There’s Nothing Good On My Life Tonight

That is to say, while things are not actually bad, from a “Gosh what an interesting guy he is” perspective, there’s nothing exactly new either. At least, nothing ground breaking. But in no specific order, here are some of the highlights of an otherwise quiet week:

Software Piracy=Bad Techno

Another confounded attempt to play Xenosaga leaves me burning with unspent RPG lust. Yet another copy of Xenosaga, acquired through yet more “enterprising means” left me with some hope that at long last I would be able to sit down and play this controversial, cut-scene laden game. Alas, it wasn’t meant to be. AGAIN. Repeated failure to even boot up finally, after patient repetition yielded an extremely bad techno euro-trash tune reminiscent of those credit screens the crazy European hacks would stick onto their game cracks in the old days of the Amiga. After that, the game loaded up normally, and promptly froze on me mere moments into the opening introductory FMV (Full Motion Video) cutscene. Agh. The moral of this story is: If you can afford it, pay the people who worked hard on that software…

LIE PROSTRATE AT THE ALTAR OF KOJIMA

Going through Zone of the Enders: The Second Runner right now. Once again, Kojima takes that cinematic sensibility of his and takes what would be an otherwise slightly above average game and injects into it such a loving dosage of style and Ultra Cool ™ that you can’t help but stare at it in a crack-like daze of gaming ecstasy. There’s a story here, an intricate one that unfolds painfully slowly since the difficulty level while not impossible, is still somewhat steep. Borrowing elements from the dialogue driven narrative of Metal Gear’s monochromatic communication cutscenes, ZOE2 propels some of the story through more of the same while at the same time throwing in some high quality anime, and the amazing graphics engine for story scenes of amazingly polished quality. If they have to make a mecha movie, all you future SF directors pay attention, THIS IS HOW YOU DO IT. The dynamic camera angles and amazingly fast action, combined with the always cool “shakey camera” effect (The handheld type that makes you feel like some poor bastard is right in the middle of the action trying to capture it all and not be decapitated by a stray particle beam in the process) give this an impact that has to be seen to be believed. Is it one of the best games around? No. Is it one of the best presented games? OH, YEAH…

My Geeky Debut

More on this as it develops, but for purely selfish reasons, I urge all local friends and strangers reading this blog to go out next week and pick your nice, new fresh copy of Playworks issue 5. You can ooh and aah my reviews of Fatal Frame, anime DVDs, and my opinion rants which will be eerily familiar to regular readers o’ the blog. Laugh at my wit! Nod in agreement at my sage insights! Write in to the mag talking about how valuable an asset I am and strongly urge them to give me a raise and a new home theatre sound system! Cement my position so that I can start playing dictator and abusing the other writers! SAY YOU READ ME WAY BACK WHEN!

I can’t pay you much now for this obvious attempt at bribery, but I’ll remember you as I climb the ladder!

Wasabi: Evil Condiment, Fun Movie

Last night, as part of the ongoing “Watch borrowed DVDs” agenda I am trying to pursue, I finally got to watch Wasabi by Luc Besson. Crazy ass comic book style violence up the wazoo. It has also taught me valuable lessons about Japan that I must remember if I ever get a chance to properly vacation there.

1) Yakuza always wear black and scowl at passersby on the street. That or else Japan is the Matrix and they’re all freedom fighters struggling to prove the artifice of the system.

2) The deadliest weapon in melee combat is a couple of Titanium alloy golf clubs.

3) French is an extremely popular language in Japan and a requirement for bank transactions.

4) The Japanese are so relentlessly cheerful and happy about life that they are oblivious even to whoelsale slaughters going on their own shopping malls.

5) Shopping malls are the coolest battleground to stage a fight in. Then again, I realized that playing Vice City…

On Writing

Suffer The Children is being slowly rewritten thanks to the movies and games being played. In addition however, I’m teaming up with the girlfriend for what might end up being a web-based comic called “Charlie’s Monsters” which I’ll be starting work on as soon as I finish writing this up. I don’t want to give too much away, especially if you’ll be able to just click on it in a few weeks anyway, so let’s just say that all the usual insane things you hear me say in conversation will work their way in here. Close friends can now tremble in fear as they know how insane conversations with me can get. The rest can wonder…

Paying The Rent

I just might be able to pick up the slack in June. That’s when the job with Playworks is, in theory, supposed to start paying out. It should be fun. Hopefully I won’t have to worry too much about taking the reins as an actual editor because considering my standards for English and just for journalistic writing, I can see myself coming down very harshly on the volunteer writers, which, I suppose, isn’t fair. But then I tell myself, if you want to write reviews for games, it’s not just about being a good gamer. You HAVE to be a good gamer AND good writer, and if you can’t manage that, stick to playing the games and leave the communication to those of us who can.

