Captain America Vs Nazi Aliens

Let me make this perfectly clear: In order to be a successful super villain you must learn to understand, accept, and even appreciate super heroes. In order to become a successful movie producer you must learn to undermine, exploit, and degrade the hero until they are a meaningless husk. Many villains get the roles of villain and movie producer mixed up, and that is where they fail. Arrogance has led to the downfall of many a villain, when that hubris should be channeled into a positive strength. Look at yourself as you prepare to face your foe in combat and ask yourself, "Would my armada of chainsaw-wielding bears and death beam that fires the souls of dragons be enough to stop me?" If the answer is the resounding laughter of hubris, then perhaps it's time to re-assess your situation. Meanwhile, by emotionally reducing characters to one trait a piece, and adding explosions and lasers where applicable, movie producers are expanding their audience thousand-fold. That's the sort of thing America has come to expect from movies, and what is expected to attract American movie-goers. I myself am not against stupid awesomeness for the sake of stupid awesomeness. I enjoy things that are hilariously bad, and the comedic juxtaposition of things that modern society has come to refer to as "awesome."

I went to the midnight opening of Captain America... the FIRST Avenger. Let it be known that I was really looking forward to this movie. My enthusiasm may have been bolstered by fantastic merchandising, including the simple yet elegant Frisbee with an elastic strap, and quite possibly my favorite action figure ever: Winter Combat Captain America.

I'm going to write up the description on the back of the box for those of you too lazy to click on the above link, and even for those who DID click on the link because it bares repeating.

"CAPTAIN AMERICA will brave the harshest blizzard in order to protect the virtues of justice and truth. With only his snowboard and rocket launcher, CAPTAIN AMERICA is ready to shred down the mountain and destroy any villain that threatens the peace and well-being of his homeland."

I went to the movie with this description in mind as the entire premise of the film. Who wouldn't want to see Cap snowboarding down "the" mountain with a rocket launcher, blowing up Nazis, and launching off a ramp into an indy cab 1080° double-cork, and punching Hitler at the bottom of the slope? You may think my expectations were unrealistic. This is after all the "Concept Series" of action figures I was basing them on, but the scene depicted on this magnificently awe-inspiring figurine would not have out of place in this movie that went in every direction it could find.And yet it would, because that scene would have been good.

I may be a little too critical. It was late, I was underslept, and bad fashion choices were made, but this movie was all over the place. It tried to be too many things, and the thing it succeeded at most was a musical. This is a movie based on a comic book about an art student from Brooklyn who gets juiced up by American steroid scientists in order to fight Nazis. HOW COULD IT GO WRONG!?

It tried really hard to get me to like it, and there were times it succeeded. Stanley Tucci was easily the most likable German steroid developer I've ever seen, and Tommy Lee Jones charmingly did his darndest to not give a single f#$* throughout the entire movie. I also appreciated the semi-campy tone it had while trying to be a 1940's movie serial. The brief cameo by the original Human Torch was probably the highlight of the entire movie for me. Everything else was predictable, hammy, and musical. It even started out predictably with modern ice spelunkers discovering Cap in ice, and the entire rest of the movie was a flashback. Iron Man started in real time and went to a flashback to explain how much of a douche Tony Stark was, Thor started out in real time and then went to a flashback to explain how much of a douche Thor was, and predictably Cap did the same thing, only substituting douchebaggory for pure super-imposed scrawny-assedness.

I am going to stop right here and get the SPOILER WARNING out of the way since I have not already mentioned that I am going to intentionally try to ruin this movie for you like it ruined me. If you have any desire to see this movie, I wouldn't want to deprive anyone of the shock and arg.

The movie was a blatant tie-in with Thor, and seemed to exist purely to set up the plot of The Avengers, which I still hold out hopes for. The Cosmic Cube in this movie is an Asgardian artifact called the Tesseract, presumably because the director happened to have a geometry book open and thought it was a cooler name for the ultimate plot device. It was being sought by Nazi scientist, Agent Smith, Elven Anarchist Drag Queen of the Decepticons, for the purpose of fulfilling a God complex. Agent Smith is the leader of Hyrda, a Nazi splinter division that specializes in being unrealistically technologically advanced. This brings me to my first question about the movie.

WHY WEREN'T THE NAZI'S ALIENS!?

This is Earth 1943. The Hydra base would have put the Death Star to shame in terms of immaculately clean evil space decor. Even the Hydra uniforms, the ones that WEREN'T robot suits, look completely out of place when put side by side with good ol' American fatigues. Their evil mountain fortress and most of its contents were all made before they acquired the ultimate plot device. With all of the ridiculousness going on in the movie, and the fact that nothing was believable, suggesting the Nazis were really shape-shifting aliens from another planet in order to explain why they were so technologically advanced would have been okay with everyone in the audience. The Nazi's in The Ultimates were assisted by aliens, and we all know how badass Ultimate Captain America was. Instead it's explained that everything was created by this guy. Sorry, hold on... THIS guy, who is clearly NOT a television, and like the Nazi aliens, COULD have been. Why? Well, why the hell not? Frankly, I was surprised that they weren't aliens, and I am dead certain that someone somewhere who had never read a comic book in their lives was leaving the theater asking themselves why the Nazis had not been aliens.

I mentioned before that Captain America: The FIRST Avenger tried really hard to be a 1940's super hero movie serial. This was achieved through hokey acting and dialog, which is strangely acceptable on it's own without being juxtaposed by the SPACE NAZI LAIR scenes. The thing that completely severed the cables supporting the suspension bridge of disbelief was the montage of the Agent Smith doing violent evil things against a fiery backdrop during the expository monologue explaining that he was the villain of the movie. They could not set up a believable world, and then once they pumped Cap full of thawed blue raspberry Otter Pops it got worse.

A Nazi spy killed the creator of the Super Soldier Serum, who apparently refused to write anything down, thus making it impossible to replicate the miracle that is Chris Evans. In the comics he tweaked one last thing right before the procedure that actually made the Serum work, but in this adaptation they just forgot to make back-ups of all the documentation and everything was lost until The Incredible Hulk needed someone to punch who was not a lake. Then, since the military was only able to produce one super soldier, they decided that rather than actually put him to work stomping Nazis as a costumed badass they would take the thousands of dollars they invested in one man's abs and turn him into a dog-and-pony show.
Then suddenly, without warning... the movie became a musical about war bonds.

Using Captain America as a poster boy to bolster support for troops during WWII is not something I have a problem with. It's the fact that that's all the military has intended to use him for. This is a guy that could lift a car, or at least wrestle one while attached to a wire harness, and rather than train him to stomp Nazis, they put him in a cloth costume in front of a punch of pin-up girls and had him punch a caricature of Adolf Hitler, which should have been as cool as it sounds, and might have been had they not drug it out for three minutes. The point is that it made no sense. Stanley Tucci was shot, and everyone just said, "Oh well! So much for creating the perfect man to fight a tyrant bent on creating the perfect race" and walked away from the perfect man they just created, leaving Cap to travel America and tell the American people to give the government more money to waste on things they won't use to stomp Nazis. Finally, after embarrassing himself and everyone who saw the movie, Cap decides to go off and stomp some Nazis against the will of the Army, and free The Howling Commandos in order to attempt to make the movie not suck by including The Howling Commandos in it.

Sargent Fury and His Howling Commandos were created by the biggest asshole in comics, Stan Lee, when his editor said that the reason his comics sold so well had nothing to do with his writing, and everything to do with the cool titles. Stan, who had been trying to get fired for years, decided to come up with a war comic during the age of hippy peace-lovers with the longest most cumbersome name he could come up with just to win a bet that he could make it sell like hotcakes no matter the odds, and thus the Howling Commandos were born. Their inclusion in the movie was a fantastic nod to hard-core losers who knew who the hell they were. There was absolutely no character development for them, and they didn't need it, because all the audience needed to know was that they were the best part of the movie. Thank goodness the director had succeeded in that endeavor where he had fallen flat everywhere else. He couldn't even keep a joke about Howard Stark's overly complicated shield designs from falling flat. He even tried to put some conflict in a relationship that was hardly there between Cap and the only female character. The only thing that made the movie entertaining was its use of source material. For that reason, I am going to continue to insist that the Nazis had been aliens.

