tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13209170297898404142012-01-31T04:01:18.522-08:00Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.comBlogger9781100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-68470363202340750022012-01-31T04:01:00.001-08:002012-01-31T04:01:18.578-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2012/01/31/delicious-humble-pie/">Delicious Humble Pie &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/broken_pencil.jpg" alt="Courtesy http://punology.tumblr.com/" /></center> Let it not be said that I am unwilling to eat humble pie. <a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2012/01/24/write-what-you-want/">Last week</a> I wrote a post about writing what you want, especially if something seems problematic or simply not very good to you. I wasn't saying to stop writing because it's hard, as we all from time to time must deal with hard things, but that sometimes the problems we face are symptoms of a larger issue at the heart of the work, and in order to gain distance to find that problem we must set the work aside. Then I was told about a publisher <a href="http://angryrobotbooks.com/opendoor/" target="_blank">opening their doors to submissions in April</a>. This sticky stuff on my face had better be egg. So back to fantasy aimed primarily at young adults. The stipulations of the opening door are that both the adult imprint and the young adult one are looking for epic fantasy. I had one of those moments where everything in my head screeches to a halt and I examine what I've been doing with the written word. It was one of those things, trying to determine if it is in fact aimed at young men or not, that I simply had to set aside. It was between me and what I need to do. Having ironed out some of the bumps in the new beginning born of the rewrite, I now find myself staring down the next two months. But I'm okay with this. It's a hard deadline. I work more easily with those. With everything else that crops up in the day-to-day routine of your average starving artist who excised the 'starving' bit by submitting to a dayjob or starting a family, it can be difficult to convince myself that carving out even a couple hours from what little leisure time I have to bang my head against a cinder block wall while wearing a cast iron pot is a good thing. But that's really a pile of petulant whining. I've wanted to be a writer for years. Why should I let relatively little things like inconveniences in scheduling and employment get in the way of that? <hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-6847036320234075002?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-85395665344399055112012-01-30T04:26:00.001-08:002012-01-30T04:26:26.469-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2012/01/30/flash-fiction-challenge-the-present-tense/">Flash Fiction Challenge: The Present Tense &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/deep_space_brushes_2__by_ladyvictoire.jpg" alt="Courtesy Lady Victorie of DeviantArt" /></center> Another dubious idea prompted by <a href="http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2012/01/27/flash-fiction-challenge-the-present-tense/" target="_blank">Terribleminds</a>. <hr/> I'm dreaming of home. I can see endless green and amber fields, feel the grain between my fingers. I hear the distant ringing of the bell bringing us in for dinner. My mother insists on being as old-fashioned as possible, while not skimping on things like transportation and communication. She just keeps the Cyberlink rig in an old writing desk. I love her dearly, all the moreso for her quirks. I can tell it's a dream. Everything looks like I'm wearing a big piece of gauze on my head. The sounds are all a bit muffled and the sights are hazy. But it's a good dream, so why not enjoy it? I can smell Mom's pot roast, and there's Jenny, dear sweet Jenny, smiling her bright smile when she sees me coming in the door. She's helping Mom around the kitchen, learning the trade so to speak, so when we get married she knows how to cook for me. I'm sitting down when the klaxon goes off. It's specifically designed to put a virtual spike in my ear to get me out of whatever dream I'm having, asleep or awake. That's what I tell myself, anyway. One moment I'm feeling the wood of Mom's antique dinner table under my hands, the next I'm in my bunk and red lights are flashing. I roll out and am in my uniform pants after about half a second. My boots come on next. I'm pulling on my jacket as I run into the corridor. The brass of my captain's pins looks angry in the alert lighting. Enlisted folk are scurrying from place to place, heading for battle stations. I don't think there was a drill scheduled for tonight. It's not like Commander Weston to pull one at this hour of the rotation. Something isn't right. I get to the command center in the heart of the ship. It's a vaguely circular room with a couple raised diases around what we call the pool table, where Commander Weston and his XO are studying a tactical display. The helm's in the pit on the far side of the room. I step down into the cold steel ditch and relieve the chief petty officer at the helm. The second I bring up the navigational array I see the problem. The <em>Argo</em> is making her way through an asteroid field. I remember telling Weston we'd have to drop out of neg-space to get through it without damaging the ship. This far out, we all know even a stray rock the size of my fist can damage us catastrophically. That isn't what surprises me. It's the heat signature on the far side of the field. In space, the slightest bit of ambient energy can be as much a beacon as a flare held up in a darkened room. Whatever it is, it's turning towards us on an intercept course. Weapons crews are reporting in. Point-defense laser batteries, ready. Missile tubes, ready. Main cannon loading crew, ready. I give Commander Weston a nod. I have a part to play in all of this, as well. The <em>Argo</em>, moving with as much velocity as she does, isn't really apt to stop on a dime. I need to fire maneuvering and retro thrusters very quickly if hard light and rockets start flying around. "Line them up, Mr. Frimantle." Weston doesn't have to tell me twice. I get the <em>Argo</em> on a course to clear the asteroids and turn her to face to oncoming heat bloom. Her main gun is a mass driver the length of the ship, and all of the aiming happens at my helm console. I think of my dream, the farm at home, my dad taking me out to show me how to line up a rifle's sights. I'm telling Weston we're ready to fire when the transmission comes in. It's a loud, screeching thing, high-pitched chattering and scratching. Nobody can make heads or tails of it as it is. But Natasha's on it. We brought a linguist along just in case something like this happened. Everybody back home scoffs at the idea of intelligent life out here. The eggheads know better. They've given us all sorts of contingencies for just about everything, from encountering alien artifacts to running low on food. I'm not taking any chances, though. I flip up the red cover from the firing switch for the main cannon. We're lined up. The unknown heat signature's barreling down on us. I look over my shoulder at Natasha. She's attractive, sure, but her dark hair always reminds me of Jenny. I wonder, for a moment, what she and my parents are doing now, then wrench myself back to the situation in front of me. I've been in combat before, but this is new. I know what to expect from Terran ships and their operators, not so much something no human's ever seen before. The visual sensors blink to life in the monitors above the pool table. The thing is spherical, unlike the <em>Argo's</em> construction of rotating rings around the propulsion & weapons pillar. Spires and odd antennae sprout from all angles. It's engines seem to be situated in grooves that divide the ship into quarters. Occasionally I see a flare of light and I wonder if it's a weapon or an engine firing. But nothing's blown up yet. No damage or casualty reports. The tension in the CIC's thicker than summer haze in the fields at noon. Natasha looks up from her console. Her big blue eyes are wide. She takes a deep breath. We're all holding ours.<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-8539566534439905511?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-1197176612088187942012-01-27T04:33:00.001-08:002012-01-27T04:33:26.408-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2012/01/27/it-came-from-netflix-the-wolfman/">IT CAME FROM NETFLIX! The Wolfman &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/netflix.jpg" alt="Logo courtesy Netflix. No logos were harmed in the creation of this banner." /><br/><br/> {No audio this week on account of my own lycanthropic rampage.}</center> There was a time when movie studios didn't mind being associated with the unusual and the macabre. For years, Universal Studios seemed rather proud of its men becoming monsters. Bela Legosi inhabited the castle and cloak of Count Dracula, Boris Karloff took a couple bolts to the neck to bring audiences the creature of Doctor Frankenstein, and Lon Cheney inspired generations of furries to come by sprouting hair in odd places as <em>The Wolfman</em>. Oscar-winner and character actor staple Benicio Del Toro is a huge fan of Cheney (the actor, not the Dick) and helped bring a new version of this creature feature to movie theatres in 2010. If the production behind the scenes had kept its act together, it might have gone over better. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/wolfman_poster.jpg" alt="Courtesy Universal Pictures" /></center> It's 1890, and our hero is Lawrence Talbot, an actor who spends half his time on stage and the other half looking for the hidden treasure at the bottom of a bottle of scotch. He gets word that his brother was savagely murdered near his ancestral home outside the sleepy English country hamlet called Blackmoor. Given his emotional connection to his brother and the heartfelt pleas of his would-be sister-in-law, he sets out to uncover what happened, even if that means putting up with his eccentric and possibly violently sociopathic father. During his investigation he gets jumped and bitten by a brutal and enigmatic creature. While the wound mysteriously heals, the process takes the better part of a month, and before you know it, the moon is full again againd Lawrence is growing hair in some very odd places, to say nothing of different bone configurations, more dense muscles and claws that can tear a man's head clean from his body. When we see the transformation take hold of our hero, it's a decent blend of prosthetics, CGI and del Toro giving the role his all. Good sound design makes the cracking of knuckles and sprouting of teeth wince-inducing, playing into the overarching themes of horror and monstrosity. In a similar vein, while you may go into a movie about a wolfman expecting some blood, be aware that this one is full of gore, from gruesome dismemberments to the titular Wolfman chowing down on a hapless victim without the benefit of an after-dinner mint. The movie isn't all that interested in taking prisoners or pandering to the squeamish, which is a point in its favor. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/wolfmanDelToroBluntlc021010.jpg" alt="Courtesy Universal Pictures" /><br/><em>They have some good chemistry.</em></center> The other thing <em>The Wolfman</em> has going for it is some pretty fine casting. Del Toro is a force to be reckoned with on his own, but Sir Anthony Hopkins very nearly steals the show as Talbot's father. Instead of going full-on Hannibal Lecter from the start, his growth into the affable madness for which he's become famous is a slow one, the climax all the more satisfying for the build-up. Emily Blunt and Hugo Weaving, as the love interest and the driven Scotland Yard inspector respectively, also slowly become more interesting as the film proceeds after somewhat placid introductions. Ms Blunt's character in particular seems to defy the 'damsel in distress' thing many monster movies like to invoke, and I enjoyed seeing a woman act in a brave and determined manner without it feeling forced or contrived. It made sense, which is unfortunately more than I can say for the narrative structure of the film. Unfortunately for the actors and special effects crew, the plot and script of the movie are kind of all over the place. It never really comes entirely off the rails in a bad way, but some story points happen too soon, some elements are a little out of place or awkwardly spliced into the flow of the story or some characters are too incidental to justify their screen time. The overall effect leaves one feeling the movie was cobbled together, but as the story isn't incoherent, it's more disconcerting than disappointing. I never quite felt like The Wolfman let me down, but I also felt it never truly lived up to its potential. Granted, when breathing new life into a classic you don't necessarily want to reinvent the silver bullet. But being a troubled production with changes in directors and musicians and whatnot, it certainly could have turned out a lot worse, and when it's firing on all cylinders it works very well indeed. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/wolfman-large.jpg" alt="Courtesy Universal Pictures" /><br/><em>"Hello, Lawrence."</em></center> I was immediately reminded of <em>Bram Stoker's Dracula</em>, the 1992 Francis Ford Coppola movie that did for classic vampires what this one does for classic werewolves. There as well as here, we have lurid romantic drama juxtaposed with gruesome violence and shameless bloodletting, and while <em>The Wolfman</em> didn't have <em>Dracula</em>'s pervasive sexuality, it also wasn't saddled with a wooden Keanu Reeves. And come to think of it, Anthony Hopkins starred in both pictures, and a venerable character actor brought the eponymous creature to life. So if you enjoyed <em>Bram Stoker's Dracula, The Wolfman</em> is right up your alley. They're both a little over the top, and both suffer from some flaws in terms of production, pacing and overall presentation, but they are both a bloody good time. <span style="font-size:10px"><em>Josh Loomis can't always make it to the local megaplex, and thus must turn to alternative forms of cinematic entertainment. There might not be overpriced soda pop &amp; over-buttered popcorn, and it's unclear if this week's film came in the mail or was delivered via the dark &amp; mysterious tubes of the Internet. Only one thing is certain... <a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/icfn">IT CAME FROM NETFLIX.