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NERDGASM

[Mar. 7th, 2009|01:05 pm]

I saw Watchmen last night, at the 4:30 show. I was on an adrenaline high from the get go till 30 minutes after the movie was over (at which point I was wiped out beyond reason).

For all you two (maybe? I think Opal MIGHT have read it, I don't think Kaitlyn has) people on my friends list that haven't read Watchmen...

WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU DO IT NOW

That aside, I very much enjoyed the movie. It was as faithful an adaptation as can be possible given 300+ pages of nine panels apiece into a 2.75 hour movie- that is to say, very faithful. It compresses a lot of the backstory stuff that was cut for time into a very neat opening montage firmly establishing the alternate history, and gets right to the story itself. For those people who have stumbled here through someone else's friends page or something, Watchmen begins as follows:

One night, in New York City, an aging man is watching TV in his well appointed, high rise apartment. Someone breaks in, beats the tar out of the man, and throws him through his plate glass window to the pavement many stories below. The police arrive and investigate, but are baffled. That night, a man in a mask resembling a constantly shifting inkblot of the sort used in old psych profiling grappling hooks up to the apartment and searches through it. A secret closet reveals a superhero costume of the dead man's own- he was a costumed adventurer, just like the investigator. So the masked investigator begins the rounds of his remaining colleagues with a theory- someone is hunting masked heroes.

Regrettably there is some of what I call the Henry Fonda problem with Watchmen. It relates to a scene in Sergio Leone's Once Upon a Time in the West where you see a hardened gunman kill an entire family- father, teenage son, and teenage daughter- save for the under-ten son, who was inside the house. When he comes outside, he simply stares at his family's killer, until one of the killer's underlings asks him, by name, if they are to kill the child. His response is, 'Well, now that you've gone and used my name...', and he shoots the boy (itself shocking for the 1968 release date of the movie). The music swells, and the camera pans around to show us the face of Henry Fonda, who until this time was THE all-American good guy on film.

The point of that digression is that a lot of things can be lost in context. Seinfeld and the Beatles are less revolutionary-seeming now that their innovations have filtered through the genre or medium that they worked in. So too it is with Watchmen, which along with Frank Miller's 'The Dark Knight Returns' helped usher in the end of the silly and frivolous Silver Age of comics. Before this time, comics were bound by the Comic Code Authority to a certain standard, including strict rules about violence, sex, and drug use.This led to some pretty strange things (cellophane S shield power and 13 different kinds of Kryptonite, for example), and to a general idea that comic books were by nature immature- that they had caricatures rather than characters. Watchmen (in 1986), by contrast, treated every one of its characters as people with flaws and problems, and examined the effect these people (both powered and unpowered) might have on the real world.

(As an aside, this trend was already starting with the Bronze age of comics, from the mid 70s to the mid 80s. Watchmen speeded that process up considerably, and led to the extremely grim, gritty, and violent comics of the 90s, most of which were pretty bad because they were written by people who didn't quite 'get the joke', as it were.)

All that led to Watchmen being basically the most popular western comic book of ever. Like, seriously. EVAR. This may not be just (Art Spiegelman's Maus or assorted works by Will Eisner are said to also be very meritorious, but not having read them I cannot informedly comment.) Back to the movie- it is a faithful adaptation of that work. You are very likely to enjoy it.

For somewhat squeamish people (Kaitlyn, in particular) be warned, this movie earns its R rating. However, I believe it does not do it gratutiously. The violence is not all that frequent, but when it exists, it is often brutal. Don't look away- this is part of the point. A deconstruction of comic books cannot exist without a deconstruction of the Biff! Sock! Pow! comic book violence that goes with it.

Go out and watch (or read), and have fun!

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Playing to win?	[Mar. 5th, 2009\|01:45 am]
Recently, I've been giving some thought to the David Sirlin article series, 'Playing To Win'. Sirlin makes a number of points in the articles- I'll summarize them here, for ease of discussion (heh, as though anyone reads this thing...). The links to the full articles- including the third, which makes the same point I make- are included at the bottom of this post. I write this as a way of generating some (maybe?) interesting or insightful discussion on the topics mentioned (or at least getting some insight into a psyche not my own), and as a way of introducing the articles to new people. Part 1 1) The Scrub. The Scrub is anyone who does NOT play to win. As defined, 99% of all players of all games are scrubs. However, the Scrub as described in the Sirlin article is a little different. One who merely does not play to win is not a capital S Scrub. That honour appears to be reserved for those who think they are playing to win, or are playing well, but are bound by an internal set of rules and restrictions so that they only play a subset of the game that others are playing. An example might be a fighting game player who never throws (guilty as charged...) or anyone who decries a winning strategy or plan being repeated as 'cheap'. Discussion- are you a scrub? Does the idea offend you even if you are not? Related note: is turning items off in Smash Brothers competitive play Scrubby behaviour? (I've spoken at length with a friend on this, playing Devil's Advocate. I happen to think it is.) 2) Doing It Wrong vs Lack of Depth: There are two reasons one might not enjoy a game at high level play (according to Mr. Sirlin. I imagine there might be more, but they could probably all be categorized under one of the following in his eyes). The first reason is due to the Scrubbitude of the player- you can't handle the play, so it ain't no fun. The second reason is that of lack of depth- if a game lacks competitive depth, then it won't be fun at top level for anyone. Unfortunately, the two are similar, and it takes some practice to figure out which is which. 3) There are Boundaries: This is an odd one. Basically, if a bug exists in the game that gives an advantage to those that use it, do so. Combos in Street Fighter were a bug, as were many other systems now known and loved. Wavedashing in Smash Brothers is a controversial example. Basically, the idea here is to see them as 'unintended features' that are there to be enjoyed. However, if one of these completely (and he does mean completely) breaks the game, then don't do it. If something would make an otherwise balanced and deep game shallow and unbalanced, it's probably not a good idea. Akuma, a secret character in Super Street Fighter Turbo, was unbeatable by virtually every character, and thus ban-worthy. The matter of ban-worthiness is a bit of a grey area, and I would welcome discussion on this point in the comments- how good does a character have to be before they need a ban? On an only marginally related note, how bad does a character have to be before one would be OK with a patch increasing their power? Part 2- Mr. Sirlin responds to some of the complaints with respect to the first article. 