You are currently browsing posts tagged with Threats to Manhood
Y’all know how good Jen and I are at Guitar Hero. Let’s face it–we totally rage!! We’re so good I sometimes can’t believe us!! And this makes me happy.
What I think is just SAD is that a group of SAD little kids (high school/college students), who are CLEARLY threatened by how freakin’ Guitar Heroic we are (who wouldn’t be?), felt so SAD and pathetic and inept and compelled to beat us* that they BUILT a SAD little robot to PLAY GUITAR HERO WELL FOR THEM.
From their site, mechanizedrock.com:
Our note-sensing technique is what makes DeepNote unique. Using photodiodes aimed at the 5 notes on the screen, we are able to pick up on the changes in light that are exhibited when a note passes through the sensors. A photodiode works just like a photovoltaic cell (solar panel), by turning absorbed light waves into voltage. Thus, a voltage spike is experienced when light increases. The photodiodes have an 8 nanosecond response time and a small viewing angle, making them ideal for accurate and speedy analysis of notes. Because the voltage generated by this light change is very small (on the scale of a few millivolts), circuitry is used to amplify the signal up to about 3 volts, remove as much noise as possible, and adjust the hysteresis. The result of all of this is a digital square wave where 3 volts indicates a note, and 0 volts indicates no note. The sensors are held in place by a sliding rack that allows them to be adjusted for different size televisions.
Y’know, the Hardass Asian Lady in me is thoroughly disgusted by this shortcut. This is pussy-ass cheating. This is what I was taught: If you aren’t good at something, KILL YOURSELF. Oops, I mean, get better. Get better until you are THE BEST! Settle for nothing else! Don’t construct a fucking robot to be the best for you!
That said, The Hardass Asian Lady in me is also thinking, “Shit, guys, you used scientific prowess and dedicasian to make a ROBOT that can slay Guitar Hero on Expert? How badass!”
*we actually don’t know these kids, and don’t know if they only built their robot to beat US specifically. But we assume that they did.
Or, to be more clear, “Western” dudes.
According to the CNN report, female cafe owner Yuki Hirohata came up with the concept by walking the streets of Tokyo’s Shibuya ward. Two hundred women told her that they wanted a cafe where the waiters were all “male, good looking, treated them nice, but most importantly, were Western.”
“‘Being a gentleman is embarrassing for Japanese men,’ says cafe owner Yuki Hirohata. ‘Our culture isn’t like that.’ Hirohata says women are exhausted by the rules of Japanese society, unyielding in its expectations of a woman’s role in maintaining a career, home, husband, and family.
‘We’re tired from our daily lives,’ says [a] customer. ‘These guys are different from Japanese men. They’re smoother, and make me feel special.’“
Um, what the hell is going on? First of all, everybody knows the whole “princess” thing is tired and requires far more than a cheap tiara and some tea (get me DIAMONDS! AND GOWNS! AND SOME PEACOCKS!) to be properly executed.
Moreover, are we gonna sit back and let a bunch of sleazy expats take all the credit for gentlemanly behavior? COME ON, bros! Time to step it up! Let’s (you) open some doors, and pull out some chairs, and pour some champagne, and put some caviar on blini with some creme fraiche and egg whites! And how about some sexy tunes? And how about taking the dog out while we’re (you’re) at it?
All of this is not hard and I know there are gentlemen among you…so step it up and hold on to our ladies! This is a matter of pride.
…Especially cuz, er, the bar for chivalry actually seems pretttttty low.
What do you say to your buddies at the bar, later in the evening, on the night this happens to you?
“Yo dudes. Tonight was whack. I mean, I was swingin’ that hot bitch Cheryl Burke around. On Dancing With the Stars, you know, like the network TV show I star on. They’re thinking of changing the name, I think. Anyway, we were like, doin’ the salsa and shit. It was hot, man, boner city. Oh yeah, oh yeah, I’ve banged her. So like, we’re like shakin’ our hips or whatever–yeahhh–like that–and I’m wearing this fluorescent silky tank top, and suddenly, my arm just feels like a friggin’ knife is ramming through it. I can’t deal, I’m like, sweating. And I can’t even focus on my hips anymore and I’m just like, yelling inside, I grab my arm and she keeps dancing. And then she spins over to me for a dip and I just drop her on the ground. It turned out to only be a muscle cramp, guys, but it hurt. It really hurt though, guys. Seriously, like worse than any football injury I ever had. Um. So who wants another round of beer?”