This will also possibly necessitate me not being able to spend most of my time at home, but we’ll just have to see about that and hope for the best.

My Dream List

Yes, my birthday approaches in a few short weeks. This list is not an attempt to actually force people into getting me nice stuff, since I don’t need much in the way of birthday presents. I have most of the things I actually need in life and so can’t really complain. However, if you do want to put a huge smile on my face, purchasing of happiness products falls roughly into these categories:

DVDS: You know the drill, Science Fiction, Anime or favorite directors like Ridley Scott and the like. A complete list of DVDs I already own and DVDs I desperately want is here. I haven’t updated my wishlist recently, but then most of the new stuff I want is unreasonably expensive, like TV series collections n’ such. Of course sequels or new double dips to existing DVDs I have are always welcome too. As always, Region 1 preferred…

Comics: I pretty much have all the comics I really want, so anything else is just a happy bonus. Any trade paperback compilations of Poison Elves from volume 8 onwards, Appleseed volume 3 onwards, Akira (PERIOD. I haven’t started this collection yet), the Nausicaa And The Valley Of The Wind collection, or The Invisibles, volume 3 onwards would be appreciated. Or just cool, interesting stuff…

Books: Argh. To my shame, I do NOT have Big Bill’s latest novel, Pattern Recognition. If there’s any book I reaaaaaaaaaaally want, it’s that one. Or Coraline. Basically anything new from Neil-O and Big Bill. Or even the Harry Potter series, since while I read them, I don’t OWN them. Oh, and I still haven’t read the 4th novel…

Games: TOO MANY TO LIST. As a huge RPG fanatic and occasional explorer of better quality FPS games or anything different, like Black & White or The Sims, I’d be happy with just about any game that I rave about here, or the ones talked about on IGN… Now accepting in the
PS2, X-Box and low end PC platforms, as my PC still has a processor clunking along at 450 MHz…

Okay, that should be it. Back to games and comic book writing. Stay tuned for more! Write letters to Playworks (available at all 7-11 outlets!) to tell them how wonderful I am! STRONGLY URGE A RAISE AND AN IRONCLAD CONTRACT TO ENSURE MY CONTINUED HAPPINESS!

That… Was EVIL…

Holy. Fuck.

In my bid to finally catch up on movies that were borrowed which have thus far remained unwatched, I did the ol’ Canadian thing and fired up some Orville Redenbacher popcorn, plonked myself down in front of the TV with that, a pack of cigarettes and a cup of coffee, and proceeded to watch what I thought was going to be an interesting and beautiful diversion in the form of David Fincher’s Se7en.

Nope, I had never watched it before.

I’d somehow managed to steer clear of any knowledge of this film except for the fact that it had Brad Pitt, Morgan Freeman and Gwyneth Paltrow in it, and that it was based on a serial killer premise centered on the Seven Deadly Sins. Also that David Fincher directed it, which was my primary reason for watching it, ’cause I knew if nothing else, it was going to be a gorgeous looking movie.

Everything else was a complete, unpleasant, nauseating surprise that left me rather emotionally drained as the final credits rolled.

On the technical side, this film was everything I hoped it would be and more. Out of all the Fincher films I’ve seen (Haven’t yet watched The Game…) this is probably the one I will remember as his most beautiful film. I don’t know whether or not it was because he was still relatively early in his career and thus at the mercy of the producers and studio, or whether it was simply his aesthetic sensibility at the time, but there is a restraint to his visuals here that worked to create a breathtakingly effective atmosphere. Fincher’s later films like Fight Club and Panic Room show a self-indulgence with the crazy physically impossible long take camera moves and obession with grit and dirt that was refreshingly absent from Se7en. This was a much cleaner, much more subtle and more atmospheric Fincher, relying on graceful pans rather than shock MTV zooms, and letting the camera linger on nicely composed shots and more natural lighting rather than the harsh color treatments starker lighting of later efforts. It was dark and shadowy and nearly every shot in the film was one that could have been framed and hung in a living room. Marvelous work. Nothing to complain or criticize as far as I’m concerned.

