Z-Fest 2010 is the second anual Zelda festival! When we say Zelda festival we mean 6 TV’S running various Zelda games, PLUS 4 computers with emulators! Could u ask for more? We will be playing all night long, so tune into our LIVE Ustream Here! Also, expect a video, summarizing the event, soon! Here are some [...]

So, as I said in my last post, I went off to boyscout camp as a counselor for the past 7 weeks. It was, in essence, THE time of my life. It was one of the best summers I’ve lived through, for an extensive list of reasons. I want to share a small bit of [...]

Lame. That’s what this post was going to be. Lame. There are hundreds of people who have written posts bitching about how paddle shift gearboxes are taking over the sports car and manual gearboxes are becoming a way of the past. This meaning that we’ve lost the only true way to “be a part of the driving experience.” This post was going to be another one of those posts, but here’s the problem.

I’ve never driven a stick shift in my life.

I’ve never done it, I don’t know how to do it, and I’m about to write an article stating how sad I am that they’re dying out? No, I refuse to blindly write a post based on the popular consensus without actually having experienced the thing that I’m going to miss oh so much once it has gone away. I am undoubtedly a huge motorhead. I love all things cars. I enjoy seeing them, hearing them, photographing them, and now driving them. I’ve driven one sports car in my life: The 2010 Bentley Continental Supersport Convertible. It was an incredible experience. A $250,000 car, all to myself. I drove it up to about 105mph on the highway, but I could tell it wanted more. The sound was incredible, the drive was incredible, and that 20 minute test drive flew by in an instant. But, like most new cars, it had a paddle shift gearbox. Stick shift was not even an option. Paddle shift is easy, so easy that a wide-smiled sixteen year old kid like myself could hop in and drive the thing like they’ve been doing it all their life. You push “up” to up shift, and “down” to down shift. Simple as that. No clutch, no physical shifting of the gears, just buttons. I quite liked it, but then again I had never driven a stick shift before.

So today was the day, time to finally see what stick shift is all about. My friend Jake took me out in his shiny, red 2006 VW Beetle. (Don’t laugh) It had the all sacred 5 speed manual gearbox that I had heard about for years. I was ready to give it a go.

For those of you who don’t know how a stick shift works, you’re about to get a little lesson. First off, Jake picked me up at my house around 3pm. I hopped into the passenger seat and we then took off to find an open parking lot. “The school parking lot just down the road should do just fine,” said Jake. As we drove, I watched him. I remember thinking, “What a piece of cake. Clutch down, shift and you’re good to go.” He made it look effortless, working his way up to fifth gear and then crusing at a solid 45mph. We arrived at the parking lot, and I got behind the wheel. He told me to start the car, push in the clutch and turn the key. I did. Then, I threw it into first gear. He told me to let off the brake, push down the clutch, and slowly ease off the clutch and on to the gas. I tried, and failed. I let off to quickly, the car jerked and came to a dead stop. “You killed it,” he said. At this point, I became a little more nervous. I had failed at simply putting the car into first gear. We started the car back up, and I was extra careful and eased off much slower. We were off, and it was time for the first gear change into second. Clutch down, shift, eased off. “Killed it,” he said again. The day was not looking very successful at this point. “It’s all about finding that sweet spot in the clutch where you know you you can shift without a hitch.” We spent about an hour, circling the parking lot over and over. With each go around, I began to get more and more used to it. “I’ve only taught stick shift to a few other people, but you’re my best student,” he said. I was getting the hang of it. I was not to the point where I could do it effortlessly. My concentration was 100% focused on shifting. “Brake, clutch, turn, shift, ease off, ease on the gas.” I would repeat this to myself every lap we did. At one point we started talking about music, when all the sudden, my concentration had shifted towards conversing. And predictably, “Ah, ya killed it!” Jake only said this three times to me throughout the day, which I didn’t think was too bad. By the end, my skill level had reached to the point where I could drive a stick shift if my life depended on it, but I would not feel comfortable driving someone’s Ferrari.