The next quarter of the movie consisted of action montages that made Team America: World police look like Mein Kamph with puppets, including scenes of Captain America on a motorcycle for the sake of having Captain America on a motorcycle. Cyber Nazis are punished, Cap prevents the launching of several BOMBS WITH COCKPITS THAT ARE LABELED WITH THE MAILING ADDRESS OF EVERY MAJOR CITY IN AMERICA SO THE SPACE NAZIS DON'T FORGET WERE TO FLY THEM... and then Neo leaps out of the Cosmic Cube and makes Agent Smith explode because I suppose the writers couldn't figure out how to make Captain America win a fist fight, and Cap crash lands a plane in the arctic because the autopilot is engaged and the controls will only allow him to steer up or down, and I officially can no longer even pretend to care about this movie or this blog.

If it had tried to be a straight up 1940's movie serial, or if it had tried to go for broke and have robot Nazi aliens riding dinosaurs on the moon and included more of the source material that had made the movie at least tolerable, it would have been a good movie. It just needed to pick something and movie on. Instead all we were given a heap of attempted films that added up to nothing. Film producers are the real villains. I think we can all learn something from them.

- Lord Veltha

Overlord Overview #2

It is the year 0079 of the Universal Century. A half-century has passed since I, Lord Veltha, last posted a blog entry about my epic struggles to gain control over my small little world. A new home for mankind where people are born, and raised, and actually try to make a point to accomplish something. Seven months ago the Velthan Empire declared war on Clark Community College's financial aid administration. Initial fighting lasted over three months and saw both sides lose half their respective populations. People were horrified by the indescribable atrocities that had been committed in the name of independence.

However, due to the long-lasting stalemate, treaties of peace have since been signed and now I am enrolled as part-time student. Though, hold on... I seem to have skipped ahead a bit.

Amidst the struggles for academic supremacy, I had been participating in secret on a reality television (read: YouTube) series while cleverly disguised as a dumbass. Each episode was filmed semi-weekly at Hazel Dell Lanes, and featured a variety of challenges for me to quite entirely suck at. While it can be assumed that having not bowled for three years prior to the filming of this show would mean a distinctive lack of skill, talent, and fabulousness in my play-style, the shifting challenges did nothing to help me gain the experience I needed to improve. Chronic insomnia is also a difficult adversity to overcome in bowling. As is clearly depicted in episode 3, the circumstances of going without sleep for three to four weeks affects a person in such a manner that when forced to bowl for a reality television competition, the person will alternately have a big pansy-ass baby breakdown right there in front of everyone and sing Tom Lehrer songs. Incidentally, I was also later voted the favorite contestant of the season, which just goes to show that the key to victory in television, as in life, is to openly show no sign of skill while being the biggest asshole you can possibly be. Hate is love. The upshot is, my overwhelming popularity (by vote of maybe six people out of the eleven who have watched the show) was enough to land me the position as host of season 2.

My hostly duties were self-summarized as follows:

- Say whatever the director tells you to say, but better

- Be yourself and say whatever the hell you want to say

- You have no overall impact on the show so don't try to usurp us. We are Legion.

- Don't suck as much as the last host (Ha! That... that was a joke... in case my boss is reading this.)

Four episodes have been filmed already, and I'm beginning to get in the groove. The key is to demand my own cameraman. After all, to be myself is to be amazing, and how can I be amazing without someone constantly watching me? If David Blaine seals himself in a block of ice for a year in the forest and no one is around to tell him he's stupid, does he get any real satisfaction from the frostbite? I am doing my best to go above and beyond the duties of sitting around waiting for the crappy bowling to end. I'm actually getting in people's faces and asking the questions people want to know, such as "Do you hate your grandma?" and "Have you ever peed in the shower?" I nominate myself for best host ever, and ride my landslide victory into a big steaming heap of your gratitude for the service I have done for entertainment. You're welcome.

I have missed most of one episode though. I've been sick, but I'm driven to achieve by the fine actors I hear about on DVD commentary who go to work hungover from Sudafed and with mild concussions. If Jon Hamm can get his head split open on the set of Mad Men by the most mortified rigger in the history of television and come back from the hospital to finish to gorram scene against everyone's advice, then the least I can do is show up at a parking lot in a seedy area of town with a cold to tell people to bowl in a very impractical manner. I only have a couple more days to get completely better though, because I cannot miss the next day of filming. It's the Halloween episode. Fear my white-trash costuming skills.

I'm still no closer to getting a job; or a car; I haven't written anything, drawn anything, edited TAD, or spoken to anyone about voice acting in months; and yet I feel more content than I have in quite a while. I have structure now and see my friends on an almost daily basis. Things are fine now, but I'm still concerned for my future. There's so much more that I want to accomplish and I've done nothing. I had intended to speak with the director of Rolloff about a series I wanted to pitch him, but got distracted away from that, and now I feel that opportunity has been lost.

On the bright side: I am Spider-Man.

Part of the bargain I struck with Clark College in order to get my mother off their backs about all of the shit they were putting us through was that they would allow me to attend an acting class. I have no desire to act on stage, and grow increasingly disillusioned with film, but if I can learn how to suck less as a voice actor then I will be academically satisfied.

Part of my success as an overlord with manic depression is that I avoid going on stage unless I have a teleprompter reminding me of the words to "A Boy Named Sue." A monologue, going up on stage in front of everyone and hallucinating that you're somewhere else talking to a person that doesn't exist, is the hardest thing an actor has to deal with aside from the very real possibility that you suck as an actor (which, as previously discussed, isn't that big of a deal if you're a sufficient enough asshole as most actors are.) Our teacher instructed us that our monologue selection should be something we relate to, connect with, and isn't Shakespeare. My first thought was Spider-Man. True, I look up to the greats such as Dr. Doom, Lex Luthor, The Shredder, and Gargamel, but when it comes to real emotional connection to story-telling, quite frankly that's what Spider-Man is known for. Most dedicated Spider-Man followers will tell you that the reason they read Spider-Man is because he's a loser like them. Spider-Man was my first instinct, and I should have gone with it.

Instead I chose a re-written monologue from a play called "Fishing" by Micheal Weller, who, thankfully, is a playwright from the 1970's who writes stories about youthful and energetic partakers of the magic cookie bush. The dialog is witty and often nonsensical. It's perfect for me. The particular monologue I chose was not.

I was having an infamously bad morning. My depression led me to believe that I would be ridiculed for picking a monologue out of Ultimate Spider-Man. I was terrified that I would be looked upon as lazy and uncaring. I decided to look through the teacher's books one more time. I stumbled over the monologue, about a guy who was on the brink of killing himself and decided he really wanted to live, and figured it sounded an awful lot like my morning. At the time it seemed like the perfect choice. If I was in a good mood it could be read with a sense of irony, and if I was in a bad mood it could be read well. I immediately went to Powell's to buy the play it was from, because I wanted to make the effort. I'm always to determined to prove how hard I can work. I hate hearing teachers give the class crap about how lazy they are and feeling like they're speaking to me too. I had to do everything I could to prove myself, and I pushed myself as hard as I could. The day I read it was the kind of morning where you wake up feeling alright, but then start mumbling "I want to carve my heart out with a knife" while you're scrambling eggs and suddenly everything goes downhill. After my monologue I ran out of the classroom screaming f-bombs and hid in the trees somewhere. The horrible thing about the Clark College campus is that there is no place to hide and be alone. By the time I got home I was fairly certain I was going to hurt myself. I kept screaming things about wanting to break off my fingers. This lasted a few hours and subsided.

This is an important thing to note, because a hero is not measured by his victories, but by his failures. (I say hero in the Campbellian sense of the term. You must also realize that with the original Greek concept of a hero, what made a deed heroic was the amazement factor, not whether or not the deed itself was good. If you could bring down a building with your bare hands and crush everyone inside you were called a hero. Greeks also believed throwing babies in the fire gave them immortality.) I also realize that Blogger doesn't have the nifty hiding feature that Live Journal has.

