Finally, films like Delicatessan and Whisper of the Heart are making their long-awaited trek to dvd. It's pretty amazing what isn't on dvd yet - especially when you consider what actually is on dvd already. For kicks, I thought I'd list some of them. Therefore:

My Top 5 Things that Should Be on DVD Already... But Aren't

(in no order beyond alphabetical)

The Day the Sun Turned Cold

Get Smart (I find this one just plain shocking)

My Summer Story (the best Hamlet adaptation - after Strange Brew) and maybe Ollie Hopnoodle's Haven of Bliss (which I haven't seen)

Thousand Clowns

Tampopo (actually was briefly on dvd but is now in moratorium and so, costs like 120 bucks)

When you think about it, all video games are role-playing games (RPGs). Whether you are in the role of the Nevarine in Morrowind or a plumber whose lot is to leap barrels thrown by a playful monkey in Donkey Kong or a Square fleeing from a big yellow duck in Adventure, you for the space of your game-time have taken on the role of whichever character the game features. Nowadays, I'm not even sure why one game is called roleplaying and another isn't. At first I thought it had to do with level of immersion, but games like Riven and Half-Life cater a much greater sense of immersion than something like Ultima III. Similarly, most of the details that seemed once the province of RPGs are found in plenty of games outside the genre as well. Levelling up through the course of the game? I just did that in Shadow of the Colossus. Interaction with the game's citizenry? I did that in Legend of Zelda. Quest-oriented story progression? San Andreas - 'nuff said. So really, I don't get it. Just saying is all.

The Top 50 Games to
Either Meet or Exceed My Expectations

Contents
Part I: This Week
• Arcade
• Atari 2600/VCS
• Commodore 64
• Apple IIc
• Nintendo Entertainment System
• Nintendo Gameboy
• SEGA Master System
• SEGA Genesis
• TurboGrafx 16
• Super Nintendo

Part II: Next Week
• PlayStation 2
• PC - Windows 95/98/XP
• Virtual World
• Tabletop/Board Games/Real Life

Arcade

Congo Bongo

Back when I was first playing games in the arcade, games had to be, primarily, accessible. There couldn't be too much going on or I would be frightened off, scared to lose my quarter (they were precious in those days). In other words, Defender and Karate Champ were right out. Congo Bongo, however, offered exactly the level of complexity I needed in those formative years. In many ways it was Donkey Kong revisited - a little fellow dodging objects thrown by a large primate, trying to defeat him in order to play through the sequence again. Yet there was just enough there to make it interesting. Though I had only played Pac-Man, Space Invaders, and Donkey Kong a handful of times, those already seemed stale and repetitive . . . because, well, they were. Congo Bongo never got old for me - not even up to the point where my semi-local arcade phased out the little known platformer.

Mario Bros.

There were other games that held simple-enough-yet-still-intriguing premises for a young gamer like I was in the early '80s. Crystal Castles, Elevator Action, and Bagman were staples, but no game felt like home at that time like Mario Bros. did. It was simple really - the sewer pipes are clogged with turtles, crabs, and giant flies which have got to be kicked out of there - but for all that simplicity, I could play for hours and shove all my quarters into the little mechanical beast.

Some may be curious as to why I list Mario Bros. itself and not its Super cousin. The fact is that Super Mario Bros. was daunting. It looked so complicated and quarters were so valuable to me that I couldn't waste them playing a game which might kill off all three plumbers in under a minute. That would have to wait 'til I only had to spend time to play.

Ikari Warriors

Ikari Warriors (and its sequel, Victory Road) were amazing to me. I had tried Frontline and Commando but neither game had scratched my itch. The twisting joystick was neat to me as I loved innovative control schemes - when implented well within a game's scope (cf. Xybots, Cabal, Assault, Toobin', and 720°). Ikari Warriors also featured something a lot of games didn't really have up to that point: the ability to commandeer vehicles and the presence of unique power-ups. Playing through a heavy firefight in a super-powered-up tank that was smoking from enemy fire was the closest I would come to immersive gameplay for a number of years.

Peter Packrat

Peter Packrat was pure joy to me as a quarter miser. The easy of the first and second levels assured me at least a good four minutes per quarter (though a bit longer if I was good) and the visual distinction of the levels proved blissful. Crawling around colourful environments in which a rat might really find itself kept me loving arcades for quite some time during the depression years of the mid-'80s, when nobody was having fun with games.

Cobra Command

Back then, the games that people were lining their quarters up for were the Bluth-animated laser disc games. Crowds would gather to watch Dirk the Daring challenge the Dragon's Lair and cheer as Space Ace sought to recover the Infanto Ray. I had always longed to play those ones, but would turned back by the long lines, high cost (two quarters), and the strong suspicion that I would get my butt kicked in front of a crowd of onlookers. So, I did what any down-on-his-confidence gamer would do in that situation: I found another animated game.

