" Love yourself. Do not put the power of self worth into someone else's hands...unless they have a gun to your head. "
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Hate is strong. Some use it lightly, most don’t. Hate drives a person to rage, adrenaline attack mode, wanting to turn the object of ones hatred to dust through forceful crushing movements. Hate is not an embraced drive of humanity. It is rightfully looked down upon because of its primal and disgusting implications. Hateful emotions are innate in people just as putting that feeling into perspective is every individuals responsibility. I hate the atom bomb. I am amazed and enthralled by the wonderment of scientific endeavour that brought the power of the atom to human reality but I hate what it can do. As a bomb it is a horrible tool of destruction, pain and manipulated rage. It kills and mutates as it astounds our minds. I hate religion for the same reasons. In theory, religion can be a unifying force of community and predominately good ethically…blah,blah. Let’s just get this out of the way now…religion does not “own” ethics or virtues, despite its claims. Let’s look at the some facets of religion. Proof so to say, of some reasons for it to be hated: - Do a search of deaths caused by religious conflicts and you get some arbitrary number like 800 million. Let’s just play it safe and say a cool billion. That is most certainly a low ball. Over what again?…oh yeah, some assholes that say you should adhere to non-malleable ways of thinking, acting and interacting. - The argument that the church “saved” science from the “atavism” commonly known as the Middle Ages is bullshit. When the church began taking firm hold in the early Mid’s, there was a decline in science. Knowledge explored and gained through the Greeks, Romans, Eastern Thought was devalued and subdued by the church. The Scientific Revolution later brought on by Galileo, Copernicus…all the Daddy-O’s, were counter what the church saw as the state of affairs. - The great Islamic Empire taking place while Europe put its head in the sand, was indeed progressive and powerful. The Abbasids pushed for open interpretations towards all religions. In this way the controlling aspects of religions were subdued. Then, as the empire fell, the understanding and dispersment of Islamic texts were only to be administered by an Imam. Gone was the personal, questioning understanding of religious writings; in were the formerly used control tactics of religion to enshrine and control the masses. - Evolution. The stupefying ignorance and back stepping of some religious sects relating to the facts of Evolution should say it all. Just as the church refused to accept the facts of heliocentrism, it even still rejects the overwhelming evidence and axioms of evolution. Idiots…and that way of thinking limits truths. Religion prefers you to be ignorant. It has power over people and, sadly, people let themselves be controlled by this entity. - The dulling and rejection of human creativity as an individual process is one of the main tools of control by religions. Just as we grazed the idea that the church does not hold the monopoly on ethics and virtues, it so does not own and birth creativity. Despite its attempts throughout the reformation, counter and all its PR shit and pompous displays of importance, it cannot claim ownership over creativity. You are creative. It is part of your ability to communicate. The hijacking by the church of this natural drive in humanity is completely sickening. Fuck them. These are but a few of the debates the Donald Street Collective explores; and while we all like a close race, the realities behind the power of scientific method and the ignorant religious twisting of how important proof is, separates these two concepts by eons. You may not have to hate, it is better not to I would think…but god-dammit…think. Angry Downtownite ( ___insert ethnic group here___ ) WRAP Ingredients:
Preparation: In a medium bowl, combine all of the ingredients...except for the tortillas, dummy. Let stand for 20 minutes, stirring occasionally. Drain off liquid and divide salad (and meat) mixture among the tortillas (or lettuce leaf thing). Fold bottom of tortilla partially over filling and then roll up. At this point, shove it into your face and try not to choke. Your Welcome, Sir Omnyvore I am a philistine I suppose. I do not frequent the WAG and related artistic venues. Museum equals mausoleum. They are dead environments and the ambience is oppressive. Quiet (very) discussion and lack of liveliness is supposed to create a neutral environment where the artwork (of whatever kind) can be contemplated peacefully, objectively, as if you were not in public. A few minutes in one of these tombs and I am ready for some fresh air and a nap. For me, at least, the atmosphere nullifies any aesthetic I am a philistine, I suppose. I do not frequent the WAG and related artistic venues. Museum equals mausoleum. They are dead environments and the ambience is oppressive. Quiet (very) discussion and lack of liveliness is supposed to create a neutral environment where the artwork (of whatever kind) can be contemplated peacefully, objectively, as if you were not in public. A few minutes in one of these tombs and I am ready for some fresh air and a nap. For me, at least, the atmosphere nullifies any aesthetic benefit I could derive from the work at hand. Quiet contemplation has its place but not in public. Some works of art may demand this of the recipient. Perhaps smaller isolated venues would be better (think chapel). When I consider a work of art and I am engaged in grasping or deciphering its language, I require energy and discussion to better formulate ideas and enhance the experience. Art should stimulate thought (visceral reactions, at times) and its cousin, discussion. Well, what better way than to serve some drinks in a smaller venue, well lit, comfortable and energized by both the works and the ensuing conversation? This attempt at objectivity to present the work as it is has outlasted its time.