This failure taught me many things:

1) Manic depressives shouldn't spend so much time working on memorizing/feeling things about death.

2) Taquitos are magical wish-granting foods that can help you memorize things in the knick of time.*

3) THERE IS NO PLACE YOU CAN HIDE AT CLARK COLLEGE. Plan escape routes accordingly and hide in your girlfriend's car.

4) Orcas get off on rubbing against the smooth rocks along the shores of British Columbia. (Source missing.)

After that fiasco I decided it was in everyone's best interest that I read comic books. In issue 21 of Ultimate Spider-Man, after his second win out of six fights, Spidey is given a chance to explain to the press who he is and why he runs around in tights punching people with robot arms and reality television hosts. If you crop it up right, it becomes a very nice monologue. There are many monologues in Ultimate Spider-Man. Brian Michael Bendis really likes to hear himself write. There's one monologue that spans three issues during the Venom story arc. Three issues of Peter's dad talking about cancer, bureaucracy, and how he has no idea that he's going to die in a plane crash. However, I chose to do what I know: talk about how I just want to do my thing and not care about what people think.

When I delivered the monologue I was still sick. I also had to leave the class once because when I was critiquing another actor I forgot to lead in with what I liked and a girl sitting behind me smacked me with the script she was holding. Granted, if I wasn't already terrified and on edge about what happened last time I went on stage the playful thwap wouldn't have sent me reeling, but I am not master over circumstances. I was able to head back fairly soon, and it wasn't long before it was my turn. Even with little preparation time given my illness and other responsibilities I seemed to do very well.

I will tell you right now that I have missed applause. I don't have the opportunity to receive genuine applause often. In a classroom environment like that applause is obligatory, and you can tell the difference between obligatory applause and genuine applause. For one thing, the teacher was reeling back in his seat laughing and asking me what my monologue was from. Here I was terrified I would be ridiculed for choosing something out of a comic book, and he was actually commending me fore it and was in awe of how creative I was in choosing such unusual material. Most of the class didn't catch on that it was Spider-Man until the end, if at all. People reacted most positively to how I wasn't trying to be a super hero, and that I was just some dorky guy, which was entirely the point of the monologue. The biggest complaint was my exit because I didn't jump up and pretend to swing away. Once people clicked that I was Spider-Man that's what they were expecting. And the teacher gave me the best compliment I have ever received. Even better than "[Veltha] you are the sanest person I know. Which is weird, because you're the only person I know who is certifiably IN-sane."

"I used to read Spider-Man when it first started. And that was a looong time ago. To me, you are how I imagine Peter Parker."

I've been fortunate lately. I finally have a daily routine. I get to see my friends almost every day. I may or may not be acquiring a skill I can use someday if I keep fighting for it. I'm on my way to becoming a local internet sensation. I have an amazing girlfriend. But it was in that moment on stage that I finally felt victory. That was the praise I've been struggling so hard for.

Anyway, there's that. At the time of this posting it is past noon, and I have yet to ingest any meals. I should have had three by now. My metabolism is a mighty force to be reckoned with. My failure to take care of my health will not go unpunished I'm sure. What I need is a warm bowl of soup, followed by a hot shower and a comfy couch. Then... THE WORLD!

Pathos and good will,

Lord Veltha

*Lord Veltha's Guide to Monologue Memorization (because there aren't enough lists in this post):

1) Re-write the monologue in your own handwriting, complete with the subtext of what the character is really thinking written in the margins with a different color of writing utensil.

2) Eat taquitos. LOTS of taquitos.

3) You know what, cook up some french fries while you're at it.

4) Spend a couple hours half-heartedly struggling in vein trying to memorize the lines. Read it until you really don't want to work anymore but really should because it's important. Then throw the guilt away and come to a complete stop.

5) Curl up with a cat on the couch and watch TV or DVDs.

6) Play video games until you fall asleep.

7) In the morning when you wake up you will know the monologue from top to bottom without any difficulty.

Yes, this is my method for memorization, and yes it worked. Twice.

Lord Veltha Vs THE SPACE CARNIES! (Preliminary Match)

It's that cosmic time in the universe when people go out in the blistering heat to eat food that is terrible for them and engage in activities that clearly served as the inspiration behind the SAW movies. Yes underlings, I'm referring of course to the Clark County Fair.

The fine individuals responsible for Scream at the Beach are slapping together a little shindig called "The Day The Fair Stood Still," which will hopefully not feature Keanu Reeves, but you never can tell what these people are thinking. This event was was discovered via Craigslist ad for aspiring alien invaders whilst on the look out for possible revenue acquiring activities to support my filthy habits. It requested that all interested parties sign up on their website for the meeting that would take place at Captain Henry's Pirate Store at the Lloyd Center Mall. It was this magical combination of aliens, pirates, gang violence and carnies that inspired me to recruit two of my closest comrades in arms to accompany me on this adventure.

The back room of the pirate store is made surprisingly dangerous by the presence of one of most ill-conceived tables ever devised by man. Most tables are built with what physicists often refer to as "legs," but the craftsmen responsible for this table decided to opt for the "cardboard on a tower of coffee cans" approach. This is the table that the kid who was only invited to your birthday party because your parents felt bad for him would sit, and naturally the table my allies and I chose to observe from.

Right off the bat they took our photographs for identification, as per state law requiring all carnies to file under the carny registration act put in place by Tony Stark for our own safety. It is then we sat at our table and watched the others enter. The group was of course made up entirely of volunteers. Some of these individuals had been going at this for four years, and I wondered how many of them were on social security. They were, without a doubt, carnies, with a few aspiring actors thrown into the mix. Our gracious host put on a laptop assisted show for us as an introduction that seemed oddly irrelevant and out of place. It was a scene straight from War of the Worlds (the radio show turned hilarious misunderstanding) with him interviewing his improvisational guests and adding pitch-shifting voice modulation to the microphone. I do not believe this was intended to set the mood for the rest of the day. I believe this was intended to get all of the awkward discomfort out of the way before we began discussing the matters at hand.

Once he began describing the haunted house/space ship/tunnel of darkness and tight spaces the afternoon grew more appealing. The haunted house will be set in "town square," where various activities will be available for fair-goers to get more acquainted with the culture of the newly arrived alien guests. These activities include computer graphic face changing to make people look more like traditional alien cliches, a theremin to learn alien music, and of course the annoying voice modulation device to learn alien language. The space ship will be billed as a friendly tour of an alien space ship, but keep in mind this party is being thrown by our good friends at Scream At The Beach, who have warned us newcomers that people occasionally show fear through their fists.

Each participant was given a list of role that needed to be filled, with key roles highlighted in red. These roles were necessary roles for the fun house, and monitoring the other activities. We were permitted the audition for any role we chose by following very vague guidelines up on stage. I had originally auditioned to be an MIB style security guard, but my interpretation of being possessed by cosmic forces garnered me a role inside the fun-house as an alien where I will be doing my darnedest to get people to relieve their bladders in fear for a $20 bonus. Given that I have landed one of the highlighted key roles I will already be receiving $20 a day for my dedication, but this will of course be going straight into the bellies and gas tanks of the henchmen I have enlisted to join me, so the only way to fund my diabolical schemes will be to cause urine to manifest in the pants of the 15,000 some odd people who will go through the haunted house.

Do the math with me: $20 X 15,000 pairs of piss-stained pants. If this plan doesn't reek of evil (and... well... excrement...) then I don't know what does.

So, if you have waaaaaaaaaaaay too much free time on your hands from August 6th to the 15th, particularly from 10am to 6pm, drink LOTS of water and come by the Clark County Fairgrounds. We'll be waiting.

Pathos and good will,

Lord Veltha

Lord Veltha REBORN!

BEHOOOOOOOOOLD! I, the infamous LORD VELTHA, having freed myself from my emo bonds have declared all out WAR upon my inhibitions and once again begin my quest for TOTAL DOMINATION with complete confidence that I, LORD VELTHA, am the rightful ruler of the thoughts, perceptions and mental fabrications of reality that make up the universe around me. My true colors have been REVEALED, and my imperial banner soars high as an indication to my foes that they are about to be severely punched in the face by the FIST of my righteous and steadfast determination to be what I was always meant to be: unfathomably AWESOME.

