The Robots of Death, Part One

A quick synopsis:

Rich bastards with face paint sit on their arses in a giant miner while creepy robots do all the real work. The Doctor and Leela arrive inside said miner via the TARDIS, get picked up by creepy robots, are accused of killing one of the rich bastards with face paint, but they didn't do it it, hell no, it was one of the creepy robots who get all red-eyed before they kill. The Doctor escapes from creepy robots, loses Leela, and ends up in a giant bin and is covered in falling pebbles then SCREEEEEEE dum de dum de dum DUMDUMDUM....



Things that pop into your head whilst watching The Robots of Death:

--Funny how when the Robots kill someone, they put a 'Corpse Marker' on their hands. A corpse marker looks very much like a bike reflector. The BBC spared no expense back in the Seventies. Surely an extra riding home from BBC Centre would never notice the reflector missing.

--The rich bastards spend a lot of time painting lines on their faces. And wearing funny hats. This, apparently, is what rich people do in the future.

--The Doctor's explanation of how the TARDIS is bigger on the inside than out makes no sense, and even Leela thinks he's completely full of it.

--Ah, the secondary TARDIS console room. All wood, brass, and Hinchcliffe era Gothicness. Pity we never saw it again.

Oh, wait...



--When the Robots go all murder-wurder, their eyes turn a blazing red. Such a good effect, pity the BBC never used it again.

Oh, wait...



--Why would the Doctor--who fully understands that he is in a mining facility, climb into a hopper without propping the door? Especially when people are being found dead with bike reflectors on their hands.

However will he get out of that particular death-trap? Will Leela stab someone with her knife, which she brandishes quite willingly even after the Doctor gives his 'No weapons' speech? A speech even he seems to think is rather idiotic, but says it anyway? And will the Robots really reveal themselves to be from Death, or is it just a family name? Or is it a brand name, and if so, who in hell would ever buy one?

Zombies and Baptisms--Oh My!

So the all out zombie invasion is underway in World of Warcraft. As well, giant floating necropolises are floating above some of the major cities. All of this is in aid of the new expansion to the game--The Wrath of The Lich King. Yes, it's wonderfully cool, but also a bit of a pisser if you're trying to get anything done in the game. If you're hit by a zombie, you start to glow green and have two minutes to get healed--if not, you turn into a zombie as well. Which may be fine, but other players tend to kill you, and your 'real' character takes damage to armour. It can get expensive very quickly. And yes, all of the above does take place in a 'fake' world, but if you're having trouble with that, you are reading the wrong blog, my friend.

So, despite zombies and necropolises, I managed to raid through the Sunken Temple. Two and a half hours later, I had a new sword, liberated from a dragon. It's the size of a small Hyundai.

Today, though, I was in the dreaded RW, out in Strathroy for a baptism. Despite my arguings to the contrary, I was asked to be a godfather. Even though I'm not Catholic, the parents insisted I do it. So I did, feeling very out of place in the church, filled with people for whom this place played a very large role in their lives. I was an Anglican up until I was around fifteen, but I'm not really sure what I am now. I've explored Buddhism, and while I agree with many parts of the philosophy, I don't agree with enough of it to actually call myself that. I guess I just believe we should be nice to one another, care for the world and animals around us, and try not to be a complete and utter motherfucker. Is there a religion for that?

Part of my duties during the ceremony was to light a candle from the altar. As I did so, I turned, and the candle quickly blew out. If that isn't a sign, I'm not sure what else would qualify.

And They'll Find My Dessicated Corpse Clutching A Wookiee Doll

So finally, Bioware and LucasArts announce the new Star Wars MMO: The Old Republic. And it was then that I knew how I would die: sitting in my housecoat, grinding my Jedi to Paladin status, wiping away tears since my best friend in the game--a cynical Ithorian with whom I shared many a scrape and entanglement with the clone descendant of Darth Revan over the past several years--turned to the Dark Side.

I'll sip my wine, reflecting how I should have noticed her changes in behaviour, a candle burning beside me, the wax dripping down a pile of Legacy of the Force novels. Behind me, the Blu-Ray will be cycling through its eternal trip through every single Star Wars movie/cartoon/Burger King commercial I've downloaded into the house hard drive.

Upstairs, raccoons will rustle. My wife will have left me shortly after I bought the game, the divorce papers mouldering in tatters where she pinned them to the front door. I'll remember how I had heard the upstairs windows break in that really bad blizzard last winter, but I only had enough money to either fix the window or download the Purple Lightsaber patch from Bioware. I'll reflect that I used to have a job, too, but have been getting by okay Republic credit farming and selling the proceeds on Ebay to padewan newbies.