At the time there were a glut, though people were really only playing the big two. Smaller titles were Badlands, Thayer's Quest, and M.A.C.H. 3. My choice, however, was a helicopter game called Cobra Command, animated to look like a high-rent G.I. Joe cartoon. There was never a line and it was my joy - and I'm certain that I almost beat it.

P.S. Just for kicks, here's two videos from the game so you too can relive the glory: Video 1 and Video 2.

Gauntlet

Everyone who was of arcade visiting age in 1985 remembers the rallying cry, "Elf needs food badly!" That's because Gauntlet was among the first (and may be the first for all I know) video games to cater to groups. Four friends could gang up on the teaming hoards of ghosts, goblins, and lobbers (?), each player controlling a different type of hero. Honestly, though these kinds of games were designed to be repetititive, the cooperative feature of them always made them a bit special for me. I would later enjoy Quartet, Xenophobe, and Cadash, but Gauntlet would always be my first.

Atari 2600

River Raid

After moving squares with sticks attached and pretending they were tanks in Combat, fleeing a big yellow duck in Adventure, and rhapsodizing over the abstract in Super Breakout (musta been a Nintendo title), River Raid was a wake up call. Not only were the graphics astounding, but the diversity in level design made me a staunch fan of Activision. I think River Raid may have been the first game to instill a real sense of panic in gameplay for me. Sure Space Invaders had its time limit, but making it from fuel depot to increasingly scarce fuel depot was an exquiste torture.

Pitfall!

Pitfall! was another beauty from the minds at Activision. Pitfall Harry was a funny sort of Indiana Jones and though one of his greatest nemeses was an unmoving rattlesnake, he still bought the farm with greater frequency than a young impressionable mind should like to believe. His sinking demise in quicksand was vivid indeed. Still, the game provided hours of fun for we who did not know any better - for we, the elite.

Commodore 64

Neuromancer

Really, I had no idea who William Gibson was. I didn't understand who those girls standing on the streetcorner were. I didn't even have the faintest what warez were. But I did know one thing: Neuromancer rocked. It was astounding. I had never played anything so involved in my life. Add to that that I was totally unaware in 1988 of anything called cyberspace, and this Devo-tracked game absorbed me.

Apple IIc

Montezuma's Revenge

What did we do in Juniour High on slow days during computer class? We'd play Montezuma's Revnge. At least I would. Other's would try their luck at Crystal Caverns or Kareteka. For me, Montezuma's Revnge was a chance to pretend I was playing the grown-up sequel to Pitfall! (see, I had pretended that Pitfall 2 never was.) Delving into the depths of the tombs and caverns and learning to avoid the traps almost made not ditching school worthwhile. Almost.

Lode Runner

Lode Runner wasn't available to us at school. I had to beg my wealthy friends (friends who could afford to own a computer) to invite me over and then persuade them to play games that they had long tired of. Lode Runner still amazes me and is still something I can play to this day without a sense of same-old, same-old. Really, it's surprising how much joy I can derive from the little fellow seeing as how simple the gameplay was.

Nintendo Entertainment System

The Legend of Zelda

This is really where it began for Nintendo, where it began to take on a life of its own. Before Zelda, I had never dreamed in video game. Like any Juniour High kid, I was attracted to the crazy gold packaging. This had to be something interesting. I was already knee-deep in my Nintendo infatuation—to the point that kids at school would call me up at random times and beg tips off me (this was before the internet, you remember; it was also pretty much before GamePro, Game Informer, Electric Gaming Monthly, or Nintendo Power).

Zelda was, quite simply, a revelation. It opened up to me a whole new vista of what gaming could entail. And saving? On a console? Without entering a horrendous password and hoping you got your Is, Ls, 1s, Os, 0s, Ks, Hs, and Xs straight? Holy smokes that meant depth and challenge and growth and hours of play previously unimaginable. Comparing something like Asteroid—in which a game might last for five minutes if you were lucky—with Zelda's never-ending gaming potential, and really, you'd have no comparison.

As I said, I dreamed Zelda. Not that I was Link and romancing the stone. No, I dreamt that I was playing. So desperate was my need to find the entrance to the level Level 8 dungeon that I actually dreamed looking for it. And what's more, I dreamed where and how to find it. Sick, huh? Now that right there is a good game.

Super Mario Bros.

The reason to get the NES. I think this may be the most played video game in video game history. Everybody played it. Everybody loved it. And I was no exception. Up to this point side-scrolling games in which the pace of scrolling were based on the player's desire to move forward were in short supply (the only thing similar that I had encountered was the vaguely neat Pac-Land). The diversity was a jaw dropper—or would have been if one wasn't so busy dodging hammer bros. and tossing Bowser into a flaming doom. I could easily see Super Mario Bros. being on any Top 10 list of Most Important Video Games of all time.

Metroid

Before there was Zelda and battery backups, there were the password games. And the first two games on the NES to feature a password-save function were Kid Icarus and Metroid. Both were packagedd in handsome silver boxes (remember, NES games were always packaged in black boxes with day-glo fringe) and were released at the same time. I had thirty-three hard-earned bucks and I had to choose between the two. I chose poorly indeed.