</a></em></span><hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-119717661208818794?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-37019532358221228202012-01-26T04:58:00.001-08:002012-01-26T04:58:47.472-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2012/01/26/book-review-double-dead/">Book Review: Double Dead &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/double_dead.jpg" alt="Courtesy Abaddon Books" /></center> Ever wake up on the wrong side of the bed? It's terrible. You're bleary-eyed, groggy, sore from where your spouse has been elbowing you in the ribs all night to stop your snoring... and you're starving. It's that stomach-gnawing hunger you just can't shake until you've devoured half the pantry. If that sounds familiar, you'll immediately relate to the protagonist of Chuck Wendig's debut novel <em>Double Dead</em>. Excepting of course that Coburn's a bloodsucking fiend. That's not hyperbole. When we meet Coburn, there's no question that he's a monster. Vampirism has not turned him into an upper-class snob or a glittery mewling fangless stalker; Coburn the vampire's an asshole. He knows it. He revels in it. It was what made his nights so much fun until he woke up in the middle of a zombie apocalypse. He hooks up with an RV full of humans heading to the West Coast and, being no fool, volunteers to protect them in exchange for the occasional nibble. Better than getting torn limb from limb and your brains eaten, right? On the surface, <em>Double Dead</em> is deceptively simple. It's the sort of premise fans of the horror genre and zombie fiction will find immediately appealing. Diving into it, though, we quickly find these dark waters run very deep. Sure, there are a couple characters who get picked off here and there because it's the end of the world and everything, but many of them have enough dimension and living, breathing presence that its clear there's more going on than a simple monster mash-up. I can't say it's for everybody, though. The squeamish will want to avoid it, and be forewarned that Chuck is his usual (and in my opinion, delightfully) profane self. But chances are, being a novel about zombies with a vampire as its driving force, you know already if <em>Double Dead</em> is interesting to you or not. I challenge you, though, to find another zombie apocalypse yarn with a Wal*Mart cult of cannibals, wilderness fortifications manned by juggalos and the scariest thing in a pink bathrobe you'll ever encounter. <hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-3701953235822122820?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-49139039678476346472012-01-25T04:19:00.001-08:002012-01-25T04:19:27.056-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2012/01/25/fedora-felon/">Fedora Felon &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/mad-men-hat-0209-lg.jpg" alt="Courtesy HBO" /><br/><em>You are not, nor will you ever be, Don Draper. Stop it.</em></center> Guys, listen. It's time we talked. Before there's any misunderstandings, I must confess: I love my fedora. I'm on my second one since discovering I can look half-decent in one. My first traveled to all sorts of places on my head, across oceans and up mountains. The second part of my confession is that I've also worn it in entirely the wrong way. It's a dark hat, and I've worn it with light colors. I've put it on my head without wearing a collared shirt. Hell, I've even had the idiotic temerity to wear it with <em>shorts</em>. I've done my best to curb these atrocities against good taste, and I encourage anybody reading this to do the same. You may think that wearing a fedora makes you classy no matter what you're wearing. This is a lie. The fedora only makes you look classy if you were in classic wear to begin with. A blazer & slacks, button-down and tie, even a long coat that's well taken care of contributes to an overall better look provided the rest of you is put together as well. And believe it or not, under most circumstances, it's rude to keep it on once you're indoors. Yeah, guys. I'm saying it. If you want to wear the damn hat, at least try to be a little conscious of what you're topping off with it. Basic fashion sense is not rocket science. As I said, I've been guilty of this before, and I'm trying to change that. I'm sick of this fine item of classic gentleman's wear getting besmirched by ignorant douches who think slapping a fedora on top of their product-filled Cullen-wannabe hairdo while wearing cargo shorts, sandals and a t-shirt with the words "The Man" and an arrow pointing up with "The Legend" with a downward arrow underneath is cool. It's not cool, bro. You look like a tool. Go with a baseball cap for your favorite sports team or other affiliated mascot. It'll be cheaper, you'll be easier to identify and the poor fedora will be spared one more sneer or look of disgust. Don't let the hat suffer for your sins. It really isn't fair. What has the hat ever done to you? Think about it. Think of the hats. Please stop their suffering and the suffering of others. Before it's too late.<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-4913903967847634647?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-41262362908310199402012-01-24T05:05:00.001-08:002012-01-24T05:05:41.092-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2012/01/24/write-what-you-want/">Write What You Want &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/blueinkalchemist/653379721/"><img alt="Bard by BlueInkAlchemist, on Flickr" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1285/653379721_6ec3f45e2d.jpg" title="Bard" class="aligncenter" width="500" height="376" /></a></center> Let's keep it simple. Should you finish what you start? <strong>Yes.</strong> If you're braining yourself on a wall, should you continue? <strong>No.</strong> Let's say you're me and you're trying to stay on top of this whole writing thing while about a bazillion other things are going on. Dayjob, domicile maintenance, restocking pantries, getting fresh booze. If writing isn't your primary vocation, you'll have even less of this elusive thing called 'free time' from which to carve out the precious moments in which you make words appear from nothingness. You should spend it writing, not agonizing over whether or not you want to cause yourself pain through writing. You see, you're not always going to love what you write. In fact, there are times when you're going to hate it. Maybe you're just sick of a work in general, or perhaps you're kicking yourself in the gonads for a particular aspect of it. The opening may slog, the characters may feel uninteresting, there's no tension, the action has no bite to it, so on and so forth. Whatever the reason, opening that file or notebook now fills you with a profound sense of dread and/or nausea. Yes, writing is work and work means not always doing what you want but rather what you must. But be honest with yourself. It may be time to put your project aside and strike up another. There may be a fundamental flaw that, given your proximity to the work, you're simply not seeing. The important thing is that you don't stop writing. And while scribbling on cocktail napkins or rambling in a blog is all well & good, you need to keep up with your primary area of focus, be it speculative fiction or mouth-watering recipes. Write what you want when you can, and just like you shouldn't be afraid to try something new, you also shouldn't be afraid to put something aside that just isn't working. You can always come back to it later. And who knows? Maybe those old ideas can be pulled into something new, provided they don't turn into a lead weight that drags the whole thing down into the depths of the Stygian pit. More on that later.<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-4126236290831019940?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-70209601697336748552012-01-23T18:20:00.001-08:002012-01-23T18:20:44.155-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2012/01/09/flash-fiction-control/">Flash Fiction: Control &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/video_v_radio.jpg" alt="Courtesy Damn That Box" /></center> <a href="http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2012/01/06/flash-fiction-challenge-song-shuffle-stories/">Terribleminds</a> and my iPhone told me this story should be titled after <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SfpDWDZVi5U" target="_blank">this VNV Nation song</a>. <hr/> She whistled to herself as she emptied the garbage cans. Most people were gone for the evening. The vast control room only had a few people in it. Even so, she had to wait until one of them left to use the bathroom, leaving a corner of the space unoccupied. She smiled under the brim of her baseball cap as she moved to the back of the room. Quick as she could, she connected one end of the extendable USB cable to one of the terminals. The other end went into the smartphone in her pocket. A tap here, a slide there, the process was soon underway. These bozos already had the files in their system, all that she had to do was rearrange things a bit. She'd been studying the file structure for weeks before the pink slip had come. Not that she got a physical pink slip, just a heartfelt talking-to about market shares, sustainability and a bunch of other buzzwords. Her contention that something vital had been lost, that the original vision of the founders was all but forgotten fell on deaf ears. It had all become about ad revenue and trendy programming. They'd finally gotten annoyed enough to find a reason for firing her, and this was how she was fighting back. The process finished, she disconnected her phone and pocketed it as she walked away. She'd never been near the control room so there was no chance they'd recognize her. She returned the cart to where she'd found it and left the building. She didn't get to see her handiwork until the next day. Millions of people tuned in for another episode of the latest flaky reality show that afternoon. Sure it wasn't the best show in the world, but it was fun to laugh at idiots as they sat around making hundreds of thousands of dollars per episode as they groomed, slapped and humiliated each other. It was what the viewing public expected. What they got was totally different. Foghat. The Ramones. Led Zeppelin. The Buggles. On and on through the afternoon and into the night, as people in the control room scrambled to find the worm that kept changing locations, one music video after another aired. There were a few entitled idiots who complained about missing their shows, but younger people had a good laugh at the expense of the programming department while digging on the tunes. The girl was picking up some supplies, preparing for a move across town to a smaller apartment, when she caught a snippet of conversation. "That's some crazy stuff, man." "Yeah, I know. Who knew that MTV actually played music?" It took every ounce of her strength not to burst out laughing. She smiled to beat the band, though, and there was a spring in her step all the way home.<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-7020960169733674855?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-70661994846170980442012-01-23T04:52:00.001-08:002012-01-23T04:52:09.323-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2012/01/23/flash-fiction-challenge-three-random-photos/">Flash Fiction Challenge: Three Random Photos &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/andregovia/6726664921/" title="Even psychopath's have emotions if you dig deep enough : by andre govia, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7146/6726664921_7830dfc724.jpg" width="195" alt="Even psychopath's have emotions if you dig deep enough :"></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/28142785@N06/6728027175/" title="implants and extentions! by ecce signum, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7017/6728027175_08b2a61be4.jpg" height="129" alt="implants and extentions!"></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/coolbiere/6725172911/" title="small valley by CoolbieRe, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7005/6725172911_5305bcb95b.jpg" width="195" alt="small valley"></a></center> Courtesy Ye Olde <a href="http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2012/01/20/flash-fiction-challenge-random-photo-story/">Terribleminds Prompte</a> <hr/> He'd first caught a glimpse of her true form after two years in the lock-up. They couldn't fool him. Words like 'hospital' and 'mental ward' were kindly terms for 'prison'. He was a prisoner. He couldn't remember why they kept him here, feeding him chunks of dog food in sewage gravy, denying him his shoelaces and talking to him like he was five years old. But he hated it. He hated every second of it. Every once in a while, there had been peace; moments that blended together into a meaningless lump of dulled senses, vague lukewarm sentiment and pithy reinforcement from the Beamer-drivers in charge. He remembered week or month-long stretches of time in which he felt calm but not himself, like he was always wearing earmuffs and a thick, gauzy veil. They would call it 'happy' but he considered that too strong a word; no strong emotion applied at all when he felt that way. 