In my quest for ullllllllltimate DOMINANCE, I have been pursuing a part-time job to fuel my outlandish schemes, and while I have staked out many an opportunity for employment I have wisely chosen to focus my sheer tenacity upon one PRIME job location as I am a firm believer that anything worth doing is worth doing WITH THE BURNING PASSION OF A THOUSAND EXPLODING SUNS! Some may regard me as a fool for placing all of my eggs in one basket, until they realize the eggs are really HAND GRENADES of UNWAVERING CONVICTION in a basket WEAVED FROM MY ALL-CONSUMING AND DELIGHTFUL CHARM! AND! ELEGANCE! While I still have yet to receive confirmation that the fruits of my labor are juicy and rich in vitamin C, I believe there is promise that I, LORD VELTHA, will receive notification of my first ever job interview in a matter of days. Victory! Is! AT HAND! And yet even if some horrible clerical error determines I do not meet the requirements for the position, I continue to spread my web of intrigue beyond the local bus route in the firm belief that word will spread through the underground of my UNDYING DETERMINATION TO ACHIEVE and that will be enough to solidify another promising job opportunity. Eventually, store managers will be BEGGING me to fill their vacant entry-level positions.

And to any non-believers out there who believe that I have completely forsaken my ART in order to pursue these lesser goals, and to the naysayers who claim I’m demoting myself to “wage slave,” FEAR NOT, for though technology is determined to fail me at every turn it is no MATCH for the combined force of my SUPERIOR INTELLECT and DUCT TAPE! I continue to audition for amateur voice acting roles in hopes of being discovered and to gain experience while I seek information that could lead me to a profession in the field. The Astonishing Dude Episode 3 is underway, with only a few roles in need of recasting, no real promise as of yet that we’ll get the show back online, and we are once more in want of a recording space to finish one last scene and record actors that are finally free now that school is out, but we’re limping along, and we limp with PURPOSE!

Also, with my allies free from school and available to provide me with much needed camaraderie on a more frequent basis, I believe it may be time to return to writing in earnest. Writing is what I do best, but it is a lonely art. I desire to write scripts for theater, film and comics. Many of my allies sail under other banners as they seek their fortune across the horizon. As an overlord I am nothing without minions, but I WILL persevere in my endeavors.

MOST IMPORTANT is my newfound resolve to return to the ULTIMATE BATTLEFIELD! Never again will I hide in shame before succumbing to my own insecurities. I will triumph! I will succeed! I asked a girl out! I am terrified! She’s going to say, “no!” She’s going to say, “yes!” I’m going to be stood up! I’m going to unintentionally stand her up! We’re going to be having a nice time and then WHAM! Nosebleed into the sushi! I’m going to be alone forever! I’m going to be stuck with a psycho forever! I’m going to take very deep breaths in the corner until I calm the hell down!

I AM LORD VELTHA! THE WORLD IS MINE!

PATHOS! AND GOOD! WILL!

Sincerely,
Lord V. <3

PS: I still haven't discussed medication with my physician.

Lord Veltha VS Medication

Criminal insanity is a term commonly thrown around by experts to describe voluntary or involuntary aversion to social regulations while adhering to a costumed or gimmicky aesthetic. Villains are typically perceived as power hungry tyrants, those who violently seek retribution for past wrongs, or people simply lashing out for attention. For the most part my goals to conquer my world in order to prove to myself that I can places me well inside the lines of super villainy, with my beauty being one of the few attributes separating me from my counterparts. I have recently been challenged to find a male super villain from American comic literature who was physically attractive, and frankly I am at a loss as the one possible exception was created by an Englishman.

In my quest to gain control over my life I have succeeded in weening myself off of medication, a process that took several years with many side effects, believing I was trained well enough that I could take the full brunt of my emotions without having them dampened by drugs. Anti-depression/anti-anxiety medications not only reduce the impact of negativity, but positive feelings as well, finding an even balance akin to a vegetative state, particularly when doses were often increased without regard for balance. The term "chemical imbalance" is an interesting analogy that some psychologists fail to recognize. If an imbalance is caused by a lack of dopamine and/or serotonin, then naturally increasing those will eventually restore balance, but too much will throw the scale out of whack again. (Disclaimer: I have not slept in two days, so what little psychiatric understanding I have is thusly reduced. I have a better understanding of behavior and emotion because my empathy levels are higher than my scientific vocabulary, and most psychobabble sounds to me an awful lot like psychobabble. My powers are purely analytical, and as such my "understanding" of the brains physical workings should not be taken into consideration when making your own life-altering decisions.)

I have been functioning without medication for approximately two to three years, and in that time I have managed to keep myself upright with few setbacks. However, in recent months my self-regulatory ability has begun to wane. If left unattended for prolonged periods of time, I am plagued by irrational fears and daymares that not only weaken my spirit, but my body as well. Many of my fears are brought about by my conviction that no matter what I do I will never succeed in my plans to build a sustainable future for myself. The climb is steep, and my ability to grip reality is being eroded away by sharp jagged fail.

I am losing my ability to trust myself alone. I am fine so long as I am in the company of those I resonate best with, and I have not gone weeks without a good night's sleep. I know that if I met my goals, or at least felt like I was making some actual headway in achieving them, that the need for medication would be negated. It's my lack of purpose and personal fulfillment that's driving me deeper into depression. Even TAD is feeling more like a hobby than it originally did a year ago. I am a dedicated worker, and a firm believer that if something's worth doing it's worth doing to the best of my ability, yet that seems to be difficult to get across in my job applications.

It took a lot of time and effort to come off medication, and I fear that if I start taking it again I'll be attached to it for the rest of my life. There shouldn't be any downside if it works, but I don't want to be dependent on chemical substances because I enjoy who I am when I'm happy, and that degree of happiness could be an unfortunate casualty I do not wish to risk. Medication is an option, and one that will be considered further in coming weeks, but I am of the utmost certainty that there would be no need for it so long as I can re-integrate self-regulatory mental processes into my daily life again, just long enough to achieve my goals.

The three driving goals I have are:

1) Obtaining a job.

This will not only provide me with a sense of purpose, and thus a reason to continue fighting, but much needed financial assistance to acquire and maintain the other two goals.

Adversity: Poor networking, limited job supply, no "practical" work experience, though I hold fast to the fact that directing and producing TAD, even at an amateur level, is great leadership and organisational experience.

2) Owning and having the legal authority to operate a vehicle.

Reducing my reliance on public transportation and chauffeurs.

Adversity: Goal one must be met. Testing difficulties.

3) Having a palace of my very own, rather than "borrowing" one.

My evil citadel is something of a time-share at the moment.

Adversity: Goals one and two must be met. Possible need to compensate for increased income requirement by acquiring a room-mate.

It is with these things that I will achieve a state of semi-independence (As expressed in prior entries, I do not wish to be wholly self-reliant. After all, social and emotional reliance on others is essential to a healthy mind. Plus I need minions to do my bidding.) and thus establish a sense of self-confidence that is lacking at best, and ill-placed at worse. Once all three conditions have been met, it is then, and only then, that I will have the confidence to achieve my fourth goal, and the true motivation behind my desire to better myself. After all, with my living situation as it is I can be sustained for many years to come, but it is from this fourth goal that most of my pain and desire arises. This recent revelation has put much in perspective, including the possibility that even after achieving my three primary goals I may not be able to achieve my fourth.

As a stoic and mysterious master of darkness, it is not in my nature to open up about my feelings, but my need to do so has leaked out into this blog, transforming what was once a catalog of my major accomplishments to a series of angst filled declarations of my personal weakness. I should be writing things such as, "BEHOLD! I, the infamous LORD VELTHA, master of narrative, have at last achieved victory over the internet by staking claim over my own territory where I will be granting the droll and trivial masses to bask in the glow of my masterful works of triumph!" or even "After initial YouTube success, my greatest works are now being adapted for syndication by a television network enthralled by my sheer BRILLIANCE, and understand that my ingenious stories could influence future generations to stop watching all of the other bull-dookie that is currently airing on other networks and create a world of fresh and exciting art!" by now instead of this paltry, "I just want to be loved" crap.