It wasn't 'til months later that I picked up the glorious adventures of Samus (who would be revealed later as a woman). Metroid took skill and patience, and involved the kind of character-building that I would later come to love fanatically in RPGs. If I were to download an NES emulator to replace my three long-since-broken NES consoles, Metroid would be among the first ROMs to be downloaded onto my rig (that along with Goonies II, Solomon's Key, Zelda, and maybe Clu Clu Land). It was that good.

Contra

⇧⇧⇩⇩⇦⇨⇦⇨ B A Start. The addiction that would feed a nation. While the thirty lives were nice for group play, after a couple weeks I was able to play through the game 30+ times consecutively without the not-so-secret boost. That I could even play for long enough to get to that point demonstrates well-enough how compulsively Contra ruled my life for those wonderful months. I think the only part I didn't like was the bio-based, last level. That kind of distaste has carried over into several other games and I think the alien world levels of Half-Life were the weakest of an otherwise phenomenal game.

Solomon's Key

I broke my finger because of this game. Or at least because of my uncontained rage when the NES decided to simply flick OFF when my cohort and I were on level 46, just four shy of ultimate victory. Solomon's Key was one of the few NES games that I never did beat - and man, I respect it for that. It's wasn't impossble, just really smart, really good, and really hard.

Mega Man

Now Mega Man was another ridiculously hard game. But it had such a charming idea and interface that I forgave it immediately. The idea of fighting this assortment of robot bosses in a specific order so that you might use their arsenal against them was the coolest. For others, Mega Man 2 was the cherished variation, but for me, it was always the first that would stay so happily in a special mansion in my heart.

Gameboy

Motocross Maniacs

Everyone remembers Excite Bike so fondly. They remember it being a great game. It wasn't. It wasn't even a complete game (it featured load and save features that did nothing). Motocross Maniacs, on the other hand, was everythign that Excite Bike should have been. In fact, it really was just Excite Bike, But Good—I think that was its original working title. I still get the joy giggles at the remembrance of all those acrobatic loop-de-loops so far above the ground (and the rest of the race).

SEGA Master System

Phantasy Star

Before it was Electric Gaming Monthly, the magazine (if I recall) was Electronic Game Player. In one issue, EGP featured a year-end wrap-up of the best games. Under Best Graphics was a picture of a sand worm that blew me away. Compared to what had previously been seen, Phantasy Star blew away the NES's best efforts. Still, it was an RPG and I didn't get it. Sure, I had played D&D, Top Secret, and Star Frontiers back in the day, but the whole idea of a turn-based fighting system baffled me. For the first two-weeks I mashed buttons as fast as I could, believing that if my attack missed its target, it was because I was too slow. Eventually I realised that it didn't matter and from that point on (for a good five years), my favourite games were RPGs—though I never again encountered an RPG that excited me like Phantasy Star did (though its first sequel was mostly fun).

SEGA Genesis

Herzog Zwei

If this list was sorted in order of the game that most pleasantly surprised me, Herzog Zwei would easily top the list. There was really no reason for me to buy this one save for the fact that I am a born consumer, a purchaser who is the courageous hero of a thousand tall tales that merchants tell their young in order to warm their hearts and to show them that despite the grim apparition of Depression, all will be safe and well so long as The Dane marches through the hallowed halls of commerce. Regardless, I bought the unheralded game, popped it into the Genesis, and immediately lost who knows how much time to one of the funnest, most innovative games I had yet to encounter. Herzog Zwei is still my favourite game to come off the Genesis—and I liked pretty much everything on Genesis better than the tripe offered on the SNES.

Herzog Zwei introduced me to real-time strategy games before the category ever (to my knowledge) existed. It was fast-paced, smart, and allowed for a range of strategies. It was everything that was missing from console gaming in the early '90s. The original Populous was great on Genesis (way more fluid than on SNES), but nothing beat Zwei.

Target Earth

Blistering fun and another game unheralded by the several gaming resources I had at my disposal, Target Earth was the ideal battle mech game. The levels were intriguing, mission-oriented, and (on Hyper difficulty) began increasingly furious, to the point of sweat and shakey arms. I adored every moment with the game, despite never hearing of it.

TurboGrafx 16

Ys: Book I & II

While I awaited something to satisfy my craving for a successor to Phantasy Star, a friend lent me his TurboGrafx CD and something called Ys. I had played Ultima III, Phantasy Star II, Shining in the Darkness, Sword of Vermillion, Final Fantasy III, Might and Magic IV, and the dreadful Dragon Warrior (which almost sucked away all the good will for RPGs that I had built up with Phantasy Star). In any case, the only thing to slake my thirst in this realm was Ys: Book I & II. It was fun, decently-paced, with gorgeous graphics, and a full-bodied storyline. And the music was actual music, not some adorable midi theme (cds, y'know?).