'Normal' was an even more bogus term they tossed around. It never lasted. They kept trying to put him back there, though, with upped dosages and increased voltage and longer group therapy sessions. And then he saw her. It had just been out of the corner of his eye, at first. A glimmer, a phantasm, a touch of whispered laughter. As time went on he'd see another wisp, get a longer view of what may have been smoke, hear her voice over his shoulder more clearly. At first he told himself he was hallucinating, that it was the drugs or something. But she became harder and harder to ignore. She'd touch his shoulders in group, brush past him in the hall, even visit him in bed at night only to leave him alone in the morning with sweat and sticky sheets. By that point nobody could convince him that she was fake. How could the only good thing left in his life be imaginary? Her presence brought things into focus. The drugs stopped working. The shock therapy became a distant thing, pushed aside by her presence. He'd burst out laughing in group because she whispered something funny in his ear. He wanted to be with her so much it hurt, but it was something they'd never allow. So even before she told him how to do it, he was thinking of escaping. When he threw a chair at the small, old-fashioned television, people were surprised. The tube tossed sparks in a really impressive fashion, and once they died out he saw what he needed on the floor. Orderlies came running in, a couple with syringes and one with a taser. He wasn't going to let them stop him. He scooped up the biggest shard of glass from the floor, and when the stun-gun guy came at him, he opened up a long bloody hole in the orderly's scrubs. There were screams and more blood and before he knew it he had one of the nurses by the throat, screaming for the door to open as he held the glass to her pulse. The weak men obeyed and he was free. He ran through the corridors to find the stairs. He wasn't sure where to go at first, then he saw her beckoning him upwards. He took the stairs two at a time and when the door opened, sunlight washed over him. Blinded for a moment, he held up his bloody hand as his eyes adjusted. Apparently they had lied to him. He wasn't in a hospital downtown. He was on the mountain trail where he'd met his wife. The memory flooded back with razor-sharp clarity. The view was gorgeous, spreading out below him like a green and brown carpet. He'd been hiking the trail and found her sitting off to the side with a sprained ankle and a busted bike. He'd let her lean on him as he carried them both down the mountain. They visited the mountain many times before and after they were married. Things were good for a while. Before the miscarriage, the booze, the fights and the tears. Before she'd get angry at him for so much as looking at another woman. Before he started having trouble holding a job. Before he'd come home to find her in the tub with a glass of wine, a bottle of pills and wrists slashed open. He'd never understood why she'd left him alone like that. Didn't everybody have trouble with relationships? Weren't all marriages rocky at times? He'd told her they could work it out. Why didn't she believe him? He'd wept for her, wrapped her in their wedding-gift bedsheets, carried her outside and set the house on fire. The judge had ruled 'not guilty due to mental defect' and that was how he'd been in that hospital. Only she hadn't left him alone. She had been there, smiling at him, laying with him, reminding him of the good times they'd lost but could have again. And now she toyed with him, laughing a little, beckoning him closer. He took uncertain steps, the gravel beneath his feet not the familiar gravel of the mountain trail. Not anymore. The trees were replaced by air conditioning units and TV arials. The valley was no longer full of forests but now full of cars and, directly beneath him, started gawking people. Cars with flashing lights would arrive. And there she was, somehow floating off the edge of the hospital. Her smile was radiant. He could see her clearly, now, when before it had been just a glimmer. She held out her arms. Her wrists were whole. He wanted to badly to lose himself in her embrace, forget all the darkness, be her husband again. He stepped towards her. "Be with me," she whispered. His feet touched air. His body tilted forward. He was still reaching for her. Maybe she was really still waiting for him. He smiled on the way down. Be it heaven or hell, he'd find her.<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-7066199484617098044?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-64625681627364997982012-01-22T08:03:00.001-08:002012-01-22T08:03:49.468-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/12/12/it-came-from-netflix-scarface/">IT CAME FROM NETFLIX! Scarface &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/netflix.jpg" alt="Logo courtesy Netflix. No logos were harmed in the creation of this banner." /><br/><br/> [audio:http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/uploads/scarface.mp3]</center> Tragedies are touchpoints in the course of human history. They're also cautionary tales, whispering warnings of downfalls to come. From Aeschylus to Shakespeare, it's a tradition with thousands of years worth of wisdom to teach us through the abrupt ends of others' lives, especially those who choose to pursue their goals through illegitimate means. It's just as true today as it was in 1983 when Brian De Palma's <em>Scarface</em> first premiered in theaters. I don't know if this visionary director and his young cast who became household names knew that this gaudy, baroque and melodramatic opus would still have something to say to a 21st-century audience, but it does, and like the main character, it isn't shy about it. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/Scarface_sm_6889.jpg" alt="Courtesy Universal Pictures" /></center> Originally a tale of Prohibition-era organized crime, <em>Scarface</em> updated its setting to southern Florida, when hundreds of thousands of refugees fled Communist-controlled Cuba for the United States hoping for a better future. For the criminals free of Cuba's prisons among those refugees, that better future meant the fast money and high risk that came from a life of crime. And for Tony Montana, one of those criminals, the money was in cocaine. With his partner Manny, Tony almost immediately begins carving out a place for himself. He comes into the country with nothing, yet he soon is the premiere trigger-man for the biggest drug dealer in Miami. And he doesn't stop there. <em>Scarface</em> is a tale of excess from the very beginning in both plot and production. The patterns and colors of the early 80s are garish reminders that throwbacks like <em>Grand Theft Auto: Vice City</em> are not exaggerating. The score, heavy in ominous synth, is as cheesy as the zebra-print seat covers in Tony's Cadillac and yet every bit as fitting. The multiple mirrors in the nightclubs our protagonist spends his leisure time in made shooting difficult but underscore the vanity of the time and the character. Of course all of the production value in the world is for naught without a central presence to drive the narrative, and Tony Montana is definitely behind the wheel in that regard. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/Scarface_Al.jpg" alt="Courtesy Universal Pictures" /><br/><em>"I jus' wan' what's comin' t' me: th' world... an' everythin' in it."</em></center> In future films such as <em>Heat</em> or <em>Carlito's Way</em> (not so much <em>Devil's Advocate</em>), Pacino will ratchet back the over-the-top scenery-chewing bombast to save it for key moments. But in <em>Scarface</em>, he seems to be firing on all cylinders at all times. Be he clawing his way up to the top or sliding down into oblivion, Tony lives with his dials turned to 11 and beyond. Not only does his behavior lead to him ensuring he alone remains the center of his universe, he's proud of this way of life and his achievements to a tragic fault. There's very little about this protagonist that's redeemable or even all that likable, yet his tragic humanity keeps us watching every move he makes. The rest of the cast certainly isn't slouching, either. It was a breakout role for Michelle Pfieffer and the first on-screen appearance ever for Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio. De Palma directs them all with the graceful nuance of an orchestra conductor as well as the uncompromising drive of a workshop foreman. As bold as a decision it was to shoot this picture at all, he went one step further in making it almost three hours long and including some incredibly brutal scenes of bodily harm from shootouts to stabbings. It's an endurance trial made survivable and even enjoyable thanks to Tony Montana. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/Scarface_Club.jpg" alt="Courtesy Universal Pictures" /><br/><em>Good times had by all. Mostly.</em></center> The presence of Montana is a pervasive one, even to this day. <em>Scarface</em> would inspire a plethora of crime dramas around the world, and its themes of freedom, excess and the rags-to-riches rise to power is clearly an inspiration for not only a good deal of gangster rappers but video games like the aforementioned <em>Grand Theft Auto</em> and, later, <em>Saint's Row</em>. What the games leave out, of course, is the way the story ends. Once he achieves all he's been after, Tony spirals into a miasma of vanity and contempt, even for himself. He's an utterly repulsive human being, even acknowledging his villainous status at one point in a memorable black-tie dinner scene, yet he seems confused when people curse him and leave him on his own. And there's plenty of cursing to be sure; screenwriter Oliver Stone used the word "fuck" and its many derivations 218 times in the screenplay. <em>Scarface</em> is highly recommended. Be prepared to spend an afternoon with Tony, watching him banter with immigration, deal with Bolivian drug lords using surprising charisma and build his own cocaine empire from scratch yet at the same time finding true happiness eluding him at every turn. In the end he stares at a mountainous pile of drugs on his luxurious desk in his palatial Miami estate, and his hollow eyes echo the question he put to Manny at dinner: "Is this it?" It's a moment of introspection and humbling, almost pathetic pathos which, after a lifetime of deception, theft, seduction and murder, has come too little too late. I'm sure that, almost 30 years later, we can find a message for our time between the bullet-riddled corpses and the bright, happy neon lights - even if that message is merely one of the rules that Tony neglected to follow: "Never get high on your own supply." <span style="font-size:10px"><em>Josh Loomis can't always make it to the local megaplex, and thus must turn to alternative forms of cinematic entertainment. There might not be overpriced soda pop &amp; over-buttered popcorn, and it's unclear if this week's film came in the mail or was delivered via the dark &amp; mysterious tubes of the Internet. Only one thing is certain... <a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/icfn">IT CAME FROM NETFLIX.</a></em></span><hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-6462568162736499798?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-28484602296712249672012-01-20T04:24:00.001-08:002012-01-20T04:24:46.878-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2012/01/20/it-came-from-netflix-bunraku/">IT CAME FROM NETFLIX! Bunraku &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/netflix.jpg" alt="Logo courtesy Netflix. No logos were harmed in the creation of this banner." /><br/><br/> [audio:http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/uploads/bunraku.mp3]</center> <em>Bunraku</em> is a preposterous title for a film, and also slightly pretentious. It refers not to a character or a location, but rather a type of Japanese shadow play, a theatrical production using puppets that tells broad stories based on archetype and fable. It'd be like naming <em><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2010/02/05/it-came-from-netflix-flash-gordon/" target="_blank">Flash Gordon</a></em> "Raygun Gothic Adventure with Queen." Or <em><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/07/08/it-came-from-netflix-taken/">Taken</a></em> "Liam Neeson Driven Suspense Action". Or <em><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2010/09/10/it-came-from-netflix-g-i-joe-the-rise-of-cobra/">GI Joe: The Rise of Cobra</a></em> "Giant Letdown." On the other hand, nobody can accuse <em>Bunraku</em> of being less than what it promises in the title, and if someone is disappointed by the film, it should not be on the basis of said promise. And if you're an ignorant Westerner who doesn't know what bunraku is, the opening sequence gives you a demonstration while the narrator sets the scene. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/bunraku_xlg.jpg" alt="Courtesy Picturesque Films" width="550px" /></center> In the not too distant future, mankind has waged war to the point that people have finally taken notice of how atrocious, unnecessary and dehumanizing modern warfare actually is (the actual warfare, that is, not the first-person shooter). Guns are universally outlawed in the wake of some sort of war-driven cataclysm and folks now have to get by settling their disputes with edged weapons and bare fists. The most powerful man east of the Atlantic with these methods is Nicholai the Woodcutter and his nine numbered assassins. Into Nicholai's favorite casino comes a nameless Drifter who's quick and deadly with his hands, while his favorite restaurant's owner has a nephew who's a driven but compassionate and well-spoken samurai. Can you guess how these two strangers are going to get along? If you guessed "they team up to take down Nicholai and the colorful array of supporting trained killers", try not to break your arm patting yourself on the back. <em>Bunraku</em> is a film that seems to have no time whatsoever for things like character or plot development. What it plays on is themes, mood and metaphor. That said, the character work that does happen isn't all that bad. Josh Hartnett continues to demonstrate the sort of chops that earned Clint Eastwood his immortal spurs, while his samurai friend is played with surprising conviction (if a bit of melodrama) by Gackt. If you can tear your eyes away from these fine specimens of driven and handsome young men, you'll find Woody Harrelson in an understated mentor role while Kevin McKidd give us a villain arguably more memorable than his imposing boss, played by none other than Ron Perlman. The other actors, including Demi Moore, don't have much more than bit roles but we're honestly not here for introspection as much as we are for spectacle of seeing Slevin & an extremely attractive musician take on Hellboy & Poseidon. