Back To Work

Had one of those gut wrenching moments this week. For the past six months, I've had a book proposal in at a Canadian publishing house that prides itself on 'pop culture' and 'cutting edge' material. My idea was for a 'Geek dictionary' called Geekipedia. But this company--while friendly in emails--could never give me a straight answer as whether they were going to publish it or not. Since I was always told never to multiple-submit work, I waited patiently--then saw that Wired Magazine beat me to it.

So, after seeing that, I withdrew my submission from this company, and have to now re-tool it. I'm thinking of once again sending my work to where it always finds a home--which is anywhere other than Canada. I'm not sure why that is--maybe I don't write 'Canadian' enough, whatever that is. So it looks like it's back to England. Hello boys!

In that vein, I've been asked to write a column for Tad Williams' website. Tad is a good friend, and I'm honoured to have been asked. I can't say enough about Tad, both as a writer and as a human being, so I'll just leave it at awesome on both counts.

So I'm getting back to work as well on the novel, and started making notes last night for another one. When they find me dead after watching Billie Piper in The Secret Diary of a Call Girl, it will be that large pile of paper beside the computer. The one postmarked for England.

Stupid Books

I have, it must be said, a lot of books.

There are days when this weighs on me--literally. Because, as my father in law has pointed out, I never throw them out. If I buy/find/trip over a book, I generally will keep it until the day I die. I joke about being an old man in a ratty housecoat moving through a crumbling house filled from floor to ceiling with moldy tomes--and then I move through some rooms now, and it's like I've walked into little pockets of future-time, because it's already happened.

Still, they are fun, aren't they?

I'm currently on Book 3 of Steven Erikson's Malazan Book of the Fallen sequence, Memories of Ice. These books could be used as cannonballs. Huge, sprawling, and completely involving, full of gasp-inducing gore and coffee-spluttering dark humour, I'm forever awed by Erikson's ability to make me cringe and giggle on the same page. This is the sort of fantasy you can take in your hands and wring about a gallon of blood from its pages--extremely brutal, so it is. But I can't look away.

Because I still don't have enough books, I'm going questing tomorrow for any of the Parker novels by Richard Stark--who also goes by the name of Donald Westlake. I've got an itch for another crime novel lately, since the buzz brought on by The Wheelman has begun to fade. Sure, I could just re-read Dan Simmons' superb Kurtz novels (highly recommended if you're a fan of hardcore crime novels--and I do stress that word 'hardcore'), but I need me some fresh blood. And bullet casings. And scumbags getting what they deserve. And a moll. Gotta have a moll.

When I'm not reading fiction, I'm also enjoying Wayne Grady's The Bone Museum. It's a book by a Windsor, Ontario born paleontologist that is both a travelogue, rant, and examination of the connection between dinosaurs and modern day birds. Grady has an enjoyable, conversationlist tone to his writing that masks the fact that you're also getting a massive download of knowledge.

And, by the way: am I the only one getting an urge to go and read Jules Verne lately? I think there's something in the dreamscape these days, pushing us towards Wells and Verne and even Stevenson. If you haven't seen Jekyll , treat yourself to it. You'll see the works of the old masters are still very much being played with today.

Your Tax Dollars At Work

My CBC piece for Outfront will air this Thursday at 8:43p.m. If you can, listen in. I'd be interested in what y'all think.

Dorkproof

So I finally get to see Death Proof. It has Tarantino. It has Rosario Dawson. I've been staring at the calendar, waiting for this release date since Grindhouse opened in theatres aeons ago. Now, finally, I've sat down and watched the damn thing.

And?

Well, to get the negative vibes out the damn way, I will say it needs to be edited. Tarantino does write enjoyable dialogue--no one really talks that way, but like Elmore Leonard speechifyin', it's nice to see/hear/read. Unfortunately, Tarantino is also fond of it, which leads to there being far too much of it. Twenty minutes of this film could easily be left on the cutting room floor, and Death Proof would be the stronger film for it. Yes, there are beautiful actresses saying it, which makes the pain a little easier to bear, but even that wears after awhile. So, too much yakkin'.

And, oh, Quentin? You don't need to be in your movies. So stop it. Cast me instead.

But onto the good.