Attendance at museums and the WAG is still significant, and funding these larger institutions permits works from A-Team established artists and craftspeople to come to Winnipeg. However, as a purveyor of all things urban I would like to see art being brought back to the people and the streets. This is not a new idea but it is not without merit. License all galleries, offer sliding scale cover charges and permit conversation and laughter. Let’s carry drinks about and have places where folks can sit and enjoy themselves surrounded by artworks. Restaurant galleries are a current movement in a new direction but walking around gazing at works can be awkward when there is a family of four having dinner by the piece being considered. Small independent galleries also need to lose their air of stuffiness. I understand they are catering to their market and hope to sell works. However, there is a new class of money folks who are far less stodgy in their manner and approach. Market your works to them. Open your doors to the public, accept the risk and engage the commoner. There is a reason why video games, movies (not films) and radio music appeal to all. Now, I understand that art has rarely been populist and I am not really calling for that. Make your venue attractive to regular folks, encourage local artists and craftspeople to present their works. Borrow from the Spectacle and open your fucking doors. Bring back the decaying warehouse space, the underground gallery, the tiny art pub, use the Web. I call on local artists to defecate on the mausoleum of approved works. Herr Doktor’s Note: This is not finished. There will be more. The Donald Street Collective is committed to rejuvenating and revitalizing the DT experience, aesthetically, politically and actively. (Earlier Cyberspace Artifact HERE)
Me: 50 yr old dad Married and divorced twice Educated professional but unemployed Slim and fit Near vegan Alcoholiste and recreational drug user Left of centre politically but repulsed by hippie and hipster culture Does not shop for entertainment No interest in decorative aesthetics, women’s clothing or their pop culture You: Female 35-50 yrs old Slim (not overweight, obese, tubby, plump, fat or portly-not even slightly) Fit Must be healthy, no disease or prone to cramps, headaches or migraines Vegetarians ok, no carnivores please No history of mental illness or emotional issues If you are subject to mood swings then fuck off Ethnicity not important but no traditional values No nest builders or those focused on family No religious or spiritual respondents please New-agers especially unwelcome If you think puppies, kittens and babies are cute, keep it to yourself Must be able to engage and sustain conversation that does not focus on feelings or your personal self-esteem No TV watchers especially “reality” tv Must be free of affectations, pretentiousness or snobbery Comfortable with blood sport, horror movies, B grade cinema, sci-fi, manga, graphic novels, anime, visual art and related aesthetics You are willing to accept men for who they are rather than who you think they should be You do not consider yourself morally superior to men You live in your own dwelling, no roommates Your own circle of friends Can solve your own personal problems and make decisions If you have courage and exercise independence of thought and, you are in no need of companionship but would like some, you are encouraged to respond Herr Doktor (More Cyberspace Artifacts HERE) Believe me....I gave them a chance. Been to the buffet a few times and I must say it is cheap...cheap. Oh no...not the price...the ingredients. Bottom barrel junk that is tossed in cream-less sauces and bland, potentially Dollarama purchased spices. C'mon...this is supposed to be Indian Food. This place really tries to present itself as something special but heads up Ivory, you ain't special if your food sucks. You are just a hollow box. Of note is the reputation this place has in circles...they are apparently not only abusive to staff but...surprise...Cheapskates! Do yourself a favour and go a bit further in to East India Co. It takes food seriously unlike this gutless scam factory. Sir Omnyvore Fragment Videogame Description-Spring 1999