Super Nintendo

Super Mario Kart

SNES had a couple games that I actually did enjoy. Super Mario Land was admirable. Zelda III was worthy of the first. Neither sequel, though introducing some new and fun flavours, surpassed the joys of their predecessors. Hands down, though, the most entertaining game on SNES with the greatest longevity was Super Mario Kart. Not only were the races fun, but Battle Mode? Boy howdy, that is what the SNES was made for. There is no feeling like having your brother bear down on you with a red shell in hand, cackling cruelly at your imminent doom, only for him to slip on a freshly-sown banana peel or get clubbed by an errant and unguided green turtle shell. Oh for the days when I had no job.

And next week, I'll finish up my list, mentioning some of the more exciting developments in gaming—whether via computers or real human interaction (whatever that is). I hope this half of the list could be properly nostalgic for some of you. Younger readers are probably thinking, Yellow duck?? Stick around, I'll talk about some exciting games next time (some of which are currently exerting their force upon my life and all those who suffer in its shadow—that is, my life's shadow). I mean, PS2? PC gaming? Even real life? There's gotta be something for everybody in that one.

Further Evidence Proving Postmillennialism a Sham
As if padded toilet seats didn't nail the lid on the coffin of postmillennialism tightly enough, there is another evidence at had. Not quite as insidious, but in its own way, even more!

Now the first thing to realize is that Vespa's have trunkspace. Not a lot, but really, just enough. Enough to fit a helmet and some other goodies. The trunk is located under the seat, which opens like the tremendous maw of a crocogator.

All well and good so far, right? So where does the evil come into play? Well I'll tell you.

Once one opens the trunk and is ready to place his goodies within, he almost cannot help to notice the note of caution, the warning against a specific behaviour. See below.

What's this? The most obvious use for Vespa trunkspace is ruled out from the getgo? That trunk is made for nothing if not stuffing in Steve the Cat and/or Lucky the Wolverine and cruising down to the park that's an hour away for a good-natured frolicking with all those quacking ducks and small children. How tragic that such a fine Italian machine is rendered nearly worthless! No, if postmillennialism truly were the order of the day, this is what we would see:

Counter-Evidence
I suppose that the mere existence of the sticker does go a long way towards defeating the evil of its purpose. 'Cuz dang that funny.

Things that Should Just Stop Being Said: #837
When a couple starts announcing that they are going to begin "trying" to get pregnant, I'm always slightly baffled. I mean, generally speaking, this is the kind of thing that millions of unwed teens do accidentally (i.e., without trying) every year. So either marriage robs one of fertility or this is just a way to brag that sex is happening. Or maybe the couple who makes this kind of pronouncement is just really not ambitious at all and likes to set easy goals.

"Hey, yeah. Cheryl and I are going to try cooking dinner tonight. We're also going to see what we can do about breathing. And y'know what? We're feeling especially confident in our ability to do easy things, so—Why not!—we might as well try getting pregnant! Look out world, here we come!"

So yeah, stop it, 'kay?

Charlie had a great question about the previous post, in which I attempted to sketch out an answer to Tom's question from a prior post. Pointing out that I emphasize the wrongheadedness of transformationalist ideologies, i.e., the mistake of wanting to redeem the culture or world by right-livin'/gospel-preachin', Charlie asks what has become the inevitable question. The same kind of question anyone gets when he rejects the perceive wrongs of one side to an issue: so do you then accepts the other side of the issue (and all of its perceived wrongs)? Being more circumspect than that, he asks:

Where are you suggesting we draw the line between activism and acquiescence?

Honestly, the question does frustrate me a little because it assumes that the middleground is so incredibly easy to miss. The reason that it doesn't frustrate me lots is that there is at least truth to the fact that regardless of how simple the right answer might be, people are prone to extremism and tend to swing from cultural redemptivism to cultural segregation far more frequently than is healthy. So what then, is the answer?

Really, I think, as I've tried to show across this site for the last few years, I'm far from an advocate of either cultural redemption or the popular-in-some-fundamentalist-circles technique of cultural divorce. No, I truly believe in being in the world, yet not of the world - evidence of this lies in my cornucopic collections of movies, literature, comics, books, and video games (as well as my numerous posts on the subjects). I have non-Christian friends and I hang out with them. And I even hope that they will one day believe as I believe. Because I care about them.

I also believe in being charitible, friendly, and loving. Even to people outside the church. My Christianity gives me a distaste for capitalism, war, abortion, sexism, racism, and stupid Christianity. I think believers, being vessels of Christ's love, ought to care for the sick, the injured, the poor, the weary, and the unloved. I believe that those who disdain these things are not showing the love of Christ. And I believe this is Scriptural.

There is nothing there about being apathetic to the culture around me. There is also nothing there about hoping to redeem the culture around me.