1) Stay within the confines of the game. No kicking your opponent in the shins to win a race, no using illegal drugs to win at the Olympics, and no hacking the game or using cheat codes to win at video games. Some grey area points of interest occur here, mostly to do with Magic. For example (discussion time...), what level of 'playing the player' is acceptable? Is acting oddly (perching on your chair, chattering during a match) to put your opponent off his A game permissible, or even a good idea? What about turning all your cards upside down to disorient him? (I will use the male pronoun in this post because most competitive events of anything I've been to (save Reach For The Top) were male dominated.) Discussion would be interesting. 2) What deserves a ban or should be banned? In some competitive games, a ban is easy. In Magic, for example, plays are made with discrete elements like cards, and thus individual cards judged to harm the game can be removed. In fighting games (the basis the article was written on), it's not so easy. Strategies are not discrete (what constitutes abuse? Throwing 4 times in a row? 5? etc.) and thus nigh-impossible to ban and difficult to enforce. 3) Case study: roll canceling. Roll Canceling in Capcom vs. SNK 2 was one of those delightful 'unintended features' that allowed one to cancel a ground roll (which, similar to the Smash Brothers series, will make you invincible for the duration of the roll and move you around) during the first 1/12 of a second of the roll. If one used the cancel to turn the roll into a special move (like a fireball) or a super move (like one of those big flashy combos) then one could retain the roll's invincibility properties into the execution of the move. Before a major tournament, there was considerable discussion in the high level play community about what would happen with respect to this discovery. Some believed that if one could beat an opponent before they could roll cancel, one could beat them after. Some believed that the roll canceling mirror match would still be a game (here and afterwards, 'the game' or 'a game', when unclear, is used to refer to 'the deep and skill-rewarding competitive game). Some believed roll-canceling would make the game explode. At a tournament, the roll-canceling players curbstomped those who did not roll-cancel, including better players. Yet, those who continued to play the game afterwards claimed that 'the game' did still exist in a worthy form, merely a different one. Discussion: Is it worth continuing to play the game after such a huge paradigm shift? Would you continue, given the above circumstances (assuming the remaining tourney players are correct)? When will Vinay stop writing this as though it were a Lit class assignment? 4)'Playing Down': Let us say you are playing a game of skill with your girlfriend, and you are far better than her. Should you play down to (or at least closer to) her level? Sirlin seems to equate this with being stuck on a desert island with only one game to play with only one opponent, doomed never to improve. (At the very least, it seems insulting to think one's girlfriend will never improve.) Mr. Sirlin then brings up an (apocryphal, apparently) story of a Street Fighter tournament calibre player who, in the story, gave his all against every opponent, irrespective of skill level. If a 9 year old girl sat down at the opposite cabinet, he would proceed to 'stutter step, throw' (presumably a high level tactic, I am unclear on this point) her into oblivion. Mr. Sirlin postulates that this player was a particularly inspiring one, setting a bar of excellence for people to aspire to, and allowing everyone to experience brilliant play all the time instead of just at tournaments. He further speculates that perhaps the 9-year-old had no business on the machine at all, and by wrecking her, the apocryphal player made room for the opponents he should have been facing. He forstalls the avalanche of hate mail by pointing out and accepting some flaws in this idea- that 1)playing like this eliminates people from your (non-infinite) list of opponents, which may leave you playing against the computer eventually, and 2) If everyone played games this way, no-one would ever be able to learn them. I feel that Mr. Sirlin's emphasis on playing to win, as in admiring the hypothetical tourney player going all out against a 9-year-old girl, may be counterproductive. If one is playing to learn, then this achieves nothing. The technically perfect play that one has mastered will not gain one any insight in its application against a trivial opponent. That would be the time to try something new, and learn new facets of the game, as they may come in handy one day. Mr. Sirlin himself addresses this point in the third part of the series, which might be much more important reading than the first. In it, he covers why 'playing to win' may not always be the best idea- it robs one of the possibility of trying new things and learning more about the game. It seems, then, that 'playing to win' may not always be the right idea, but 'playing to learn' certainly is. In situations where a win would be otherwise certain, one can gamble it to help one learn more about the game one is playing as a whole (and what gambles might be useful in the future). In games where the outcome is uncertain, the way to learn is to try one's level best to win, as that will teach you what will and will not work in any situation you are in. Every failure in such a situation is a lesson to be learned, and every success a lesson successfully learned. This view was espoused in every article, but is sadly only the focus in one. The first two articles of this series (linked below) rub a number of people the wrong way. Part of this may be the tone of the articles themselves, which talked down to scrubs and non-competitive types pretty hard. If this summary is your first exposure to the articles, they may make you angry, too. However, the final notes of the first two articles and the third article in its entirety present a more palatable (to my eye) alternative-the prospect of playing to learn. I don't know if this last point could be emphasized enough- winning is simply a means of keeping score. The enjoyment in the game is in getting better. I see fighting games, at least, as a sort of endless game to see how to improve one's play, to continue to keep the game fun. You beat them with a certain tactic, then they beat that, then you beat that, and so on, like a revolving game of rock-paper scissors. Non-competitive types may disagree on this point, and investigating that is part of the reason I'm writing all this crap down. I'd like to know what drives people that play competitive games in a non-competitive way vs. those who play them in a competitive way. Some people I've talked to simply say that they're not interested in winning or improving, which is fair, I guess. If one doesn't intend to play the game frequently, then there's no reason to do so. However, I don't understand that viewpoint from those who would play a game regularly. I'd like to hear your input on this matter and on the other points of discussion above. I apologize for the incoherence (this was written in a single pass with minimal editing), and thanks for reading and hopefully commenting. www.sirlin.net/articles/playing-to-win-part-1.html www.sirlin.net/articles/playing-to-win-part-2-mailbag.html www.sirlin.net/articles/playing-to-win-part-3-not-playing-to-win.html
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(no subject)	[Sep. 4th, 2008\|06:09 pm]
In terms of media, it seems I'm always late to the party. Every genre I've ever liked, I was late for. Musically, swing went out of style in the 50s, and I started seriously listening to music just after the six-week swing revival in 2000. Noir and Westerns stopped being cool longer before I was born than I have been alive. Shooters stopped being cool in the 90s. Adventure games stopped being the thing in the early 2000. There is only one conclusion to draw from this: if I like something, expect it to stop soon. It's like I'm an anti-trend detector!
