phywriter.com|Prone to occasional grandiloquence

Get your space opera fix with Issue #53!

61 pages

Alone at AX-1 by Swapna Kishore
A mutant runaway code is destroying mining stations in the Belt. As Jerry, manager of stationhead AX-1, races against time to understand the attack algorithm and protect his stations, he has to grapple with problems that go beyond understanding technical issues.

Thieves ‘ Honor: Episode Eight – Endgame, Part One by Keanan Brand

This is a really cool article that builds on another cool article. Adding to the fray, I think it’s cool who otherwise irreverent pop culture figures appear to have a sincere, unexpected reverence for Christ, seeing in him something noble where their own followers wouldn’t expect that of them in a million years (and I’m thinking here of both Monty Python and Penny Arcade).

http://blog.christianitytoday.com/ctmovies/2009/06/jesus-spartacus-and-monty-pyth.html

And then Monty Python’s Life of Brian (1979) came along and put the two stories together. At the end of that film, Brian is crucified along with dozens of other Jews (and at least one Samaritan), but then a soldier comes along, asking who Brian is so that Brian can be taken down from the cross. And whereas the extras in one movie all yelled “I’m Spartacus!” as a sign of self-sacrificial solidarity with their leader, the extras in the other movie all yell “I’m Brian!” as a way of selfishly trying to save their own skins, at the expense of the genuine Brian’s life.

It’s also interesting to consider that Spartacus was written by people who had an active interest in progressive politics — the screenwriter, Dalton Trumbo, almost didn’t receive any credit for the film because of the 1950s blacklist — so it may reflect some of that left-leaning idealism, whereas Life of Brian devotes a fair bit of screen time to mocking British left-wing politics, albeit in first-century Judean garb.

I don’t think the Pythons were anti-liberal, by any stretch, but I do think they were somewhat cynical about the ability of humans as a whole to rise above their own self-centredness. And so, in a roundabout way, they brought the story of Spartacus back to the story of Jesus, as the “hero” of their story is exploited and abandoned by nearly everyone he meets.

Credit my friend Paul Glenn for pointing me to this. It’s refreshing to see a writer at the top of his game absolutely savage a film with nothing more than words and truth.

http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20090623/REVIEWS/906239997

“Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen” is a horrible experience of unbearable length, briefly punctuated by three or four amusing moments. One of these involves a dog-like robot humping the leg of the heroine. Such are the meager joys. If you want to save yourself the ticket price, go into the kitchen, cue up a male choir singing the music of hell, and get a kid to start banging pots and pans together. Then close your eyes and use your imagination.

The plot is incomprehensible. The dialog of the Autobots, Deceptibots and Otherbots is meaningless word flap. Their accents are Brooklyese, British and hip-hop, as befits a race from the distant stars. Their appearance looks like junkyard throw-up. They are dumb as a rock. They share the film with human characters who are much more interesting, and that is very faint praise indeed.

The battle scenes are bewildering. A Bot makes no visual sense anyway, but two or three tangled up together create an incomprehensible confusion. I find it amusing that creatures that can unfold out of a Camaro and stand four stories high do most of their fighting with…fists. Like I say, dumber than a box of staples. They have tiny little heads, except for Starscream®, who is so ancient he has an aluminum beard.

Aware that this movie opened in England seven hours before Chicago time and the morning papers would be on the streets, after writing the above I looked up the first reviews as a reality check. I was reassured: “Like watching paint dry while getting hit over the head with a frying pan!” (Bradshaw, Guardian); “Sums up everything that is most tedious, crass and despicable about modern Hollywood!” (Tookey, Daily Mail); “A giant, lumbering idiot of a movie!” (Edwards, Daily Mirror). The first American review, however, reported that it “feels destined to be the biggest movie of all time” (Todd Gilchrist, Cinematical). It’s certainly the biggest something of all time.

Baxter made a good meal.

He and Jill ate well on the remote space station, but he always made too much food. By now, they were the only two remaining. Kumquats,tube sirloin, and real hydro tomatoes; the guys in Houston said they didn’t eat so well. That was before their signal went dead. Now it was him, and her, and the kumquats.

No one knows where the space monkeys came from, with their luminescent fur and swirling eyes. Their saucer docked and they gained entrance without setting off the electroalarms. That was the first of many mysteries.

Jill went to investigate, but Baxter stayed behind to mind his chili.

Jill hadn’t returned by lunchtime, so Baxter went looking for her after rinsing his favorite ladle.

He turned a corner and saw a crowd of them fighting over something on the floor. They seemed glad to be able to stretch all their many limbs. They were kind of funny.

One of them saw Baxter and produced a cheesy plastic ray gun in an awkward simian paw. Its aim was not effective, pointing the weapon at Baxter’s head, but melting the “You are here” display in middle of the corridor instead.

“That was rude,” muttered Baxter. He darted forward and wrested the weapon from its hairy grasp, and stepped back.

“Take that, you damned dirty… monkey,” he said, and pulled the trigger.

Turns out, their teeth were more effective than their aim. They leapt forward and ate the gun. Startled, he turned to run.

Baxter made a good meal.

I took Linda to the airport in Milwaukee early yesterday morning. She was flying to Arkansas for a business trip. That left E. and I home alone.

I sat on my actual couch in my actual living room while eating pizza and watched an actual movie in HD on my actual HDTV. It was phenomenal. All my normal routines are kittywumpus. It’s like a vacation without leaving home.

I had the bed all to myself last night. You’d think I’d celebrate by sleeping in the middle and luxuriating in all that extra room, but no. I had a little trouble getting to sleep. I’m not used to sleeping alone. I’m grateful it’s only until the weekend.