My outlets for communication, much like my opportunities for success, are limited by my own unfathomable intellect/neurosis. They exist and can be found everywhere, yet something inside holds me back. There are things I do not openly discuss, yet are frequently pondered upon. Things that have also influenced my need to prove myself to myself, if only to prove to myself that They were wrong. Emotional invalidation is of great concern to me. There are few things I appreciate less than being heard but not felt or understood. I have reason to fear people not getting me, or worse still telling me that what I feel is wrong. I am not a trusting person, and without trusting others then no one can trust me, and thus my fourth and most important goal will never come to fruition because even with fame and fortune under my belt I will still be an asshole. I'm trying though. I am learning to show people I care.

I will continue to fight for now. I have checkpoints established in my timeline. Checkpoints do not reflect the time-limit I have to reach my goals, but operate in a fashion similar to check-points in arcade racing games. In my eternal need to convey my unparalleled perceptual superiority in a fashion the layman can understand, I turn to video game analogies.

In arcade racing games there is a set time limit for how long you are able to compete in the race. Checkpoints set up along the route from point A to point B add seconds to the timer when reached, allowing you to continue on in the hopes of crossing the finish line first. In some games, if you're very fortunate, you can still cross a checkpoint while coasting to a stop and still be awarded additional time to continue. My checkpoints are landmarks in time pertaining to events I feel are worth struggling onwards towards, often pertaining to new releases in entertainment media such as film, video games, or comic books, because experiences through art are often more relevant and achievable life experiences than those in reality. Studies show that actions or media perceived influence the brain. The same neurons in the brain are stimulated when you perform an action as when you're observing someone else performing the same action. (This is where my failure to actually save and catalog information I reference so that I can share it with others comes to bite me. The MLA gods would smite me for such frequent citation offenses.) Art works the same way. By reading Scott Pilgrim... I AM Scott Pilgrim. By playing Sonic The Hedgehog... I AM Sonic The Hedgehog. In fact, the psychology towards my absolute hatred of the werehog levels in Sonic Unleashed is an interesting subject for study. By hating the game I am playing... I am hating MYSELF. Video games are designed to provide the consumer with a sense of accomplishment. Everyone loves to level up. It keeps me going.

Returning to my analogy, if I go too long without reaching a checkpoint I can feel myself start to coast. Checkpoints must be pre-established, and if I do not set one within an acceptable amount of time I begin to succumb to depression, but can convince myself to fight on in the hope that eventually I will discover a new closer checkpoint. Gamers can relate to the sensation of panic as the timer ends mere virtual feet away from a checkpoint, and understand the pain of barely making checkpoint after checkpoint as the timer runs out time and time again, wondering whether you'll make it or if you'll get a game over. It is not a happy sensation in gaming, and it is even less so in reality when your life is on the line.

To stick with car analogies, but for non-gamers; imagine your car breaking down approximately every two minutes on your way to some place important you have to be in exactly an hour, and each time not knowing whether or not the car will start back up. Welcome to life with manic depression and anxiety!

This seems to me like an unnecessarily long post. That's saying something, you know, for me. I must make a sandwich and walk across the horizon. I cannot trust myself to remain stationary today.

Pathos and good will,

Lord Veltha

Lord Veltha VS Stand-up Comedy

Yes, that is correct. I, the Infamous Lord Veltha, Prince of Paradox, Dastardly Deviant of Dis-Illusion, and maker of dangerous cheeses, have joined the likes of great stand-up comedians such as my idol Dr. Victor Von Doom (Orbital death rays don't always work their way into the economy of an Eastern European nation stuck in the middle ages, so you gotta do a little somethin' somethin' on the side. A good dictator understands this.)

This weekend was a great success in an already astounding line up of achievements by yours truly, and was kicked off by a victory over my eternal nemesis, Portland Oregon. This wasn't exactly THE victory over the city that frequently thwarts my desires for a fulfilling life, but I was able to claim high scores for Vampire Savior, Asteroids, and Bust-A-Move at Ground Kontrol if only because the scores are reset daily and nobody plays them. This was quickly followed up by a bacon maple bar at Voodoo Doughnut II and a trip back home to the local soda shop for some entertainment.

For roughly eight months (judging from the hastily browsed "Past Events" section on Facebook. I have no idea or care whether this is an accurate count. I have more important matters to attend to, like embedding stupid videos.) the Hilarious Six have been regaling audiences at Pop Culture every second Saturday of the month with their witticisms and songs. I have only had the pleasure of seeing them once before, and have since been thwarted by Fate in my attempts to not be too busy to come.

The evening contained commentary on viral videos, songs by Steven Lynch, re-dubs of "A Charlie Brown Christmas," and facts about horses I didn't even know could be compared to myself (I too can be measured with a hand, where each hand equals four inches.) Before the commencement of the festivities, I was asked by ally and TAD henchman, Kameron Foster, if I would like to participate on stage. I was also assured by Jason Nguyen that I could not possibly bomb as hard as he had in the past, which was perhaps the best possible ego pandering an overlord could have asked for given Jason's comedic aptitude.

I have since learned that KKK jokes do not go over as well for Vancouver audiences as jokes about masturbation. My leading sociologists are currently reviewing statistics now in order to conclude why exactly this is, but my tentative hypothesis is this: Vancouvians are perverts. The rest of my set involved various social shortcomings I face, including a story of bitter-sweet success from a previous blog posting.

I eventually had to be played off with music like an Oscar winner that simply won't shut up, and they couldn't have done it a moment too soon as I had managed to cover my entire life experience in the span of five minutes. I was rewarded with hugs from the other comedians and a strong burning sensation in my stomach similar to my gastric reaction to karaoke.

Stand-up comedy is the most productive form of self-deprecation, and when it burns it burns good. Time will tell if the infection can be cured.

Lord Veltha Versus Happiness

It has come to my attention that in principal such things as wealth, power, and fame are not goals people strive for, but the means to their goal. That goal of course is happiness.

Happiness is by definition, "a state of well-being and contentment." The dictionary as always is particularly vague when it comes to subjects of importance such as this, and it is best that people are left to define their own happiness. (The dictionary does however contain the long sought after meaning of "life." Why it has never occurred to people to look it up in the dictionary is beyond me.)

I do not feel as though my problem lies in un-happiness. I am by nature a happy person, but I am away from my natural habitat where I can be myself to the best of my ability. I am away from my natural habitat due to avoidant behavior. I avoid things due to the fear that somehow I will make things worse than they are. It is much safer for me to hide within the confines of my impregnable fortress.

Psychologically, even chronically miserable people have in some depraved way found happiness. Try to snap them out of it and watch how their mood goes from bad to worse. Humans are comforted by that which is familiar to them. Take away that comfort and latent survival instincts kick in. Fending for emotional survival isn't often considered a state of well-being. (This link is not even the least bit relevant.)

If happiness is the goal, then I fear I am going about it all wrong. No amount of therapy can MAKE me happy. Discussing pertinent issues such as relationships and economic ways to destroy the world is helpful without a doubt, but the whole point is to allow me to integrate myself into the world and become a productive member of society. That is the key. I'm learning how to cope with reality, not how to participate in it. I am about as well adjusted as I'm going to get, frightening though it may sound. Therapy will not bring me happiness, and I'm afraid more therapy will only not bring me happiness to a greater extent. It's time I learned how to do things on my own. Only then will I be fit to rule this world with an iron fist.

As such, there are only two things that will bring me happiness.

1) A positive social life

2) Purpose

Group gatherings occur when I am invited to or send invitations to planned events, yet my not-the-least-bit-creepy-or-stalkerish research suggests many shared activities are spontaneous. I'm simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Comrades frequently in close proximity to each other are more likely to ensue in mischief.

Plausible Solution: Discover a method for maintaining consistent social contact with friends in person, whether it be to arrange a meeting place or get over my anti-social pansy-assedness and call people once in a while. Phones aren't that scary.

Alternative Solution: Kidnapping. It seems to work for most evil overlords. Besides, when does brain-washing go wrong?