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Dreams	[May. 25th, 2008\|07:17 am]
My dreams have become incredibly vivid and narrative as of late. It's enjoyable, but also sometimes weird. Last night's theme was time travel, and there were three main threads, as it were. The first involved Buck Godot, Zap Gun for Hire (a character from the Phil Foglio comic of the same name) activating an unstoppable guard machine during the course of one of his jobs, and accidentally activating a time portal in his flight from it, so that when he flees, it chases him through several time zones. Very videogamey, less interesting than it could have been. In one of the time zones Buck flees through, there is a restaurant with a little Japanese boy's birthday party inside. After the cake is cut, he kisses one of the guests, a little girl, on the cheek. After a brief rapid aging montage the boy is revealed to be a young Hiro Nakamura ( which is of course how I knew he was Japanese), and the scene cuts to outside the restaurant. Outside is a 'present aged' Hiro Nakamura and an oriental woman of approximately the same age, presumably the little girl. When the robot comes through, they act to make sure that the restaurant is safe. Then the scene plays again, but revealing that this time the middle aged couple in the crowd is also a suitably aged Hiro Nakamura and his presumably-girlfriend/wife/whatever. And then it happens again and again, showing a significant fraction of the crowd to be Hiros and friends from different time periods acting in concert to keep themselves safe. The interesting thing is that information only seems to have flowed up in age- no older Hiro has informed any of his younger copies that he's here, but is working to keep them safe, and is himself unaware that any even older copies are present. Very strange. The last dream was basically a replay of a movie I could SWEAR I've seen before, at the Princess Cinema one of the first times I went. It's about a man who gets handed a lock of hair and becomes unstuck in time somehow. The woman who handed him the lock of hair intended for this to happen, as he becomes her lover in all of the time periods of her life, always being separated from her at some cruicial event when he becomes unstuck again. Through college, first work, first pregnancy, buying a home, middle age, retirement, everything, the man always slips away through no desire of his own and lives another time period. At the end of the movie, he manages to reanchor himself to present day, and walks to the girl's house (who doesn't really know him yet). The last scene of the movie is him walking into her bedroom, where she is in bed reading, and tossing the now very ragged lock of hair onto her bed. So, besides interest in how structured my dreams are now, does anyone have any idea of what movie I'm thinking of? I'm pretty sure it's a three word title, and I know I had the title in my dream, but now I've lost it. I'm also annoyingly sure it's a real movie. Some of the details may have been crammed into those of other time travel movies, but I know the lock of hair in particular was a constant. Kaitlyn, if you've got anything, it would really help me out. That's all for now.
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(no subject)	[Apr. 17th, 2008\|10:11 am]
I posted, not too long ago, about emotional highs, which for me are relatively few and far between- I can laugh at things, but getting excited about stuff tends to be much harder for me. Today I found another- as stupid and cliche as it might seem, it's Bob Dylan's 'Blowing in the Wind', a 1963 live preformance. Is the age we live in not amazing? Twenty years ago, viewing such a thing would have been the result of a lot of work looking for the BBC archive footage, something only the dedicated Dylan fan would have gone to the trouble of doing. Now, I type 'Blowing in the Wind Dylan' into Youtube and there it is. An internet connection and some headphones are all that are necessary to experience this or any number of other great songs. I'm frankly astonished that with access to the Internet, people can still claim to be bored. I know I haven't been for many years.
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Shortest post yet!	[Mar. 21st, 2008\|12:31 am]
Banging on a piece of writing. I was turning something that popped fully formed into my head over, and got into a conversation with Scott Armstrong about who might be delivering the line. As written: "Well. Here we are, and you at my mercy. But I find that I don't really want to kill you. Don't get me wrong- I'm not all for letting you off scot-free either. It's just that killing you isn't high on my list of priorities right now. You know that feeling you get, where you could go for a soda or something but you don't really crave it? I mean, if someone offered you a soda, you'd take it, but you wouldn't go out and get one for yourself? That's how I feel about killing you. I could go for killing you right now- and unlike a soda, killing you has no empty calories. So I guess what I'm trying to say is, why shouldn't I indulge myself?" Scott holds that the line should be altered in the direction of a gentleman speaker and the soda reference changed to something more refined. I say that the speaker is in the middle ground between a gentleman and a thug. What say all of you people out there in LJ land? Vinay
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Chasing the Dragon	[Dec. 9th, 2007\|03:52 am]
I'm very tired, but I can't sleep yet- not before getting this down, anyway. ------------------------------------------- I find that I am a junkie. Like all junkies, the fix is not the important thing so much as it is the loss of the sensation the fix evokes. At the heart of it all, every junkie loves the way their drug of choice makes them feel. Heroin, cocaine...any drug worth anything produces a very desirable sensation, and every hit produces it, to a greater or lesser extent, depending on acclimatization. My drug is not chemical. My drug is fiction, and the high I receive is emotional. Books, roleplaying campaigns, movies- any media I enjoy, I enjoy mostly because it evokes some kind of emotional response. I remember my first real fix. In grade 12, I decided that I would watch old classics. One day, I rented The Good, the Bad and the Ugly from Blockbuster, and it came on two VHS tapes. By the time the second tape had rolled around, everyone was in bed except me and the lights were off. There was just me, sitting in the middle of the living room on the carpet, and the movie- and the movie's climax enthralled me like nothing had before or really has since. The tension and excitement that it evoked, with its wailing music and camera shots growing faster and faster and closer and closer, drew me into the movie completely, and the resolution of the scene with a gunshot flooded me with relief unlike anything else. Ever since then, I've chased that kind of feeling, and I need something new to evoke it each time. I watch The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, and thoroughly enjoy it now, but the climactic scene only produces a faint echo of what it did before. I find new things- Flowers for Algernon, The Breakfast Club- widely varied works, but common in that they wring a response out of me where not much else can. And they do it once, and then I'm on to looking for another fix. I kinda like it this way- it's cheaper than cocaine, and better for me, and trying to find such works is half the reward. But what I also look for is to turn people into junkies like me- I show everyone I know The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly, hoping that it will stir in them what it stirred in me, and they'll know the thrill too. After all, if they're junkies, they might find something that'll thrill me.
