The horse is dead. Long live the horse.
One more of the ATCs in my collection. Ideally based off of a Phillip K. Dick story. I think I pulled it off better than Bladerunner did. But only because Ridley Scott is a hack.
Hm, I wonder if Bladerunner would have been worthwhile had it been filmed by Richard Linklater. And rotoscoped. And featured the Tustin Marketplace.
I was talking with someone who wanted to learn Photoshop and this bomb was dropped into the conversation:
I was dying with laughter (inside) at shock of the sentiment. I was completely caught off-guard. Did she just say that?! For reals?! Holy cats.
Seriously. This isn't the kind of world I live in. I'm thirty-three and this is the first person I've ever known who is actively (though unconciously and, perhaps, innocently) racist. It's like someone from a movie in the '70s stepped into my world - the real world - a world in which racism is a foe defeated, something that was on its deathbed twenty years ago.
Some of you might think me hopelessly naive, but really, I promise: racism in any real form doesn't rear its head in the world as I live it.
Well, until now. It's one of those things that's so unbelievably wrong that to even acknowledge that this person harbours these sentiments is actively confusing for me. To come in contact with this strange sense of entitlement because she is Whitey boggles my mind. I don't even really know how to deal with it. I suppose I should say something, but the surreality of the whole thing is making my head swim.
Design frustrations: why is it that the Fox has to run stylesheets off a cache FOREVER? I keep thinking, Why isn't thisorthat page reloading with the style changes I've implemented? It looks like crap. Then I hit CTRL-F5 and all is good again. But really, how many casual users know about CTRL-F5?
Labels: webtech
Going Against the Flow with Schrödinger's Cats
For lack of anything better, I present you with one of the ATCs I made some time back.
(well, not feminism per se - but a particular kind or expression of feminism)
Ah yes, you guessed it. Another post about comics. Er, feminism. Er, comics. Er, well hmm. To read around the comics blogs I happen to frequent, it kinda seems like the two are inexorably linked. Okay, really, this is more about feminism and authorship than about comics, but I will use comics as a jump-off point.
For those of you unawares, there is a book by a man, Brian K. Vaughan (and illustrated by a woman, Pia Guerra), called Y: The Last Man. Vaughan has crafted a fascinating story of a world in which the entire planet's male populations (whether human or lower on the food chain) instantly die, coughing up blood and collapsing. All the males save for Yorick Brown and his pet monkey, Ampersand. They mysteriously survive. Really, the premise sounds like the beginnings of some crude sort of Kevin Smith film, yet Vaughan charts the travels of Yorick through this courageous new world with skill and imagination.
Y: The Last Man is of that very best kind of science fiction - the kind that presents the standards of society and forces you to question them and consider their weight without (and this is the important part) rendering judgment itself. The best science fiction makes you think. It causes one to reevaluate his mores and his assumptions about his world.
With a subject as ripe for exploitation as a tale of a single man left alone with a world of women, Vaughan exerts considerable restraint. While his characters are indeed sexual beings (even as we are), they are always first and foremost individuals (even as we are). There are women who can't live without their men. There are women who rejoice in the worldwide plague that killed the men. There are those who take stock of their lives and move on as they might. There are those who take charge, those who acquiesce, those who are violent, those who are scientists. Really, every kind of individual you could think of exists as denizen of this new kind of life. And their ideologies are equally diverse.
Still, the main character is Yorick. Well, Yorick and his two companions on his quest (Y: The Last Man really plays off as more a roadtrip/quest story than as anything else), genetic scientist, Allison Mann, and secret agent, 355. We see things largely from Yorick's point of view as he witnesses just how the world has changed in malekind's notable absence. Personally, I think it's the right perspective from which to approach the storyline (in a similar story in which all women save for one perished, I would certainly want to see that world from the perspective of the woman). This is not to say that the women's perspective on things is ever ignored - quite the opposite in truth - but only to say that Vaughan's narrative reference is this lone man.
And here's where the feminism comes in. (You thought I'd never get to it.)
I'm going to pick on a post by Franny at So So Silver Age, only because its handy. The perspective she offers isn't unique and I've seen it presented by a number of women and men over the years (and the issue she brings up crosses over into other social categories as well - notably ethnic and less notably creedal, national, and age-related categories). In short, Y: The Last Man makes her angry. Why?