Title: Busker Type: FPS Platform: PC (spec requirements to be developed) Publisher: White Rhino Games Description: In contemporary urban Winnipeg, you play a wage slave, Geoff Towers, who works in a call centre and hates his job. However, there is one characteristic of each morning Geoff hates the most. Walking into work after a 50 minute bus ride from Kildonia, he has to move through the underground plazas and walkways and is forced to listen to countless street musicians with guitars performing singer-songwriter standards. Little known to all is that the Buskers are actually a genetically modified race of beings designed by Winnipeg Corp in collusion with other local companies used to placate, ease, and prepare the drones for their daily labours. Geoff Towers is made aware of this through a regular customer known as The Purveyor. Geoff is unstable but this is required for the ensuing carnage. Equipped with a wireless headset and antireflective HUD, Geoff (and remotely, the Purveyor) set out to destroy this framework, the musicians, and those who created it. Custodial staff is well aware of the conspiracy and are your allies throughout the game. They are friends of the Purveyor and think of you as the Promised Liberator. They will supply you with anything you need but it will cost money (not always). Game Play: This is a traditional FPS built in a pyramid structure, with levels and enemies that are increasingly difficult and require much more firepower. Maps and messages from the Custodians are written invisibly on certain walls that must be sprayed with a chemical (available from the Custodians, of course) to be revealed. Boss battles occur at the end of each level and are usually better quality Buskers. Even the fodder Buskers and their fans can be dangerous so it is always wise to proceed cautiously. Anyone defeated will have money (Buskers, citizens and The Suits). The Suits are power brokers in the various customer service centres within the framework of the Busker conspiracy. Be warned, they are wealthy and pure evil. Money can be used to bribe them and to purchase weapons and vehicles. Weapons: Mops, brooms, bristle brushes, cleaning chemicals, modified vacuums and grounds keeping tools. Hydrodyne, electric vehicles, modified plasma stringed guitars-(must be stolen) and the always effective Harmonica of Death. Health packs can be found in any washroom. As this is related to corporate culture, in order to proceed through any office, you must be in dress code, clean and presentable. The Custodians can assist where required. As Geoff Towers battles his way through the streets, tunnels, walkways, and customer service centres of The Peg, The Purveyor briefs him on each level map and mission wile pushing data to the HUD. The game ends when you successfully beat the Boss Busker (looks like Bob Dylan), performing at Winnipeg Corp’s annual holiday banquet. Songs will be standards, the annoying ones. All the features of Downtown Winnipeg life will be rendered realistically. Heir Doktor’s Note: The Fragment ends here and Web Archeologists believe a more developed description exists. They continue their investigation.... (More Cyberspace Artifacts HERE) Always on the lookout for Archaeological pursuits within contemporary environments, the Donald Street Collective would like to share an Urban Exploration submission from an intrepid explorer.
If interested, the actual historical context of this deserted exchange haunt is linked here: 108 Princess Street History In one of my early days within the Winnipeg Woodlot, a sunny Saturday, I grabbed a local java and retired to the view out my front window. Though it was early, the parade was well on its way. The residents were spilling out of the cafes onto the sidewalks, folks were engaged with friends, and families were neck deep in strollers, dogs and good cheer.