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Max's story. (Abandon all hope, ye who want nonfiction posts)	[Aug. 23rd, 2007\|10:36 am]
I call myself Maxwell Hydragyrum. I work as more or less a jack-of-all-trades, but the sign on my door brands me as a private investigator- although I also do great party planning. On the morning of the day on which this tale takes place, I was ruminating on my family- and it's a very large one, believe me. We're originally from the Mediterranean area, but we've all lived in the West for quite some time now- some time ago, my father decided that's where all the action was. I had just received a letter from my half-brother, name of Smith, who lives in Texas now- detailing mostly his much improved relationship with his wife. They've had a long, rocky road, but that was from before we moved over from the Old Country, as my dad likes to jokingly call it. We were all pretty badly behaved then. I like to think that I was one of the better ones, but that's probably wishful thinking. Anyhow, my half-brother Smith was detailing how well they were getting along now, and how he was shoeing horses and repairing machinery on a Texas ranch. Bit of a waste of his metalworking skill, I thought, but I was running a one-man flunky-for-hire show, so I guess I'm not one to complain. He'd included a picture of himself and the wife, caught in the middle of waving at the camera. She was gorgeous as she'd ever been, with her hands resting on the back of his wheelchair. They looked genuinely happy, which is more than I could say for me. I tossed the envelope onto the table with a sour taste in my mouth, and went over to my water cooler to get something to wash it down with when my client walked in. He was a little nerdy fellow, a full head and a half shorter than me, and wearing a suit that looked like he'd been wearing it for some time. He was very young, most likely barely out of school, and he looked tired and scared, which, I'm sorry to say, excited me, because it meant I might get a case that wasn't spying on a cheating wife for once. I filled my little paper cup full of water and handed it to him, then filled another for myself. Then I went around to the other side of my desk and sat down, making that little circular motion with one hand that indicated he should start talking. He gulped down the water gratefully, and began to speak. "My name is Henry Taylor- I'm a lawyer. I...I came to see you about my wife." I barely stopped myself from sighing and rolling my eyes as he pulled out his wallet. Great. Another divorce case. The picture he showed me was large enough to take up the entire plastic pouch that was supposed to carry change, and the woman that it showed was drop-dead gorgeous. I mean, I've seen gorgeous in my time, and I've seen two women who could even come close to beating this one. One of them was married to my half-brother Smith, waving at the camera with him in the photo on the table. The other was a long time ago, and she turned out to be much more trouble than she was worth. Neither of them had a smile as sweetly innocent as the one in the wallet photo. I suddenly felt quite sorry for the young lawyer whose wife was playing him false. I mirrored his action with the paper cup, and whistled. "Tough break, man. Why do you think she's cheating?" The man's face twisted in confusion, and he stared at me and the photograph alternately for about a second each, then it dawned on us simultaneously that I had it wrong. "No, no, no! That's not it at all. I just came home from a business trip, and my wife was supposed to have the car waiting for me- she didn't. I taxied home and she wasn't there, and a pair of her shoes were missing, as was an outfit she liked to wear when we went out dancing. She'd called on Friday saying she was going to go to a club and dance, but none of her friends had heard from her since. I called the police, and they said they'd get on it, but she hasn't been missing for very long and there's no evidence of foul play, and I figured that I have the money to make sure more people are looking..." He trailed into miserable silence. I looked at him with sympathy, but asked the inevitable question. "There's no chance that she...well, that she just shacked up with someone, or had a one night stand and lost track of time?" He looked affronted. "No! Helen and I are very much in love- and besides, she's highly intelligent. If she did...'shack up' with someone, she wouldn't let me suspect like this, and as for a one night stand...it's Monday now." I raised my eyebrows. Little guy had done his thinking, it would seem- unfortunate, since that's what I was supposed to be doing. I also barely contained a smile at how appropriate Helen's name was. I nodded, then stood up. "Alright. I've got contacts in the police department and out, so I'm just gonna go make a few phone calls and see what progress the case has made or if any of my friends have seen her, OK? Here, lemme take your blazer while I'm at it." I took the blazer and hung it up on a coat tree, picking at some lint on it in the process. The I stepped into the other room, which did have a phone in it. The phone was not connected to anything. I looked at the lint in my hand. It had, tangled in it, a single red hair, long and thin, just like the woman in the photo had. Still, that proved nothing- maybe Henry just preferred redheads. Time to see whether he was as faithful as he professed. I took the hair to my lab bench and set to work. After about five minutes of work I started to curse, and believe me, I curse well. Not only were Helen and Henry completely faithful to each other, and quite obviously very much in love, but I had some bad news to break to Henry. When I went to the desk and sat down, though, I couldn't bring myself to break the news to Henry. I sat there in idiotic silence for quite some time before the alternative occurred to me. I had tried it a couple of times before, and it hadn't gone particularly well any time I had, and I was a lot stronger then than I am now. And yet I couldn't bring myself to wipe that trusting look off of Henry's face, so I spoke. "Henry- you love your wife?" "Yes. Absolutely." "Well, then, I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but she's in a lot of trouble. She strayed into a part of town where she shouldn't have on Friday, Henry." I watched his face crumple with despair, but broke in again. "She's not dead. She's just in trouble- as bad as can be. She's held, I think, in a really bad bar by a guy who's really bad news, Henry. Rich and dangerous. The police can't reach her there." He looked me square in the eye, trying to determine whether I was lying, whether I was trying to bilk him, but my stare was just as unblinking as his, and free of prevarication. My skill at lying is legendary, in the right circles, and besides I wasn't lying much. The best lie has a lot of truth in it, and there was only one falsehood in my previous sentence- practically undetectable when uttered by a skilled bullshitter such as my humble self. My clear, honest gaze appeared to pass