It seems that despite the fact that she generally agrees that Vaughan does a good job with the book (and with presenting the circumstances without the sexist overtones that one might expect in such a story), she still finds something over which to be outraged. Her problem is that Brian K. Vaughan, because he is a man, has no business writing the kind of story he's writing. In her own words:
Now, I'm not interested in critiquing Franny so much as I am interested in looking at the perspective she advocates. And where it falls short.
There are a lot of directions from which one could approach the argument, but let's start by looking at the nature of most fiction. Despite the typical advice to young writers, one simply cannot write what one knows and have a successful career as a writer. Instead, we write what we can imagine. It's true that the better our imagination conforms to the sense of reality to which our audience holds, the better able they are to believe in our writing. Still, any time the author writes a character that is not him, he is making things up. Fabricating. Writing a foreigner.
The perspective that governs Franny's thoughts here (and indeed, those of at least a subsection of feminists) is one that makes the foreigner off-limits to the author. As you may realize, this is severely limiting to storytelling.
I should never be able to tell a story with a fifty-year old because I am not yet fifty. And for me to presume to represent a fifty-year-old with my fiction should outrage all those who either are fifty or have been fifty in the past. Because theirs are shoes in which I have never walked. How can I possibly characterize accurately a person who carries the weight and wisdom and experience of so many years? In Franny's perspective - if held consistently - I cannot. Neither can I write villains, cab drivers, Roman Catholics, atheists, British, Asians, jocks, schoolteachers, or parents.
I can only use imagination and reasonably deduce what an individual in any of those life circumstances would do, think, believe, or say. Actually, the same holds true for if I were writing my brother as a character in a story. Of course I'm going to be importing my biases, my beliefs about my subjects, my life experiences, and my culture into my storytelling. And yet, even as much as my skills at literary craft, my ability to write believable characters is what will label me a Good Author or a Bad Author.
According to the ideal Franny presents, there really shouldn't be any stories featuring more than one character, since all characters save for the author's cypher are as foreign to the author as female characters are to a male author - one like Brian K. Vaughan.
Really, perspectives like this aren't doing any favours for those who have legitimate concerns for the treatment of their sex by authors. There are a host of issues regarding women in literature and in comics that ought to be addressed. It's too bad there are idealogies undermining valuable critique in this way.
*sigh* I was a little sad that the League post below didn't genereate more interest. I thought the idea of pulling together an adventure team from contemporary literary sources was fantastically fun. I'm guessing people didn't make it through, imagining somehow that the post was about comics. Either that or I'm nearly alone in my belief that the idea is engaging. Woe. Woe unto us all.
Labels: comics
As BPC so duly noted in recent comments here, the last couplafew posts have been characteristically uncharacteristic for me: political blah blah blahs. Really now. Where's the fun in that? So to bring back the lighter side of dead and rotting equine carcasses, I will walk in the footprints pre-made by paying heed to a recent meme amongst the geekleet (though really, it's a game anyone can play).
I will now replace the defunct League of Extra-ordinary Gentlemen (they operated circa the close of the 19th century, of course they're defunct) with contemporary team.
A bit of background on the League for you. Created and serialized by Alan Moore (the samne one who wrote the original V for Vertigo), the Legaue was a group formed of extra-ordinary literary folk in order to protect the interests of the Empire (the British Empire in this case). These "gentlemen" were culled from the works of authors of the period and included most notably, five individuals: Wilhelmina Murray (from Dracula), Allan Quartermain (as in King Solomon's Mines), Captain Nemo and his Nautilus (see 20,000 Leagues under the Sea), Dr. Jekyl/Mr. Hyde, and Mr. Griffen (the invisible man from The Invisible Man). The League was masterminded behind the scenes by a certain M, whose identity I shall remain silent on in the case that any of you hope to read either of the two available volumes.
So then, reading Calvin Pitt's website this morning alerted me to the meme, begun by some kind of cow-thing. The originator, it seems divided the parts like so: The Leader, the Rogue, the Muscle, the Woman of Mystery, the Man with a Boat, and the Mastermind. These don't quite ring true with the original line-up as Wilhelmina Murray fit both as the Leader and as the WoM. Still, an interesting exercise. And with that, mine:
Really, he could have probably fit the role of the Man with a Boat role pretty well too, but darnitall, this team needs a leader and nothing inspires confidence like a semi who yells, "Roll out!" Plus, it's always nice to know that your leader is willing to sacrifice himself for your good and come back to life in your hour of need. Kinda like Gandalf but sturdier. And with marginally better fashion sense.
Seriously, I don't think there been a more mischevious character committed to paper that actually had the power to back up his mischief. Usually, the mischiefmaker is undone by the fact that his really only quick of mind and feet. Spider, however, is a god. And that can be handy in a pinch, i have no doubt.