The performances were solid. Brad Pitt’s bravado as Miller was suitably annoying and the nasty twist at the end actually made you regret his bravado rather than feel vindicated about it afterwards. Freeman had his usual dignity, poise and intelligence and every slow, measured bit of dialogue was a pleasure to hear, something I always like about his performances.

But it’s really that fucked up plot that stole the show. Yes, Fincher did the murders justice. Yes, Pitt and Freeman augmented this further with their appealing performances and fairly low key delivery. But all of that hinged on the fact that Andrew Walker (The writer) is a deranged lunatic who wrote a horribly effective story that still makes me slightly queasy just thinking about it. There’s a lot to think about, muse about and ultimately be disgusted about in this movie, but it sets out to provoke its audience on multiple levels and, to my chagrin, succeeds. Questions are posed. None are really answered, and in the end, what on level is a showcase for then emerging Fincher’s amazing visuals in 1995, is on another level a quality “serial killer” genre film worthy of Silence of the Lambs and again on another level is a commentary about the state of society in social sense of “Where the fuck have our ethics gone” to the more psychological sense of “What have we become that we can create people like John Doe?”

It was a really beautiful and yet at the same time unbelievably disgusting film. I can see why audiences of the time were buzzing about it, since it can be discussed on almost any level from visceral thrill to the more scholarly discussions in the Ivory Tower. Is it a Deep n’ Profound film? Beats me. It doesn’t quite feel that way. I don’t think it’s really a measured study or commentary so much as it is a response. There’s no agenda being consciously pushed, no message whacking people over the heads, but the implications of the film, whether intentional or just a side effect of the creative process at work, are there.

I’ll probably have to watch it again in a few years when I can stomach it again…

Where Do You Go When You’ve Wiped Out Heaven & Hell?

You wait for them to rebuild themselves thanks to another software company and do it all over again, I guess.

The pointless stat-maxing of Final Fantasy X is now DONE. As an experiment I went off to take on the final bosses at the end of the game and was both amazed and disappointed to see the same behemoths that I had to fight for a half hour, EACH, go down in less than 20 seconds, with no hits to my party. I now officially have bragging rights. So now that the majesty that is Final Fantasy has been annihilated under my God-like onslaught and Babylon 5 season One has been viewed to death (With season 2 just around the corner, and, unfortunately, unaffordable at the moment. Argh…) the only things left to do are get back to writing, and watching a fairly respectable pile of DVDs which have been borrowed from various sources and remain unviewed, a problem which will be shortly rectified.

Hookers Have Angels Too

And they play basketball when they’re not pill popping or glue-sniffing.

The first show of the Singapore film fest for us was a Russian flick called Lilya 4Ever. Technically, I didn’t have too much to complain about, considering how obvious it was they were working with a guerilla budget. I just found that there was too clear a division between moments in the film which were likely culled from interviews with underage girls who were exploited for prostitution, and the obviously written in segments to flesh out characterization n’ such. On the one hand, the actual events themselves were pretty hard to watch, especially when you consider this probably happens hundreds of times at any given minute somewhere on the globe. On ther other hand, the extremely two dimensional treatment of characters (I get bored when everyone is relentlessly good or relentless evil, with no complexity at all) and the fairly arbitrary Hand of Fate to force dramatic conflict felt entirely too artificial, and really didn’t sit well with the otherwise worthy subject matter. Still, they tried. And there were some genuinely effective moments cinematically speaking. It was just let down by the writing. Oh, and the occasionally bizarre choice of Eurotrash Techno music. Those crazy Ruskies, I tell ya’…

Practice Makes… No Difference Whatsoever…

I am about to be uncharitable and cruel.

In the seven plus years that I have lived here, I have noticed, during my wanderings through the underpass tunnel from the Orchard MRT station to the various shopping centers, a blind man sitting at his out of date syntheziser (It looks like a Yamaha, possibly from the DX-7 family) punching out the tunes with dedication, aplomb, and an occasionally quavery vocal accompaniment. I have seen this man there for years. I have heard him play for years. I know he makes a modest income from this sincere effort at working for cash, and I respect that.

What baffles me is that in the seven years that I have walked past him, to and fro, willy and nilly, hither and thither, I have yet to discern any actual improvement in his technique.

Which leads to my question:

HOW IN GOD’S NAME CAN YOU PRACTICE THE SAME SONGS ON A DAILY BASIS FOR SEVEN FUCKING YEARS AND NOT GET BETTER?!? HOW?!?