I have heard insinuated that as I show forth the love of Christ, people will marvel and will come to desire Christ. I am forced to respond, Then why did they despise the one who lived that life of love better than any had, can, or will? You see, acceptance isn't to be our biblical expectation. When we show forth Christ in us, we are showing them the enemy. Our expectation (despite the happy exception) should be hatred and revilement, even as Christ told us. Our gospel may become the gospel of others, but it is not to be our expectation or hope that this world and its culture should ever reflect an honest righteousness or worship our honest Lord.

In sum: Withdrawal from the world is as much an abandonment of the gospel as is transformationalism; and both are a robbery of the gospel.

While Charlie's question is interesting - and I'll answer it later - I wanted to take a moment to point out what is among the top evidences that postmillennialism is a sham. Most simply, postmillennialism states that through the passage of time, the church will increasingly influence the world in which it abides, to the point where one may visibly see the kingdom of God at hand. Here is a visual representation:

Yet all that is a sham and here's why: Padded toilet seats.

Seriously, if there's one thing to point to make us doubt that things are getting better, it's padded toilet seats. There is nothing so horrifying as the feeling of sitting down to do the chores and squishing into a plasticky-bubble. Well, nothing except the feeling when you stand up again and feel your butt-skin peel off with a rip/snap. Boy howdy, I love that like I love having sandpaper stuck in my eye. And then really, how clean do you really think one can get those spongy surfaces. Those who sprinkle when they tinkle are probably happy to leave a legacy that will last months or years, but I'd rather not be intimate with that legacy.

In conclusion, postmillennialism is a lie.

But can it cook pancakes?
First things first. I'm not a tease - just a flirt with too little time to actually date.

That said, see if you can follow me for a bit here. The gospel is concerned with the heavenly city, the New Jerusalem. In Christ's resurrection, he sparked off the new creation - a creation currently realized soley through faith and not by sight. This heavenly kingdom, this city made not with hands, is where it all happens. Sure, the realm in which we sojourn (a.k.a. the lobby in which we sit while waiting for our room to be ready) is visible and earthly, but then, the gospel didn't drop us off there - for that's where we started. No, the gospel, the power of Christ, takes us into the heavenlies, seats us at the hand of Christ and the father, brings us to the very throneroom of grace.

Transformationalism, however, wants something else. It wants the gospel to drag the heavenly down to earth. It wants not only to redeem the soul of man, but to redeem the earth as well. It wants Christ's death to pave the way for good governments, proper environmentalism, good businesses, and tasty cheese.

Here is the problem: Christ's death doesn't do that. Nor was it intended to. By tearing the gospel away from the heavenly (at least in part), transformationalism raises our expectations, our hopes. We learn to look forward to seeing how well the world will work now that the gospel's afoot. And you know what the one thing this hope will do?

Disappoint.

And how great the tragedy there? Our faith in the gospel is diminished. It can't accomplish what we were led to believe. It can't make the land in which we sojourn, the land to which we looked forward. It cannot redeem the earth for the earth is destined to pass away, to perish in fervent heat. It cannot do any of that - and so we are robbed by our expectations. We are robbed by transformationalism. And in robbing us, in giving us the feeling that the power of the gospel is not all we were sold it to be, transformationalism robs the gospel as well.

And not only that, but when believers spend their days trying to use the power of the gospel for something for which it was never intended, the gospel is yet further robbed in that it has so much power but that power is ignored. Transformationalism is a waste of the gospel and a waste of Christianity. By seeking to add to the good news, they diminish it. It becomes the okay news, if only because it doesn't really work all that well. It's some sort of cruel joke.

'Cuz see here! The gospel does have power. Great power! Greater than anything I've ever known. It has the power to tear us from the bondage of this deathworld and elevate us to heights unreached. To clothe us in the garb of kings and priests. To gain for us an adoption unspeakable in its majesty and wonder. The gospel is the new creation, the new heavens and the new earth. Never diminish its power by sullying it with concerns unrelated to its plight.

This post will lose 98% of my audience. Not permanently. Just for the space of the post.

In any case: manga. Again I will raise my disdain for the term. The moment one abandons the realm of useless stereotyping, the word loses all meaning.

For those who are unaware, manga means "comics" in Japanese. Or something like that. As Japanese comics began being imported to the US, American fans began using the term to refer to Japanese comics. Okay, fine. Whatever. Don't ask me why "Japanese comic" wasn't enough when comics from other foreign nationalities don't likewise receive special nomenclature. Still, I'm fine with that. But then things changed.

At some point, manga began to refer to genre rather than to point of origin. Honestly, point of origin never really interested me - as such thing are really only (for the most part) of interest to racists and cultural elitists. But then to treat all comics from Japan as being functions of a singular style? A style we now call manga?

That was just dumb.

And now the reason for my gripe. I was in Borders tonight, browsing the manga section when I entered into discussion with a lovely young woman employed by the store. We spoke extensively (well, as extensively as one can in a bookstore when strangers and one member of the conversation is still on the clock) about what was worthwhile for reading in the section, web comics, and OEL manga.

