* Bonus: Affenpinscher.

...and yet, strangely compelling.

Are we really sure he's not gonna get up and moonwalk?
























/Too soon?
(Apparently not.)

I spent my Friday night with these guys:


These guys being, of course, the crew of LEGO set #10192, Space Skulls, a special edition, fan-created, 956-piece LEGO set which, last week, was marked down from $99.99 to the gotta-buy price of $19.98. Alas, it is now sold out.

It took me four hours to put the three skull ships (a squidlike Skullmecha command vehicle, Skullfighter ship, and Hover Skull troop transport) and Skullbot together while Jennifer played Animal Crossing, and I was suitably impressed by designer Mark Sandlin's clever piece choices and the intricacy of the models' construction. Lots of bits connecting to other bits at angles, giving the models' smooth, curved surfaces and concealing topward studs.

Now, I guess I'm finally ready to take on set #6211, which has been waiting for me to put it together since Jennifer gave it to me for XMas. After all, the Skull Pirates (who, honestly, remind me--just a bit--of the ghosts in Travis Pitts' unbelievably awesome "The Madness of Mission Six") need somebody to attack. Hmmm... wonder if we have any better plans for tonight...

Maddie and I were hanging out over at Jan and Randy's place, and while Randy and I were discussing something (woodchucks, if I remember correctly), Maddie got bored and wandered off. Eventually, I noticed that she wasn't nearby, so I looked around the church, discovering that she'd decided climb into Randy's kayak.


"Pew, pew," said Maddie, looking out across the deck from the cockpit. "Kaboom." She glanced up at me as I approached. "Got 'em."

"What are you up to there, Mighty Quinn? Seal hunting?" I checked my watch. Nearly five o'clock, dinner time for little dogs.


"Nope," replied Maddie. "I'm flying my rocket ship through the asteroid belt, hunting for giant space scorpions and crab monsters. Besides, I like seals. They're cute. I think I'd like to meet a seal." She paused. "Wait, what did you just call me?"

"'Mighty Quinn,'" I answered. "It's—"

"It's a store downtown," said Maddie, eying me suspiciously. "We walk past there all the time. Why did you just call me a store?"

"I didn't. The Mighty Quinn was a character in an old Bob Dylan song long before it was a store. He's an Eskimo."

"What's an Eskimo?"

"Indigenous peoples of the Great White North," I answered. "They come from Alaska, Siberia, and Greenland. They invented kayaks." I tapped on the boat's hull. "Though the song's really about the actor Anthony Quinn."

"Who's he."

"Zorba the Greek, for one. And he was Zampanò, the Gypsy strong man in La Strada. Oh, and he also played Auda abu Tayi, the leader of the Howeitat in Lawrence of Arabia. You watched that one with me, remember?"

"I think so," said Maddie, like she was trying to fit puzzle pieces together. "So this Quinn guy is from Greenland? And he's the leader of the Weetzie Bats? Or was that the Aquabats? I'm confused."

"Anthony Quinn? No, he's from Chihuahua."

"He's a Chihuahua? Now I'm even more confused."

"From Chihuahua, not a Chihuahua. It's a state in Mexico."

"But I thought you said he was an Eskimo."

I shook my head. "No, Anthony Quinn was an actor. He only played an Eskimo."

"Oh. I think I get it. So do they sell Eskimos at the Mighty Quinn? Or do Eskimos run the place?"

"No, it's a head shop."


"Wait, they sell heads there?" asked Maddie. "That's really weird."

"Never mind that," I said, changing the subject. "You about ready to head home for dinner?"

"Yeah, I guess I am kind of hungry."

"Well then come on, it's dinner time."


"But what about the giant space scorpions?" asked Maddie.

"Don't worry about them," I said. "The asteroid belt's a long way from earth. We'll be fine. You can always come back and hunt them after dinner."


But meanwhile...