I was almost willing to let it slide if he pulled out the Blind Card, but witness! Stevie Wonder too is blinder than a Republican at a Gulf War Rally, and that cat can whip out the tunes like no one’s business. If a man who is blind, black and quite probably the victim of both racial and social awkwardness prejudice can hone his skill to wondrous levels, why the hell can’t a Chinese guy who probably doesn’t have half the social challenges a visible minority handicapped guy would?

Every time I pass by that guy I feel an urge. This urge is getting increasingly more difficult to quell, and one of these days, I’ll probably lose control completely and just throw myself at him, screaming into his tone deaf ears, “WHY DO YOU SUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK????????????????”

I Have The Pooooowerrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!

Final Fantasy X:

Godhood approacheth.

Sin will fear me.

99,999 points of damage in one hit is worthy of all inhabitants of Spira bowing down to my knees and trembling in fearful worship at my power.

And another thing, strictly for Final Fantasy gaming geeks:

If that Crazy Old Bastard at the monster arena is capable of synthesizing beasties that can annihilate every sentient for a 50 mile radius and make plants regret ever blooming in the first place, how come he just doesn’t take over the world already?

Tidus: DAMN. That’s a big ass monster.

COB: Ayep. It rightly is…

Tidus: What the hell is that?

COB: Arm.

Tidus: All FOUR of ‘em?

COB: Ayep…

Tidus: How much damage does this thing do?

COB: Kills towns when it’s sleepin’. Pretty much wipes out regions when it’s awake. If it gets mad… well, I ain’t ever seen it get mad…

Tidus: Where the fuck did you find this thing?!?

COB: Didn’t find it, ya’ in-bred, ignorint turd, ah MADE it.

Tidus: You made it?!?

COB: Ayep. That ah rightly did…

Tidus: Shit. This thing could kill Sin, the scourge of the land, you Crazy Old Bastard…

COB: Ayep, s’pose it rightly could…

Tidus: Why don’t you just sick it on Sin or something.

COB: Don’t wanna’…

Tidus: Well what do you wanna’?

COB: Ah’ll let you fight him. Fer, say, 8000. Aw heck, ah like the look of you, first brawl’s free…

Tidus: Can I use nukes?

COB: Only if you let me run first…

We Now Resume Our Regularly Scheduled Programming

Yeah, Babylon 5 was clumsy sometimes. Ungainly even. I still take issue with some of the 1993 CG effects, and the acting and dialogue weren’t always as sleek as they could have been.

But flawed as it was… By God, this is still the single best piece of science fiction television I’ve ever seen in my life. I seriously doubt that anything will come close to it in America ever again. Even Stracynzski himself freely admitted that he was ripping off the serial format of British SF television rather than following the episodic nature of American SF, but that’s the thing that scores points with me. For years, YEARS… I’d been waiting for an SF story on TV that was as good as what I’d read, and it kept Not Happening. I can forgive the failings of B5 strictly on the grounds that it finally sated that need. They were the first to do it. JMS was the first American TV guy to finally commit himself to the idea that if viewers were smart enough for science fiction television, then it was disservice to assume they were too dumb to appreciate a story that didn’t resolve itself in one hour, something that Star Trek had continually failed to do unless it was the sweeps season. It gratifies me that the mighty Star Trek machine actually slagged B5 for using CG effects and prided themselves on using models, only to end up grabbing as many B5 effects staff as they could to integrate CG into Star Trek itself. It gratifies me that the former reigning king of SF television realized what JMS knew all along, and incorporated in their last few seasons the serial format that fans had wished for and they had ignored until JMS proved them all foolish and scared in their assumptions about the audience.

Basically I’m just gratified to see that one man with a good idea and a lot of heart can produce something that is essentially good, and have an audience that is receptive to it. He didn’t do it to start a franchise. He didn’t do it to create movie spinoffs or merchandising, he didn’t do it because of market research and focus grouping to achieve maximum saleability.

He did it because he had things he’d always wanted to see, and no one was letting him see them, so he made them and let EVERYONE else see what he’d dreamed of.