The 'grindhouse' effects (crap film stock, an apparent different title to the film being clumsily edited out, scratches galore, at one point the colour fading entirely from the film) bring back memories for me of seeing films at the Mustang and 401 Drive-Ins. I'm not sure if you didn't see movies in the Seventies you would find it so funny, but I kept giggling each time. Kurt Russell is also very good, when Tarantino lets him be the villain. And Rosario Dawson? As always, I say 'Yes please'. In fact, all the actresses in this film are great, but Dawson just brings that extra something that makes her stand out. I think it's her smile.

But the real star of this film are the car chases. When Tarantino actually directs this car-revenge film as a car-revenge film, it's simply superb. The final chase at the end is pure, unadulterated joy. It made me forget all the pages and pages of dialogue that needed to be taken out back and shot with White Out bullets. But the camera angles, the editing and the sheer sense of speed this film has--a joy.

But is this the great Tarantino film? Not really. It feels like what it is--part joke, part homage, part genius. Worth a purchase? Only if you love Tarantino and are interested in film-making.

And lest we forget: Death Proof also has this. Which, to be frank, I could listen to all day. And don't think I haven't.

This. Is. Awesome. This. Is. Awesome.

It's Thursday, and it's time for our weekly aural caffeine.

Geeky, dorky, but oh so much fun.

This will stay in your head for days.

THE TOP FIVE VIDEO GAMES OF THE LAST FIVE YEARS: NUMBER FOUR

Soul Calibur II

I've always had a fond spot for fighting games--which by no means indicates that I'm ever any good at them. Outside of the combat, I like games that have their own mythology to them--be it the rather simple (if convuluted) history of Mortal Kombat to the sheer incomprehension created by that of Guilty Gear X2, I find them endlessly fascinating. So imagine my joy when I found a game that not only had a cool backstory (giant evil sword that is the Soul Calibur--evil and the size of a Buick), but it was one that I was rather good at!

Soul Calibur was such a gorgeous game as well, with backgrounds that kept drawing the eye almost as much as the female fighters kicking ass. It also had Voldo, the strange, knife bedecked freak who seemed to have wandered in from the Silent Hill series. Sadly, I had the XBox version, which meant I was saddled with Spawn as an extra character. (Spawn--the comic book equivalent of gonoherea.) Oh, how I envied those with a Gamecube who got Link!

The gameplay--while good--also seemed to reward sheer mad button mashing. In fact, it was the dubious gift that led me to believe I was so good that I should go and enter a tournament.

Like a good dork, I actually trained hard for a week, focusing on Taki. Needless to say, when I went to the Soul Calibur tournament, I was beaten in my first three rounds by a very bored teenager. I wasn't as cocky after that.

Yes, a great, wonderful game. Oh, and apparently the game has very busty, bouncy ninjas in it. Hadn't really noticed, to be honest.

MY TOP FIVE VIDEO GAMES OF THE LAST FIVE YEARS: NUMBER FIVE

Animal Crossing

The idea of this list is to chart the vidja games that took over my life, even if only for a few weeks. (Only geeks can dismiss an obsession that only lasts a few weeks. Other people seek medical help.) These are the games that took up quite a bit of my internal hard drive, which were never far from my thoughts, that rumbled around my skull when I really should have been focusing on other things. Like work, maintaining healthy relationships, and making sure my socks matched.

Animal Crossing is the MMO for people who refuse to play MMOs. There is no monthly charge, no other people to have to contend with, but in all other aspects, this baby is a giant world with its own life. Once I fired this game up, I was immediately taken with the cartoon world my Viking helmeted dork character found himself in. Like all good MMOs, there was the sense this place existed before I arrived, and still existed after I turned off the game.

The game is populated with tiny anthropomorphic animals, each living in their own home and/or running a business. Your goal in the game is simply to fit in with these wide eyed creatures. But what separates Crossing from just being a cutesy little game you give to your kids to play is that every animal here is out of their minds.

Upon arriving, you immediately get into hock with a raccoon who runs a local store. He gives you a crap place to live, but now you have to work off the loan for him. Ten minutes into the game and you've got a mortgage. Then you meet the other inhabitants--pigs, cats, seagulls, dogs--and while they're friendly at first, it isn't long before they're making demands of you. Take this here. Get my camera from that guy. Would you mind doing this? And if you don't? They have temper tantrums.