muster, and he nodded his understanding. "So what can we do?" I grinned the impish grin which I was famous for, once upon a time, and leaned back in my chair. "We can rescue her ourselves, Henry." He raised an eyebrow. "How? If the police can't get in there..." I rummaged around in my desk and tossed him one of my business cards- one of the little-used ones, for my party planning service. At some point in the past, another half-brother (I have lots) had really shown me how to throw a bash, and I used that knowledge to my advantage. To my delight, one pleased customer gave me a testimonial-'He really knows how to throw a flashy party. He goes psycho with the pomp and glitz." I nearly pissed myself laughing when I put that on the back of the business card, and had to restrain another smile at the sight of the card now. Henry, on the other hand, didn't get it. "How does THIS help us?" I grinned and told another whopper. "I did a bash for this guy one time. He knows me- I'm practically the only guy who can come and go from his place as I please." Yet another whopper, yet more truth. Damn, I'm good at this. "You can be...my apprentice, or...my lawyer! Yeah, that'll work. Now, we need to get ready. I'll order us a pizza, and we should head there around nine. Here." I threw some bills onto the table, "Order from... Fitz's Pizza, the pamphlet's pinned to the corkboard. I gotta make a few more calls." I went into my little back room and picked up my phone that wasn't connected to anything. I didn't dial- there was no need. After a second, some one the other end picked up. "Wzl? Whozzat?" "Di? Is that you?" "Max? You know it's two in the morning, right?" "I know. I need to talk to our Pal- it's important." "Fine, fine. Only because it's you, you know?" "I know. I love you, Di." "Charmer." After a brief silence, Di hung up the phone and Pal picked up. Of all my half sisters, I like Pal the best. She was always nice to me when I was a kid, even though I was a little brat- precocious as hell. She says I was talking back to her right out of the cradle. Her slightly sleepy voice spoke. "What do you need, Max?" "Can't I just be calling to bask in your glory again? "It's two in the morning, Max. Flattery is NOT going to work on me. What do you need?" I sigh. "You ruin all my fun. I need..It." I can practically HEAR her eyes widen on the other end. "What the hell for?" "Trust me. Please? I'll make it up to you, I swear..." A sigh. "Fine. But don't fuck around with it! I was supposed to keep it safe!" "I love you, Pal." "Just be careful, OK? Goodnight." Click. I hung up the phone which was hooked up to nothing and walked to a little box on my lab bench. I opened it, and it, as though they'd always been there, were a pair of mirrored sunglasses with a curious decoration on the bridge- a silver woman's head. I rummaged underneath the bench and took out a shoebox, and so armed, walked back into my office. Henry was there, with pizza at the ready. Good service, Fitz's. "Mr. Hydra-" I cut him off. "Just Hydragyrum will do." "That wouldn't be respectful." I nod. "As you like." "What happens now? I mean, what's the plan?" ""What happens now, is you take these," I gestured at the items I had brought with me, "and you put the sunglasses in your pocket and the shoes on your feet. Then I eat this pizza, and we wait till nine." "I can't possibly wear your shoes- they must be way too large!" I stood up and crossed over to him, and compared my shoes to his. Same size exactly. Then I sat down and ate pizza without a word, washing it down with water from my cooler. At 8:30, I spoke again. "Where we're going is obscenely dangerous. Don't eat anything he offers you, don't drink anything he offers you. If you do, you might not walk out again." Truth and lies hand in hand. I love it. This is why I let myself try this crap again. "When we're there, do exactly as I say, not as I do. I have special privilege there- you don't. All of this is to let you and your wife both walk out of there again, OK? When we're inside, put on those sunglasses and don't take them off, fashion travesty of sunglasses indoor at nighttime be damned. If we get separated, go straight for your wife, and get out. Don't let anything stop you, OK?" He nodded, a determined look on his face. Looked like this wimpy little lawyer had steel in him. Good. At nine we stood in front of a shady pool hall. It had a big neon sign with the face of Mickey Mouse's dog in front of the words 'Pool Hall', but the word 'Pool' had ceased to be illuminated. In front was a big guy wearing a leather jacket with a face like a pit bull, and a little bit bull metal ornament on each shoulder. I knew him, and had for a long time. "'Sup, Max? You visting the boss?" "Yeah-with guest. And he's leaving again, too, so don't get any bright ideas." "Can't let it happen, Max. You know only you and the boss and his missus come and go freely. Anyone else...heh heh...needs a pass." I sighed. Looks like the loyal dog was still as he was. Fortunately, I can lie like a champ, and another name for lying is bullshit. I began to spin an elaborate tale around Doggy, involving a large sum of money and his boss, and I made it as dry and boring as I possibly could. After ten minutes, he looked glazed. After twenty, his lids were heavy. After thirty, he was snoring on the pavement. Henry looked impressed, and I shrugged and opened the door. Inside was a dingy pool hall, as expected. The bar served only one thing, a black drink that the bartender guaranteed would make you forget your troubles, and he meant every word of it. The pool players drifted around, apparently aimless, with eyes that looked right through us. I looked around for the inevitable, and there he was. The Boss. He was dressed in a good suit, black as night and unornamented except for a little lapel pin- the same thing as was on the sign outside. Mickey's dog's head. He always did have a silly sense of humour. "Max! What are you doing here, buddy? You've been neglecting your duties to me, lately. Who's this? One more for the pool hall?" I shook my head. "Nope. A client. He's looking for someone." The Boss had never looked as terrible or cold as he did at that moment, and it was then that I remembered that he had never wanted this position- he had taken it as a forfeit for coming last in a draw. I wondered if he wanted to do what I wanted, if his duties to the hall kept him from cooperating. I gave Henry a little shove towards the door at the back of the bar, and he staggered off- which is when, I noticed, out of the corner of my eye, that he wasn't yet wearing the shades. I cursed and returned to locking stares with The Boss, and held out my hand defiantly. "You know what I'm here for, and you owe me for my previous work. I'm collecting. Give!" The Boss' stare bored into me-long, terrible, cold, and slow. Then, moving more smoothly than any human, he reached behind the bar and pulled out a small, bright red bottle, that he put into my hand. "On the condition, of course, that your man wins." I could only nod my assent and watch as Henry tapped the shoulder of the