Purpose is a little trickier. I can not simply slap a sticker on an activity or job and call it purpose. The key as always is to FEEL like it's my purpose. As it so happens there are two activities I feel a strong connection to, however I think I have described the pros and cons before. Writing is problematic as I'm inconsistent in my writing habits and abilities, and in order to move forward in my life I would need to complete a project. My voice box however is armed and cocked (...*cough*...), I just don't know where to take it.

Plausible Solution: Ask for help. I have resources I could exploit. I know people who know things about knowing things. I could ask for assistance from people connected to the field, and people may even give it to me without having to resort to mind-control.

Alternative Solution: Mind control

I must take charge of my life to ensure that I have a future. Perhaps I will get started on that tomorrow.

Pathos and goodwill

Lord Veltha is a typhoon of WIN

It's official. I am a tropical cyclone of amateur voice acting success. It's been almost a month since my last post, and in that time I have landed a slew of roles that will surely not become overwhelming in the least.
...
*cough*

Upon being cast in Naruto The Abridged Series Movie (and hookers!) my ego was inflated to beyond healthy proportions and I decided to investigate further roles. The fellow who kindly pointed me in the direction of the "Old Guy" audition mentioned that he was casting for Wild ARMS Abridged.

For those who don't know (namely my parents) an "Abridged Series" is a fan made series of videos often posted on YouTube where anime fans condense thirty minute episodes into eight or ten minutes, often lampshading confusing plot points, making fun of annoying characters, or completely changing a character's personality (or ethnicity, eh?) Often the resulting show becomes almost completely unrecognizable. There are many many bad ones, and even the more popular ones will make you want to lick a cheese grater to get your mind off of the pain, but they are altogether a somewhat humorous display of fandom.

For more information, consult the media entertainment equivalent of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: TV Tropes

After auditioning and receiving praise (and yea, even lending some requested script assistance) I got the role. I didn't know how many of the roles I got until now, but I'll get to that.

It was also from this source I learned of Voice Acting Alliance, which is a resource for amateur voice actors, directors, producers, etc who have all come together with a common goal: be awesome. It was here I decided to bite off more than I can chew, and why I continue to resemble a cow chewing cud.

For the record (and because my own memory is so terrible that I really need to write this crap down somewhere) here is the current list of projects I'm engaged in.

Wild ARMS Abridged (Abridged series based on Wild ARMS: Twilight Venom)
-Sheyanne Rainstorm (High normal voice. I didn't even audition for it! No kidding! I hate my voice...)
-Dr. Kiel Arronax (AKA "Doctor Captain Pirate Mullet". Brock Samson)

Neon Genesis Evangelion: Black Nerv Project (Not sure what the final name is, but it's a parody of Evangelion. From the looks of the script, I don't think they actually shortened it, so I don't think it's "Abridged." Amazing script though.)
-Fuyutsuki (The Old Guy strikes again! Get off my lawn!)
-Male Announcers 1, 2, and 3, helicopter pilots, crew mamber (I haven't gotten a critique yet on my auditions, so I'm not sure what I'm doing here. For these I mostly used variations on my annoying normal voice, and Stu Brawny Johnson. (Think Coach Z from homestarrunner.com))
-Sachiel The Angel (They said "Go nuts!" I went nuts, throwing in every voice I can do. I don't know what one they chose, and may not know until the show is finished because they only needed that one line.)

By the way, they're still looking for actresses.

Mega Man X: Vile (A fan-made RPG based on the Mega Man X series.)
I auditioned for four roles, and didn't get any of them because my voices didn't fit the characters. Luckily, I still got parts.
-Metal Shark Player (Auditioned for Dr. Wily. High-pitched pirate. Yeah, I'm awesome.)
- Mattrex (KROGNOLON! I have to make him sound sly and not stupid though. We'll see how that goes.)

I also get to re-audition for the role of Dynamo after having heard more information, and a clip from another audition. (I think I gotta go somewhere between Brock Samson and my normal voice. Have I mentioned I hate my normal voice? Just recordings though. I can and do talk to myself incessantly.)

That's not a whole lot, right? Sure my social life is suffering, but that's because I've been reclusive and depressed! Now I'll be isolated from the people I care about because of my heavy workload, the way it's SUPPOSED to be. Just in time for the holidays. (That's okay, people can pick up their Snowflake Day presents next month.)

I have a lot of links scattered around in this post. I don't know if they'll transfer over to Facebook or not. If not, then tough luck.

(Quick Rant: I downloaded a Dragonball Raging Blast demo last night. Now, why the HELL would they put out a demo of a FIGHTING GAME and not make it TWO PLAYER? It's RIDICULOUS!)

Pathos and good will,
Lord V.

"It was Fate, in the radio station, with the ironic twist."

In this installment of Lord Veltha VS Fate, we would like to recap for you last week's spectacular confrontation between the two forces of personification, but before we do that let's head to Tom at the sports desk for a brief look at the last month's activities to explain why this was such a crucial battle in the epic struggle between the two titans. Tom?

"Thank you, my lord. You're looking great as ever, Sir."

It must be hard to sit at the sports desk with your head up your ass, Tom. You could easily be replaced.

"Apologies my lord. Well, Veltha fans, it's been a long month for the team. After last month's spectacular victory with The Astonishing Dude Episode 1: Art Critical, they decided to make it two for two with episode two, but things did not go smoothly. Trouble started when, due to confusion and scheduling conflicts, some members of the cast were unable to arrive at the recording session on time. After a brief loss of composure..."

You can go ahead and skip that part. This blog is about optimism.

"Despite certain... complications... and beginning the recording session half an hour late rather than getting in there and recording scenes that did not feature the temporarily misplaced cast members whom were but victims of the dark lord's shoddy scheduling abilities..."

Think of your family, Tom.

"... it's kind of hard to..."

You can do it, Tom. I have faith in you. So does your wife and children.

"... the... um... session was slightly hurried, particularly during the end of the session, but the only casualty was one line of dialog that could be recorded remotely later on in the week, and the unfortunate choice to record dialog with the background walla rather than recording them separately so that it would be easier to manipulate the two on separate tracks. Regardless, the afternoon was perceived as a victory.

"Then came the long and laborious editing process which the lord, in his need for control and perfection, took on by himself as Lucifer took on the task of corrupting mankind in Paradise Lost..."

Good analogy.

"After working morning 'til night on his laptop (which was miraculously able to keep up with Lord Veltha's pace despite having a history of overheating and breaking down) for about a week with only one day to rest, the day came when it was time to report for DJ duty at WSU's KOUG Radio station. There had been no time to prepare for that week's show as he had been busy fussing over The Astonishing Dude. Fortunately, one of his comrades came with a copy of the "Men Are From Mars; Women Are From Venus" board game and the team was able to kill most of the time answering questions about their sex lives. It was thought that disaster had been averted, but when it came time for them to leave the unthinkable happened.

"Somehow, the station's automated playlist ceased functioning. Having been on edge for most of the program..."

But masking it fairly well.

"Once things took a turn for the worst Lord Veltha's anxiety became barely manageable. It was then as he watched over his engineer's shoulder to understand what the problem was that one of his comrades prodded him playfully in the back. Determined to prevent his friends from knowing about the full extent of his unstable mental state, and doing everything he could to prevent them from ever seeing him in a 'freaked out' state for fear that they might begin to treat him differently, he had neglected to inform them that physical contact in a time of anxiety had grave circumstances. In a tiny room packed with people, during a time of perceived crisis and great claustrophobia, Lord Veltha was able to resist falling into a wrathful state by utilising his new found mental powers. He, in his benign greatness, rather than causing the entire building to explode, was able to simply turn around and say to his friend, 'Let's not do that right now' with a next to pleasant smile on his face. Ironically, his friends responded by attempting to console him with a pat on the back.