One mouthful into the black nectar, looking onto the street, a middle-aged man, naked, in what appeared to be a meth-induced frenzy, entered the harmony of middle-class fellowship. How would this new motif, this fleshy note of discord be received? This was mandatory viewing and I had a premium balcony seat. He ran out into traffic, then behind the building into a construction site and climbed a chain-link fence. He did not have any footwear. Oblivious to the rebar, nails, wood, aluminum and glass he climbed over the fence on the far side and introduced himself to the sidewalk cafe patrons. The folks at the cafe weren’t as amused as I was. Looks of disgust and disbelief multiplied. Women covered their babies’ eyes from the horror but the older children, especially the boys, embraced the ensuing chaos. Two men, perhaps with gallantry in mind, left the comfort of their love group to chase methman. They ran in a large circle which increased viewership substantially. However, our new friend was too damn nimble. They returned to their families defeated, eyes cast down, and palms up. What did they think they were going to achieve? Our protagonist then sighted the city bus cruising slowly in my direction. Advantageous perhaps, there was an empty bicycle rack attached to the front of the bus. When the bus stopped at the intersection, he made his move. He jumped onto the rack, spread-eagled facing inwards through the front window. We now witnessed a spectacle. Pockets of outrage were gaining momentum as we watched the driver try to dislodge this large screen obstruction. He tried the wiper, the wash fluid, gave up and exited the bus. He moved towards methman but was unsuccessful in shutting down the show. Our friend jumped a residential fence and ran through several yards disappearing from view. For some time the story developed, details were added, discussed and revised. The event became legendary then died soon after. Our lives are as transitory as the chaos introduced when this naked symphonist appeared. From birth we make a little noise, hope to leave an impression and then we are gone. Fancy another cup? (Check out Tales from the Woodlot Part 1) (Check out Tales from the Woodlot Part 3) Herr Doktor DONKEY KONG: Table-Top Mini I had the table top Donkey Kong. No...not the cocktail table 2-player one, I had alittle plastic box one that was like a mini-arcade machine. It was god-awful ugly (looking something like a cheap "futuristic" toy from a Happy Meal cross-bred with a two-bit carnival shtick at Christmas) and was more annoying than fun to play, but it filled a table-top niche in 80's culture and accomplished the onslaught of Donkey Kong that became a legend in the gaming industry. Using the term "I had" implies I can claim ownership to it, but this I cannot. I had it on extended borrow and then donated it to a new mini-gamer along with other trinket hand-me-downs. This little (yet durable!) gaming system killed many an hour in my childhood and I feel obligated to extol the virtues of this Coleco-made piece of gameness. While anything i write would undoubtedly be a gloss up of this early gen crap creation, but isn't that the beauty of hind-sight...everything shines a bit differently. My buddy had been given this game by his older bro who had gotten it at a staff x-mas party circs 1982. Games at this time were the stuff of kid. Teen-agers and young adults were not playing the "nerd" tinged computer gaming phenomenon. The industry was targeted to children, and became the next great baby-sitter. With this said, my buddy's bro decided to re-gift for the younger one of the family. When he eventually brought it over (and this in itself was amazing!....I mean...a video game you game put in a backpack!? Wow!) I was in awe of the power of the game. When he did the big reveal, I was instantly enamoured by the art on the sides. It looked great! The Big D was trotting his stuff and posing for the crowds. I loved the bright blue casing and the garish red color used. It was flashy and yelled "tech". I couldn't wait to play! And then i did...i was shocked, frustrated and saddened. I expected more. It is true that anything would have come second to what my expectations were, but this was not really fun. It blipped and burped its way through a gauntlet of piercing purple lights and deafening screeches of compu-grind. As time went on, we'll say 2 years or so, and the Donkey Kong fad faded, I had somehow acquired the Mini-Kong game through some underhanded comic trades. It was a bit beat up and marked up and scratched up, but it worked. The screen still blazed its piercing neon glows into the retinas as they had a few post-x-masses ago. It was at this point that I had the opportunity to really give the game a try and ride that learning curve. What ended up happening