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/bunraku.jpg" alt="Courtesy Picturesque Films" /><br/><em>Lucius Vorenus got himself an excellent tailor.</em></center> Unlike your typical Hollywood big-budget explosionfest, <em>Bunraku</em>'s style comes from its unique setting, composition and pacing. The best thing about it is how stylistically striking the whole production is. Some of the longer shots are truly impressive in their construction, while transitions and even entire scenes are works of art in and of themselves. It's the sort of film where 'eye candy' extends past the attractive cast and bright orange explosive special effects. It's also something of a low-key musical, with a pervasive but atmospheric score adding tension and pace to the many fights, which have the energy and passion of large production dance numbers without everybody breaking into song. With this sort of energy and drive coupled with a unique aesthetic somewhere between a Western and an Akira Kurosawa film, here's always something cool to look at, which means <em>Bunraku</em> will not leave you bored. It may, however, leave you somewhat empty. As I said, there's very little depth to the characters or plot. Playing as it does on broad themes and the sort of metaphorical storytelling reserved for fairy tales and the like, <em>Bunraku</em> isn't going to set the world on fire with its story. And as impressive as the sets, shots and fights are, many viewers may draw parallels between <em>Sin City</em> or <em>Kill Bill</em>. For better or worse, <em>Bunraku</em> does have a much more diverse color palate than Frank Miller's work and not as much verbosity or as many oblique references as Tarantino's. It's a kissing cousin to these other works at most, and it goes about its simple but stylish little tale with admirable gusto, unfettered by Miller's monochromatic cynicism or Tarantino's obsession with grindhouse flicks and Uma Thurman's toes. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/bunraku-07272011.jpg" alt="Courtesy Picturesque Films" /><br/><em>You wish your bartender was this cool.</em></center> If anything, it reminds me most of indie darling and Game of the Year, <em>Bastion</em>. The bright colors, vibrant combat, initially simple characters and even the smooth tones of the world-wise narrator immediately bring that experience to mind, in a very positive way. While <em>Bunraku</em> lacks the ultimate emotional depth of that game, it does keep your eyes occupied and imagination delighted for its running time, and on its visual panache and enthusiastic presentation alone I'm going to give it a recommendation. It's not groundbreaking or anything but it's at least trying to go about storytelling in a slightly different way, even if the archetypes and themes are older than dirt, but I'd rather have an older fable told well than a pandering remake or sequel of a recent work take up my time. Although, in the latter case, you can replace the words "take up" with the more accurate and expedient "waste". I'm glad I spent some time with <em>Bunraku</em>, and if you're looking in your Netflix Instant queue for a production with a great deal of panache, a bit of whimsy, some grown-up themes and unapologetic devotion to unique framing devices, I think you will be too. <span style="font-size:10px"><em>Josh Loomis can't always make it to the local megaplex, and thus must turn to alternative forms of cinematic entertainment. There might not be overpriced soda pop &amp; over-buttered popcorn, and it's unclear if this week's film came in the mail or was delivered via the dark &amp; mysterious tubes of the Internet. Only one thing is certain... <a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/icfn">IT CAME FROM NETFLIX.</a></em></span><hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-2848460229671224967?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-83720265784199208472012-01-20T04:14:00.001-08:002012-01-20T04:14:18.451-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2012/01/20/it-came-from-netflix-bunraku/">IT CAME FROM NETFLIX! Bunraku &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/netflix.jpg" alt="Logo courtesy Netflix. No logos were harmed in the creation of this banner." /><br/><br/> [audio:http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/uploads/bunraku.mp3]</center> <em>Bunraku</em> is a preposterous title for a film, and also slightly pretentious. It refers not to a character or a location, but rather a type of Japanese shadow play, a theatrical production using puppets that tells broad stories based on archetype and fable. It'd be like naming <em>Flash Gordon</em> "Raygun Gothic Adventure with Queen." Or <em>Taken</em> "Liam Neeson Driven Suspense Action". Or <em>GI Joe: The Rise of Cobra</em> "Giant Letdown." On the other hand, nobody can accuse <em>Bunraku</em> of being less than what it promises in the title, and if someone is disappointed by the film, it should not be on the basis of said promise. And if you're an ignorant Westerner who doesn't know what bunraku is, the opening sequence gives you a demonstration while the narrator sets the scene. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/bunraku_xlg.jpg" alt="Courtesy Picturesque Films" width="550px" /></center> In the not too distant future, mankind has waged war to the point that people have finally taken notice of how atrocious, unnecessary and dehumanizing modern warfare actually is (the actual warfare, that is, not the first-person shooter). Guns are universally outlawed in the wake of some sort of war-driven cataclysm and folks now have to get by settling their disputes with edged weapons and bare fists. The most powerful man east of the Atlantic with these methods is Nicholai the Woodcutter and his nine numbered assassins. Into Nicholai's favorite casino comes a nameless Drifter who's quick and deadly with his hands, while his favorite restaurant's owner has a nephew who's a driven but compassionate and well-spoken samurai. Can you guess how these two strangers are going to get along? If you guessed "they team up to take down Nicholai and the colorful array of supporting trained killers", try not to break your arm patting yourself on the back. <em>Bunraku</em> is a film that seems to have no time whatsoever for things like character or plot development. What it plays on is themes, mood and metaphor. That said, the character work that does happen isn't all that bad. Josh Hartnett continues to demonstrate the sort of chops that earned Clint Eastwood his immortal spurs, while his samurai friend is played with surprising conviction (if a bit of melodrama) by Gackt. If you can tear your eyes away from these fine specimens of driven and handsome young men, you'll find Woody Harrelson in an understated mentor role while Kevin McKidd give us a villain arguably more memorable than his imposing boss, played by none other than Ron Perlman. The other actors, including Demi Moore, don't have much more than bit roles but we're honestly not here for introspection as much as we are for spectacle of seeing Slevin & an extremely attractive musician take on Hellboy & Poseidon. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/bunraku.jpg" alt="Courtesy Picturesque Films" /><br/><em>Lucius Vorenus got himself an excellent tailor.</em></center> Unlike your typical Hollywood big-budget explosionfest, <em>Bunraku</em>'s style comes from its unique setting, composition and pacing. The best thing about it is how stylistically striking the whole production is. Some of the longer shots are truly impressive in their construction, while transitions and even entire scenes are works of art in and of themselves. It's the sort of film where 'eye candy' extends past the attractive cast and bright orange explosive special effects. It's also something of a low-key musical, with a pervasive but atmospheric score adding tension and pace to the many fights, which have the energy and passion of large production dance numbers without everybody breaking into song. With this sort of energy and drive coupled with a unique aesthetic somewhere between a Western and an Akira Kurosawa film, here's always something cool to look at, which means <em>Bunraku</em> will not leave you bored. It may, however, leave you somewhat empty. As I said, there's very little depth to the characters or plot. Playing as it does on broad themes and the sort of metaphorical storytelling reserved for fairy tales and the like, <em>Bunraku</em> isn't going to set the world on fire with its story. And as impressive as the sets, shots and fights are, many viewers may draw parallels between <em>Sin City</em> or <em>Kill Bill</em>. For better or worse, <em>Bunraku</em> does have a much more diverse color palate than Frank Miller's work and not as much verbosity or as many oblique references as Tarantino's. It's a kissing cousin to these other works at most, and it goes about its simple but stylish little tale with admirable gusto, unfettered by Miller's monochromatic cynicism or Tarantino's obsession with grindhouse flicks and Uma Thurman's toes. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/bunraku-07272011.jpg" alt="Courtesy Picturesque Films" /><br/><em>You wish your bartender was this cool.</em></center> If anything, it reminds me most of indie darling and Game of the Year, <em>Bastion</em>. The bright colors, vibrant combat, initially simple characters and even the smooth tones of the world-wise narrator immediately bring that experience to mind, in a very positive way. While <em>Bunraku</em> lacks the ultimate emotional depth of that game, it does keep your eyes occupied and imagination delighted for its running time, and on its visual panache and enthusiastic presentation alone I'm going to give it a recommendation. It's not groundbreaking or anything but it's at least trying to go about storytelling in a slightly different way, even if the archetypes and themes are older than dirt, but I'd rather have an older fable told well than a pandering remake or sequel of a recent work take up my time. Although, in the latter case, you can replace the words "take up" with the more accurate and expedient "waste". I'm glad I spent some time with <em>Bunraku</em>, and if you're looking in your Netflix Instant queue for a production with a great deal of panache, a bit of whimsy, some grown-up themes and unapologetic devotion to unique framing devices, I think you will be too. <span style="font-size:10px"><em>Josh Loomis can't always make it to the local megaplex, and thus must turn to alternative forms of cinematic entertainment. There might not be overpriced soda pop &amp; over-buttered popcorn, and it's unclear if this week's film came in the mail or was delivered via the dark &amp; mysterious tubes of the Internet. Only one thing is certain... <a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/icfn">IT CAME FROM NETFLIX.</a></em></span><hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-8372026578419920847?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-90668879360956489682012-01-19T04:27:00.001-08:002012-01-19T04:27:51.023-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2012/01/19/after-the-blackout-now-what/">After the Blackout: Now What? &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/V-for-Vendetta-v-for-vendetta-4377504-851-479.jpg" alt="Courtesy Warner Bros." width="550px" /></center> I am not a pundit. I don't get a lot of hits here. I'm not a celebrity or a pro gamer or even all that well-known. I'm just a guy who loves the Internet. I know that the society can get pretty disparate and broken at times, with dark little corners full of all kinds of depravity. It's like any large city, only the Internet has hundreds of millions of inhabitants and instead of crowding into buses and subways, we use various kinds of data transmission to work, to play, to communicate and live. Disparate though we may be, there are times when we work together in a common goal. Yesterday was one of those times. Yesterday I saw the Internet come together because the rights of free speech are threatened. Sites went dark. People lodged protests. They posted videos, sang songs, called Congressmen. And one by one, politicians who were likely well-paid by a bloated and antiquated entertainment industry walked away from the bill in question because they realised it was badly written and poorly thought out. Today I suspect a lot of people will go back to business as usual, to their LoLcats and Let's Plays and cooking videos and midget porn. There's something really sad about that. What's sad is that this community bent towards freedom and individuality can come together in this way over the rights of its predominantly white male user base, but when it comes to the rights of disenfranchised minorities being held without trial or due process, or the rights of young children who weren't born white to have a decent education guided by teachers paid well for what they do, or the rights of women to choose how, when and why their bodies are used and regarded, the voice isn't anywhere near as strong or united. I know mine isn't the biggest voice on the Internet. Mine is not the uniting force. Were I to run for King of the Web or participate in any similar competition I'd get absolutely flattened. My corner of the Internet is tiny. But I'm going to stand up and shout in it anyway. SOPA is not the only injustice. PIPA is but one of many miscarriages of liberty. Yes, yesterday can be counted as a victory, <em>and we need to keep the pressure on until these idiotic bills die the incendiary deaths they deserve,</em> but they're not the only problem with which we can help. Many more egregious problems are extant in the world, problems we have just as much access to as we do YouTube and Reddit; where are the funky songs about them? Why aren't more people speaking out against them? Where is the Internet that shouted back at the laws they disagreed with because it affected them directly? Does the Internet just not care? I'd like to think we do. I'll be the first to admit I lean more towards naive, starry-eyed optimism than anything else, but in my heart I believe that common sense and goodwill can and does prevail over selfishness, maliciousness and greed. And I can't even point to most people I know & respect on the Internet and accuse them of any of that. Short-sightedness and more than a little anger, maybe, but not maliciousness and certainly not greed. The people I aspire to stand with don't do what they do for the ad revenue. After yesterday's activities I was fully prepared to admonish my fellow Internet denizens to remain watchful of government bodies and fat entertainment moguls. The Internet is a free and open forum, after all, and the price of freedom is eternal vigilance. But to that request I feel I must add another. Don't stop caring. We've proven that when we work together, have a clear goal in mind and remain motivated by speaking to, for and about each other, we can accomplish great things. The only way we can be stopped when it comes to standing up for our rights and the rights of those who have none or can't speak for themselves is when we, ourselves, stop giving a shit. Just some food for thought, Internet. Just some food for thought.