And then I'll see it as I run through the slums of Coruscant. There, as blaster fire from the droidekas Tiyjo the Hutt sent after me shatter my glimstick, I'll see a ship huddled in a docking bay. A ship that I fell in love with forty odd years ago, a ship that can make the Kessel run in less than 12 parsecs. Turning to Force push the droidekas away, I'll move towards that ship, the dice flashing above the pilot's seat as I ignite my last glimstick. And I'll think, I've finally come home
...

....just as my heart bursts. And I'll slump forward, my head hitting the Escape key. Twenty minutes later, the raccoons will venture downstairs, turning their heads quizzically into the living room, seeing a slumped silhouette against the computer wall screen. And then they'll move slowly forward, tentatively....

But what a way to go!

I Think I Have A New Hero

So I'm dozing on the couch, watching Fox News. I watch Fox News because it keeps my anger up. There's nothing like blustering men with painfully short hair and broad suits yelling about the Democratic secret plan that makes a man feel alive. Whenever I think I'll never amount to much,I take cold comfort in the knowledge that at least I'm not a Republican, and at least I can think for myself.

And then I see Ms. Kirsten Powers. I see Ms. Powers completely tear into a Republican mouthpiece with a skill I think only Jedi pundits with centuries of skill can muster. I sit up blearily, and stare at the screen. They allow her on Fox News? Isn't this what they hate? A woman with liberal leanings who can express herself? And one who doesn't back down, doesn't burn a hole in the ozone layer with fifty cylinders of hairspray each morning, and doesn't apply makeup with a backhoe?

Then Ms. Powers finishes her majestic attack, leaving the mouthpiece in rags. If they were using swords, the Republican would be in several, quivering pieces--which is what she is, anyway. Those were some sharp words, I think.

And then it hits me: I think I'm in love.

PS--Because Kimota Matt insinuated I suck at Internets, I went and found this piece of Kirsten magic. It's her tearing a new one into the Lich Queen.

To Finish A JRPG Is To Know Thyself

I spent the weekend hunched over on a white plastic step, playing through Final Fantasy 12. It's a sign of my inherent stupidity that I do have better chairs, but since the step is closest to the PS2 (I use it to stand on to see into my bird cage to make sure they aren't trying to split the atom again) I just grabbed that. So I have back pain, coupled with the frustration that comes with playing JRPGs.

Don't get me wrong--I love Japanese games. But I truly believe they are made by sadists. It is so easy to get oneself--and here I'll use a gaming term, so if you don't understand it, that's okay--completely fucked. Take a wrong turn, and you're fucked. Don't go and scrape that bit of rust on that dungeon wall that looks completely like all the other patches of rust you've seen for the last six hours--and you're fucked. Don't get Pikachu the first time you see him running in a field because you didn't have a Super Poke Ball--fucked. But still, despite that, I adore them.

Yet I've only ever finished one--Dragon
Warrior.



I can still remember finishing this one. It was at my old place at 290 Springbank, on the third floor apartment. It was late at night, roughly around 2:00 a.m., when I killed the dragon and got to marry a 16 bit Princess. One of the highlights of my life. I wished I filmed it so I could watch it again on my deathbed.

But that's been it. Every game since then--namely,most of the Final Fantasy series--has beat me. So this time, I'm coming in prepared, hitting this game with all the mad skillz and determination that only a 43 year old man with no kids and a strong indomitable Irish background can deliver.

Japanese role playing games do separate the men from the boys, even the asexual ones. And I'm not letting this cosplay inspiring collection of cute programming and unrelenting oddness defeat me.

At least, not again.

Twas An Autumn Saturday, As I Stood Upon The Stair

So my increasingly shrinking budget for entertainment, escorts and high tech laser weaponry just keeps getting smaller. So imagine my horror and soul fatigue when I enter a comic book store today to find that--lo!--Marvel Comics have jacked their cover prices at the speed of economic light. For months, both DC and Marvel refused to acknowledge that the Canadian dollar was actually worth more than the American greenback, and only began offering comics at par when it became evident that maybe, just maybe, Canadian readers would stop buying them. All thirty of us.

So I only picked up two comics, because that's me showing them.



Ah, good old X-Men. It was hard to resist the double whammy of Brubaker/Fraction writing and the 80's generated nostalgia that dorks my age have for this title. And Land's cover didn't hurt, either.