was a real appreciation for this money-grab hunk of Kong-Whoreness. Yeah it was repetitive, annoying and seizure inducing, but it contains the same fundamentals of the arcade game; its addicting. Running up the girders to save your lass is rewarding and exhilarating. At the time, this was the great gaming challenge that all aspiring arcade-knights quested to prevail over. Kong ruled, and the excitement he brought was in the vanguard of the gaming revolution. In premise, this game is Donkey Kong. Score is involved, climbing and timing are key and Mario does the occasional slow-mo glitch jump. While not identical to the arcade game, it does share the spirit of the mighty Kong original even if it is watered down to the point of drowning. You play as a pre-cocaine(pre-super fame) Mario in a never ending circuit of running, climbing and jumping to the top of the screen, all the while avoiding barrels and other Kong obstacles. Everyone knows the game, its Donkey Kong, but this version is on the cheap and the limited technologies of calculator displays, light brights and bit-bursts of glitch sound combine to create a serviceable, if primitive Donkey Kong experience. The wonderment that made this arcade in a box possible was the screen type employed, the Vacuum Fluorescent Display. That's the fancy way of describing a cheap monitor. The screen itself is akin to a stencil... It has all the frames of the games cut out and the whole deal is back lit to reveal the specific still as "movement" occurs. The choppy motion has its own charms and patterns that become the game-on experience here, it starts to feel right once you become accustomed to the feel of the mini-joystick and your eyes adjust to the strain. The graphic details here are sparse and the challenge increases by the speed rising. Everything is here...the hammer, flaming barrels and the ole' heave ho! thing that Kong does to thrust the barrels at you. The tweaks and blings of the sound chip are painful yet surprisingly accurate to the original, which ain't saying much for the original. The high and low tweaks when Mario walks is the pinnacle of infuriating but it eventually takes on a hypnotic "low-brow" sensation through repeated plays. The body of the game was solid plastic and could be used as a hammer in a pinch. I have personally seen this product smashed, thrown, curbed and dropped many times and it somehow lives on. Praise be to the gaming gods for plastic...where would we all be without dense plastic forms...I shudder to think! The game is a semi-satisfying time waster. You run up the frame, jump a few barrels and get to the platform with the damsel on it. Done. Next stage, same as the first, the cut-out screen eternal. But it continues on...now there are flaming barrels and the speed has been upped a notch. This proceeds until the speed is too much for itself and the little Coleco game system crashes. Once you find the repetition in the game flow, it can be almost enjoyable to grab a high score in this game. Almost...the simple presentation and limited variations condemn this game to more down-time than game-on time, yet our options were limited in the day and we forced ourselves to like it. Regardless, this gutsy little game had its own unique charms in a time of arcade parlours and pop-game icons like pac-man and Q-Bert...and unsurprisingly, based on his longevity, Mario really hasn't changed...ever. This early cash in was a brick in the foundation of the ultra-franchise that built a localized Japanese company into an international mega brand. I eventually gave the game; with many other toys I had broken up with, to my cousin. I know he played it for a while because I heard it brought up for few years after that, but the whereabouts of the Bright Blue Kong Machine is a mystery. A flea market or maybe an attic next-door. Most likely it hibernates in a land fill somewhere...impervious to decay with its exo-shell of moulded plastic. Even if it does reside in a dump, I assure you...if you slam 4 C batteries into this bad-boy, it'll work. Game-On! Joystick 'n' Hand As a confirmed urbanite I was slow to learn that within the Winnipeg Woodlot, dogs have special status. They are equal members of family and community. They can own property, drive cars, work in shops and dine at the local eateries. At a recent gathering of local activists there was a motion brought forth to grant these dogs the vote. It was met with great enthusiasm and action plans were quickly tabled. Some of these homo canines have such power and influence in the community that their dogs are permitted to leave their fecal matter where they see fit. This is understood as an ecological gesture of goodwill, I suppose, though it does take some time before the lumpy waste decomposes into the cement walkways and my footwear.