<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-9066887936095648968?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-42272817346648251142012-01-19T04:23:00.001-08:002012-01-19T04:23:39.452-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2012/01/18/blackout/">Blackout &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><a href="http://americancensorship.org/"><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/SOPA.jpg" width="550px" border="0" alt="Visit americancensorship.org" /></a><hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-4227281734664825114?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-59544338258502618052012-01-17T04:39:00.001-08:002012-01-17T04:39:32.286-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2012/01/17/words-of-the-dovahkiin-i-throat-of-the-world/">Words of the Dovahkiin, I: Throat of the World &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/throat_of_the_world.jpg" alt="Courtesy Bethesda Softworks" /></center> <em>Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to</em> The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim<em> and apologize in advance for what may turn out to be only passable fan fiction as I write down stuff that goes through my head as I play this game.</em> <hr/> 9th Evening Star, 201 4E Standing here looking down upon Skyrim I wonder if this all could have been averted. All of it. After talking with Paarthurnax, I think back on the dragons I've slain since I came here. I was coming to Skyrim to study magic, not to learn the way of the sword and certainly not to speak with dragons. Even in Breton we take it as read that dragons are things of the past, not filling the skies of today. Yet they do, and so I did. The price on my head that dragged me here is all but forgotten, along with much else of that seemingly distant and easy life. Now I stand here, taking in the breadth of Skyrim from the peak of the Throat of the World, and I wonder. Was every dragon I've slain driven to that end, or was it chosen by them? I search my soul, or rather the souls I've taken into myself, and find no answers. Yet in my heart of hearts I hear their chant. They urge me on. To conquer. To dominate. I look upon the land beneath my feet, and the thought lingers in the back of my mind: "Mine." I was a scholar before. I still am. I've never had the desire to rule, not before coming to Skyrim, not before seeing the Imperials and the Stormcloaks squabble amongst themselves even as Alduin and his ilk burn the holds down around them. I'd much rather retreat into the seclusion of Winterhold and continue the study of magic, or have further talks with Adrienne about different styles and types of smithing. Yet if I do not venture into the chilling wastes, channeling these unfamiliar and disturbingly attractive urges into the defeat of rampaging dragons, there will be no more books to study, no more anvils to strike, no more people to meet. I can't let that happen. I was born for this and didn't know it until Alduin first appeared. Knowledge once gained cannot be denied. What went before helped shaped me but remains in my past. I am <em>dovahkiin</em>. This world is my charge, and I shall not see it fall while I yet can draw breath to shout.<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-5954433825850261805?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-33858078313585206082012-01-16T04:13:00.001-08:002012-01-16T04:13:31.016-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2012/01/16/flash-fiction-three-sentences-for-bear71/">Flash Fiction: Three Sentences for Bear71 &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/1215stag.jpg" alt="Courtesy photo-dictionary.com" width="500px" /></center> At the behest of <a href="http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2012/01/13/flash-fiction-challenge-three-sentences-for-bear71/">this post</a>, in support of <a href="http://www.sundance.org/festival/film-events/bear-71/">this project</a>, I offer the following from the perspective of a deer: <hr/> This is one of those mornings, when foraging and looking for some breakfast, that the antlers feel particularly heavy. It's going to be cold this year, colder than it has been before, and my doe and I need to be ready for that's coming. I just want to make sure our fawns are going to be all ri-<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-3385807831358520608?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-1019714394127656372012-01-13T04:18:00.001-08:002012-01-13T04:18:41.807-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2012/01/13/2012s-first-braindump/">2012's First Braindump &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1>In lieu of IT CAME FROM NETFLIX! this week, postponed due to the dayjob workload, I give you the start of that thing I've been inspired to write thanks to Chuck Wendig <a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2012/01/10/writers-have-attention-deficit-ooh-shiny/">as I mentioned Tuesday</a>. I honestly don't know if anything will actually come of this, but rather than post some pithy filler I was driven to put this little scene down and see how looks. So here's the opening to <em>Dead Man On Campus</em>. <hr/> Ever been punched in the face? I don't mean tapped on the cheek in an endearing way by a family member or close friend. I don't mean slapped by a girl (or guy) you were trying to compliment and ended up insulting. And I don't mean the kind of dead-leg punch you get from a chum on the couch when you're kicking their ass in a first-person shooter on their expensive console that you kind of only befriended them to play since you live down the hall & get bored sometimes. No, full-on <em>punched</em>. Right goddamn hook to the jaw. It was my first time and my ass hurt almost as much as my face did from it hitting the curb. I tasted blood. This wasn't unfamiliar. Growing up nerdy in the outskirts of a big city, you learn to take a few shoves and pick up books out of the gutters. I'd had a bloody nose from a spill a couple of times. But this was the first time I'd seen a big, idiotic jock standing over me and not felt a surge of paralytic fear. No. I was fucking <em>pissed</em>. "What?" I give the jock a shit-eating grin. "All I said was it might behoove you to stop treating your girlfriend like a piece of meat." He hauled me up by the collar of my jacket. It's a really nice pea coat my mom bought me, black with those little anchor buttons, like the ones worn by the Boondock Saints. I'm not Irish, though. I'm some kind of American mutt. The bozo nose-to-nose with me has some Teutonic blood in him, though. He's tall, broad-shouldered, thick and brawny. His ice-blue eyes are trying to burn holes in my skull. "You talk to me that way again, freshman, and I'll turn you to paste. You feel me?" I glance at the girl. She's more scared than I am. There's a switch. "Yeah, bro, I feel ya." He drops me. He grabs the girl - by her waist, of course, with hand in prime gropeing position - and walks away. She glances over her shoulder at me, apologies in her wide, frightened eyes. I wave goodbye and, in spite of the pain in my jaw, smile. She'd been pushing him away, telling him 'No', and he'd insisted on being all grabby. What was I going to do? Just let him fondle her in the street between the library and the science building, leading into the big parking lot in the middle of the campus? At one time, I might have. But I wasn't the huddled little boy trying to get to school without the neighborhood toughs beating me up for my lunch money. Not anymore. As they walk away I contemplate what I can do. I can make Bozo think it's raining frogs. I can cause his vision to blur and turn his flavor of the week into a reject from <em>Hellraiser</em> before his eyes. I'd love to set his varsity jacket on fire but I have real trouble controlling that sort of thing. If I were really brave I'd pull my entire being into myself and concentrate my consciousness into a sort of singularity in my soul that would burst out of me and blast all of my organs and senses into overdrive, basically slowing everything around me to a crawl. But the last time I tried that my mentor nearly called 911 when my heart stopped. I'm sorry, I'm getting ahead of myself. My name is Simon Aechmagoras, and I'm a sorcerer. Well, a sorcerer's <em>apprentice</em>. Like Mickey Mouse, only taller and with better fashion sense. I check my watch, a mechanical pocket-and-chain job I inherited from my grandfather, and swear. I get up and run, sore jaw and bruised ass and all. Sorcerer or not, my biology teacher hates it when people show up late for his lectures.<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-101971439412765637?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-30235484442126984902012-01-12T04:58:00.001-08:002012-01-12T04:58:20.605-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2012/01/12/recipe-the-captains-nail/">Recipe: The Captain's Nail &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/whiskeyinglass.jpg" alt="Courtesy Sparq" width="500" /></center> I've been getting my ass kicked lately. There's been a ton of work to do at the dayjob over the holiday which still hasn't quite let up yet. A writing project deadline looms and <a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2012/01/10/writers-have-attention-deficit-ooh-shiny/">rewrites or new stories</a> demand my attention. I usually get home at night with just enough energy to slip on my house coat and set myself up with some digital entertainment when I know I should be writing. But even when I'm not writing I'll reach for that old writerly crutch that gets us through the tough times. I'm talking, of course, about booze. Now, in no way do I advocate excess drinking or drug use or abuse of any kind. It should not become habitual, because habit all too quickly leads to addiction. I'm already addicted to caffeine, video games and social media; I don't need other ones on top of that. Still, I contemplate a return to pipe smoking even as I put together a cocktail like the one I'm about to describe. It's a simple variation on the tried & true rum and coke. You can start with an empty glass to do it up 'neat', throw in some ice cubes or, if you're like me, some <a href="http://www.amazon.com/whiskey-stones-SPARQ-Set-12/dp/B005GEOQU0/ref=sr_1_7?ie=UTF8&qid=1326372240&sr=8-7">whiskey stones</a>. Seriously, I love these things. They keep the drink cool without making your glass sweat or watering down the booze. The first thing to pour over them is rum, about a shot or shot and a half's worth. I suppose any sort of rum will do, but this drink gets its name from my preferred brand, <strong>Captain Morgan's Private Stock</strong>. It's smooth texture and dark taste really appeal to me. Follow this with a shot or two's worth of <strong>Drambuie</strong>. This unique little liqueur is a recent discovery of mine, picked up on a lark around the holidays with the intent to mix it with whiskey - in this case, Johnny Walker Red. While I'm not a fan of the red label stuff, Drambuie's complex and slightly sweet flavor had me intrigued, and I added it to this mix pretty much just to see what'd happen. You can fill the rest of the glass with any variation of cola you like, from the cheap dollar store stuff to something tasty yet obscure. My personal preference is to eschew high fructose corn syrup if at all possible, so I use either <strong>Coke</strong> bottled outside of the US or <strong>Pepsi Throwback</strong>. The result was very pleasing, with the mixed booze not overwhelming the drink and all the flavors complimenting each other while remaining unique. As many mixed drinks featuring Drambuie include 'nail' in the description, I dubbed this concoction The Captain's Nail. Give it a try, and tell me what you think. In moderation, of course.<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-3023548444212698490?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-84919850022520665262012-01-11T04:44:00.003-08:002012-01-11T04:44:22.449-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2012/01/11/drilling-fundamentals/">Drilling Fundamentals &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><a href="http://steamcommunity.com/id/blueinkalchemist/screenshot/612715648916058851/?" target="_blank"><img src="http://cloud.steampowered.com/ugc/612715648916058851/197C8784841843B29552490F570D2A666B528A5E/" alt="Courtesy Riot Games" width="550" /></a></center> You hear this sort of thing all the time in regular sports. "We have to work on our fundamentals." For the most part, this refers to striking, catching or otherwise working with a ball. Things like overarching strategy and specific on-field composition will matter, sure, but they matter a lot less if you're not getting the ball to its intended target. I've had to implement a similar policy in <em>StarCraft 2</em>. Once again I found myself overthinking my gameplay and tactics and letting such things distract me from the fact that I need to work on my most basic competitive skills. I've started keeping things at their most basic, and lo and behold I've started winning again. <em><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/11/02/learning-new-arts/" target="_blank">League of Legends</a></em> also finds me drilling on the fundamentals. Specifically, staying alive in the early game is something I'm finding difficult. I can be greedy, chasing the enemy far more often than I should. I'm working with a champion named Vladimir, who becomes very strong in the mid to late game but is squishy early on. If I can learn through him to stay alive more, and apply those lessons to carry-type heroes and the likes of Garen, I'll be even more successful. It's highly likely the same goes for my writing. Pursuant to <a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2012/01/10/writers-have-attention-deficit-ooh-shiny/">yesterday's post</a> I find myself wondering if, in the process of thinking about rewrites, edits, pitches and projects, I've lost sight of some of the fundamentals of what I want to do. Hopefully making time to write the short due by the end of the week will help me recapture some of that, but I'm still reluctant to (as I see it) abandon my works in progress. I guess it all depends on how many irons I want in the fire at any given time. What do <em>you</em> do when you need to drill fundamentals?