I was thinking about the X-Men the other day. I'm not sure where I read it, but I remember someone comparing the X-Men to R.E.M. How back in the Eighties, both weren't well known, and they had a small but dedicated group of followers. Now, they fill stadiums, everyone knows about them, and I feel a certain disconnection to what they are today.

And yes, the stadium metaphor doesn't really work with a comic, but you know what I mean. Suffice to say X-Men sell a lot of books, and there are alleged X-Men fans out there who have no idea what God Loves, Man Kills is. Just like there are R.E.M. fans who have never heard of Murmur.



And I picked up Guardians of The Galaxy #6.
Why? Because Dan Abnett wrote it, and I try to read everything that man writes. (I've never played Warhammer, but have read many of Abnett's Warhammer novels. Weird.)

This book seems to be the spiritual brother to the first 12 issues of Micronauts. Granted, it doesn't take place in a toy inspired microuniverse, but it does take place in the wonderfully storied Marvel Cosmic playground. Abnett and co-writer Andy Lanning are just having fun with this book, and it translates over to the reader. Sure, a book with Rocket Racoon, Russian talking dogs and StarLord can't last forever, but it's fun to enjoy the ride while you can.

And now, since it's Saturday, I offer a quiet song about life's misfortunes that never fails to make me smile. It's a subtle song, reflective in its ruminations. Enjoy responsibly.

Screw Order 66!

...I'm hiding no longer!

Blinded By The Light: Review of Judge Dredd: Blindside

Judge Dredd: Blindside (Prog 1596-1599)

This time around, Dredd is on the trail of a Judge killer called Harry Trask. He's teamed up with a still green behind the shield cadet called Kerrigan. After everything that's gone on inMega City One in the last year,(Judges being exposed as vigilantes, Dredd taking a stand to allow muties to come live in the Meg,) Dredd is doing his best to keep the new Judges on their game. He is especially harsh on Kerrigan for not recognizing a perp just because he shaved his head. ('Less talk, more street action, Kerrigan," he growls).

In the process of tracking Trask, Dredd is exposed to an EMP blast, which takes out his bionic eyes. (His real ones were torn out awhile ago.) He is then completely blind, his guns useless, dependent on the Cadet to keep him alive.

A fairly straightforward story, Blindside
offers up yet another grim view of Mega City One, culminating in a reminder of just how many Judges (and Cadets) end up being killed. Dredd still manages to get his man, although it seems unclear whether or not he brings Trask in or simply beats him to death.

A decent Dredd story, hinting at changes to come. Dredd is now seventy, and is thinking of retirement, while worrying about the future of the Judges. It looks like it's going to be an interesting year next year with our favourite Judge, since this might be the year he finally retires.

Sawed Off Shotgun Full Of Secrets

Pushing Daisies has been simply superb this season. Yeah, yeah, I know, only two episodes so far, but I tend to re-watch them over and over, still chuckling, still wanting sooooo bad to write an episode. I do love it. Which means it should be canceled by Christmas.

The Facts And Arguments Podcast

Here is the link to the Facts And Arguments article I did for the Globe and Mail. This was surely one of the most awesome-y things to happen to me this year.

Marmalade is currently asleep in the doorway leading from the living room to the dining room. The cat has this thing for doorways, apparently.

NEWSFLASH: Mega Man 9 Is Really, Really Difficult

"Oh, fuck off!"

"What? Where in hell did you come from?"

"Oh, that's not fair!"

"You've got to be fucking kidding me!"

"I love how you take it so personally," Vulcan Ninja said from the couch, enjoying my screams of frustration as I tried to play Mega Man 9. "Like they're deliberately just trying to piss you off."

"Well, they are," I fumed. "This game hates its players. It's evident."

So why in hell was I smiling the entire time?

Oh, You Tube, Take Me Away!

We're all stressed these days. Worries about the economy, about the elections, about global warming, the ever growing sense of personal failure combined with the horror of seeing people who pronounce 'primer' as primmer sliding upwards into six figure jobs, as well as the realization that there may never actually be a decent Star Wars novel. That's not even mentioning the dawning truth that I may end up dying without having had the benefit of being cuddled by Tina Fey.

So you're stressed, I'm stressed, my co-member in the London Justice League, Jim Dandy is stressed. Boy, is he ever.

So even though I swore I'd never share this, below is what I turn to when I just feel I can't go on. When the darkness is winning. When it seems the last decent light in the Universe has been replaced by a piece of cardboard that says 'Light' to save money, I watch this. And then, life seems worth living again, if only (sigh) for awhile.