They ask you to write them postcards, even though you see them all the time. If you don't write, they get snarky. If you write and they don't understand your letter (they don't understand profanity, I learned), they write back to insult you. With the game running on an internal clock, if you log in late one day (say, because you go to work in the real world), someone will sneer at you for getting up so late. Don't log in for a few weeks? They pretend not to know you. Just like real life!

And yet I couldn't get enough of it. Different things happened depending on the time of day. If you played at three a.m., for instance, you would find a ghost wandering in the forest--a ghost who of course had a job for you to do. Sunday was market day. There were holidays and fireworks throughout the year. A year you would spend making sure everyone was happy, outfitting your crap house (I managed to find Link's Triforce Sword from Legend of Zelda, which made me love this game all the more), and wondering who would move out next and what headcase would move in after them.

I finally had to stop playing the game since I was spending far too much time in it. I dread turning it on now. Probably it's a wasteland, with the characters burning me in effigy. Sure, I could just buy the DS version, but then, with Animal Crossing being portable, I'd probably be found huddled in an alleyway downtown, frantically trying to get Cheri's purse back from the grouchy pig down by the river before she went ballistic again.

A great game, but be warned. Once you enter the Crossing, a part of you will never leave.

It's Thursday. Time To Geek Rock Out!

A little aural caffeine for the geek set. And a little more mild tonic to follow. But not that mild. Mild is for losers and sheep, man!

Five By Five

I just have to say I don't like the fact X-Play has been moved to midnight from its perfect time slot of eleven p.m.

Eleven was magic: pour a glass of wine, take the pipe from the humidor, tap it full of Cherry Cavendish, then sit down on the settee to watch Morgan and Adam deal the dirt on those pesky video games. Then, at 11:30, it was up to bed, after making sure the servants were abed as well.

Now? I'm up to one a.m., wired as hell, and I can hear the butler and the maid getting it on. It depresses me. I need something to take my mind off this latest attack on one of the few pleasures this world allows me, something to soothe my wounded soul...



Ah. That's better.

Still, watching X-Play this week gave me an idea. In one episode, Adam and Morgan generated thirty minutes of filler... I mean, deep critical analysis of the ten best games they've ever reviewed. And I thought: Why can't I do do a filler blog... I mean, write a deep and thoughtful analysis of my favourite games? Why not limit it the last five years, since that's all I can remember anyway?

Seemed like a good idea. But that could have been the sleep dep talking. Still, coming soon....

THE TOP FIVE GAMES OF THE LAST FIVE YEARS.

It'll be awesome. Or maybe just better than putting your tongue into a pencil sharpener. Definitely better than that.

I Wish I Had Faith

BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER SEASON EIGHT: EPISODE 6

'No Future For You Part One'


I've always preferred Faith over Buffy. A brunette in a tank top wielding a weapon has always had the inside track to my heart. Now that I've come down on one side of the eternal Buffy/Faith debate, the world can rest easier this night.

Having always preferred my women to be dark, sarcastic and skilled in at least three martial arts, it's not hard to see why I love Faith. And even though this is the first 'new' Buffy not written by Joss Whedon, I find my Faith well cared for by writer Brian K. Vaughn. (Who, if you didn't know, has written a few things I've liked in the past, like Runaways and The Escapists.)

As the story opens, we find Faith deep in a city Vaughn has a love/hate relationship with: Cleveland, or as Faith calls it 'the mistake by the lake.' In fact, poor Cleveland takes a beating here, with even Giles calling it a 'second rate Hellmouth'. I thought that was Port Stanley?

Anyway, this time round Giles offers Faith a way out of the Slayer life--both a free ticket and a monthly paycheque forever. All she has to do is kill...another Slayer. One who is using her Jedi tricks for all evilness. And she's British, which really shouldn't be a surprise to anyone, since evil comes easy to those sorts. Believe me, I know.

So, Giles essentially hires Faith as a contract killer. Sexy! But then he has to edify the poor girl so that she can fit with in with evil British slayer, which means our downhome girl gots to learn to be all hoity-toity, like. Lifting her finger when she sups tea. Laugh at the working class. Decide how best to use a salad fork other than as a weapon.