As mentioned before, I own a PS3. It's an impressive piece of hardware, but kind of a white elephant, since new PS3 games are expensive (New games come out around $60, compared to the Wii's <$50), and since I'm still rocking the 27" TV I bought--on clearance--from Sears in 1995. Oh, and it's connected to said TV though a VCR (as is our Wii), so games that would normally cross over into the uncanny valley, such as BioShock (and what is it with video game names made up of compound words where the second word is capitalized, anyway? Do medial capitals automatically imply a superior gaming experience?), merely stand on the edge and listen to their voices echo.

But it's great for Rock Band. And Rock Band 2. And Guitar Hero: World Tour, even if those could stand to feature more of the bands I like. C'mon, a Cocteau Twins track pack would be amazing, or Sigur Rós (whom I've mentioned before, but it bears repeating), or even Pink Floyd. How about the Mountain Goats? Or Einstürzende Neubauten, which could even ship with a power drill or jackhammer peripheral. And it connects to the Internet. By which we get to one of the stranger services offered by the PlayStation Network, PlayStation Home, a virtual reality environment similar to, say Second Life (which I've never visited, but apparently Mike the Gorehound spends a lot of time in), or a mundane World of Warcraft in which quests are non-existent, right along with the ability to smite those who so desperately need smiting (too bad).

I don't spend a lot of time in PlayStation Home. For one, it's kind of boring. About all you can do is walk (actually, run. For some reason your avatars always run from place to place.) around various environments, including a shopping mall, a central plaza that sort of reminds me of the original Half Life, a movie theatre, a bowling alley, etc. You can buy things such as clothing, or furniture for your apartment, using real world money, too, but why would anybody in their right mind want to do that?

But I do find myself checking it out from time to time, drawn in by the general absurdity of a third-person chat interface, one in which you type by means of joysticks and buttons, rather than a more conventional keyboard. Yes, they do sell a keyboard attachment for the PS3 controller, but fifty bucks? Ouch. Thanks, but no thanks.

The first avatar I created for PlayStation Home was male, a generic mook with an average college guy sort of look about him. He was a tall, tan, strapping lad, a generic-looking white kid, basically an unmodified version of the avatar the game engine spit out in the first place. I felt ready to take on the world. And within seconds of strolling into the game, I was approached by another strapping young lad. His first question to me? "R U Gay?"

And that question kept recurring. Everybody was asking it. "R U Gay?" asked a fellow running past. "R U Gay?" asked a guy dressed as a snowman. "R U Gay?" asked a black dude with a huge Afro, pick jutting out of it.

"R U Gay?"

"Isn't everybody?" I'd type back, only to be answered with...

"R U Gay?" For several days after this first foray, I referred to the PS3 as the "R U GayStation." Jennifer was mildly amused.

Now I'm comfortable with my identity, quite comfortable with who I am. I'm straight, whatever that means (sexual identity seems far more complicated today than it was back when I was figuring things out), and I've got no problem whatsoever with gay, but this wasn't the sort of attention I was hoping to draw. I'm really not looking for disco-dancing partners among the bubble machines (both of which are everywhere in PlayStation Home, since dancing is about the only interesting action your avatar can perform); I'm not looking to type in dirty 1337-speak with strangers. So I decided to make myself another avatar. Female this time, one deliberately as plain and frumpy as the PlayStation Home engine could come up with, weight maxed out*, height set at minimum, with a big nose, frizzy hair, and a sunken chin. And glasses. Somebody that I figured the "R U Gay?" crowd would be inclined to ignore.

So this is her:





They're not great pictures, but like I said earlier, this ain't exactly hi-def. And yes, that's my front door reflected in the TV. What's funny is how much this avatar resembles a girl I used to know, one I actually found kind of attractive, except for her personality. That is, she didn't actually have a personality. So that's me, a virtual chubby nerd girl, Velma from Scooby Do. Now, when I visit PlayStation Home, I can actually find a few decent conversations. Whether this is because she stands out from the hyper-pretty avatars of others, I may never know. Though many of these conversations are with female avatars who quickly admit, "LOL Im really a guy" (though I never do). And I seem to spend a lot of time ignoring pop-locking dance moves.