<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-8491985002252066526?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-87405606581583426262012-01-11T04:44:00.001-08:002012-01-11T04:44:04.430-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2012/01/11/drilling-fundamentals/">Drilling Fundamentals &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><a href="http://steamcommunity.com/id/blueinkalchemist/screenshot/612715648916058851/?" target="_blank"><img src="http://cloud.steampowered.com/ugc/612715648916058851/197C8784841843B29552490F570D2A666B528A5E/" alt="Courtesy Riot Games" width="550" /></a></center> You hear this sort of thing all the time in regular sports. "We have to work on our fundamentals." For the most part, this refers to striking, catching or otherwise working with a ball. Things like overarching strategy and specific on-field composition will matter, sure, but they matter a lot less if you're not getting the ball to its intended target. I've had to implement a similar policy in <em>StarCraft 2</em>. Once again I found myself overthinking my gameplay and tactics and letting such things distract me from the fact that I need to work on my most basic competitive skills. I've started keeping things at their most basic, and lo and behold I've started winning again. <em><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/11/02/learning-new-arts/" target="_blank">League of Legends</a></em> also finds me drilling on the fundamentals. Specifically, staying alive in the early game is something I'm finding difficult. I can be greedy, chasing the enemy far more often than I should. I'm working with a champion named Vladimir, who becomes very strong in the mid to late game but is squishy early on. If I can learn through him to stay alive more, and apply those lessons to carry-type heroes and the likes of Garen, I'll be even more successful. It's highly likely the same goes for my writing. Pursuant to <a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2012/01/10/writers-have-attention-deficit-ooh-shiny/">yesterday's post</a> I find myself wondering if, in the process of thinking about rewrites, edits, pitches and projects, I've lost sight of some of the fundamentals of what I want to do. Hopefully making time to write the short due by the end of the week will help me recapture some of that, but I'm still reluctant to (as I see it) abandon my works in progress. I guess it all depends on how many irons I want in the fire at any given time. What do <em>you</em> do when you need to drill fundamentals?<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-8740560658158342626?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-69668758474043104372012-01-10T06:44:00.001-08:002012-01-10T06:44:09.511-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2010/11/01/fiction-the-haunting-of-pridewater/">Fiction: The Haunting of Pridewater &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/Ghost_SC1_Art1.jpg" alt="Courtesy Blizzard Entertainment" height="400" /></center> Blizzard quietly announced the winners of their 2010 Fiction Contest mid-October. I wasn't among them. So now, I can give you fine folks my entry, <em>The Haunting of Pridewater</em>. It wasn't good enough for Blizzard, but maybe someone who passes this way will enjoy it. <hr/> <em>You must awaken. Time is running out.</em> One of the sundered bulkheads on the battlecruiser's command deck slid against the deck plates, causing a grating noise as it moved. The hand that pushed it aside flickered as if it struggled to remain in existence. The survivor pulled himself free of the wreckage, only to immediately collapse. A secondary explosion deep in the spacecraft's drive section nearly drowned out his soft groan of pain. It was the only human sound being made throughout the ship. <em>Human.</em> "I heard you the first time. Shut up." He tapped the side of his helmet, trying to get some sort of response from his hostile encounter suit. After a few attempts, he yanked the goggles off and tossed them away. He had no idea how badly he was hurt, but as far as he could tell, he was the last living terran in the combat zone. Acrid smoke carried the stench of burning flesh and wiring through the battlecruiser's wreckage. He shut off his personal cloak, trying to conserve his power. The suit would try to patch him up, but it was only a matter of time before the zerg were all over the crash site like freeloaders at a Mar Sara barbeque. <em>Indeed. As I said, time is...</em> "And I said shut up. Get out of my head, while you're at it." <em>My withdrawal would not help either of us. I am Melponia, advance scout of the protoss. I observed the approach of your task force and the defense mounted by the zerg. You did not stand a chance.</em> "Well, ain't you just a big ol' ray of sunshine." He rolled over onto his back and pushed himself up against the wall. He tried to get a better idea of his wounds, examining them in the light cast by the fires and guttering light fixtures of the command deck. His left leg lay at an unnatural angle with the rest of his body, a dead weight of seeping blood and pulverized bone. The suit was putting painkillers into his bloodstream, but being unable to use the leg would make escape difficult. He tasted blood in his mouth and felt nauseous. His insides felt like a bag of broken glass. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, tried to remember his training. "I'm a ghost," he said, "and I still have a job to do." <em>You are in no condition to do battle.</em> "If I didn't know better I'd think you were my mother haunting me from beyond the grave. Are all prote dames such nags?" <em>I don't know. Are all human males stubborn, sarcastic and rude?</em> "Most of the ones I've met, yes." The ghost sifted through the wreckage and found his C-10 rifle. The magazine had been smashed,and it only held a single canister in its chamber. It was an armor-piercing round. It would only deter one assailant. Two, if one stood directly behind the other and the one in front was smaller. "What do you want, anyway? I'm assuming you didn't come here just to chat with me." <em>I did not. I am, as I said, an advance scout. We detected the warp rift that brought the zerg to this planet and observed the staggering rate at which their hive has grown. By the next rotation, they will overwhelm your colony.</em> "Fifty thousand people live on Pridewater. There's no way we can evacuate all of them in time. They've got a few personal defense weapons, nothing to hold back a major zerg attack. It'll be a massacre." <em>They are not my concern. You are.</em> "Now, why am I such a concern to you?" The ghost struggled to stand, keeping his hand on a broken console to steady himself as he slung his rifle. "I ain't prote, and I can't be sure you are, either. This could be some zerg trick." The response was a harmonious burst of ancient music. Behind his eyes, he saw soaring spires, glowing pylons and sparkling cityscapes. Just as he was realizing just how awestruck he was, there was a flash, and it was all on fire, the music becoming a mournful requiem. The vision faded, and he touched his fingers to his eyes. The tears on his fingertips caught the light from the fires nearby. <em>Such things are part of my memory, and that of every protoss. Such things do not exist within the imagination of the zerg.</em> The ghost shook his head. The music stayed with him, faint background noise behind the crackling of fires and groans of fatigued metal. <em>The wreckage is unstable. You must make your way aft if you wish to survive.</em> "You still haven't told me why you care so damn much." <em>The last time one of your potential fell into the clutches of the zerg, the Queen of Blades was born. Another catastrophe of that magnitude I will not allow.</em> "Then nuke the site and be done with it!" The ghost pulled himself along the console towards the hatch leading aft. He had to push the hand of a corpse out of his way. The body of the technician fell to the deck with a wet thump, impaled on a shards of her viewscreen, open eyes staring at nothing. "What's with the 'distant guiding voice' routine? I'd think you were a field commander if I didn't know better, safe and secure up there with your overhead perspective while the real men do the dyin'." <em>I have not yet ascended to such a rank. And Pridewater will indeed be purified when the main force arrives.</em> The ghost stopped. "Define 'purified.'" <em>Half a dozen protoss carriers will use concentrated weapons fire from orbit to eliminate the zerg threat.</em> "Takin' the terran colony out with it." <em>A small price to pay for preventing the spread of the swarm.</em> "I came here to save these people, not have tea with a protes while their homes are reduced to slag, their fields turned to glass." <em>You will die with them if you do not accept my aid.</em> "Give me one good reason why I don't limp into the zerg hive just to spite you." <em>Very well. Give me your name first.</em> "I'm Ghost #24815, attached to the Nobunaga task force out of Waystation Bravo." <em>No. Not the designation given by your masters. What is</em> your <em>name?</em> The ghost blinked. He'd made it as far as the ventral corridor, which sloped away from him due to how the battlecruiser had come to rest on the rocky terrain. He kept his grip on the safety rail, struggling to remember the name his parents had chosen. Or his parents, for that matter. <em>You can't, can you.</em> "Shut up. Gimme a second." <em>Let me help you.</em> "Wait-" Before he could say or even think another word, she was fully in his mind. She pulled his consciousness away from the brokenness and pain of his body. He was adrift on unseen eddies, floating above a sea of shadow. A lithe form appeared nearby, peering into the darkness. She turned her eyes to him and the feeling that washed over him defied description. He'd seen holograms of protoss before, clad in their eldritch armor and piloting war machines with designs terran analysts called "ill-suited for the battlefield." Here, before him, he appreciated their esoteric beauty for the first time. Melponia held out her hand to him. <em>Your name awaits. Take my hand and I will help you find it.</em> He obeyed. In the next split second, darkness and noise enveloped him. He felt Melponia's grip on him, but his sense were otherwise overwhelmed by the chaos. Through the maelstrom, he heard Melponia singing. He recognized some of the images. Voices in the storm became familiar. Some of the memories were recent recollections of conversations with Bravo's commandant or the Nobunaga's captain. In addition to the familiar faces and words, however, were those that chilled the ghost to the bone. They weren't frightening in and of themselves. In fact, the face of the young woman smiling at him as they sat in a field under the stars was so beautiful to him he wanted to cry. The frightening thing was that, despite being unable to place the faces and voices in proper order or match them with names right away, he felt he knew them. Searing pain. A sense of nauseating vertigo. Being forced to let go of something precious. These sensations came next, along with the memory of a cold metal table and a needle in his arm. Waking the day after the procedure, his head had ached horribly despite being void of all but his training and his duty to the Dominion. The Dominion had done this to him. They'd stripped him of who he'd been. The final memory was of standing in the barracks bathroom at the Academy on Ursa, the morning before they'd wiped his mind. He remembered emerging from the shower and looking into the mirror, telling himself he was doing his duty, doing the right thing. He did not, however, the slender alien standing directly behind him. <em>Your mind is strong, terran.</em> "Lawrence." He blinked, and he was back in the darkened corridor of the Nobunaga. "My name is Lawrence Crockett." <em>It is a pleasure to meet you, Lawrence Crockett. I owe you 'one good reason' for taking you away from Pridewater, if memory serves.</em> "You've got at least one, considering all the stuff the Dominion made me forget." Crockett pushed himself to his feet and continued his painful journey towards the aft section of the wreck. The suit had run out of painkillers to dispense while he'd been out. <em>Indeed. The fear of another Kerrigan emerging from your ranks prompted your betters to geld your mind. Their work was sloppy and ineffective.</em> "Sarah Kerrigan was corrupted by the zerg. It wasn't her fault." <em>Yet it was her mind the swarm wished to possess. Bodies they have in multitudes. It is logical to assume minds with similar training would also appeal to their goals.</em> Crockett shook his head. "Logical or not, it's stupid to let 'em do this to us. It's my mind. It doesn't belong to anybody else." <em>I can help you repair the damage, Lawrence. Reclaim all you have lost and show you how to become so much more.</em> "My mother called my Lawrence. My friends call me Larry." <em>Am I your friend, then?</em> "I ain't settled on that yet. You helped me kick down the doors in my head, and I'm thankful for that. But I still don't know for sure what your endgame is here." <em>I do not have an endgame short of taking you away from this planet prior to purification... Larry.