So, a nice set up issue. Couple of nice cameos for the geek set: in Xander's gym, we can see a B.P.R.D. logo on the back wall, and while Faith is being sussified in London, we see the Doctor and Rose walk by outside. Yes we do. Go look for yourself.

Or just have faith, for crying out loud.

Hii-YAH!

THE IMMORTAL IRON FIST #7 The Pirate Queen of Pinghai Bay

Writers Brubaker and Fraction give us a tale out of The Book of The Iron Fist, (this is the ultimate Iron Fist book Danny picked up last issue, which is a bit like a great Dungeons and Dragons manual--it focuses on all the previous Iron Fists, their fighting styles, their insights into chi, and probably their recipes for cheese fondue) focusing on Wu Ao-Shi, the one and only female Iron Fist.

Now, when I think of legendary female martial artists, my default is always Michelle Yeoh's Yu Shi Lien from Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon--wise, reserved, able to kick your ass without raising an eyebrow. But here, Wu is anything but that--in fact, she's more akin to Ziyi Zhang's Jiao Long, all impertinence and egotistical disregard of tradition in the finest wushu sense.

And I do realize that is probably the geekiest paragraph I've written all year. For those who haven't left the page by now, you must surely be as big a martial arts geek as me, so....welcome! Have you seen Dragon Tiger Gate yet? Good God, that was awesome. Oh, right the Iron Fist comic.

This is a nice, self contained rather traditional love story that benefits from some very nice art from a trifecta of artists--Travel Foreman, Leandro Fernandez and Khari Evans. For a jam piece, it does come together quite well, with Evans' work looking a lot like that of Charles Vess. If I have any complaints, it's just that since Wu is said to be the only female Iron Fist, it's unfortunate that her story involves her leaving her position for the love of a fisherman, one who couldn't live with the knowledge that his beloved would be in constant danger. I'd rather she left because she was so damn good that people kept pissing themselves when she walked down the street, and people were unable to even walk in K'un Lun. That would have been great.

It's unfortunate she left, because Wu is one helluva Iron Fist. Which she proves by beating the living hell out of pirates in the 'real world', because pirates with bad teeth always need a foot in their mouth. Thus,she ends up earning herself the title of 'Pirate Queen'. She even lives happily ever after--or as long as her particular 'ever after' lasts--with her fisherman. Awww...

But why has there only been one female Iron Fist? And anyone want to lay bets we'll see another one soon? Hiii--YAH!



THE IMMORTAL IRON FIST #8 The Seven Capital Cities of Heaven--Round One

We're back to Danny Rand this issue, for what promises not to be a long story about tea ceremonies. In fact, I think we're in for a whole bunch of kung fu asskicking. Which is, to me, is how I spell awesome.

Apparently, the mystical city of K'un Lun (where Danny grew up and became Iron Fist) is but one of six other mystical cities that float in and out Earth's reality. Imagine a rotating suburb of martial arts Brigadoons, and you're there. So, every 88 years, these cities come close enough together to allow them to have a big kung fu fight tournament. The winner in this tournament wins the planet Earth--meaning that their time to 'rotate' in to our planet is lessened. Win the fight? You can probably take out a library book and phase back in in time not to pay late fees. Lose? You'll pay a lot of late fees for that book. I mean, a lot.

So Danny has to go and fight, even though his friend Jeryn has been kidnapped by the evil Davos, another champion. Danny's company is being taken over by HYDRA, as well. And he's still wondering what dark secret his master, the masked Yu-Ti (who reminds me of Cobra Commander from G.I. Joe)is hiding from him (just why didn't Danny's father become an Iron Fist?).

The tournament looks like Mortal Kombat done right, with the other champions sporting names like Bride of Nine Spiders (goth girl with spikes for a necklace), Dog Brother #1, Prince of Orphans, Steel Serpent, Tiger's Beautiful Daughter, and Fat Cobra. The issue ends with Fat Cobra, a giant, tattooed sumo wrestler who has the speed of a much smaller man, calling out Danny for an ass kicking as the tournament begins.

It's great stuff. The names alone paid for the comic. Hiii--YAH!

So I Like Matthew Good. Does That Make Me A Bad Person?