For this and many, MANY other reasons, I’m happy about Babylon 5, for its epic scale, sheer scope, realistic presentation of technology, flawed characters, sweeping plot and character changes, charismatic performances (Well, occasionally), kick-ass space battles, its willingness to ask big questions, and its assumption that there CAN be a happy ending of sorts. But at great cost. And not everyone is happy. This show was so far ahead of the curve on the bigger scale that I’m willing to overlook its technical or narrative flaws, and they ARE there. I still cringe at certain performances, or overblown monologues. But, unlike many other shows, the intention is sincere and it is THERE. The issues are not just universal, but often personal. And it is not afraid to shy away from the fact that we are not perfect, are not at the top of the food chain, and we often make mistakes, serious ones, with reprecussions that we cannot erase.

So this will probably forever put me on the Uber Geek map, but where I still view Star Trek as pop culture entertainment, an interesting diversion, I view Babylon 5 as art. As literature. As something that tries to do what the very best art does, and explore the human condition, the human heart. Star Trek looked to the future and said, “Things will change and get better.” Babylon 5 looked into the heart and said, “We must change, we must MAKE things better. No one else will do this for us.”

In summary: I have finished watching Season 1 of B5. Season 2 is nearly here, and I’ll be very anxious to figure out how I can con a copy and watch that too…

Okay, let the flames begin…

Our Last, Best Hope For Entertainment

FINALLYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Thanks to much reviewing of comic books for @omix comix I am now the proud owner of the first season of Babylon 5 the single greatest science fiction television series in the history of science fiction television and humble juggernaut that finally killed the deservedly kill-worthy Star Trek franchise. There was no way I could afford this in my current state, but apparently reviewing comics just out of goodwill was enough to convince the comics guys to release the DVD set into my grubby little hands. Good karma prevails!

Am I heavily biased about this?

YES.

Will you be hearing from me for the next few days?

Hell, NO…

Also picked up for additional review today, Origin, the Wolverine Origin miniseries, Daredevil “Yellow” the much lauded revisionist retelling of Daredevil’s origin by Jeff Loeb, and Captain Americas as reimagined by Chuck Austen. These will all require reading in the very near future, but first, it’s time to pay a visit to lo’ those days of yesteryear when I was still in university, desperately watching the Red Deer channel every Saturday at 5 pm losing myself in the worlds of Captain Sinclair, Londo Molari and that crazy Narn bastard G’Kar. An innocent time, when Londo was still a fat putz who posed no real threat to anyone. Ah, the memories… the story arcs…

Note to everyone:

LEAVE ME ALONE…

Babylon 5. Bliss…

And Another Thing

This has been bugging me for YEARS.

Why, will someone please tell me exactly WHY and WHEN someone arbitrarily decided that the unit of measurement for fun would be a round wooden container full of screaming primates? HOW IS A BARREL OF MONKEYS CONSIDERED FUN?!?

What’s the standard? Is there like some kind of Prime Barrel sitting around in Geneva in the same way that metric units for weight and distance are enshrined? Do they feed these monkeys? What is the ratio of fun to monkeys? How many monkeys do I need, or is it barrel dependent? Does the grade or type of wood involved in barrel construction affect the measurement of fun? What if I can’t find monkeys? Will squirrels do? How about Gorillas, those are bigger, does that equate to more fun? If the Gorrillas can use sign language or bring housepets, does this alter the equation?

If a barrel of monkeys falls in the forest and there’s no one there to say “Whee!” does it still generate fun?

THESE ARE QUESTIONS I NEED ANSWERS TO, DAMMIT…

My going theory is that the current unit of measurement for fun came about as a result of a bunch of bored British explorers on Safari, or perhaps even Ernest Hemingway, sitting around one day having either killed or put their native guides into an alcohol induced coma, and, not being too sober themselves, decided to stuff the nearby primates into their barrel of now empty moonshine. The monkeys, seriously affected by the remaining fumes, proceeded to conduct a bizarre mix of orgy and gladiatorial style combat in their wooden colosseum, a source of great amusement to drunken imperialists, and thus, in that clever way the British have, our basic unit of fun measurement was created.

I believe then that the unit of “anti-fun” must be a barrel of dead monkeys. I can’t imagine anything less fun than that. Perhaps from now on we should take this measurement more seriously and either use the colloquial “This is at LEAST two barrels” when, say, at an amusement park, or go with the Geneva approved unit reference, “This is approximately 2 BOM.” Conversely, when you are at a really sucky party, it would be wise to have a BO(D)Meter there to measure the increasing body count of dead monkeys in the barrel, so that everyone knows that when the BO(D)Meter rises/falls to zero or below/above, a certain fun frission has been completely lost, and it’s time to make up an excuse to the host about remembering having left the gas on at the stove.