"The crisis however, had not been averted. Dead air was all the audience was hearing, and dead air was then enemy. Something had to be done while the system was brought back online, and it was up to Lord Veltha himself to address the audience and stall for time. Again, rage and despair made a claim for the dark lord's soul, but with a duty to fulfill it was immediately cast aside and his persona was that of a radio announcer yet again, completely in control of his emotions by being completely focused on the task at hand. The alternative to doing a job well done was unacceptable. Once the system was reactivate and they were able to call it a day, Lord Veltha immediately fled from the station and took refuge in the bathroom that smells like Jell-O, rocking back and forth in the fetal position as he attempted to reacquire his nerve and wit before facing his allies again."

I was out getting lunch. You didn't say anything that would compromise my position as an evil overlord, did you?

"No, Sir."

Good. I mean, I know I told you to keep it brief, but I decided to take advantage of your long winded depictions of my awesomeness in order to obtain a sandwich. Would you like some?

"No thank you, my lord."

Okie doke. Carry on.

"After that harrowing struggle it was back to work for the master. With only a week left before the episode aired and only half of the show completed he would have to channel all of his energy into completing the show. Every track of dialog had to have the volume balanced out, many of the sound clips required various plug-ins that modulated the voices, legally obtainable free sound effects were difficult to come by, but with one full day to spare Episode 2 of The Astonishing Dude had been completed. That day was well spent, and a private viewing with friends and family was arranged.

Ow!

"A-are you alright, Sir?"

I juth bit my thung. Don' thop. Juth keep thelling the thory.

"As you wish, Sir.

"The next day everything appeared to be going well, but Lord Veltha in his mysterious wisdom could sense that something was wrong. Knowing full well that success was on the horizon he shrugged off his discomfort and was escorted to the station. It was then, approximately half-way through the episode, that the laptop that had survived for weeks during the editing process suddenly shut down for good. The computer could not be repaired, and it held the only available copy of the show. Thankfully his trusty engineer thought quickly on his feat and began playing music while Lord Veltha sought out a means of getting the show back on the air."

"A month of stress and little sleep had finally caught up, weakening the overlord. As he attempted to relay instructions to deliver his external hard drive to the station the darkness inside him began to seep out into the world. Frantic and hopeless, it took all of his remaining strength to hold himself up in front of his ninja lieutenant. Wanting nothing more than to run away from his responsibilities and give up on the whole thing..."

Alright alright. I'm sick of hearing you talk.

"But..."

You can go home now.

"But... what about my family?"

Oh yeah... them. I don't remember what I did with them.

"But I...!"

Just go home. If I find them laying around somewhere I'll mail them to you. Now leave before I rip out your spine and beat you with it.

"Oh... alright..."

Today's not a pleasant day. I haven't slept in, like... well I haven't slept. I can't focus. I still need to mow the lawn. Anyway, after nearly breaking down I managed to focus myself in much the same way I did the previous week. There was a job to be done. It wasn't going to get done if I was freaking out. If all I was good for was giving up and crying like a freaking baby then the best thing I could do was not be myself and do it well. I gave up on TAD and ran back to the station (I had done a lot of running. First I started running to the parking lot with my ninja chauffeur, then I decided to call my mom, then I freaked out and gave up.) Once back inside I took the station by the reigns and we ended up doing what I consider to be the best show we've ever done. Hopefully we can archive it online soon, but we'll need to get it onto someone else's computer since mine is DEEEEAAAAAD!

Hopefully this Friday my external hard drive will work and we can air the show again, this time ALL the way through. The right after that is Kumoricon, which unfortunately I know nothing about since I've never gone before, have been too busy to research it, and every time I try to focus on anything I start breaking down again. I've been pushing myself much too hard. It's terrible, because if I can't keep up with these shows how will I ever be able to achieve my other goals? I understand I'm fairly new to the world. I haven't had a whole lot of experience in reality. My body and mind aren't conditioned for the labor I'm forcing myself to do. Eventually my power will grow, but I mustn't be hasty. Everything will come in time. Impatience has lead to the downfall of many overlords. I must learn from the mistakes of my predecessors. I must accept myself for who I am, and hope that others are able to do the same. I don't believe I give my friends enough credit. I obviously have been failing to hide from them, and yet it doesn't phase them in the least. Considering the way things have been going, K-Con is certain to be an adventure.

What could possibly go wrong?

Operation: ASTONISHMENT!

I apologize for the extensive duration of time between my previous post and this one that I am now 36 vowels into (I think... each time I count the number changes. However, as I am infallible, every number I count to is the correct number of vowels that I count. How's that for logic?)

I am in the midst of a delicate operation. If THIS plan succeeds I will be one step closer to being one step closer to commencing my diabolical MASTER plan of global domination. But, before I go any further, I'll go ahead and start with the stuff people may care about (then I will ramble to my heart's content.)

Alright, so... after I learn how to properly operate my shiny new (and free) audio editing software, I will need to assemble some actors. I can record directly to my laptop, so I'll be able to record people at their convenience, and not have to arrange it so everyone has to gather together in one spot at a certain time. I've got a big long list of characters, so here are a few.

The Astonishing Dude: Stalwart defender of justice and title character.
Announcers: Need deep voiced radio announcer for episode intros and such, as well as intense energy-drink spokesperson, infomercial guy, and sweet lady varieties for commercial breaks.
Dr. Hands: Malevolent mustache-twirler and master of hand-to-hand combat. Forced to turn to crime due to the economic recession, and the need to purchase specialized ambidextrous tools.
Wrench Wench: The Astonishing Dude's sultry mechanic and on-again-off again romantic sub-plot (Although I have yet to see it set to "on".) Cursed by a gypsy to speak in innuendo (Which is surprisingly hard for me to write.)
Krognolon: Champion gladiator of Strugglesphere Four. Big brutish alien guy.
Nuboss: Alien pilot from Strugglesphere with the disposition of a frustrated shift manager at Kinkos.
Frigidaire-Devil: Obligatory ice-themed villain.
John Long the Thermal-Man: Equally obligatory fire-themed villain.
Swing Swordsman: 1920-30's inspired fencer. (The bee's knees, baby. Berries.)
The Shroud: Irritatingly mysterious villain. Melodramatic, and nobody really knows what he does, but it's probably evil... or is it?
Mother: Generic loving mother figure for commercials. The more Joan Cleavery the better.
Timmy: Equally generic little boy-type thing.
Little Girls: Blah blah blah...
TB Tabby Doll: Talking doll with tuberculosis. (Made in Taiwan!)
Jingle Singers: People who sing jingles. So far the only jingle I've written is for Dunky Cream Donuts... and I can't get it out of my head...
Incidentals and Background Characters: People just hangin' out and doin' stuff, whether it be exchanging ring tones, cheering wildly at off-world sporting events, or being violently evicerated. Not to mention the obligatory, "Look! Up in the sky!" dialog that should be expected of something like this.

I have, over the course of the first three episodes, at least 32 roles that need to be filled. The first episode alone has 13 characters. Actors will probably have to fill multiple roles, which shouldn't be too hard. Most of the characters are just incidental/background people that have maybe one line of screaming while their arms are getting ripped off. All in all, it sounds like there's more to this than there really is, but it also means I'll need a wide array of talent. Everything from dramatic announcers, to mothers and children, to semi-sinister villains, to demonic alien gladiators. I've even got a brief scene with zombie cows. ZOMBIE COWS!

Initially, phase 1 of this dastardly scheme consisted of writing as many radio scripts as I could manage so that once we begin broadcasting and I have less time to actually prepare nigh-intelligible dialog, there will be one less thing to rush through production. Perhaps I am falling into the old villainous cliche of impatiently reducing the preparation time and jumping right into the cool stuff with explosions and princess-napping, but I feel that the time has come to begin recording the show. I have two scripts completed, and a third underway. If I am to succeed any further I must learn how to utilize my audio editing facilities. Not only that, but recording my actors will bolster their enthusiasm for this project, and global domination is all about making the people happy (I wouldn't want anyone attempting to overthrow me.)

If I do begin recording, it does not need to be broadcast right away. I'm not entirely certain what my time-line is like, but there's no sense in getting started until I'm certain the operation is safe to commence. I'd still like to get a couple more scripts written up before weekly due dates come into play. It's better to learn and make mistakes before you activate the doomsday weapon, otherwise the hero is certain to find his way into your castle and screw with your important shit. The hero in this case, as is the case for most of my schemes, is Murphy. Murphy's Law is the one law I am most eager to break in order to achieve my goals.