Warm weekends are particularly active for these canine centric woodlot dwellers. There are regular parades and, throughout the area, clusters of owners, dogs, and leads form at the cafes. In such circumstances it is acceptable (expected, I believe) to block entrances which provide a context to comment on breeds and behaviour. The homo canines loudly speak to their dogs in performatives where the goal is to demonstrate to all how their dog has superior command of English and possesses human intent and desire. This is, indeed, impressive. Here in the woodlot these human canine interactions can hold the same status as exotic or posh breeds. Please look. You must watch. We insist. On a recent sunny Saturday morning on my way back home with coffee in hand, I walked into a parade that blocked the entire width of the sidewalk. An owner had two dogs on leads on each side of her. Woodlot ethics dictate that I, not of the species homo canine, must give way. As I so did, both dogs curled their upper lips back, exposed their fangs and assumed attack postures. They lunged. Just on the verge of tearing at the flesh on my calves, she pulled the dogs back laughing and warmly chastising her dogs (recall, they understand our language) all the time her eyes smiling back at me. Now I suppose I was expected to smile back and say something like, "Well aren`t they spirited little fellows! " thereby ensuring Winnipeg Woodlot social cohesion. I did not. "Your dogs are very aggressive. They intended to do me harm. “ She laughed and said: "Well, they saw your coffee and they have not had their morning cup. " She then walked on. How foolish of me. Truly, I did not understand their intent. I am grateful that she was there to interpret for me. Homo canines are adept translators. Hell, I know what it is like to have to interact before the morning cup of jo. How blind could I have been? I now understand my place here within the woods. If not for the guidance of this women and others of her kind I would truly be a pariah. Bite me, lady. (Check out Tales from The Woodlot Part 2) Herr Doktor Whether driving by as a child in the family vehicle, or having a smoke outside the Yellow Dog Tavern as an adult, The Midtown Troll has been studying this fading mural for decades.
Anybody who regularly watches media in Winnipeg is likely accustomed to stories that are essentially guaranteed to make the news every year. They are so predictable given the regularity of their annual occurrence. Here is the narrative of those stories, in the typical chronological order from January through December:
Enjoy your local ‘news’! Sincerely, The Midtown Troll Many artists have attempted to document the horrors and perversities inherent in human nature yet few have achieved the intensity and conflict between sensuous detail and suffocating physicality as the artist Hans Bellmer. Looking upon his photographs and drawings that fetishized and revealed extreme personal desires, one is mutually repulsed, disturbed and enthralled by their dark beauty. His subjective work has endured harsh criticism, called everything from obscene, perverted and pornographic. The fact remains that the work of Hans Bellmer is technically profound and thematically disturbing, reaching into dark recesses that most viewers would rather avoid. His combination of skill and twisted representation has endured his work into the history of alternative artistic chroniclers. Both erotic and horrific, his art stands as some of the bravest expressions to come from the inner mind of an artist. Born in Katowice, Poland in 1902; Bellmer began his artistic career in Berlin under the tutorship of George Grosz. Grosz himself specialized in social commentary that never shied away from representing the people as visually disgusting and viscerally ill. The common view that these two artists shared of representing humanity as grotesqueries, was unwelcome is late 30’s Germany. The Nazi’s had their own idea of what was acceptable as art and Bellmer was labeled a degenerate. Bellmer did have some admirers at the time, the Surrealists that worked and played in gay Paris loved his work. The deformed torsos and sexually confrontational work harkened to the Surrealists, whose own work dealt with psychology. With a massive series of disturbing photographs of life-sized handmade dolls (poupees), Bellmer fled to France. He was detained in a detention camp by the French authorities until 1940. Destitute before making his way to France, he was even more impoverished as he shuffled out of prison. Disowned by his homeland and treated as a war criminal in France, his career seemed dead. Encouragingly, Bellmer was hired by the French erotic writer, George Bataille, to create prints for the book, Historire de l’oeil . Bellmer’s images of decaying, diseased bodies and entwined limbs lent themselves well to Batailles’ writings. This relationship was extremely fruitful for both, and Bellmer continued producing prints for numerous editions of books including, De Sade’s