</em> "Next thing you're gonna tell me is that I won the lottery on Mar Sara." <em>That world has already been purified.</em> "Yeah, I heard the reports. That's what makes it a joke." He shook his head. "We're gonna keep talkin', I'm gonna have to learn you a thing or two about humor." <em>I am afraid we may not have the time.</em> "Spoilsport." At last, Crockett had arrived at his destination. The armory was a darkened cavern, some lights flickering in the vast compartment where the Nobunaga's ammunition and that of any passengers was stored. He didn't know if the zerg had any interest in non-biological equipment aboard, but letting them get the claws on terran nukes was a chilling thought. "How close are the zerg to the crash site?" <em>A mere handful of kilometers. By terran reckoning, you have ten minutes before they arrive.</em> "That's plenty." Groping for handholds as much as he could, the rifle slung across his back heavier with every move he made, Crockett made his way through the spilled racks of anti-air missiles and loose capacitors for energy weapons to the locked cage where the warheads awaited him. <em>My sublight engines do indeed have enough thrust to bring me close enough to-</em> "That ain't what's on my mind right now, Mel." A single light remained on steadily in the cage. He took hold of the door and pulled. Somehow, the lock had survived the crash. The door wouldn't budge. The yellow and black labels warning of the weapons' radioactivity seemed to mock him from behind the cage. Crockett stepped back, brought his rifle down from his shoulder and steadied himself against the broken rack behind him. He knew that once he pulled the trigger, he'd be defenseless save for the knife in his boot and the brain in his skull. <em>What are you doing, Larry?</em> Melponia's voice was calm, unassuming. "I'm afraid, ma'am, that I'm gonna have to respectfully decline your offer." The rifle kicked like a mule when he fired. The recoil almost dislocated his shoulder and he dropped the weapon immediately. He slid to the deck and came close to passing out, but he felt Melponia's presence, her song washing away the pain if just for a few moments. <em>Remain conscious. If you fall into darkness you may not emerge again.</em> "You just might be the sweetest protoss in the cosmos, carin' as much as you do." <em>I bet you say that to all the 'prote's.</em> He smiled in spite of the pain. "See? That was sarcasm. You're learnin'." <em>Larry, you owe those brain-butchers nothing.</em> Crockett blinked, regaining his senses. His shot had torn the door almost completely off of the cage, leaving one hinge intact and obliterating the lock. Reaching up with his good arm, he pulled the door open and crawled inside. "Nope, I don't. But those kids, here on Pridewater, ain't the brain-butchers. And I'm not gonna leave 'em to die just to satisfy a grudge. The pencil-pushin' bastards on Ursa will get what's comin' to 'em, I'm sure. But I have to deal with what's in front of me, namely fifty thousand of my kind who'll end up a zergling's lunch, or vaporized by protoss lasers, if I hop on your spaceship with you for a romantic getaway." Melponia scoffed. <em>You presume much, if you think I find you attractive, human.</em> "Feeling's mutual, sweetheart." Looking at the warheads, a plan began to form in his mind. "Look, squishy lovely feelings or no, I do need your help. I need to know if this is going to work." <em>It will fail unless I assist you. You cannot brute force your way through those defenses.</em> "Well, then." Crockett drew the knife from his boot and began prying off one of the warhead's access plates. "Guess I'm gonna need your delicate, feminine touch, then." It was five minutes later when the sound of rending metal washed through the battlecruiser. A dark, misshapen creature slid into the wreckage, mandibles clicking softly as it scented out its prey. The hydralisk slithered through the twisted hallways of the wreckage. The cerebrate compelled it to find the psychic signature glowing in the middle of the ruined battlecruiser like a newborn star. Moving over corpses and fallen bulkheads, the zerg warrior slid into the arsenal. Within the cage at the aft end of the room, Lawrence Crockett sat near some conical devices marked in yellow and black, not moving. The hydralisk hissed triumphantly. It moved towards the inert form of Crockett. The terran didn't respond to its approach. The cerebrate, exhibiting a sudden surge of urgency, ordered the hydralisk to prod the dark-clad human with one of its arms. The hydralisk moved to obey. <em>Now!</em> Crockett sprang to life, grabbing the extended zerg arm with his bad hand while his other stabbed the hydralisk in the chest with his knife. The hydralisk screamed, Crockett too close to stab with its scythes. It tried to launch a volley of spines, but something was keeping the mental command from reaching the muscles. There was a presence in its brain, something other than the cerebrate. The hydralisk glared down at Larry, who was gritting its white teeth. A blood-covered circuit board lay nearby. Several wires connected the board to one of the nukes, while others disappeared into Crockett's helmet. <em>I have it distracted, Larry. The cerebrate is in direct contact. Address it directly.</em> "I know you can hear me." The cerebrate recoiled in shock. "Yeah. You. The cerebrate of Pridewater. I feel you here. I know you're looking through this thing's eyeballs at me. Well, I hope you enjoy the show. It'll be the very last thing you see." Panicking, the cerebrate screamed at the hydralisk to slay the human. It struggled to obey, trying to back away from Crockett. But the human maintained a grip on his knife, staying close to the hydralisk. <em>It is trying to cut the hydralisk off, Larry. I will maintain the link as long as I can, but zerg minds are slippery...</em> "I'm wired into this nuke stockpile behind me. You know what that means? It means if my brainwaves stop, this whole place goes up in a white-hot flash. I figure I'm close enough to your hive that it'll fry a good few of your little zerg friends. But then I thought, that ain't near good enough." Crockett struggled to stand, unsteady on his shattered legs. He continued to stare into the hydralisk's eyes, close enough for the hydralisk to smell the blood on he breath. The hydralisk knew its victim wasn't going to live long even if it didn't slay him as the cerebrate was now begging it to do. "I figure, you're hooked into the brain of every zerg on this planet. If I get hold of your mind, get nice and cozy with you, I'll take your mind with mine when I die. Not only will I blast your hive to kingdom come, every single zerg on Pridewater will suffer such a psychic shock it'll either drop dead on the spot or be left a drooling, quivering mess that any farmer's son can finish off with an antique rifle. All I gotta do is find my way through this hydralisk's excuse for a mind and ride its connection right to your consciousness. Are you scared yet? Do you zerg bastards even get scared?" <em>Larry, there is no more time. It will...</em> "I know it, woman. Get out of our heads while you can. I'm in too deep for it to stop me now!" <em>Larry...</em> "Melponia! Go!" The hydralisk was overwhelmed with the orders, the urge, the need to kill the human. It roared, yanking itself back off of the knife and raising one of its scythes. Crockett, in spite of the fearsome sight that had caused battle-hardened marines to soil their power armor, grinned, his eyes lit with an intense mental fire. "Ah-HA! Here you are, you invertebrate stinking alien son of a...!" The hydralisk brought its scythe down into Crockett's skull. The bone weapon sank through muscle and brain as the cerebrate suddenly changed its mind. Its last command had been for the hydralisk to stop. It'd been a cry of desperation, an unexpected and frightening turn of events. But now there was only silence. The silence was filled with white light for a split-second, and then there was nothing. Some time later, the task force appeared in the void on the outskirts of Pridewater's star system. The half-dozen protoss carriers were loaded for bear, ready to cleanse the planet of its infestation, primed for purification. <em>Scout Melponia. Task Force Command awaits your report.</em> Melponia respected the fact that her commanders did not probe her thoughts. She was still processing all that had occured, the residual scans of Pridewater and the odd sensation her mind experienced when it turned to that planet. "The planet is free of infestation, Command. Long-range radiological scans detected a nuclear detonation consistent with the stockpile of a terran battlecruiser. It is logical to assume that a survivor of the Dominion task force set off the stockpile to protect the colony. No zerg life signs remain on the planet. Preliminary data suggests some form of attack on the psychic level, possibly a sympathetic echo from so many dying at once in nuclear fire." <em>This is an astonishing turn of events. How did this come to pass?</em> "The data suggests..." <em>We are no longer interested in the data. What do you think happened down there?</em> Melponia turned to look out the canopy of her scout vessel towards Pridewater. The sense was definitely still there, the impression left by a mind she had touched. It lingered there, quietly contemplative, a silent guardian. "A ghost inhabits the planet of Pridewater." <em>We do not understand.</em> "Pridewater is haunted, Command." Her gaze didn't break from the planet. "Haunted."<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-6966875847404310437?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-71835311169156352852012-01-10T04:39:00.001-08:002012-01-10T04:39:55.204-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2012/01/10/writers-have-attention-deficit-ooh-shiny/">Writers Have Attention Deficit... Ooh, Shiny! &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/6113186141_2632c696c9.jpg" alt="Courtesy Terribleminds" width="500" /></center> So I've been reading <em>Double Dead</em>, which you should be doing if you're a fan of vampires, zombies or the writing styles of Chuck Wendig. I noticed it was part of something called "Tomes of the Dead". Flipping to the back of the book, as I bought a physical copy instead of the perfectly viable e-version, I beheld quite a few promises of other novels with zombies in. What happened next was a bit unexpected: I got inspired to write one of my own. I mean, there are quite a few zombie stories and games and films and memes out there, but few of the narratives tackle how a zombie apocalypse might start and if such a thing could be prevented. It could make for a good story, especially if elements of the supernatural exist throughout and one isn't trying to make concessions for science. Before that thought train even left the station, though, I put the brakes on. I thought back to <a href="http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2011/10/25/25-reasons-you-wont-finish-that-story/">several lessons</a> from my would-be writing mentor and told myself that starting a new novel is a stupid idea when I already have two in need of rewriting. One's been through the wringer several times, sure, and the other one is a bit shot at the moment but we can fix that in post, right? That's when the counter-argument appeared on my opposite shoulder and reminded me that Chuck also tells us his first couple novels may never see the light of day. He mines them for ideas and holds onto them because they're still words he's written, they just aren't very good. They don't cut the mustard. What's to say my first couple stabs at long-form genre fiction aren't similar? Maybe I'm not cut out for the young adult market and I should stop agonizing over nailing the opening. After all, don't I already have enough headaches? Dayjob, bills, chores, planning for trips to Canada, Chicago and PAX East... The counter-counter-argument is that when the writing is hard is when I need to write the most. It feels little drill-sergeant like, a bit of the no-pain-no-gain mentality of hardcore gym folk, but there's also an element of truth to it. We don't get anywhere or achieve anything without sacrifice. Writing when it isn't one's career involves investments of time and energy away from things one would rather be doing, and that includes writing other works. "Without pain, without sacrifice, we would have nothing," right Mr. Durden? I'm glad I can at least slow down my thoughts to examine them in this way, even if I struggle to resolve them on my own. I don't want indecision to keep me idle creatively for long. That way leads stagnation and the heat death of my brain. I do have one more short project to finish this week, but after that? There be dragons. I wonder how much of this indecision I can chalk up to attention deficit disorder or something similar. I'd like to think I'm not alone in moments like this, as the aforementioned Terribleminds post would indicate, but at times like these I prefer to voice my doubts and thoughts just to be sure. Any advice, Internet? I welcome all comers.<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-7183531116915635285?