In fact, I was invited to do just that. I was recently offered the chance to drive a 1977 Ferrari 308 GTS. Yep, just like Magnum did. That was my real motivation to finally learn how to drive stick shift. However, I think I’ll have to politely decline the offer. I’m just not ready for it. Jake said it best,”You need to have a car with stick shift that you can practice on every day. The first month I had it I spent stalling at stoplights and hiccuping in between shifts. You eventually get the hang of it, but repitition is key. Finding that sweet spot, developing that effortless muscle memory.”

It’s true what they say, you really have to know your car to drive a stick shift properly. So different than the paddle shift gear box, where anybody can hop in and drive it like a pro. So at this point you’re thinking, “Good. Now he can finally write an honest post about how the stick shift shouldn’t die.” Well, you’d be wrong. I think it should die. Well, maybe that’s a little harsh. I’ll put it this way. Stick shift is very hard to master. It truly is an art, a skill, a talent. But what about me? Say I’m the average millionaire guy who wants to buy a Ferrari to have some fun. (LOL!) I don’t want to have to fuddle around with a clutch and finding the right balance of easing off of it and onto the gas. It’s a lot of work and concentration. And for what, so you can “feel the car more?” A 360 Spider is going to take you from 0-60 in under four seconds with the top down and the wind in your hair. THAT is feeling the car. I don’t need a third pedal to feel the car.

And the majority agrees with me, which is why manufacturers like Ferrari have completely killed off the manual gear box. It’s all paddle shifting from now on. Why? Because there simply wasn’t enough of a market for the manual gear box. Paddle shift is the way of today. It’s like a video game, in a way. It’s quicker than a manual, more efficient than a manual, and much much easier.

Here’s my honest opinion on the whole situation. Stick shift is not for me. (yet) I need practice, and every first timer does. It’s not my favorite driving experience, but a lot of people love it. So here’s the question. Why can’t we have both? Ferrari claims they can’t keep it around because there isn’t a big enough market for it. If that were true, new Ferrari buyers wouldn’t complaining that they can’t get a 6 speed on their new 458 Italia, but they are. It’s not right for me, but stick shift is the preferred way for a lot of drivers out there. Seriously, Ferrari has made a mistake. Am I sad that the stick shift is dying? No. Am I disappointed that the stick shift is dying? Yes.

Ahh yes, July 31 is here again. Harry Potter has turned 30 today! Happy Birthday! Hopefully he plans to do something special with Ginny and the kids. Also, to those of you who don’t normally give out birthday wishes to fictional characters, it is J.K Rowling’sBirthday as well! She is turning 45! Hopefully not too old to get to work on a Harry Potter encyclopedia….or even better…book 8!

Happy Birthday guys!

From West Palm Beach, Florida, Surfer Blood has become an extremely popular ‘underground’ indie band. With their bring-down-the-house show at Pitchfork Music Festival, Midwest hipsters and colleges students alike began to drift toward the hypnotizing beats of Swim and Floating Vibes, two of the band’s most popular songs. Their most famous song, Floating Vibes, provides listeners with an exceptional beat and meaningful lyrics warning them about the harms of fame and how susceptible humans are to the attention and popularity it brings. Astro Coast, their most recent CD, provides a calming and original experience. However, this album is most definitely not one to pull out of the glove compartment while cruising with your windows down in your parents’ jeep. Fortunately, this mellow, true indie album, comes with ten amazing songs worth buying to play when hanging out with your friends or relaxing night at home. I would say I would totally buy this album, but I think it’s obvious I already have it and the album cover is sticky-tacted on my closet where I place only my most prized album covers. Also, if you’re a person who likes indie type, or want to become one, check out their upcoming tour dates with The Drums.

This Piece is Untitled,

Or I suppose you could call it ‘Dreams.’

Photo credit ~nuaHs of deviantArt.com

Untitled

Red was the color of the sun with her eyes closed. It’s heat gently coaxing her awake. She opened her eyes just a bit, before shutting them closed again. With that shock, her senses came into being as she realized what she smelled were eggs being cooked and bacon being fried. She stood up, and as she stood with eyes closed in that musky room she moved blindly to close the single malicious shutter who had let in that piercing arrow of light that had so gently assaulted her sleeping form.