Petit Traite de Morale. Empty stomach behind him, Bellmer created numerous photographs and prints that showcased his disturbing bend towards physicality and eroticism. Bellmer died in Paris in 1972, respected by a few, unknown to most. While his subject matter upset and disgusted the timid; history has embraced Bellmer as a visionary of horrific images and deeply personal eroticism. His work has been gaining respect and tomes detailing his work are trickling into popular culture. A unique talent, Bellmer’s work confronts the viewer head-on, making some observers very uncomfortable, but those that can stomach it are entranced by the skill and bravery displayed. One of Bellmer’s drawing for Batailles’ Story of the Eye 1950, showcases his obsessive sense of detail, and his penchant for the disturbing. With disdain for organized religion and a depiction of swine and sex, this work stands as one of his more accessible pieces. The translucent body of the “takee” displays Bellmer’s obsession with the visceral insides of life. Indicative of much of his work, this view through the skin presents itself as sickly fleshy in some of his more extreme works. A skull stares blankly, while being anally humiliated by a pig-headed sodomizer. Standing on the pig’s shoulder’s, with ankles that expose muscle and sinew, a woman “christens” the act with golden illumination. Bellmer’s flowing line work contrasts the necrophilia, warm showers and prickly fuckers to create a work of disturbing beauty. This piece stands as a primer to the more extreme of his work and just scratches the surface of the depravity and artistic insanity that he treats the brave to. Hans Bellmer’s work resonates in the under currents of subculture and has influenced the likes of H.R. Giger and Chris Marrs. Books detailing the twisted visions of this artist are few but The Anatomy of Anxiety by Sue Taylor covers his photos and prints remarkably, while taking a psychoanalytical approach to his work. Uncover his art in Surrealist anthologies and on the net, a strange visionary worth discovering and well worth the hunt. You may even realize that you’re not the only one that is intrigued by diseased zombie-like nymphs awoken from the hidden recesses of your subconscious. Nym River City Ransom. Part brawler, part RPG. This game worked (and works...) on so many levels it occupies its own specialized genre. The story concerns young Alex. A resident of River City with good intentions and love in his heart. When the troublesome sounding "Slick" decides to abduct the love of Alex's life, you know there is gonna be hell to pay. Alex goes on a frenzied mission to cause pain, learn new skills and explore River City to liberate his damsel in distress, Cyndi. Alex does have friends to assist him on this noble mission. His equally rage filled bud, Ryan, can join the fray and contribute to the rescue of Cyndi, ensuring Alex can some day get some. When two players game-on you can do combo moves which are exciting to pull off and cause destruction to the gang members that attempt to deny Alex his heroic quest. The game is simple enough indeed, but along the journey you will encounter shops, secret bookstores and floppish bosses and sub-bosses that are in need of retribution. The mission can be lengthy if one decides to explore River City from top to bottom and acquire all the skills offered by books and products that must be purchased. Money is received after one of the many gang members is beat down and sent to the "other" plane. Some baddies give more money than others and bosses really give up the goods. The gangs that await our heroes are legion and the titles vary from the "Squids" to the "Frat Boys". All gangs are not equal. Some are far more aggressive than others, while some will flee from your presence. Learning the gang dynamics is a crucial part of playing the game. Following the action like buzz on a fly, is the banter in text form on the bottom of the screen. Enemies can taunt you, drop hints or even scream in pain as they meet their maker. Constantly ticking away on the lower screen and usually humorous, the dialogue is an important part of the game as well. Scattered throughout River City are Shop areas where no fighting occurs. It is filled with peaceful city folk that only wish you the best and want your money. Doorways lead to a variety of shops from Bookstores to Desert Cafes. All items add to the players stats in varying degrees. Some items increase agility, speed, strength, to name a few; while other shops sell items that give Alex(or Ryan) new skills. The learned skill of Dragon Feet is always a pleasure to greet charging gang members with, and it is a must to pick up these tricks to combat the increasingly tough opponents that come your way. All these layers combine with little touches like naming your character , password saving, interacting with the inhabitants of the city and using any items lying around as weapons, giving River City Ransom a broad and deep foundation to play on. You can even