But now, instead of "R U Gay?", I get "U R Fat."


Will my self-esteem survive? Stay tuned...


---

* Which really isn't all that fat, but considering the mooks and midriffs that abound in this virtual realm, having one's belly protrude between one's shirt and skirt seems quite the physical form faux pas. And for the record, I'm no Adonis in the real world; at 5' 7" and right around 200 lbs, I much more closely resemble Dashiell Hammett's Continential Op than a Greek god.

Just a quick note: Nina Paley's animated retelling of the Ramayana, Sita Sings the Blues, is now available for online viewing, thanks to the fine folks at PBS affiliate WNET Real 13. I've been looking forward to this flick for quite a while now, as Paley's blend of ancient Indian myth and the incredible voice of Annette Hanshaw seems a match made in heaven. Now if I can just free up a couple of hours for uninterrupted viewing. If you've got the time, pop up some popcorn, get comfortable, and click on the picture below...

This cartoon:



actually kind of makes me want one of these:



Especially if they make a cover for it emblazoned with "Don't Panic" in large, friendly letters.




But then again, at $359 (with free super saver shipping, but still), I'm probably better off just sticking with my Netbook.

The lovely-and-talented Steve Nagy (stevenagy), like many of us in the genre community, found himself profoundly affected by the announcement of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies: The Classic Regency Romance - Now with Ultraviolent Zombie Mayhem!, by Jane Austen and Seth Graham-Smith*. One thing led to another, which led in turn to Steve announcing a "Zombie Literati" poll, that is, a funny zombie title deathmatch, with the stakes being a copy of said novel (or one of a handful of alternate titles) and "insertion as a character into the novel in progress, Sacrifices, my attempt to write a Hardy Boys-esque supernatural thriller," which is nothing short of awesome.

I'm telling you this because I have a zombie title on the list that craves not brains, but votes. So please, drop on by and vote for Tristram Shandy, Shambling Corpse (technically, the full title should be The Afterlife and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Shambling Corpse, but I ran out of room).**

So vote, vote, vote!***

---

* Art Geek Note: I swear the jawbone in that book's cover has been Photoshopped (clone tool, even) in from Vincent Van Gogh's "Skull of a Skeleton with Burning Cigarette". Sans cigarette, of course.

** Not familiar with the Laurence Sterne novel that inspired this title? It's awesome, the original postmodern novel (circa 1759). Sort of a mash-up of Cervantes, Rabelais, and John Locke, Tristram Shandy far foreshadows just about anything we consider clever about current literary fiction. You dig Mervyn Peake's Gormenghast novels? You'd definitely get a kick out of Sterne.

*** Otherwise, "Brains, Trains, and Automobiles" is sure to sweep this thing.

"I'm bored," said Maddie. "Can we put on records? Can we? Can we?"

"Just a sec," I said, glancing between yellowing paperback and computer screen, comparing and correcting copy. "Sure. Go ahead. Pick one out."


Maddie nosed through the collection. "How about this one? Naah... not that one. Oh, I know, this one. Play this one."

"Again? You always pick that one."

"But I love this record!" insisted Maddie.

"Fine," I said, stepping across to grab the record, then loaded it onto the turntable and queued it up.


"Oh, yeah," said Maddie, bobbing her head in time to the music as I sat back down at the computer, resuming corrections. "And here's the best part," Maddie announced. "Oooh, barracuda."

According the the morning radio news guy, Jaye P. Morgan just took over my bank. Does that suck? I dunno, but I hope we don't get gonged.


Update: Apparently, Chase is involved as well:



We're doomed.

Just found on my camera... photographic proof of Jeremy Lassen serenading the residents of Denver with his post-pub crawl rendition of AC/DC's classic chestnut, Big Balls. Ah, if only I had video...