Logan (played by creepy Ben Kingsley) is just a mean old cuss in Sexy Beast. I figger: better to have him on your side than, well, anywhere else. I'd write more, but its been three years or so since I've seen the movie and I don't remember all the details.
My first choice would have been Hermione Granger. 'Cuz really, The Bride doesn't hold a candle to Harry's better half (and as just noted, neither does Harry). Unfortunately, the guy who started the meme already took her. So *sigh* I'm left with The Bride. I don't think it's a bad choice, we'll just have to find a way to motivate her. I suppose we could tell her that whoever the bad guys are, they took her stuff (a.k.a. kid).
Seriously, this guy brings the SDF-1 to the table. Nautilus-schmatilus. Gloval's got something that floats like a boat but can and will destroy 98% of all life on earth on a whim. And for reasons unknown, it transforms! That'll definitely get Gloval on the team leader's good side. Plus, Gloval's a dead ringer for Nemo (as portrayed in Nadia and the Secret of Blue Water) and since that's who he's replacing, what better choice can there be?
If you want scheming and dirty dealing and smug looks and all kinds of secret junk that will make you wet your shorts, Jack is that man for you. Really, I have to imagine that the entire run of Alias was really just Jack toying with grossly inferior schemer, Sloane. You almost felt sorry for the old guy, so obviously outmatched as he was.Hm, additionally, I just remembered that in the past (and likely into the future, however brief that will be), France has refused to extradite criminals who would be in danger of receive capital punishment for their crimes. I think this is a textbook case of harbouring, and should be dealt with swiftly and with great fire lest others think we are "soft" on those who harbour the villains of the world.
Labels: international issues, terrorism
So wait, if the British officials hadn't caught those terrorists yesterday, would that mean we would have to begin bombing the U.K. for harbouring terrorists? Or should we begin bombing them anyway for harbouring known IRA terrorists for all these years? I keep forgetting how our foreign policy works.
Labels: international issues, terrorism
As more and more once-supporters of Bush turn on him, realizing, Holy cats! It was a tremendous error putting him in the White House. Again. I'm struck by an irony. Now this is not a surprising irony.
It's rather obvious and I'm sure you've heard it before. But, really, this is just the kind of blogger I am.
When his last election rolled around, I abstained from voting for him on moral principle and wrote about voting for someone other than The Big Two. Resultant of this, I was roundly chastised for not contributing to the defeat of John Kerry. Because John Kerry was pro-choice.
Accusing me of nihilism, one commenter critiques:
So the irony is this: Christians promoted Bush because he was pro-life. A vote for Bush was a vote for saving lives. So far as I know, abortion is still legal. Bush being pro-life hasn't had any effect on the lives of infants. Bush being president has, however, had some effect on the lives of around fifty thousands brown people. That effect being their deaths. And we won't even go into their maimings and the general destruction of their stuff. Life, liberty, and property: but only on this side of the river.
If about 50,000 dead = pro-life, then I think we need to re-evaluate the usefulness of this impoverished language we call, English. And this isn't even to start in on the whole thing with Lebanon and Israel. In any case, I find myself vindicated in my decision last November by what we term, "Recent History."
Labels: politics
I was reading Isaiah the other day and noticed in 1:22 that one of the great calamities that could befall Judah was the watering down of their wine. Puts Jesus' miracle in Cana in sharp perspective for those who believe that good wine was the watered down stuff, doesn't it?
Labels: alcohol, bible interpretation, pop-christianity
So then this is a strange thing for me to list since I really don't like musicals - nor genereally think them adequate vehicles either for story or song. Regardless...
Beauty and the Beast (Disney)
The Jungle Book (Disney)
And incidentally, I did also enjoy both Funny Face and Love's Labour Lost. And Everybody Says I Love You (until the last twenty minutes when it just gets boring). Movies like The Nightmare before Christmas succeed despite their musical content, not because of it. But now that I think of it, most of these are in the same category.
And then, why not, a more predictible kind of list:
The Lion King (after Aristocats, this may be the worst animated movie Disney's ever made)
Really, there are a lot of crummy musicals out there. These are just some of them.