dreadlocked woman guarding the back door. Her dreads were swaying as though in the breeze, even though there was no wind in the hall. As she turned, obviously inebriated, Henry remembered the damned glasses. He looked away, put them on, and looked up at the woman. The hall was silent for a second, punctuated only by the crash as the woman fell over, her dreadlocks still swinging in a nonexistant breeze. Seconds stretched into minutes, and Henry didn't come out of the back room. Then the door burst open, and Henry came out, staggering under the weight of a woman taller than he was- unmistakably his Helen. The Boss made a gesture, and the pool players arose as one, unmistakably blocking Henry's path. The Boss looked smug, and I kept my expression carefully neutral. When he came to the wall of pool players, Henry made as if to leap- and soared over their heads on unseen wings, and then neatly out the door. When The Boss turned to me in fury, I merely tipped my hat, and said, "Be seeing you." We didn't stop running until we were back at the office, and even with Henry's newfound celerity, he could not beat me there. Helen, when he let her down onto the office floor, was still pale and cold, until I poured the contents of the bottle down her throat. Her colour and conciousness returned then. She looked around in confusion, and said to Henry, "I remember going out on Friday, and to the club, and I remember walking home when..." She trailed off then, and grew pale, and looked like she might scream, until I took her by the shoulders. "It's all right- that can't harm you now. Or rather, it already has, and your husband has done some rather remarkable things behind that closed door to undo it, I'm sure of it. Nothing but love for you could have brought him through the mists, and the things he saw in them, behind that door to you and out again." Henry looked at me in terror. "How did you know about the things in the mist? How did I jump over those pool players?" I smiled. "The shoes." I pointed, and each black dress shoe had a golden emblem of a wing set into the sides, near the laces. Henry went pale. "Who are you?" "I told you," I said slowly, "to call me Hydragyrum." Then something must have gone click in Henry's mind, and maybe he looked at the night's events in a new light, because he looked at his wife, and said, "Hydragyrum. Of course. Remember how we abbreviate that, dear?" She looked at me, and I swore I heard the second click. Hottest thing I'd seen in years, and well read. Well done, Henry. She whispered, "Oh my God..." "What is it?" I asked. Henry looked at me with suspicion. "What do you want?" "Well, if this were the bad old days, I'd probably want a night with your wife, who is by the way the hottest thing I've seen since who knows when- hang on to her tight this time. But this ain't the bad old days, and I'd like to think I'm better than that now. No, you can consider this one pro bono publico, since it would be a shame to lose a woman that beautiful. But there is one thing I'd like from you both, if I may..." I leaned down close and whispered something into both of their ears. A single word, rhymes with relief. Then I nodded and smiled at them, went back to my desk, called a cab for Henry from the desk phone (asking their address was unneccessary, and there was no longer any reason to pretend), and ate my pizza. Henry and his wife went home without further trouble, and in the due course of time, I went to bed. The next morning, born of pure impulse, I tried something I hadn't been able to do in years. I put a coin on my desk, and passed a hand over it. When my hand left, the coin was gone. I tried it over my whole body, then went searching for my mirror. I couldn't see myself. What I could do was feel the impish grin that I was famous for spreading across my face. It was a new day, and for the first time in a long, LONG time, I was truly back in business.
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A real post! Shock!	[Aug. 6th, 2007\|12:13 am]
I dunno how many of you people even read my entries on your friends page anymore, but it's useful for the purposes of announcements. As you may have surmised from the contents of some of my prior posts, I'm a fan of the show Heroes. The problems with that show are twofold. One is the Babylon 5 problem- that is, that the story is heavy on the plot, so starting in the middle is quite difficult, and secondly that it moves pretty slowly because it has to juggle up to five plot lines at a time. To rectify both of these problems, when Heroes Season 1 is released on DVD on the 28th of August, we're thinking of having ourselves a little Heroes marathon- me just because I like the show that much, and for others as a way to catch up. More details will come as the date approaches, but is anyone interested?
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I don't even know why I post this stuff.	[Jul. 23rd, 2007\|07:02 pm]
It's kinda weird. I finished the last Harry Potter book last night. The book was alright, with one phenomenal chapter near the end. I would say that the entire book would be worth reading, even if it were evenly mediocre, for that one chapter. That aside, though, it got me thinking... When I first started reading those books, I was in Grade 10, in high school. Now I'm finished, heading into my last year of undergrad, with who knows what to follow. More than anything, the completion of that novel made me look back and think about what has changed for me. When I started, I was a true romantic. When I started, I was much less bitter than I am now. I hadn't fallen in love yet. I hadn't yet finished my first big RP campaign. I hadn't yet gotten my black belt. And yet some things remain the same- my desire for adventure, to see other worlds and places- worlds of fantasy. My love of RPGs abounds yet, and so does my love of classical music and books. I dunno what to make of this sudden reminiscence- it's just interesting.
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A True Story (<- Not really, but with grains of truth)	[Jul. 13th, 2007\|09:13 pm]
I've been hearing voices lately. I'm not crazy, mind you- the voices I've been hearing are my own. It's likely a method of internal debate- I mull over things by splitting my point of view. The voices used to chime in with the pros and cons of each side in situations where I was of two minds, but now they're unified, and their message is not what I'd expect. They used to suggest the pros and cons of violence in social situations, to debate the value of my constant sarcasm and jackassery in keeping me happy, at least relative to those around me. They'd squabble, bicker, argue, entreat, suggest- but they were always diffident in their delivery, always the servant rather than the master. Now it's different- the voices speak as one, and they command- NO FEAR BUT THE FEAR OF INACTION! NO HATE BUT THE HATE OF INJUSTICE! NO ANGER EXCEPT AGAINST THE WICKED! NO VIOLENCE EXCEPT TO PROTECT! It's moved beyond scribbling on restroom walls now- my internal voices are active, and now they shout, they enjoin- be a hero!