OEL stands for "Original English Language" (or something darned close to that) and OEL manga is a newish trend in publishers like TokyoPop, capitalizing on Japanese comics' sudden popularity over the last couple years (especially in the market of preteen girls). OEL manga is, sensibly enough, manga written in English. Or supposedly sensibly enough. The authors are usually Americans or Canadians, but the productions are carried out in a "manga" style.

The problem is that while there are trends within Japanese comics, there is no singular style. There is no one look that is defining (compare Tezuka, Otomo, Miyazaki, Azuma, Akamatsu, and the ladies of CLAMP). There is no one genre, theme, or presentation that can be pointed at as being consistent across Japanese books. So essentially, OEL manga are really nothing more than American/Canadian/etc. books in the popular digest size common to American publications of Japanese comics.

The issue was broached in our conversation in Borders. Why would Steady Beat be considered OEL manga and not, say, Blue Monday or Hopeless Savages or Lost at Sea? How does I Luv Halloween qualify but not Love Is a Foreign Language (which takes place in Korea) or Sidekicks (which actually has an artist who, if not Japanese, at least has a Japanese last name)? The frustration with categorization here served to demonstrate further to me how useless the terminolgy really is - not just OEL manga, but manga generally.

I don't want to seem thick (though I may be); I really do understand why publishers would want to publish comics under a name other than "comics". Comics conjures thoughts of men in spandex with no genetalia, women in less than spandex with breasts the size of shopping carts, far-too-obvious villains, and basically, any number of other contrivances that would sell to sixteen-year-old boys. With the rich market of comics that are literate and defy the stereotype, it's unfortunate that comics must still labour under the stigma of stereotype. Though its understandable. And the primary market of comics really is still that detritus. The good stuff doesn't sell because those who might give it a chance don't know it exists and the people who are purchasing comics are really only interested in the crap. And I don't know what the answer is, but reterming comics "manga" seems more an avoidance than a solution.

Man I hated posting that and bumping the great comments below down a notch...

Last week they were showing Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas in a local theater for their weekly Thursday night revival showing. It was a blast and I think the film takes on a whole new sickening sort of life on the big screen; really, despite the popularity of dvd and home theater systems, nothing beats the big screen (if the audience doesn't suck). Not only were the scenes far more disturbing and in your face (esp. the opening near Barstow, on the edge of the desert, as the drugs begin to take hold), but I was able to notice details I had never before seen. One example of this is Duke spending basically the entire film with coke powder vacationing on the outside of his nostril - even while walking through the clamouring hoards of district attorneys.

The theater was packed. With mostly high school and early college age kids. I guess it makes sense since that's the most likely crowd to indulge in cult classicism. Humourously enough smokes and strong drink flowed like honey throughout the theater - after all, we were watching the cream of the national sporting press.

I know many don't like it, but Fear and Loathing represents, to me, one of greatest treatments of the Sixties on film. Sure it's ludicrous and takes place in the Foul Year of Our Lord 1971, but when the film quiets down in the several aftermaths of drug frenzy, Duke's commentary on the Sixties is poignant. It's hard to believe that someone so close to the acid wave could have anything meaningful to say about it so soon after it broke, but through Duke, Hunter S. Thompson hits the nail on the epicenter and paints a deglamourizing portrait of the era - one that reflects both hope and disgust. It's a brand of realism that's refreshing. It's cynicism dipped in honey so as almost to be palatable. Not only is the American Dream a wash, but the American Dream cumHippie Love Wave was a colossal failure as well - despite assurances to the contrary.

Strangely Fear and Loathing simultaneously makes me want to try drugs and never try drugs. As I think any good representation of drugs should do.

I was kinda disappointed in the absense of discussion of what I found to be a fascinating topic in the below post. The subject of sexual objectification is, I think, especially difficult to traverse. Despite the lack of many participants, Johnny T showed up and I think his comments really are thought provoking. In fact, i highly recommend reading the comments just to engages his ideas there.

There's a topic I've been vaguely following for the last day or two across some comics-related blogs. While I enjoy comics, I'm not quite geek enough to know the parties involved or those commenting on the topic. Which is not to say I'm not geek - only that I'm not geek enough.

The concern, generally, seems to revolve around sexism, both in comics and in the industry that creates them.

Sexism and Why I can't Talk about It but Will Anyway
Now sexism is one of those topics that men are trained (by their initiation into society) to quietly avoid. The reason for this practiced silence is that any honest critique is discounted immediately by the fact that the male source of the critique can't actually know what it's like to be a woman living under the occasional/constant oppression that our sexist society perpetrates. Because sexism is a charged issue if I disagree - in any respect - with a particular woman's statements regarding the matter, I am immediately perceived (nine times out of ten) as anything from hopelessly naive to an actual force of evil. Or so it feels.

It's kinda like how I cannot comment on the contemporary situation of my neighbor who has darker skin than me. Being a white, protestant male makes being a thinking person with opinions a tangled path to navigate. Still, what are blogs for if not for this sort of thing.

