Have. Have. It’s “could have,” not “could of.” God dammit, people.

Well, it seems that I don’t often write about life in general unless things are grim, so here’s a somewhat more upbeat summary of life as a whole lately:

Life’s been interesting, which is to say, it’s been up and down like a rollercoaster but never fails to beat the tedious drudgery that I’d experience without the chaos. My programming projects have been put on temporary hold lately as I’ve been focusing on World of Warcraft and my electronics project, suffering the relentless and thoroughly unwelcome, oppressive heat of the summer and other associated annoyances that come with this most loathesome of seasons, and both pondering and happily resolving a few confusions and points of contention regarding relationship-related matters. I don’t usually mention much related to my love-life on this blog for a number of reasons, but let me assure those of you who care about my mental stability that things could not be better right now on that front.

Oh, and I walked face-first into a street sign that was far too low yesterday, because the sun was in my eyes and making it hard to see where the hell I was going. Normally I wouldn’t admit this at all, but I know for a fact that people are going to ask what’s with the cuts and bruises, and I’m not nearly manly enough to be able to lie and say it was the result of a bar-fight, and you should have seen the other guy.

In conclusion: Life rocks, and my face is pretty much okay. That is all.

I don’t think any of us wanted it to end like this, saying goodbye to the Horde cities one last time before we faction-transfer over to join our other friends on the Alliance side, but it honestly feels like there’s no real choice anymore. The faction balance on European World of Warcraft realms — the PVE ones, at least — is absurdly biased towards the Alliance, with most being outnumbered by three or even four times, world PVP objectives such as Wintergrasp and the older Outland areas such as Halaa are what I bitterly refer to as perma-blue, a state where the Alliance simply swarm in with superior numbers every time the Horde make any attempt to capture, and time and time again, Blizzard have shown no particular willingness to even lift a finger to change the status quo.

Worse, the people we know who play the game are split across factions, some of them clinging vehemently to the Horde side with the Fluff guild, others occupying the Alliance as Steel Vanguard, both sides too staunch to change their position until now. With raiding possibilities looking bleak due to dwindling numbers and PVP being little more than a joke as the larger-sized Alliance faction facerolls everything with glutinous fury, it’s harder and harder to find reasons to keep playing Horde. I’ll miss being a Tauren and I’ll miss Thunder Bluff, Orgrimmar and the Undercity — never did like Silvermoon much — but I won’t miss being the underdog time and time again, and having the odds stacked so heavily against me.

One of the downsides of living in an apartment building just across the road from a large, public park is — unfortunately — the tendency for incomprehensible gatherings of crew-cut youths clad in bright colours and their beer-gut-and-Budweiser parents in tow, two screaming babies in a pram and another in the oven. Yes, I’m referring to the unfortunate but inevitable occurrences of football games — soccer, as the Americans call it — which in itself would not be a big problem, if not for the fact that it both attracts and largely consists of club-headed neanderthals who appear to display a worrying lack of self-control, leading to what I can only describe as some of the most hoarse, vehement shouting forcing its way out of their Lambert & Butler tar-coated throats.

It’s not just this, though, but any occurrence of this inexplicably dull sport which seems to evoke the most primive and violent natures from these already low-brow plebians. Going anywhere near a public place before, during, or after any kind of match which seems to hold some ridiculous significance to these simians is practically a death sentence, due to their unfortunate nature to riot furiously and violently if “their” team loses the game, a haze of bloodlust hanging over them like a cloud. Similarly, if the team they “support” — and I use that word in the loosest manner possible — wins a game, they seem equally overcome with primal fury, destroying and fighting everything in their path as their uncontrollable wrath leaves broken windows and empty beer cans in its wake. This, perhaps, is the most bizarre aspect of the whole experience, as if every fan is simply a ticking time-bomb, waiting for the moment to explode in bestial anger regardless of the game’s outcome!

I can’t even begin to understand why sports of most kinds tend to bring out the worst, most primal and aggressive natures of ordinarily air-brained yet harmless peons — though it mostly seems to focus around the more physical of sports, ones that involve a lot of running, since I’ve rarely heard of a chess riot, or police being called in to deal with enraged snooker fans.

Truth be told, though, that’d be quite hilarious to observe.

(Image courtesy of my blogging compadre, Gorse.)

Quick energy shot review that I really shouldn’t be writing at all because I’m late for meeting people in town, GO!

Sporting a “mere” 80mg of caffeine — I think the Monster Energy Shot has spoiled me in that regard — and the usual mix of bizarre and incomprehensible chemical compounds (taurine, glucuronolactone, inositol, niacin, pantothenic acid, vitamins B6 and B12), Red Bull seems pretty middle-of-the-road and tediously average as far as ingredients are concerned. While I’m sure I’m going to be stepping on a few toes by saying this, however, I’d go so far as to say the same could be said for the ordinary, canned version of the energy drink. It might  “give you wings”, but it’s about as unique as a grain of sand in a desert.

Let’s crack this thing open and oh dear god I once had to take a urine sample for some medical test, and both the vial provided and the end result looked a whole lot like what I’m staring at right now, except perhaps for the garish label. Thankfully, the odour bears no similarity; it smells like a sweeter version of the regular canned Red Bull, almost bordering on Monster’s turf in that regard.

A timid, cursory sip reveals a surprising similarity — the brackish flavour is largely masked by the fairly light, sweet, Monster-esque flavour which bears little resemblance to standard Red Bull. The rest soon follows down my throat with surprising ease; while I hate to use a phrase like “for an energy shot”, it seems like the only way to go — it’s not exactly stellar, but for an energy shot it’s remarkably pleasant and manages to result in a surprising dearth of aftertaste, aside from a vague lingering.

So before I put on my boots and run out of the door like a whirling dervish, I’ll conclude by saying that I’m pleasantly surprised, with Red Bull taking its place alongside Monster and LSV as an energy shot which is actually fairly pleasant, and doesn’t cause self-mutilating urges. Two thumbs up, Red Bull!