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Another true story (<- Not a true story)	[Jun. 24th, 2007\|08:41 pm]
Waterloo has some of the more erudite graffiti I've seen in washrooms. Some of it is of course the usual crude nonsense. However, there are exchanges like: Witty Comment Less Clever Rejoinder Disparaging Comeback, not knowing that by doing so I have reduced myself to your level on the walls. Some of the graffiti is in languages I can't understand, and some of it is different still. Terry Pratchett once wrote that graffiti is a way of seeing what a city as a whole is thinking in its heart of hearts, and I believe he's more right than people give him credit for. Where better to express your innermost thoughts than on the wall of a bathroom stall? It's untraceable, because no-one will stand for surveillance in a bathroom, and what people really want if they're going to express their thoughts is anonymity. So I keep a close eye on the graffiti in the university, because it gives me a cross-section of the real minds of those that attend. It tells me that racism and intolerance are less prevalent than in the outside world's graffiti (and by extension the outside world) but still prevalent. However, then there's stuff like this... A large no sign over a Star of David has been drawn on the door of the stall, and above it is a message alluding to Hitler's return and the purging of Jews and blacks and the regular nonsense. That disturbed me, but what shocked me was the message written above it. The message reflected my own feelings, intensifying since about this winter. This winter, you see, was when I first started watching the TV show Heroes, and I was instantly hooked. The show was well put together, and aside from the 'cool stuff', also took a serious look at what superpowers would do to society (which X-Men did before it) and what being a hero actually means (which comics in general may have done.) What sets it apart from those comics, however, is that no-one runs around in silly costumes or forms Brotherhoods of Evil Mutants- this look at the ramifications of superpowers tries to be more serious than that. Everyone who has a superpower has only that- in every other way they're human, with all the frailties and vulnerabilities therof. There are no grab bags of standard superpowers here (super strength, speed, invulnerability, flight...the standards)- every power is rare and precious and, so far as I can tell, unique. More importantly, ever since I saw the show, two thoughts have been bouncing around my head. One is a desire that the show awoke in me- to do one pure thing, to redeem fifteen years of bitterness and anger- in short, to be a hero. The other thought is a question- do others feel the same? My answer is here. Above the offensive graffito, someone has scrawled in Sharpie, "Don't give in to villany. Stop this man!" with an arrow pointing to the symbol. It seems as though my fellows are out there indeed. It was then I realized that I too had a sharpie, from my lab that afternoon, and that I was adding to the message above the symbol. My addition simply read, "Be a hero."
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SO, about regionals...	[Jun. 24th, 2007\|12:05 pm]
Yeah, I know it's late. Humiliating, really. Anyhow, long story short, I was 3-2 going into the sixth round. I accidentally lost a card from my deck and unknowingly replaced it with a sideboard card. I tried to combo off, realized the problem, won, then called a judge. I got DQed for knowingly playing with an illegal deck. Ick.
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It's combo time!	[Jun. 9th, 2007\|12:07 am]
I'm heading off to Regionals tomorrow with a fistful of combo! I'll report on how things went when I return!
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sigh	[Jun. 3rd, 2007\|09:54 am]
Let it never be said that Ben's haranguing did not produce results.
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Employment...and other things.	[Jun. 3rd, 2007\|09:11 am]
I have a job now! Training was yesterday- now I can call people and ask them for money- huzzah! All in all, it's not a bad job and it has regular hours, so I'm OK with it. We're calling anniversary alumni to start out. Apparently we're expected to raise 5k in our first 20 shifts. That sounds like a lot at first, but then you realize that it's $250 a shift, which is much more reasonable, I think. Apparently one in nine give $250 when you ask! That sounds like a plan to me. It seems like a much better job than people give it credit for. Merchants of Genoa is an excellent game. Unlike some Eurogames, you can get all up in other people's bidness via bidding wars and bribes. In the game, you have to complete deliveries of goods and messages for money (which is the game's victory condition) but you can only take one action per turn, and only the player whose turn it is gets to choose where the 'trader' is moved to. Thus, the game is about bribing others to go where you want on their turn and getting the best bribes on yours. It's a lot of fun- I think it's much better than Puerto Rico, and at least a little better than Princes of Florence. I started playing Baten Kaitos again. It's not as bad as I remember it, although that might be because I turned the in-game voices off. They're still on in battles, but I guess you can't have it all. It's very hot nowadays in Waterloo. No AC= loss. However, the school is ACed. So, there's some incentive to go there and study. I'm going to Regionals, if I can get Dragonstorm together. It's just too retarded- it can beat the best aggro deck in the format on its god draw if Dragonstorm is on the play. It can snatch games from the jaws of defeat that it has no right to. It's easy to play. How can this be a bad thing? The only thing I'm worried about with Dragonstorm is that, like all combo decks, randomness can sometimes just bone you. I once drew the god hand minus Dragonstorm (Island, Mountain, Lotus bloomx3, Sleight of Hand, Telling Time), saw seven more cards before the Loti resolved, (I know that's not proper pluralization) and still didn't get a Dragonstorm off before Gruul killed me. weep Such is the fate of combo decks. Ben is haranguing me for a post, so off this goes.
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The walk of SHAME.	[Mar. 20th, 2007\|09:24 pm]
Smash Brothers tourney today. Team, 2 on 2. Didn't go so well, I'm afraid. Goat's deteriorated in the time since I played with him last. Oh well, there's always next time. Record: 1-3.
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Warmachine problems	[Feb. 10th, 2007\|09:04 am]
Alright, so I think I know where I've been going wrong. I started playing Cygnar because I wanted a shooty army. Unfortunately, what I haven't been playing is shooty. Here's a new list you might like. Faction: Cygnar Army Points: 996/1000 Victory Points: 33 Commander Adept Sebastian Nemo Centurion Ironclad Charger Lancer Sentinel Lt. Allister Caine Journeyman Warcaster Hunter Stormsmith Stormsmith Arcane Tempest Gun Mages Long Gunners (10) Stormblades At this point, it would only require the purchase of the Long Gunners, the Gun Mages, and the Stormsmiths. Not too bad. There's something there to handle most heavy stuff, some versatility, and some infantry killing power, some denial in the form of the Gun Mages and Caine's Thunder Slam, and some buffing from Caine and Junior. Stormsmiths are there to keep warjacks from hitting worth crap, as are the Mages. Long Gunners should pick any little evasive things apart with a Combined Ranged Attack, and the Hunter can do a reasonable job also. Thoughts?