So. Yes, there's sexism in comics and pretty much everywhere else as well. And I think it probably goes both ways too. As humans are sexual beings (not sexual in the intercoursing sense) and the differences between the sexes (and this isn't even counting gender roles) are usually fairly apparent, I think it's probably both to be expected and a good thing to be aware of our sexual differences and identities. Of course this is a far shot from abusing those differences.

But what constitutes abuse?

Some of Them Want to Abuse You
Some things are obviously abuses and should count as sexism. Waitresses getting nabbed on the rear, withholding jobs from an employee because of unnecessary preconceptions about his or her sex, taking a low view of someone due solely or in part to their sex - these are matters of abuse, matters of sexism. And these are not as interesting to talk about simply because they are so obvious. This doesn't mean they aren't important, only that anyone who's graduated junior high should be able to realize this stuff on their own.

I think the more interesting questions revolve around concepts of sexual objectification and stereotyping. Complaints about the objectification of women in advertising, comics, movies, car magazines, etc. abound. Complaints about the stereotyped archetypes of female protagonists aren't quite as common, but still interesting.

The first thing I'll say here is that I realize that my perspective is my own and not necessarily indicative of the general male populace (back to that whole thinking and opinionated thing again).

Sexual Objectification and the Ninety-Seventh Percentile
Now then, I'm not going to say that objectification doesn't exist or that it can't be harmful. It does and it can. However, I'm not sure that 97% of people realize what they're talking about when they speak of objectification. The fact is that sexual objectification is far more pervasive than most people realize - to the point where I would suggest that it is a natural part of the human condition. Every time someone looks in the mirror for reasons other than those strictly health-related, they are objectifying themselves (and, I believe, we do so sexually). Every time we dress ourselves nicely, fix our hair, check our teeth, match our sock, pierce an ear/tongue/belly/throat, get a tattoo, cover a zit - every instance of primping draws us further up and farther in to the realm of the objectified. We want to be beautiful, handsome, attractive, sexy, whatever. And that's not bad - at least so long as it is not to the exclusion of our other human qualities.

And our sexual qualities don't end at the physical. Humans are complex, physical and psychological beings. Anyone who would tell you that men and women, under the shell of the fleshy and fatty, are equal not just in terms of value but in characteristics as well never dated someone of the opposite sex. More likely than not, they are simply applying the rhetoric of the old feminist civil rights movement farther and deeper than it ever should have been. Men and women are, I hate to say it, different. And those differences are sexual.

And anything that points to those differences, objectifies them - that is, objectifies sexuality. Wearing a skirt? You've objectified yourself. Grown a moustache? You're objectified. Swim suit? Objectified! Naked? Objectified! If you are human, then you are by your nature an object lesson in sexuality.

So then the question remains: of what consist an abusive objectification? I think it has to do with both total objectification and intent. The reason I add intent is that any static picture of a person is an objectification of that person - and by extension, their sexuality. Any painting, photo, or sculpture is intrinsically an objectification of its subject. Therefore, it must be in the intent of the objectification that the abuse occurs.

It is in objectifying for shameful purposes that abuse occurs. It is in seeking to elicit base responses that we degrade the objects we craft. The line of definition here is tenuous and evasive. There is so much subjectivism at work in this that, really, I think each case must be critiqued on its own according to its context. Objectifying sexuality for crass commercialism is abusive (though note how I skewed the perspective by my use of a pejorative term in reference to commercialism). Objectifying one's sexual being to prompt a response in one's lover is not abusive. Objectifying a comic character's sexuality can be good or bad depending; it might even be a mix of both depending on the circumstance of the character and the author/artist's intent.

Sexism and Typing in Stereo
In discussing sexual roles of heroines in Japanese comics, kalinara presents three typical archetypes and discusses how these character types are lacking in expressing a healthy version of what women are/should be. She makes a number of good points but I'm struck by just how strongly our evaluation of archetypes relies on both our personal tastes and that of the culture/subculture that rules us. Kalinara and others worry that the protagonists of comics aren't strong enough women.

In her evaluation of female primaries in Japanese comics, it seems that 95% of female heroes are quiet, demure types who are more reactive than proactive. It also seems that proactive, feisty, intelligent female characters generally play antagonist to the female lead, both thwarting her goals and insinuating herself between the lead and the object of her affection. And invariably the quiet, reserved girl gets the man.

So here's the thing: I like quiet, intelligent, attractive girls who are more reactive than proactive. At least in terms of relationships. I don't mind boisterous, active girls - as friends. I love a good verbal sparring match with a feisty girl who's got wit to spare, but I would never date one. Not for long anyway. It'd be too exhausting. When I come home from a long day of work and greet my wife who's also been labouring all day, I want to relax, not trade barbs. I don't want to be challenged. I don't want to be impressed by her prowess and lust for life. I don't mind those things in moderation, but I'd really rather just kick back and read with her or watch some tv or dvds. And this is just my personal preference. And it's not just girls; this is what I prefer in my close guy friends too. Rough and tumble just isn't my bag.