pick up a dazed enemy and use him as a weapon. The humour of the story and the complete wackiness of the entire game give it personality and flavour that separate it from anything else out there. The look and feel of River City Ransom may ring some bells. Developed by Technos, this is the same team behind Super Dodge Ball, the original Double Dragon and the old school arcade fighting game Karate Champ. Their uncanny ability to meld violence and humour are real standouts in the industry and give anything they develop a distinct Technos identity. River City Ransom was released in North America in 1990, and while not taking the gaming world by storm, it has achieved a strong cult status and is respected internationally. The blend of outrageous fighting and ability building make this game multifaceted and garner it quite a broad fan base. A GameBoy version was released, minus the Technos crew. Developed by Million and released by Atlus, this updated version got favourable reviews and may be of interest to former River City dwellers. The original has been re-released on the Wii through the Virtual Console and is highly recommended to anyone able to access it. The story is silly, the moves ridiculous and the characters are mental. That said, it is a perfect distraction and an oddly complex beat-em 'up that works. Tight control, simple yet effective NES sounds and clean, crisp graphics combine to create a pleasurable gaming experience. My urban explorer friend and I played River City Ransom non-stop in the Summer of 1990(the late charges must have been in the triple digits...) and it has left such an impression that every so often the adventures of Alex jump into my mind like an Acro Circus spin. Anyone mentions a gang, I think of the Generic Dudes instantly. I see an older metal garbage can, I envision Ryan smashing a Frat Boy in the melon. A great game stays with you for a long time. An amazing game stays with you forever. I am sure I can use the brain cells designated with River City Ransom info for something else, but why would I. In my youth I spent a summer in River City and love to go back every so often in my mind to that wacky place, with a giggle and a smile and a fond memory of gaming on in the past. little secrets: YiqncWQXMUq ........ZBufbVpWhjg eSz2wcsRdru ..........SYCoVdOMfPV Y6oXzilclnY............ bQTUkbUvUyJ Joystick 'n' Hand Pony Corral Just plain Nasty...and it stinks Firstly, this place reeks of mildew and fat meats that have been simmering way too long. Mix that with cheap cologne and beer stentch and you know what your sense of smell has in store. It is really too easy to trash this dingy, downtown bar/eatery. It is the equivalent of a dumpster with a wood panelling overlay. Food is next to crap and service is sloppy but adequate...I guess. Spare yourself the pains associated with this St.Mary's embarrasment and just walk away. Sir Omnyvore A few weeks ago on a winter afternoon I was walking down Donald St, from City Place towards Broadway. Just ahead of me I saw a “street person” standing on the sidewalk. Outwardly he was a typical stereotype pan handler: a tall thin man, wearing a wrinkled old winter coat, dirty jeans, long greasy hair, and grey scraggly beard. He had some sheets of paper in his hands. As I approached I prepared myself to be solicited for change or a smoke, which is a frequent occurrence in this area of downtown. Surprisingly, he reached out and handed me a sheet of paper and said “Jesus loves you.” I accepted the paper and said “That’s nice of him” and kept walking (usually a good policy Downtown.) I folded the paper & put it in my pocket to examine later out of curiosity. At home I discovered the sheet of paper to be a piece of artwork, with pencil drawings and text. It was an original piece, not a photocopy, making me realize that each sheet of paper was an individual work of art. The animals were drawn in a simple, childlike style; the text a naïve yet seemingly sincere blessing (complete with misspellings). This is Art, no less profound than some you will see featured in the galleries of the Exchange District, an expression of human creativity and intellect. It’s the Art of ordinary people who overcome the boredom of their jobs or the ennui of everyday life by creating doodles, graffiti or poems that sometimes form an object of aesthetic value. Sometimes they deserve to be shared.
I’ve encountered many religious proselytizers and would-be prophets haunting the streets of Downtown, some merely mumbling to themselves, others aggressively warning me to repent. I usually respond to them with indifference or contempt. However, regardless of its religious subtext, I appreciated the gesture of this one man, sharing his art to strangers of the street and asking for nothing in return. I wonder how many people ignored him, how many accepted his gift, and how many treated his art with disrespect. I never saw “Street Jesus” again. Thank Respondent and Terminate |
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