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Steamroller!	[Feb. 5th, 2007\|09:09 am]
Alright! I won my 'best of faction' patch...by default. No-one else was playing Cygnar. My record? 0-5, baby! Let's get to some analysis, shall we? Round 1: Vs. Greg (Khador) Ah...old grudgematch. So, brilliantly, instead of running the warcaster I'm familiar with, I ran the one I had just seen the statcard for the night before: Nemo! I split my forces, and I shouldn't have. My Stormblades got Arcane Shielded by a Journeyman Warcaster and headed towards one jack, accompanied by Junior himself and his Charger. Across the centre of the board terrain piece, my Sentinel and my Centurion went with Nemo towards a Manhunter and a Juggernaut. Greg and I were both too cautious this round. I didn't charge the Manhunter when I had the chance, and we both sorta danced around getting in range of one another. Net result? The round ended with an almost destroyed Centurion, and four Stormblades dead. Nothing else. Greg wins on victory points. Round 2: Vs Hwa(?) (Everblight) We're playing a map where we have to take and hold three points in the middle of the table. Turns out having like a million shredders is good for that kind of thing. Also, I didn't gun it to the points fast enough, he held them long enough to end the round prematurely. Caine still had some fun essentially stunlocking a Carnivean through Thunder Slam. Round 3: Vs Ash (Khador) Hoo boy, Eiryss is a beating and a half. I did just about everything wrong this round, although once again, Caine had fun with Thunder Slam, knocking a Spriggan over a Bokur and Gorman Di Wulfe, and a Devastator over a Man O'War Kovnik. Butcher eventually got in there, cast his spell, popped his feat, shredded my warjacks. Eiryss snipes Caine for the win. Round 4: Vs AJ (?) (Cryx) Lotta boneturkeys this round. Sent Nemo and the Centurion after them. He splits his forces, sending Asphyxious one way with some bonejacks and a couple of bonejacks, a pistol wraith, a Skarlock, and a squad of Bane Thralls the other, around the central building of the map. I know that if I respond the same way, I'll just get shredded, so I go for the non-warcaster group. The Stormblades and Bane Knights don't want to get into each other's charge range, knowing they'll just get eaten, so they dance around while I try and pepper them with my Sentinel and Lancer. Meantime, the Centurion gets five focus courtesy of Nemo and charges (and oneshots) a Skarlock and a bonejack. Then Asphixious Hellfires Nemo to death. Boo. Round 5: Vs. ? (Cryx again) I got greedy. What can I say? Against Deneghra, I got Caine into a position where he popped his feat and mowed down most of her army (Two machine wraiths, entire Satyxis squad, a pistol wraith), but didn't keep any focus on him to flash back to safety. Boo unthinking aggression! Needless to say, Denegrha put the screws to me for THAT mistake. All in all, fun weekend. Need to cut foam for army box. More to come later!
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Warmachine Update	[Jan. 12th, 2007\|08:50 pm]
So! My army approaches 350 points, with attachments to take it closer to 500 on the way. For the edification of all of you who care out there, here's my list so far. Lt. Allister Caine- 67 points Sentinel Light Warjack- 72 points Charger Light Warjack - 75 points Hunter Light Warjack 88 points Field Mechaniks- 16 points Journeyman Warcaster- 25 points Sum- 343 points Cygnar's stuff is expensive enough that I can't add any more (other than maybe some extra gobbers to pad out the mechaniks squad), but I can use it as a stepping stone to a much larger army! Stormblades- 84 points Sword Knights- 56 points Stormsmith- 12 points For a grand sum of: 495 points! Not a bad total, you'll agree. Things that I'm reconsidering are the mechanik squad, if I remove them then I can field another Stormsmith, and those fellows are MUCH more powerful in pairs or teams of three. Secondly, it should be fairly obvious to all that this is a 'take all comers' list, with a little bit of everything for everyone. The Charger has yet to prove that it's ridiculous, or even any good, but from its stats it should be a fairly solid addition to the crew, with the Dual Cannon being the real star most of the time. The Sentinel is there to catch a Deadeye from Caine every once in a while and eat a bonejack or two, or alternatively rip up some trooper squads. The Hunter was metagaming against Greg, pure and simple. I'd feel dirty if it wasn't also shoring up an important hole in the army list- the inability to deal with any heavy warjack. The Hunter does so very nicely. The Journeyman Warcaster is there as a jack battery. I can't decide which jack I want him to run yet- he lets the Charger fire both Dual Cannon shots and boost both, but he also lets the Sentinel rip things up even better than it already does. The Hunter is the only one I don't want to assign to him, as it will often outpace him, and is not nearly as focus hungry as the other two jacks, only wanting to boost the damage roll on its Long Arm. The Mechaniks are really there to be warm bodies and pad out the points cost, to be honest. They might travel with the non-Hunter jacks in their dashes from cover to cover and tune them up when there's some breathing room, or they might just stand in the way of a Juggernaut to buy the rest of the team some turns. As for the expansion, the Stormblades are honestly only there because they're really really cool. I love the IDEA of Stormblades. Also, if they charge, they're expected to do 23 damage (that's damage AFTER armour) to a juggernaut. Not bad, eh? Their ARM (15) is a little low, though, so I like the idea of handing them the Journeyman and his assigned jack, and having JWC hand them a Arcane Shield to help their survivability first turn. ARM 18 looks a lot tougher. Sword Knights are less tough than Stormblades, but also a lot cheaper. I hear they get 2 melee attacks, too. More to come when I've seen more about them! The Stormsmith is questionable on his own, I must admit. However, in pairs or trios, these guys have a rollicking good time! If two Stormsmiths can line something up between them, they each get two disrupting range 20' no LOS necessary shots! If three of them form a triangle, each gets 3 30' no LOS necessary shots at anything inside the triangle. I really am considering dropping the Mechaniks for them. Now for some strategy. Let's be honest here- this army is not tuned to be winning any competitive events, and is also mostly meant to let Caine show off. He'll be running around, shooting stuff up, handing out the buffs, and teleporting to where he's needed. The rest of the army is just there to make sure he doesn't die. I think I've covered most of my bases. Comments? Thoughts?
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