In closing the shutter she had stepped out of her morning safety zone of the rug and she bathed her feet in the dust. She tilted her head down, opening her eyes now so that she could really feel the sandy old dirt as the warped mahogany floor boards helped push it in between her toes. Her young uncalloused toes peaked out from under her favorite purple nightgown, The nightgown itself something of a relic, the old silk garment had been her mothers before and was inherited with much love. The lace on the bottom was more of a dirty fringe these days and among other cosmetic problems, one of the shoulder straps wore itself so thin that it just snapped one evening. She laughed thinking about that evening on the porch. It seemed like one second she was saying goodnight to Pa’ and the next she was standing there naked, face red as a peach while Preacher Simmons tried to avert his gaze.

Ma’ had patched that up with a bit of floral fabric from the old curtains. Her brother thought it looked ridiculous, and mentioned that whenever he could. But that happened years ago and now she had grown to love the patch even as much as the garment itself.

Now that her eyes were adjusted to the dark light of the room she took a look around. She looked at the bed, the wardrobe, the vanity. It seemed to reminded her of old age and she threw open the shutters to let the midmorning light into the room. She looked out at the plains, they extended for miles and miles. Their farm, the neighbors farm, the neighbors, neighbors farm. It went on forever, everyone had their own space to be free. She couldn’t even see the neighbors house.

A voice came from downstairs. “Time for eggs!” it said.

“And bacon?” she asked, yelling downstairs. The excitement popping in her voice like the grease popping in the pan.

“Yeeahsss Ma’am.” Said the voice drawing out imaginary syllables with his southern drawl.

“Okay!” she yelled, smiling and running she bolted out of her room. She almost slipped on the old rug that covered the warped planks of the second floor. The noise was a cacophony. She turned and jumped.

She remembers the Mayor. He lived on the main street of the town which was about five miles away, but he still owned most of the land in the area. That was twelve years ago they bought this house.

“Now, the rain started to get in there about a year back and now the stairs creak something fierce and the floor is a bit bumpy in places,” he paused.” But I swear to you,” He said catching himself.” That you won’t find a larger piece of land with a prettier house for this cheap west of the Mississippi” He paused. “West of anywhere for that matter!” he added.

And than she was back to reality, floating six feet over the landing between the first and second floors. She landed with a giant creaky crash. The man at the stove turned and gave her a stare.

“Girl” he said Harshly, “I know you’re sixteen. But you’re skinny as the devil is mean, and just as mischievous. And with God as my witness, if you jump down those stairs, just know you’re not to big to be spanked.”

“Oh really?” she asked. “You’d take me over your knee and paddle me?”

“Yes Ma’am. You’re neither too old nor to heavy.”

“Well there’s a problem I see with your plan.” She said, taking a large pause.

“You… Will have… To catch me first!” she said as she took a second large jump, this time from the landing to the first floor, before bolting outside. The door swung loosely on its hinges. It’s singsong creak was just her way of begging to be pursued.

“Oh, Come on!” The man yelled out the door as he put the eggs onto an empty burner. She couldn’t hear him though. She was already out and around to the back of the house. She jumped into a pile of hay. She bounced on top for a second and than started to squirm. Left and right, left and right went her hips. She let the Hay envelop her. Once again red was the color of the sun with her eyes closed, red with a subdued orange she noted. She let her senses catch up with her again.

It was like being poked by a million needles, from the soft un-worked soles of her feet to her lazy untoned calves, to her stomach which was just a bit too ‘pudgy’ for her liking. From her sunburned nose and shoulders, a result of lazing in the sun just a little too long. Too her hair, oh her hair, how she loved and pampered her hair.

She had seven combs and brushes. They were her friends in this town. She did have ‘friends’ In the main town, but they only saw each other when they got together for an event or a party. And truth be told that was fine with her, they were always too loud and obnoxious. She preferred to stay with her father and her friends. There was Phoebe, her best friend, and most used of all her accessories. Phoebe was a brush, large, a general maintenance brush which made her more useful than all of her other brushes. Than there was Carson, another best friend who also happened to be a comb. She was made of Cherry wood and her polish was long worn out but still she was part of her nightly grooming routine. She had a few other combs, Charles, Sally, Caroline, and Rebekah. And then there was Claudia. More beautiful than anyone else in the town. Claudia was a jade haircomb that she had received for Christmas. Pa’ had ordered it from a merchant in China. The comb itself was the finest ivory, at the top of the comb sat a lotus petal carved out of Jade, and in the center of the petal sat a tiny ruby. Claudia could turn heads from one hundred yards out. She sat just in front of a bun to complement her finely managed hair. It made her the beauty of all the parties, that is when she didn’t have hay stuck in her hair.