I wish they’d teach this stuff at school man, they never instruct you about the important things…

The Big Ass Update

Since there is a lull in kitten rescuing, video gaming, video game reviewing, comic book reading, not-so-short-story-writing, jobs, viral infections and middle east wars, I figured, “Heck, I’ll write something!”

House Is Officially Decontanimated Of All Cuteness

Pathos is gone.

A French couple showed up on Monday (She is an artist, he is formerly a sales rep for Ubisoft, who hardcore gamers may recognize as the company that made the moderately successful Rayman franchise. They have been in Singapore 6 months) and in a complete twist of cultural irony, we surrendered (The kitten that is) to them. I’m still convinced that if I spoke in a German accent they would have given us whatever we wanted without a fight AND offered a tour of the Eiffel tower, but apparently I’m being uncharitable when I say such things.

They took MY-… sorry, THE kitten.

I kind of miss her. She was sweet and cute and incredibly clumsy, although, in a bid to perhaps turn me off at the last minute, she contracted a case of diarrhea and made sure we knew about it by attempting to show us all over the rug. Urgh. That was not particularly endearing.

What WAS endearing however, was the fact that Zero is now back to his old self. In a telling moment, he threw himself on the rug (The clean part) turned himself over, and promptly began to purr when I petted him, something he hadn’t done all week as he ran in terror from the ferocious kitten that took his couch, took his pillow, took his litter box and took his owners hostage. Zero is now pleased to see the liberation of these assets and commented that the ousting of hostile forces was an inevitability and that he expected to see victory with little resistance. Zero is now at Camp Sofa, convening with his puffy toy on future strategies regarding the administration of these newly liberated territories.

You Looked Better In Your Picture

Which is the first thing I thought last night when we saw another cat somewhere out in the north east, an area called “Senkang.”

Out o’ curiosity, the girlfriend and I noticed a pretty sleek and beautiful looking cat on the same adoption website that Pathos was stuck on, and we decided to go down and see “Chynna”, to see if whether or not we might not want to adopt her ourselves. We have both decided that a kitten is a bit much and a more independent, “I don’t give a rat’s ass” attitude like Zero’s (Minus the supreme cowardice) would be cool to have.

Chynna turned out to be a little too independent.

However uncharitable this is, the first thing I thought when I saw her was, “You’re FAT.” She looked much sleeker in her picture, but I now realize this had largely to do with her holding her breath and wearing a black collar ’cause that’s slimming. The obesity I was willing to forgive. The Fuckin’ Attitude I was not. Zero’s yellow, YELLOW soul is pretty forgiveable, because there’s no hostility involved, just an endearing morbid terror of anything that… well, okay, just ANYTHING. This Chynna cat however had a major “regal” attitude. That’s the only way I can describe it. She will “tolerate” petting, just so. She will tolerate company, just so. She will tolerate scratching, just so. Any deviation from the way she wants these things is met not with a hiss but with a surprisingly annoyed and curt “meow” that brings to mind some Old Money Boston Hag looking down at her black maid and saying, “Your inherent stupidity will be forgiven. ONCE.”

A pleasant surprise was the OTHER cat there. One we had written off ’cause she was, to borrow the old Canadian slang, “Fugly.” Those of you that DON’T know what that is, take “Fucking” and “Ugly” and you begin to see the word origins for yourself. This cat was named “Min Min,” and looked somewhat better than her picture.

Somewhat.

The attitude however, is what makes her pretty neat. She’s pretty dog-like, what with the turning on her back to offer her belly for scratching and, to me anyway, with my broken tailed cat, she has a HUGE FUCKING TAIL that sweeps casually back and forth with the blissful ease of a cat that has never seen a rocking chair. She’s sleek but the picture failed to convey just how big she was. Not fat, all her limbs are in proportion, she’s just BIG.

And still ugly.

Sigh…

Our latest suspicion has turned to a cat that we refer to as Friendly Cat. She seems to share Zero’s apathy towards manhandling, minus the Pantophobia (From Merry Christmas Charlie Brown, Pantophobia being “The fear of everything!”) she hangs out by some fixed benches and tables near one of the HDB apartment complexes and seems to be very territorial, though her territory is SMALL. Just those benches. She’s laid back, very cute, pleasantly plump, nice coloration, and just doesn’t seem to care about being man-handled at all. She passed my “Head Grip” test with flying colors. I automatically like cats that allow me to envelop their entire face in the grip of my hand, and she is one of them. On a whim, I tried picking her up last night, and got a tired sort of “Oh whatever” meow from her, like an old wife that is humoring her husband’s begging for sexual favors. The girlfriend is obsessed with bringing her home. I myself wonder how easy going she’d be once she’s removed from her little kingdom.

