The Cat Stick

Wed, 17 Feb 2010 22:02:38 -0800

There comes a time in every grown man’s life when he finds himself inspired- nay, COMPELLED- to create art. To fashion something that is an extension of himself. Throughout history, the world’s greatest artists have found a way to tap into the ETERNAL. Michaelangelo, Rodin, Fellini. All men whose art has stood the test of time; pieces that will last long after we’ve shuffled off this mortal coil…

These were the thoughts that swam through my head a couple weeks ago, when I decided to put a picture of my cat on a Street Fighter joystick.

Some background: my cat, Milhouse, is my everything. Over the last two years we’ve run the gamut of emotions together. We’ve laughed, we’ve argued, we’ve hugged, we’ve mentally abused one another. I’m pretty sure one night last August we got into a prank war. My iPhone’s photo library is 75% pictures of Milhouse, all meticulously taken with different filters and settings. The other 25% are pictures of Todd Waldman purposely taken from terrible angles.

(From left to right: “Milhouse in a Corona Box” taken with iPhone Hipstamatic, Kaimal Mark II Lens. “Waldman, Moments After Splitting His Pants While Trying to Pick Up a Penny”)

I whisper secrets to Milhouse. I sing ditties to him concerning the softness of his fur. I talk to him when no one is around, and more often than not it’s an incredibly mundane conversation. For instance, when I leave the house, I say things like, “Alright, I’m taking off. I’ll be back around three.” In the upcoming nuclear winter, years after the last bomb has fallen, just when you’re about to be raped and cannibalized by a gang of wasteland dregs, you will look up through the heat shimmer and see Milhouse and I approaching on the horizon. And you will know that everything will be alright… This is the kind of relationship I have with my cat.

Some additional background: I’ve been known to play a videogame or two.

So a month ago, when my $80 joystick- the joystick I drove an hour to fucking Oxnard to buy last spring- stopped registering the “up” direction during a heated online bout of Street Fighter IV, I was devastated. There was my poor Chun-Li, thighs the size of redwoods, standing there, wanting so desperately to jump. To fly. To rain punishing kicks down upon the racist depiction of Indian culture known as Dhalsim. But nothing happened. She just stood there, impotent, until eventually the half-naked Indian burned her to death in a ball of flame tastefully referred to as the “Yoga Catastrophe”.

I needed to act fast. You see, I’ve become addicted to getting my virtual shit pushed in by anonymous teenagers. The thrill of playing a videogame online, prematurely dying, and then watching as some kid whose voice is higher than my girlfriend’s triumphantly sit on my character’s face is indescribable. I need it. It’s an adrenaline rush that pushes me to be better. Not just at videogames, but in life as well. In life if you don’t succeed, if you don’t push yourself to your limits, then eventually some kid is going to drop a cyborg’s testicles onto your face and call you a faggot. It’s just that simple.

So I obviously jumped out of my seat when some online research showed that, for a mere pittance, I could order replacement parts and fix the joystick myself. Not only that, but I could also CHANGE THE ARTWORK. YEEE! I could now retain my competitive edge, AND immortalize my cat! Boom!

Of course, this research did not come easy. I had to take a deep breath and plunge into the shadowy back alleys of online videogame forums. Now, I’m no stranger to “lurking” (the act of visiting a forum, reading it, but never creating an account to actually contribute, unlike, say, SOT director/editor Jamieson Fry), but I had to dig deeper. See, within the kingdom of videogame nerds, there are separate phylum, class and genus classifications. And to get the info I needed, I’d have to delve into the dangerous world of the “Fighting Game Nerd”.

A curious species, the Fighting Game Nerd has come a long way since the early days, when you’d play Mortal Kombat at the 7-11 against an equally pimply introvert. They’re all grown up now, and talk like rappers. They take the hallowed art of pitting cartoony characters against each other very seriously, and even have a heated East Coast/West Coast rivalry. Really, it’s only a matter of time before one of them is gunned down in a hotel lobby in Vegas.

I mean look at this video:

http://gamevideos.1up.com/video/id/23089

If you skipped it, it’s a bunch of guys hanging out in what seems to be a walk-in closet, playing video games and listening to a live “DJ” spin records. They’re also drinking. And I’m fairly certain it’s a Friday night. WHAT IS THIS WORLD I’VE STUMBLED UPON!? I feel like Gulliver discovering the Lilliputians!

Further exploration reveals that they all have nicknames, presumably to strike fear into the hearts of would-be opponents. For instance, this mad-dog sonofabitch is known as “The Beast”.

Apparently he’s the world’s best Street Fighter player, as evidenced in this clip from some big tournament:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ijhUJTZrxLk

Actually maybe just skip this one. It’s probably better that the only impression you have of a “videogame tournament” is from The Wizard, when Fred Savage’s retarded brother plays Super Mario Bros. 3 surrounded by laser lights while Jenny Lewis cheers him on. Save yourself the reality of witnessing a dimly lit convention hall at the Rio, full of pasty dudes losing their shit like they’re at the Rumble in the Jungle or something.

I probably wouldn’t make fun of these guys so much if I didn’t kinda want to be them. Here they are, the best at what they do. I don’t think I’ve EVER been the best at anything I’ve done… Maybe that’s why I put my cat on a joystick. I wanted to briefly touch the firmament of incredibly dedicated nerdery. I wanted to be able to say to these guys, “Look! I’m one of you! I spent upwards of four hours on a Saturday watching youtube clips of teenagers taking apart joysticks. And then I FUCKING DID IT TOO!”

Upon completing the Milhouse Stick, I was immediately overcome with confidence and pride. I mean, I successfully captured the essence of myself in a single piece of art. Finally, the world can see a visual representation of Rob Kerkovich: a cat floating through space on a motherfucking joystick.

SOT on AOTS!

Tue, 13 Oct 2009 22:29:22 -0700

We were featured on G4 TV’s hit show “Attack of the Show!”

Check it out! CLICK HERE!