For the second time she was brought back to reality. The dusty hay a thick blanket on top of her. The smell wafting and changing making the air unbearable, it was almost hard to breathe, but delicious all the same.

“I see you in there.” said a voice.

A pause. “No you don’t.”

“Oh, well, if I did see you, than I would tell you that you should get inside before it starts to rain.”

“Rain?” she asked, and after a second she brought her head our of the hay. She blew a strand of hair from her eyes and removed a piece of hay that was poking into the back of her ear.

There the sky stood, brooding above her. Dark but not angry it stood, old but filled with a youthful energy. The perfect storm.

“Oh” was all she could manage in a state of a little confusion. She stood up, brushing the rest of herself off, stepping into the grass in front of her.

Plop!

A drop hit her shoulder. She looked at it and than she smiled. Another drop hit her left shoulder and this time she looked into the sky. In a motion that made her whole body tip backwards she looked straight into the sky to get a better view of the sky falling down. A drop hit her purple nightgown. The drop turned the faded shade of purple into a dark purple circle. Another drop. She could feel the water soaking through her nightgown and wetting her skin. She closed her eyes as a drop hit her nose, and than the rest of her face. They started to come faster and faster. She could hear the Tik-Tik-Tik of the rain on the roof, and the shhhhhh of the rain hitting the wheat , pushing it back and forth. And finally all of those other senses melted away, and all she could feel were the millions of little drops of rain bouncing off and running all over her. And as sudden as the rain had started, it was gone again. Confused she opened her eyes, but a bright fluorescent light blinded her. she recoiled and started to fall. She tried to catch herself but she couldn’t. Paralyzed all she could do was fall, in slow motion, and brace to hit the hard, unforgiving earth. And she was forced to stare at the blinding light.

But the impact never came, at least not with the ground. Suddenly she wasn’t at the farm anymore. She was in her bed, and the rain had melted away to reveal a cold sweat, and the soft sun became a harsh fluorescent light.

She looked around, the pale light bathing the white room, it was an ugly, revealing light. She stood up and looked down at her feet. They were cold, angry and unforgiving. They blended into the rest of her body and most of all they were tired. Too tired to be supporting a human body, but they were. She walked her tired, overworked body over to the porthole and looked into the space. Space was dark, extremely dark, it extended on forever and it was not at all like the comforting space of the plains. The stars, instead of acting like the endless plains were a cold hard reminder of how small she was. She ripped her eyes from the small window and crossed the small minimalistic room into the bathroom. Small, but just as bright as the room before. She looked into the mirror and recoiled as she saw her forsaken, miserable shape. At seventeen, life had gotten the best of her She turned on the shower in hopes that the steam would blur and fill in the sharp defined corners of her life. She looked into the mirror once more and scowled at the creature that had been created for her. The bags under the eyes, the soulless sad eyeballs.

She slipped out of her bleached white standard issue pajamas and stepped into the shower. The water was harsh and mean against her skin and she closed her eyes to its touch. It didn’t help, this false rain could not help. She’d been on this ship since she was four years old. And there they sat orbiting miles above an inhospitable planet that they were trying to make “Human.”

That’s what they called it, ‘Human’, as if personifying the thing made us feel better about the terrible things we had done to our first planet and the circumstances we had forced ourselves into.

She couldn’t remember the rain if she tried, only from the stories that her father told her, and sometimes she would feel it in her dreams. Were they dreams? or were they cleverly disguised nightmares. And was it still a dream if you woke up and cried?

Suddenly, all throughout the ship a loud bell rang. It stole the attention and the thoughts of every member on board, the next shift started in fifteen minutes.

Her will lost, she slumped to her knees and cried. There she would sit for hours in the false rain.

Final Wordcount: 2015