Therefore, I can't be too broken up over there being a lot of characters that are more attractive to me than another kind, generally the kind that offer me a cheap flash of thrill (like Indiana Jones).

Still, I think it important that we realize the standard model we want women characters to mirror is one of our own making. There is nothing inherently better in the shy, helpless heroine than in the strong, self-sufficient protagonist who molds events around her own plans and actions. Nor the other way either. Elizabeth Bennett is not a better role model than the Invisible Woman because of mere personality traits. A stay at home mom is not better than the woman who heads her own architect firm - nor vice versa. These are values that mean different things based on our own perspectives - perspectives that are usually little more that a conglomeration of personal, environmental, and cultural influences.

Upon reflection, I don't think the fact that these archetypes are so prevalent is evidence of sexism, but something worse in some respects: a fantastic and abiding dearth of creativity.

It's Not a Sarong, It's a Wrap
There's a lot more to be said, but 1500 words in, I've grown tired. Unfortunately, I barely even touched on sexism, just on a couple of the side issues associated with it. Perhaps in another post...

p.s. in the battle between King Kong and Narnia, I'm not sure which movie would win. Kong has much better effects - PJ seems to have spoilt us on good-lookin' fantasy. Narnia has these moments that are just wonderful. Kong has a heart that Narnia wishes it had. Kong is campy fun. Narnia has the grown up Pevensies rediscover Spar Oom (however its spelt) and immediately return to childhood after already having made it through puberty into adulthood (and that kind of torture you just have to relish).

On the downside, Narnia has the miscast Neeson as Aslan. Narnia also has perhaps the longest title ever with The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe (thankfully, they didn't add "C.S. Lewis's" in front of it). With that in mind, Kong might just nudge Narnia out.

The week before Christmas, Scott asked some questions to me in the comments to a particular post. It's been a while but since I'm kindasorta around now, I'll answer them here.

1st: Re: Quinn's suggestion that 2 Peter 3 refers to the events of A.D. 70.
Originally, Quinn asked whether it was possible that "in the 2 Peter passage, Peter is straining for language to describe the AD 70 events in much the same way that the OT prophets strained for words to describe the judgements coming on Israel?"

My answer was that it would be an anticlimactic shame if the catastrophe and calamity spoken of by Peter were only in reference to something so trivial as the destruction of the Jewish temple - as if Peter were using climactic language to describe mere epilogue.

This answer, in part, was disingenuous for I was avoiding giving my real answer - as it seemed obvious to me by the context that Peter could not be referring to A.D. 70 stuff. Scott picked up on the fact that I didn't offer a real answer, but mere funning and rhetoric - and so he says, "I still think his [question] is reasonable and worth investigation."

So then, why isn't the pursuit of the question reasonable? Peter seems pretty clearly to be speaking of the consummation, of Christ's second advent. He's not even really using ambiguous language. He states the problem of the scoffers who will say Christ will never return, reminds believers that God will do as he will in his own good time, points to God's motive of patience and an unwillingness that any should perish but rather repent (a la Romans and "the full number"), and then states that (presumably at the time of fulfillment) the day of the Lord will come like a thief and essentially that the heavens and earth will pass away to make way for their replacements, the new heavens and earth.

Especially with Peter's emphasis both on God awaiting people's future repentance and on the new heavens and earth, it seems untenable to see this as reference to A.D. 70. It seems plainly to discuss the Second Coming. So unless we missed it...?

2nd: Rightly enjoying cheese.
Scott asks, "Don’t you think that rightly enjoying cheese (as that is the proper business of human living) is the distinguishing mark of the Kingdom of God? And by rightly I mean in gratitude to God."

Frankly, no. We cannot believe such if we are to likewise believe that the kingdom was instituted in the culmination of Christ's earthly ministry. For simply enjoying food in gratitude to God is only a mark of righteous living and has been since the dawn of the human age. If we divorce the kingdom of God from Christ's ministry, we might be able to apply it to that - but I'm not sure anyone wants to do that. If Noah had given glory to God in his cheese-eating, you would have to say he was participating in the kingdom of God (having exhibited its distinguishing mark). However, Noah predates the coming of the kingdom unless you use some fancy retconning based on 1 Peter 3:19, so perhaps the distinguishing mark of the kingdom is something else.

Next post: an answer to Tom's question from a couple weeks ago.

Just returned from a week out at the Calvary Chapel compound in Murrieta, which was slightly spooky if only for the reason that every stairwell features the Holy Spirit being speared through by a handrail. I suspect it was some sort of artistic statement, but whatever the reason was, it was necessarily drowned by a patent overuse of teal. I wish I had a camera with me at the time so you could witness it too. Hmm, perhaps I shall draw what I witnessed (like a court reporter), so you can experience the terror nearly firsthand.

Otherwise, the week passed well and I met some fun an interesting people.