Salle. I'll have to check my schedule.

Saturday, the Dresden Dolls (whom [ profile] genericpunkgrrl introduced me to) are playing a YRock (nee Y100) Sonic Session at the TLA on Saturday and I reserved us 2 spots. We're gonna get lunch and then jam out acoustic intimate style.

Sunday, the Jaguars are coming to the Linc and my report time is 8:30 in the morning. What does this mean? Well, I have to make the church bulletin on Saturday this week, but more importantly, I get more hours at work. Plus, and here's hoping I'm not wrong, the Eagles should win this one. Like we should have won the last two games anyway.

Overall, this will be a weekend filled with great plans and I can't wait to live them all up. I am internally skeeeeeeeeeeeing in delight just thinking about this weekend.

Come to think of it, I've had two awesome weekends in a row! Wilson last week, Philly this week... At this rate, I'll be the world's first roller-skating chainsaw-juggling porn star to complete the Best Three Week Trifecta™!


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