David has cast aspersions on my (vaguely) good name, simply because I like the Matthew Good. He said--and I quote--I thought you were violent and unbalanced, but this really puts you over the top as a true loon.

There is casting aspersions, and then there's Casting Aspersions As An Olympic Sport. David wins the gold, and a few minutes with the woman who brings out the medals.

But honestly. Any man who can do this video has won my undying devotion. That's my life, man! He knows my pain!

Oh, and this one, too--and not just because the drummer is kinda hot.

Okay, so I like women drummers. I blame Meg White. And that dream I had about Animal once, except he was Miss Piggy.

Another Reason To Keep Living

I had begun to wonder what the point of it all was, but now....now, I have a reason to keep living.

Struggling For Air As The Toilet Swirls

I was reading this post over at Kimota's blog about the current sad state of DC Comics. I tend to agree with every single thing Kimota says. It's also reassuring to see that I'm not the only one to feel that DC Comics has lost its way, and I feel much of this is down to Dan Didio.

I'm currently getting one DC Comic--and sadly, it's the horrific Countdown. I feel nothing when I read it--no sense of involvement, no real caring about what happens next, and the only meagre joy I get out of it is just how terrible it is. (The magical transformation of a pair of heavy manacles--about the size of a softball--to a thin bracelet in the space of one issue is only one of the many, many craptacular editorial mix-ups to be found within.) For a kid who always chose DC over Marvel as a boy, who loves almost every single hero in the DCU, it takes a lot to make me not care. Way to go, DC!

Even though I said I was giving up comics forever and ever, I have drifted back to a few. Among them? CRIMINAL, which is just superb pulpy noir. I've also picked up the occasional IRON FIST (also by Ed Brubaker, writer of CRIMINAL). As well, I've been reading 2000 AD again. And it's the latter that shows me that comics can still be fun.

Why 2000 AD is still good can be ascribed to many reasons. Chief among them is their decision to allow their characters to age--something DC very rarely does, especially with their Big Guns. Judge Dredd is now really getting on in years (late sixties?), and the gorgeous Judge Anderson from the Eighties is now a woman in her fifties. As well, 2000 AD revolves various storylines--stories run anywhere from six to ten issues, and then they go away for awhile, allowing other characters to step into the limelight. In this way, the book is always different, and readers don't get tired of certain characters. If you don't like Robo-Hunter, then you know she'll be gone in a month or so. Next month, maybe it'll be Sinister Dexter again, or Nikolai Dante. Variety keeps the book alive--as well as allowing creators to actually create
instead of just re-hashing old scenarios with stale characters.

I'm perhaps not as keen on Marvel as Kimota is--they are infamous for not finishing series within readers' lifetimes, and their lineup has been bloated for years, with editorial decisions that seem more fueled by a three martini lunch before the Yankees play than actually sitting down and planning a solid story arc.

For pure class, I look to Dark Horse, who seem to understand what it means to edit and create solid books. DC and Marvel seem more like overweight bullies that are horrified to find themselves in an increasingly empty playground.

How I Spent My Birthday Weekend

Well, I watched the movie above--Dragon Tiger Gate. And to say it was wonderful is to commit the worst crime of understatement since someone called Britney Spears a car wreck.

I fully admit that the movies I adore are not ones most people enjoy. For example, I can sit and re-watch The Big Leibowski over and over again, and still laugh each time. I have a fondness for Asian films that consider gravity to be something you pay attention to now and again, and I'd much rather a film be strange than always make sense. (Donnie Darko?) So when I saw a few minutes of Dragon Tiger Gate--specifically, seeing a man leap through the small hole created by two other men being thrown down a hallway, or the camera work that showed a martial arts battle from above, with bodies flying up to the camera before crashing to the floor--I was hooked.

Based on a manga called Oriental Heroes, the film has all the makings of an Asian classic: two lost brothers, pieces of significant jade, and an evil masked bad guy who lives in a temple that seems taken from the Mortal Kombat films. The cities look modern, but you can see twenty story high pagodas. And--of course--people can be kicked so hard that they shatter concrete with their heads--but still get up.

In short--it's awesome.

But is it as awesome as my favourite crazyass ninja flick--Azumi? It's...very close.

HII-YAH!