I've got big balls
I've got big balls

( Sing along behind the cut... )

I've been taking advantage of a rare day off by playing Guitar Hero 3, a game that thrives on the cognitive dissonance of characters like corpse-painted black metal rocker Lars Umlaut shaking bootie to the sounds of Pat Benatar's Hit Me With Your Best Shot. While the game lacks certain rock-and-roll nuances, like hitting a botched note twice to pretend you're improvising or the ability to throw a dirty look at the bass player when you make a mistake, thus passing the blame, it's a realistic enough experience that I've managed to blister a thumb. Ouch.

But it's entertaining, though not quite as entertaining as watching Jennifer play Rayman Raving Rabbids; I've never seen anybody swear quite so creatively at annoying cartoon bunnies.

Though I shouldn't get too game-addicted, since I'm off to The 66th World Science Fiction Convention bright and early tomorrow morning. Stay tuned for pictures and more...


...but until then, here's Maddie.

I'm thinking this may be a way of solving some of the communications issues at the office. Sans kiss-blowing, of course.

After writer00 mentioned this wonderfully-terrible ad, I had to track it down. Wow. Just wow. And the shot of Charlton Heston's Moses summoning the Obama presidential seal from the Red Sea: priceless.

So, let's get this straight: Is The Mancuhrian Candidate suggesting that Barack Obama is the Antichrist? That's crazy talk!

"Oh, nuts," Said Maddie. "I wanna go to Comic-Con, too!"

"No you don't, Maddie. Trust me on this."

Quite a day. Met up with JQ and Kev in PB, then drove downtown for Comic-Con. Helped move boxes of Snake Agent, by hand, from one end of the convention center to the other, so that Mysterious Galaxy could give them away. For some reason, hand trucks and carts aren't allowed on the dealers' room floor (though plenty were in evidence). I affectionately named the process of moving books in this manner after the Bataan Death March. Ugh. But somehow, for all the massive crowd and incessant walking, we seem to have had a good time...


Hulk smash! For Hulk smashed, come back after hours (but before last call).

( More behind the cut. )

On our way to work yesterday, Maddie and I stopped for gas and a quick run through the car wash. Yeah, it was that time of year again, time to remind myself that the Prius is actually a lovely shade of blue ("Brilliant Blue Pearl"), instead of a dull grey-brown.

The run wasn't so quick after all, the boat-sized SUV in front of us had apparently opted for the ten dollar wax job, but we had air conditioning on our side. And we were listening to the Dark Adventure Radio Theatre production of H.P. Lovecraft's At The Mountains of Madness. Something about giant albino penguins, shoggoths, and starfish-headed elder things from beyond and automated car washes goes hand and hand. I'm not sure what, but something.

Maddie wasn't quite sure what to make of the car wash. The hiss of the water/soap jets, the growl of the hoses, and the rumble of the wheels against the track were making her nervous. Then, a sprayer circled the car, blocking the windows with a sudsy film.


"Hey," shouted Maddie. "That robot thing made it so I can't see out the windows."


"It's cool, Maddie," I said. "It's cleaning the car."

( More stuff behind the cut. )

I just realized that Demons is the reason I've never seen another Argento flick in a theater.... Wow. Talk about personal breakthroughs.

This entry is, inexplicably, brought to you by the letter R...


I skipped a chance to go see La Terza Madre (Mother of Tears) with jlassen this evening. Alas, as much as I want to see the third chapter of Dario Argento's Three Mothers Trilogy (Suspira and Inferno being the other two), I just wasn't up to the drive to SF. Nope, the week was just too long (and don't even get me started on the Hodgson book that haunts my weekend). Besides, as I later realized, with the exception of Demons (Which is, I know, Bava, but Argento was producer and writer), I've never actually watched an Argento film in a theatre. Wouldn't want to go setting a precedent.

Instead, Jennifer and I walked down to Velasco's (best Mexican food in Petaluma!) for dinner. Now we're home, settling in for a night of reading and relaxing... and waiting for Jeremy to post his review.