Nick Masercola is a freelance writer who makes pretty sentances by smashing his head into the keyboard. Contact me at: firstname.lastname@example.org
There was a time when horses were way more convenient, reliable and cost-effective than automobiles. But we stuck with cars through the growing pains, because we knew that cars were only going to get better, while horses would stay the same.
That's where we are with "green" technology -- at the awkward stage where we have to wonder if it's all really worth it. Because some of the kinks we're running into range from horrifying to downright bizarre ...
I hate social media. I despise it. I’m the biggest believer that most social media marketing is voodoo BS, only existing because it’s the new “in” thing and older folks don’t really understand it yet. So when my coworker and I were assigned to do a Facebook ad campaign, I was completely ready for it to bomb and send us back to our boss on our knees...
Those were the two words I uttered upon reaching the end credits of A SERBIAN FILM. Actually, that’s a lie. I looked at the screen stone-faced for several moments, barely able to comprehend what I just watched, like I just got cracked upside the head with a sledgehammer and my brains were still rolling around my head. Effective? Yes. Disturbing? Without a doubt. It’s climbed into the infinitesimally small category of movies that truly were hard for me to sit through, with one scene in particular nearly causing me to turn the movie off.
You’ve seen it all before. Multiple endings. Branching paths. Or (god forbid) a good vs. evil morality system.
Choice in games is all the rage these days, and AAA titles are lining up to either shoehorn morally ridiculous decisions (do I save the orphanage, or burn it to the ground?) or branching paths that don’t really go in any different directions.
Spec Ops: The Line is different.
“Remember, the customer isn’t right. We don’t have what the customer wants. If it ain’t out front, we don’t got it. If they complain, bullshit ‘em—send them somewhere else. The management sucks, the pay sucks, the hours suck, the job sucks, having to dress up sucks, and...well, you get the idea.”
How many slasher films have the balls to start off with the murder of a child? And not just any murder—strangling a little girl until she’s unconscious, ripping the cross from her neck, then lighting her body on fire.
And all this just minutes before her first communion.
I work another job on top of this (such is the life of a recently graduated English major), and that job is located right next to a school for the blind. About two nights ago I was walking home and an older blind man was shuffling alongside me. I wasn’t really paying attention, so I didn’t notice until it was too late that another, younger blind man was walking right towards him.
They collided. And to my surprise, the old man got pissed.
An article I wrote for Gamasutra discussing how the narrative and mechanics of "I Am Alive" fail to mesh together.
It's no secret that our University is losing money. One only needs to listen to the crickets chirping in the residence halls to know retention is down and the amount of students living in on-campus housing is dwindling...
If you have made a donation to one of the big diabetes charities, how could you tell where your money has been placed? Your first thought is probably to check the website, but you’d be wrong. In fact, you have absolutely no way of tracking your individual donation. Given that, you might ask if there is a way to see the overall spending of a charity in a year?
Actually, it’s almost impossible to track where your money goes, and how it’s spent.
I got my first shot when I was five.
I mean, it wasn’t my first, but it was the first one that I was old enough to remember and resent. The office was bright, my doctor was telling bad jokes, and then she said she’d give me a lollipop before I left. Even at the time I thought that was suspicious (especially because my Dad had just read “Hansel and Gretel” to me a few days earlier). Then she told me to look at my mom, who kept making faces in hopes that I’d stare in her direction, and not see the doctor rummaging through her drawer of childhood torture devices.
It didn’t work.
The slasher. It’s without a doubt the most critically maligned horror subgenre, yet it’s celebrated by die-hard fans around the world, devout followers who continually seek out films in which masked assailants carve their way through the teenage populace. Vince Liaguno, editor of the upcoming Dark Scribe Press book BUTCHER KNIVES & BODY COUNTS: ESSAYS ON THE FORMULA, FRIGHT, AND FUN OF THE SLASHER FILM, is one such devotee.
She had been pretty. Once.
They put her in the back of the car wrapped up in a white sheet; her arms tucked in front, fingers intertwined like she was praying. Eighteen years old. Embolism. Vein burst in her head while she was getting her nails done with her mom. Bad genetics,bad luck. Now that soft, angelic face that had been so vibrant mere hours ago hung down loosely off her skull, as if it were a mask slowly being pulled off the bone, the ligaments giving way during the seizure. All of her veins shown brightly on her pale skin, and the stale odor of death was beginning to accompany her.
Creating a sequel to THE EXORCIST is a job I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. Famous for being one of the highest-grossing horror films ever made, scaring the ever-loving shit out of everyone who saw it, containing some of the best special FX ever created in the genre and responsible for a whole generation’s worth of nightmares and Catholic outrage, William Friedkin’s film isn’t just a tough act to follow—it’s like doing standup comedy right after Richard Pryor when all you’ve got is a knock-knock joke.