And we may have found Pathos’ sibling.

Yup, at the EXACT same construction site. Walking back from Friendly Cat, we heard a mewing, and I thought I was having Pathos flashbacks since it sounded just like her. Further investigation revealed a teeny kitten, Pathos’ size, but a much more common brown tabby color. The general shape of the body and the eyes however, are dead ringers for Pathos, so I’m pretty sure this is another member of her abandoned litter, but its MUCH more frightened than Pathos was. I’ve never been hissed at by a kitten before, but it happened last night, so this kitten, having been out longer, must have been kicked around quite a bit already. It’s already got a kink in its tail.

Of course, now the debate is “Should we do anything about it?” but having since just restored Zero to normal psychological functioning, and since this one seems to be a lot harder to coax out, we might just let nature take its course. I dunno… it looks sufficiently mean or paranoid enough that it might survive. Pathos mewed “HELP ME!” This one mews “FUCK. OFF.”

Who Wants To Be A Hundredaire?!?

I’m the big winner!

At least for the week, anyway. More jobs trickle in with little checks to keep me from the brink of total starvation, though it should be enough to keep things going at least until June when, hopefully, the pay as an editor for Playworks begins. In the meantime, cigarettes are now becoming an increasingly precious commodity to be hoarded with all the enthusiasm of a Jewish family in 1940 Berlin, and Mass Rapid Transit (For Edmontonians out there, somehow, “lerting it” always sounds less geeky than “merting it…” but that’s just me…) has once again become a favorite reading place. Ah the joys of poverty…

The Placard Reads: Will Work For Dignity

Well, okay, that’s an outright lie.

A discreet e-mail to the Lonely Planet people at the urging of well intentioned friends (Thanks, Ching…) has revealed that Lonely Planet has pushed back their pre-production schedule to May 1st, and so no decisions will be forthcoming after all for at least another week or two. I have, however, recently done a radio commercial wherein I did a 30 second voice over for a perfomance of fusion North/South Indian music with Western influences called “SCHRADAAAAAA!” (Pronounced “Shra-dah”) I w
rite it like that ’cause they wanted someone excited and so when I arrived, I jokingly did my combination Wrestling Announcer/Demolition Derby announcer (“Four musicians enter. ONE SITAR PLAYER LEAVES. A no holds barred, knock down, drag out concert to end all concerts where the music and the players are bloody awesome…”) and was stunned beyond all reason when I was enthusiastically told that that was EXACTLY what they wanted in terms of delivery:

He comes from North India and decimates all opposition with the lethal stylings of his Tabla drums!

She is the Punjabi dervish known to kill with a single strum of her deadly Sitar!

THEY MEET FOR ONE NIGHT ONLY AT THE ESPLANADE TO OVERWHELM THE CROWD WITH KILLER MUSIC THAT WILL SLAY YOU! A CONCERT SO DEADLY THAT AN IRON CAGE WILL BE ERECTED TO PROTECT THE AUDIENCE FROM THE AURAL BLOODSHED THAT AWAITS, SCHRADA WILL SHRED YOU…

Or something like that.

Would you believe I actually DO this stuff???

Also, I keep forgetting to invoice Nadya for the giant squid proposal. She’s all ready to pay up the money (Ah… attractive women owing me money… there is some justice in this world. Then again, I did whore myself. Agh…) I just never get around to making up the invoice and mailing it to her ultra boho-incredibly stylish address at chic expat neighborhood Holland Village.

ATTENTION ALL STALKERS:

FOR THE FIRST 5 CUSTOMERS WHO ARRIVE AT THE PURCHASING COUNTER, WE ARE HAPPY TO INFORM YOU THAT A 50% DISCOUNT WILL BE OFFERED ON THE HOME ADDRESS OF ASIAN CELEBRITY NADYA HOW-DO-YA’-SPELL-HER-NAME. BE THE FIRST IN YOUR NEIGHBORHOOD TO CAMP IN HERS. THANK YOU FOR SHOPPING S-MART!

On a totally unrelated note, they have now found a squid bigger than “Giant” size and are calling it colossal! I WANT ONE!