Tokyo Godfathers: A Review
Christmas movies are, by tradition, sentimental and heartfelt. And while the best play their joyeux noel against the very real pain of life, few present protagonists in dire as straits as Satoshi Kon's three principles. While George Bailey worries about losing his family, Gin already has. While the Parker's family hardship involves spending Christmas eating duck in a Chinese restaurant, Hana is grateful for the slender handouts at the church soupline. And while Ebenezer Scrooge must change or lose everything, Miyuki has already given up everything and has hardened herself to any hope of getting it back. While the usual cinematic Christmas celebration features the salt of the earth, rarely is that salt unwashed and homeless.
The triad of Kon's godfathers are three vagrants, as much social lepers in Tokyo as they would be in any metropolis. Gin is a middle-aged man and the father-figure in this dysfunctional family. Hana is an ex-drag queen with strong maternal instincts. Miyuki is a cynical fifteen-year-old and relative newcomer to the proverbial life on the street. The three share space in a tent in one of Tokyo's snow-laden parks. Their de facto family unit is surprisingly nuclear.
Things are business as normal until they discover an abandoned infant hidden away in the garbage through which they rummage for Christmas presents. For the next week, events proceed from curious to coincidental to downright miraculous as they search for the foundling's parents.
This is Satoshi Kon's third film and despite how good Millennium Actress was, Tokyo Godfathers may be his best. This reimagination of John Ford's 3 Godfathers is certainly his most straightforward. Tokyo Godfathers plays out, essentially, as a quest movie—in which the principles orient about a simple goal and work to overcome the bizarre obstacles that come to stand in their way. What is unique, though, is Kon's blatant use of miracle to the three on track. From the beginning, Hana declares the baby to be a gift from God—a divine messenger of sorts; so, amazingly, the consistent and magical use of deus ex machine as story-propellant is not only forgivable but even winning.
As far as animation, Kon shows his usual adept hand. The skill with which the characters and thematic devices are rendered makes it clear that this is not just a glorified Saturday-morning cartoon or languid Disney-romp, but a full-fleshed work of the heart. Tokyo Godfathers is now among my Top 3 Christmas Films of All Time.
I really
do think that if you're wondering where else you should be wasting your time, you ought to highly consider wasting that time with the Sockbaby. It's weird. It's funny. It's by Doug TenNapel. Which means its weird.
Now then. Go forth and conquer. It is the only way.
Just saw this on Jeff Smith's site and am ecstatic:
Seriously, I've wanted to give copies as gifts to friends and family for a while now, but the fact that it was out of print has lead to ridiculous price-gouging. I had assumed that the publishing of the series in colour by Scholastic had put a moratorium on the publication of the original black-and-white—and especially the one-volume, collected edition. I'm glad that this was not the case.
I can't seem to find my review of the series (otherwise I would post it here), but suffice it to say that Bone is one of the best and most engaging books I've ever read. Utterly charming.
Incidentally, I have a have a favourite line from the Amazon customer reviews:
I don't even really know what to make of that. In the first place, I'm not certain why the reviewer is hoping that Bone would offer theological insights, but more importantly, I love how the straightforward Bone is compared with the incomprensible, mystic babblings of J.K. Rowling in her ode to arcana, Harry Potter. And even more, I adore the use of "of course." It reminds me of Mark Evanier's constant refrain in the mouth's of Groo the Wanderer's supporting cast, "...As any fool can plainly see" (to which Groo inevitably responds: "I can plainly see that").
Labels: comics
WoW Suicides
I wish i had pictures, but one of the most fascinating things I've seen on my WoW realm (Garithos) are the inventive group suicides. They've really become fascinating to me.
Soon after joining, I noticed that in the small pool of water in Thunder Bluff were about fifteen to twenty dead bodies (all striped of clothing) just floating there. It took days for the bodies to be dredged. So everytime I winged my way in to vist the Auction House or up my druid skilz, I was 
confronted with bloated dead bodies. It was rad in a way. And somber in another way.
After a while, the bodies went away and things returned to business as usual. Then at the bottom of the wyvern tower, I noticed another pile of naked dead people. This time, not only was it a mass suicide, but they were appropriately named for the occasion. There was a guy named Kersplat. A girl named Panacake. Another girl named Flattened. A guy named Splat. Et cetera. It was the same kind of morbid fun and with the level of prep needed - obviously the characters were created with the idea of mass suicide in mind - it all comes off as some strange kind of virtual performance art. And as performance art, I found myself pleasnatly surprised.
So far, I've only seen one other instance of mass suicide: a bunch of bodies flung into a fire by the bank in Ogrimmar. It was inventive, but not really as striking as either the mass-drowning or the mass-flattening. The interesting thing is that everyone is naked. The lesson? There are no clothed suicides in WoW.
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