If all goes according to plan, and Murphy does not interfere, I should be ready to start recording by the end of next week (Note the emphasis on the should.) My last post was full of defeat and negativity. That shall not happen again. From now on it's only positive upbeat awe-inspiring awesomeness worthy of the infamous Lord Veltha! In fact, I am so confidant that this plan will suceed I think we need to make promotional posters! (All in due time...)

In other, less important Velthan news, I will be heading to the Vancouver Share House office tomorrow to assist with bulk mailing. I have also registered for Kumoricon 2009... and we'll see how that goes.

Pathos and good will.

Accomplishment? Lord Veltha VS KOUG Radio

Today was completely and utterly overwhelming. I'm really not sure what happened. My head isn't throbbing as much since I took those pain killers. This is the result of me trying to push past my limits. I need to stick to merely reaching my limit for a while. This pushing crap is too much. This is like playing Final Fantasy IX and saying, "Okay, I'm gonna fight a Grand Dragon, and then go heal, and then fight another one, since I will be near death after fighting the first." And then getting attacked by a second dragon before you have time to recover... and then you die. It's pretty much like that. To offer a less geeky description, my day pretty much went as depicted in this doodle I was working on in order to focus and maintain a hold on my ever receding sanity.

Phase 1: I got to the WSU conference room plenty early, like an hour or so before the meeting started. I had stumbled around most of the morning: reading magazines, playing video games, etc. I was impatient to get there, so right after my early lunch I procured a shuttle and traversed the cosmos to reach the college. There I found a "Free Speech" board and was tempted to post a message of my own, but decided against it. Now I wish I had gone through with it. Perhaps next time.

Phase 2: After the meeting began and everyone was handed a type of application and "How To" checklist the station manager pulled out her digital recorder and interviewed everyone in the room, asking what they wanted to do for the station and what they wanted the station to do for them. I think I may have mentioned this somewhere else, but when I am in a new environment around new people I do not function properly. My mind cannot fully process everything that is going on. There is a stimulation overload. I simply freeze and observe the situation, determining whether I should run away or bust heads. Complete reptilian brain mode. As has been described in many a scholarly journal: reptiles suck at interviews. It was amazing. It sounded like everyone was reading from a script. Everyone knew exactly what they wanted. I began asking myself why I was there and by the time the microphone came before my face I had completely forgotten about my plans for a radio theater production. I managed to mention something about global domination, and that was that.

Phase 3. During most of the discussion I pretty much zoned out. I tried to pay attention, but most of it consisted of things I really could not follow. I have no idea how a radio station is run, so I suppose it was okay that I had no input. I was able to talk to a man sitting next to me who was also interested in having a radio drama on the station. He mentioned some kind of theater thing... I can't remember what it was... some kind of... reading theater. It's pretty much a live radio show, with no recording. It sounded interesting. I may have to attend and observe as I did with open mic poetry night. I followed along as best I could, but as I said, I had no input.

Phase 4. It was at this point where things made a turn for the worse. After sitting like a deer in headlights for a couple hours my emotions were running high. I wasn't really doing anything, and yet I was having lots of trouble with not screaming. Those who required training were asked to head to the station. I am not a student at WSU, and am not familiar with the campus. I followed some people who I thought were heading in that direction, but were instead going to the student commons. I tried to wait for someone to show me where to go, but after a few minutes I was unable to remain in the building. I scurried off to a bench by the water and engaged in a very un-overlordly display of emotions. I formed a plan in my head regarding locating the station and decided to wait until I calmed down to begin my investigations. The girl I had been waiting for then found me, concerned that I had wandered off, as I am prone to doing, and then lead me to the station. She kept me distracted and focused, but then she, and the station manager, began giving me tips on overcoming nervousness.

I did like the the expression the manager used; something along the line of, "Nervousness is just morbid excitement." but it's funny how someone trying to be helpful can also be insulting though. It is strange how angry I get when people try to help me cope with my anxiety. I feel misunderstood, like they really don't know what's going on with me. It's just something to be observant of. I'm trying to pay attention to what things affect me in what ways and how (That makes sense, right?) There was nothing to be offended about, and yet I was. It's just odd. It's like they were treating it like it wasn't a big deal. But then, why is it I make such a big deal about my anxiety? I thought about this more later. "I am not under attack. My life is not being threatened. Yet I am completely and utterly terrified."

The training was simple enough, though I can't remember how to run the Simian. Everything else I'm pretty sure I remember, but I can't remember how to operate the computer where all the music and play lists are stored. That's kind of a big deal in radio. It was then the manager remembered some kind of appointment she had and left the girl and I to keep things going in her absence.

Phase 5. I should never under any circumstance make a phone call when I'm agitated. Never! It's one thing to call someone because I'm freaked out, but I must have a certain amount of composure so that I may properly communicate. Communication is my biggest challenge. Even when I am able to talk and explain things I am rarely understood. Awareness of my faults is key. If I know there is a problem then I may be able to find a solution. Maybe next time things will go better. In this case I called to say that I was gonna be on the radio. I was so freaked out and hurried that I didn't explain how to listen to the station (which can be streamed at www.kougradio.com) and that I didn't actually need anything, I was just calling to relay information.

So when it all began, I sat and watched. This was easy enough. During the music the girl asked me to tell her something about myself. I will not enjoy job interviews, if ever I am given the opportunity to actually engage in one. I must come up with a response to this query. It is absolutely vital in regards to all social engagements that I am able to talk about myself. When I get started talking about things I am passionate about, I can't shut up. When I am given a broad topic though, such as myself, then I am at a complete loss. Then she asked me questions I really don't like answering because they greatly reduce my self-esteem. "Do you work?" "Do you go to school?" "Why don't you go to school?" "Do you drive?" "Do you have a girlfriend?" "Have you ever had a girlfriend?" I'm glad "Have you ever considered killing yourself?" didn't come up. That's always an awkward question in an interview... and one I will be sure to ask when interviewing prospective henchmen. I couldn't even answer what I do for fun. That's such an easy question! I have no obligations, so everything I do is something I do for fun! I read, I write, I play video games, I study comic books, I doodle, I take pictures of my stuffed animals in public... but none of this came to mind. I was still trapped in the headlights. She even asked me if I had ever gotten drunk. I explained that I had no intention of ever drinking. I am something of a control freak, but I understand that there is absolutely nothing in this world that is under my control. The only thing I can at least try to maintain is my perception of reality, and even that will be lost to me some day.

Eventually my courage came back. Now, this is an important thing for me to remember. This is a fundamental part of who I am, and how I interact with the world around me: I cannot multi task.
I. Can. Not.
I can search for music to play. I can provide useless banter between songs. I can not do both at once. When I have a play list ready to go and all I have to do is flip the mic on and off, and flip the source on and off, then I will be at ease. I know this. Since I could not, I did not, and I failed. After that stammering embarrassment I had to leave. It's a good thing that when I do my show it will be pre-recorded, and won't involve DJing.

Phase 6. There was much screaming and crying at the bus stop. There was also some physical abuse to inanimate objects and I would like to take the time to apologize to that poor trash can. You did not deserve such treatment. I paced and sang and talked out loud. The more I talk the less I think, and the less I think the better I feel... so... eat beans for every meal? I decided to reward my efforts by going to WalMart and playing the XBox 360 demo of Sonic Unleashed. I can easily go on for another few paragraphs about my opinion of that game, but now is not the time. Then I walked home.

I'm completely exhausted. I couldn't maintain my focus long enough to tell Mom about what happened today. I also knew if I tried that I would completely lose it. Every few minutes I remember something about the day and start freaking out, but I'm able to calm myself down. It may take a few days to recover. I don't know whether to classify today as a success or a failure. I did many things today that I certainly would not have done a year ago, or even a few months ago. I was able to stick with something... virtually all the way through. I said "Yes" when I could easily have said "No" and spared myself the pain, and experience. I feel like crap, and probably shortened my lifespan a little more from all the stress, but any battle you can walk away from is a victory... and here I am.

Maybe today was a good day after all.