Kool Komix @ @omix

I got another set of comics from the boys at @omix comix. Three actual comic books as opposed to all the trade paperbacks they heaped on me last time. I wasn’t terribly impressed with 411, the Marvel “pro-human” peace initiative, ’cause it really just gave the writers a chance to exercise their Pulitzer Prize Nomination fantasies and write something that felt too self-consciously literary, as opposed to actually playing off the strengths of a comic book. On the other hand, there was Blood + Water, which is a really smart, SMART vampire mini-series that I have nothing but good things to say about. if you ever get the chance, check the book out, though I’m waiting for it to be compiled as a trade paperback. It’s been a long time since I experienced the pain of wanting to know what happens next on a good monthly series. BW reminds me why I usually wait for it all to be bundled…

All’s Quiet On The Video Front

There’s really only the tedium of Final Fantasy X and the ongoing, slow, turgid march towards omnipotence. Clocking in at over 160 hours of game time and over the biggest hump, it’s gradually going downhill now…

Got interested in what Bungie (The guys that make Halo) have been up to and so did some researching and cross-referencing with their old Mac FPS game Marathon. There is a wealth of information and story here worthy of a Sci-Fi novel, and I was pretty amazed at how deep it runs, like a very well thought out conspiracy of Illuminati caliber. Now I’m all excited about whatever is going to happen in Halo 2. The story sucked me right in for the first Halo…

Also trying to see if I can swing some game time with Enter The Matrix as the Playworks folks are hosting the X-Box launch of it in tandem with Eidos over at Funan Center in May, second tech-capital of Singapore next to the mightier and grungier Sim Lim. Hopefully the status as a contributing editor will allow me to abuse privileges like no one’s business and find out if the Brothers Wachowski really are as big gaming geeks as they claim…

But You Write Too, Right?

Well, that’s the theory…

There’s been much written in terms of reviews for games and comics, but little on the fiction side since the deadline came, went and the story was turned down. I’m going to go back to it again and add in some stuff. I’m not sure how much to give away, but in the broadest possible terms, someone gets beaten to within an inch of their lives, someone else gets shot, and someone gets their viewpoint seriously expanded. Sue me, I write big…

The War

George, listen to me. You SUCK.

It’s bad enough that you’re giving all the Freudians a reason to start charging higher therapy prices with your out of control Oedipal complex (Hear me now and believe me later; waging a bigger war than your daddy will not make mommy love you more or enlarge the size of your penis, only your doctors can do that for you) but if you’re going to start storming through desert nations that have acted as cradles of civilization, at least have decency to protect all those priceless artifacts that you didn’t reduce to component molecules with your precision bombing. I mean really, how rude…

SARS

There is some crazed, Chinese National who is illegally staying Singapore. She exhibited symptoms of SARS and was quarantined at the Center for Disease Control. Of course, this means she escaped immediately, and since her favorite haunt seems to be OUR PARTICULAR NEIGHBORHOOD, there’s been speculation about whether or not she’s just happily vectoring away in our neck of the woods, spreading the viral joy to all within coughing range. Brilliant. Bloody, bloody brilliant…

The way I see it, we’ve got Death, War and Pestilence riding high, so where the hell is Famine? Is she taking the day off, or have people just decided she’s out of fashion and sent her off to a detox clinic in Beverly Hills to talk about how she’s a victim of her siblings and that’s why she doesn’t eat? Is she afraid of her horse since it threw her that one time in Africa? Hey, FAMINE, EARN YOUR PAY CHECK…

Wow, That Was Fast…

We already have a potential adopter writing in asking about Pathos, so it looks like she might be gone and Zero will be happy again before the week is even over…

Probably Not A Real Good Sign, BUT…

We went ahead and named the kitten. Henceforth, she is now called “Pathos” because she is so pathetic and inspires nothing but pity and sympathy. We played with her just a half hour ago and she kept knocking herself over ’cause her coordination still isn’t there, and finally fell off the couch, failing in spectacular fashion to land on her feet. The resulting surprise and fear made her hide under the coffee table and it took a little coaxing to get her out.

In light of this, Pathos seems perfect.

Of course, if we’re calling her Pathos and watching her play and going “Aww… she’s so sad and pitiful…” this would mean a decreasing likelihood in our willingness to part with her when the time comes. I’m telling myself that won’t be the case. But then I tell myself I’m that I’m going to be asked to head the Illuminati someday and change their symbol from a mono-eyed pyramid to the Nike logo and that hasn’t happened either…