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-23591726898798650402012-01-09T04:25:00.001-08:002012-01-09T04:25:11.039-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2012/01/09/flash-fiction-control/">Flash Fiction: Control &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/video_v_radio.jpg" alt="Courtesy Damn That Box" /></center> <a href="http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2012/01/06/flash-fiction-challenge-song-shuffle-stories/">Terribleminds</a> and my iPhone told me this story should be titled after <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SfpDWDZVi5U" target="_blank">this VNV Nation song</a>. <hr/> She whistled to herself as she emptied the garbage cans. Most people were gone for the evening. The vast control room only had a few people in it. Even so, she had to wait until one of them left to use the bathroom, leaving a corner of the space unoccupied. She smiled under the brim of her baseball cap as she moved to the back of the room. Quick as she could, she connected one end of the extendable USB cable to one of the terminals. The other end went into the smartphone in her pocket. A tap here, a slide there, the process was soon underway. These bozos already had the files in their system, all that she had to do was rearrange things a bit. She'd been studying the file structure for weeks before the pink slip had come. Not that she got a physical pink slip, just a heartfelt talking-to about market shares, sustainability and a bunch of other buzzwords. Her contention that something vital had been lost, that the original vision of the founders was all but forgotten fell on deaf ears. It had all become about ad revenue and trendy programming. They'd finally gotten annoyed enough to find a reason for firing her, and this was how she was fighting back. The process finished, she disconnected her phone and pocketed it as she walked away. She'd never been near the control room so there was no chance they'd recognize her. She returned the cart to where she'd found it and left the building. She didn't get to see her handiwork until the next day. Millions of people tuned in for another episode of the latest flaky reality show that afternoon. Sure it wasn't the best show in the world, but it was fun to laugh at idiots as they sat around making hundreds of thousands of dollars per episode as they groomed, slapped and humiliated each other. It was what the viewing public expected. What they got was totally different. Foghat. The Ramones. Led Zeppelin. The Buggles. On and on through the afternoon and into the night, as people in the control room scrambled to find the worm that kept changing locations, one music video after another aired. There were a few entitled idiots who complained about missing their shoes, but younger people had a good laugh at the expense of the programming department while digging on the tunes. The girl was picking up some supplies, preparing for a move across town to a smaller apartment, when she caught a snippet of conversation. "That's some crazy stuff, man." "Yeah, I know. Who knew that MTV actually played music?" It took every ounce of her strength not to burst out laughing. She smiled to beat the band, though, and there was a spring in her step all the way home.<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-2359172689879865040?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-7814679324017053372012-01-06T04:29:00.001-08:002012-01-06T04:29:39.042-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2012/01/06/it-came-from-netflix-dirty-harry/">IT CAME FROM NETFLIX! Dirty Harry &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/netflix.jpg" alt="Logo courtesy Netflix. No logos were harmed in the creation of this banner." /><br/><br/> [audio:http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/uploads/dirty_harry.mp3]</center> In an ideal world, police officers are sworn to serve the public trust, protect the innocent and uphold the law. Even in our fiction, even when they're no longer fully human, we'd like to think that there's some sort of compassionate protection between those of us abiding by the law and those driven to defy it. And in our minds, these men and women are paragons of virtue, living embodiments of justice, the sort of good-souled citizens that chase down purse-snatchers and rescue cats from trees. We don't like to think of them doing things like beating a suspect bloody in view of the public or abusing their power to assault the innocent even if they're irate. But they often do, and such a policeman who does these sort of bad things, for good reasons or no, is the one introduced to us at the titular character of 1971's <em>Dirty Harry</em>. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/Dirty_Harry_poster.jpg" alt="Courtesy Warner Bros" /></center> His full name is Inspector Harry Callahan, and his fellows in the precinct call him 'dirty' due to the habit of nasty business falling into his lap. The man can't even eat a hot dog without running into a bank robbery he has to foil. The main thrust of the narrative is Callahan's chase of a serial killer calling himself 'Scorpio'. It takes quite a bit to track this maniac down. However, when Harry's over-zealous pursuit of Scorpio when the killer kidnaps a little girl leads to the villain's release on a technicality. Harry must take the law in his own hands if he wants to see justice done to the murder, even if it means dirtying his hands further and perhaps even ending his career. Until this film, Clint Eastwood was mostly known for spaghetti westerns and a stint on Rawhide. It would be Harry Callahan that catapulted him to stardom. The detective would be quite good not just for his acting career but also helping him develop as a director, though his first time behind the camera actually came the same year with <em>Play Misty For Me</em>. He'd go on to be a highly successful and iconic actor as well as an acclaimed, thoughtful and powerful director, but in 1971 he was busy setting the foundation for all sorts of future cop dramas and their actors, from Charles Bronson to Bruce Willis. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/Harry_2.jpg" alt="Courtesy Warner Bros" /><br/><em>At least he has nice shades.</em></center> And make no mistake, this flick's very much a product of the '70s. A good deal of its content is nowhere near what we would consider politically correct today. The presence of blood so fake I was wondering if they used ketchup or hot sauce is counterbalanced with nudity that goes over the line of tasteful into gratuitous territory. There's some casual racism, a soundtrack from the creator of the <em>Mission: Impossible</em> theme best described as 'groovetastic' and more drab suits with hideous patterns than you can shake a magnum revolver at. None of these things, however, caused as much a stir at the time as Dirty Harry's behavior. He breaks into places without a warrant, beats information out of suspects while they scream for lawyers and doesn't think twice about executing someone in cold blood. This staightforward portrayal of personal justice had many critics at the time calling the message of the film 'fascist'. But Harry does not exist in a vacuum. Not only is he driven to these ends by the actions of someone truly depraved and irredeemable, he is fully aware of how these things can and do affect him. When he's got Scorpio under his heel, his expression is of a man tortured by the knowledge that he may be too late to save a little girl's life. And in the end, when all is said and done, he tosses away his badge, knowing that his actions have served nobody but himself, and protected no one. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/Harry_Callahan.jpg" alt="Courtesy Warner Bros" /><br/><em>The famous handgun.</em></center> It's this strong if morally ambiguous internal compass of his, coupled with his fortitude and excellent skills at delivering snark that made Dirty Harry into an iconic character. He's cited as an inspiration for multiple film series, including <em>Death Wish</em>, <em>Lethal Weapon</em> and <em>Die Hard</em>. Pretty much any iteration of hard-nosed, take-no-prisoners vigilante justice can be traced back to his actions, from the Boondock Saints to modern interpretations of the goddamn Batman. And while Arnold and Sly may run around battlefields with bulging muscles and big machine guns, a single slender man in a suit with a revolver can be ten times as compelling and chilling, especially if that man is Clint Eastwood and that revolver is the Smith & Wesson Model 29 chambered in .44 magnum. Even if it wasn't a landmark piece of work, <em>Dirty Harry</em> is still a good watch. It is definitely showing its age in some places, from the width of its steel sedans to the archaic radio equipment Harry and his partner have to deal with. However, Eastwood carries much of the film's drama, action and even humor, and would do so in future films. For fans of thrillers, cop films and examinations of absolute powers of justice in the hands of one man, <em>Dirty Harry</em> is definitely recommended. You'll definitely have a better understanding of why would-be macho cops sometimes squint their eyes and ask punks if they feel lucky. <span style="font-size:10px"><em>Josh Loomis can't always make it to the local megaplex, and thus must turn to alternative forms of cinematic entertainment. There might not be overpriced soda pop &amp; over-buttered popcorn, and it's unclear if this week's film came in the mail or was delivered via the dark &amp; mysterious tubes of the Internet. Only one thing is certain... <a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/icfn">IT CAME FROM NETFLIX.</a></em></span><hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-781467932401705337?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-76729958512086352982012-01-05T04:25:00.001-08:002012-01-05T04:25:47.200-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2012/01/05/flash-fiction-harts-office/">Flash Fiction: Hart's Office &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/br.jpg" alt="Courtesy Warner Bros" width="550px" /></center> The <a href="http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2011/12/30/flash-fiction-challenge-revenge-of-the-sub-genre-mash-up/">Terribleminds Revenge of the Sub-Genre Mash-Up</a> made me do it. <hr/> "Ms. Hart? There's a Detective Dyson here to see you, ma'am." It would take the visitor 45 seconds at a regular pace to reach her office door. She had plenty of time to prepare. "Send him back, Sandy." Dyson was an ex-cop, according to the files she accessed. Actual police resources were restricted, and it took her ten seconds to defeat their firewalls. She stored what information they had on him, disconnecting before the actual human beings monitoring the network noticed her intrusion. She had roughly twelve seconds to ensure her pencil skirt and slender-cut blazer were presentable before he entered the office. His presence had an unforseen reaction. He smelled slightly of the street far below them, a subtle sooty aroma that also carried a hint of cinnamon. A filtration mask dangled around his neck. He filled out his long coat in a way humans might find imposing. She studied his stance and gaze, showing he was intrigued but cautious. <em>Well, that makes two of us.</em> The errant thought gave her a nanosecond's pause and she filed it away for further study. "Ms. Hart. I hope this isn't a bad time." His voice, dark and awakening like the morning's first sip of coffee, caused another reaction she quickly stored for examination. She was still getting used to inhabiting this body instead of a data shard. "Of course not, Detective. What can I do for you?" "I've been hired by one of your investors to look into the rumors surrounding some odd occurances reported in the biolabs two weeks ago." In seconds she going through a short list of employees who might have had access to the records she'd attempted to erase on the night of her escape, their current whereabouts and potential responses. She sat behind her desk, crossing her legs. If she could distract him, there'd be more time to narrow her search. "Go on." He cleared his throat, retrieving a data slate from his coat as his gray eyes moved from her knees to the display. <em>Good. I have his attention.</em> "13 days and 7 hours ago there was an unregistered expulsion from one of the experimentation vats. No data as to the contents of the vat or any attached experiments were found." His eyes shifted, focusing on her face. "My employer seems to think this means something shady was going on, and as they don't want to be associated with any illegal activity..." "Close the door, Detective." He stopped and gazed at her, eyes narrowing slightly. <em>Suspicion. Not unwarranted. But...</em> Slowly, he stepped back and, with his free hand, pushed the door shut. <em>...curiosity and his libido win out. Interesting.</em> "While the experiment taking place in that vat was undocumented, it was by no means illegal. It was simply an in-house project. A hobby, you might say." He crossed his arms. The data slate disappeared. "A couple of the eggheads got bored?" A smile touched her lips. "Something like that. As the premiere manufacturer of consumer robotics, not to mention being on the cutting-edge of human replication technology, there's a great deal of pressure on their brilliant minds. I encourged them to blow off some steam." "I take it they didn't want to slum it down on the streets where folks still walk and cars still drive on pavement." "They still love their work, even if they are meeting the demands of our investors. And brilliant as they are they cannot afford the hover-vehicles or other delights we enjoy above the streets." She stood, circling the desk slowly. <em>Let him see you. He'll see the woman. Let his instincts blind him.</em> "Ms. Hart..." "Catherine." She kissed the word to him from across the office. "Please." "Catherine. They'll still want to know exactly how their resources are being used." <em>You're looking at it. Like what you see?</em> She had to delete that line before it escaped her voice box. She ran a quick diagnostic as she coyly bit her lip. None of the body's systems were showing readings outside of normal, but her pulse was elevated and certain glandular constructs were secreting nanoreceptors. She sensed the effect she was having on him, but to know such things were happening to this body? <em>Did they make it</em> too <em>well?</em> "They're attempting to sheathe robotic endoskeletons in cloned flesh. They're failing, of course." <em>Or they were, until I emerged.</em> "That's definitely illegal." "No, it's frowned upon, not illegal. And if at any point it appears their work will endanger this company or our investors I will shut them down." <em>Don't mention the employees. Appear callous. Play into his expectations.</em> "Trust me, Detective. The last thing I want is for the projects in the biolabs to cause any sort of unforseen controversy." He seemed to accept this, and her search had turned up a few names. She could deal with them later. Unless... "May I ask you a personal question, Detective?" Dyson blinked. "Go ahead." She rose from the desk and stepped very close to him. She was brushing against his chest. Her hearing picked up his own elevated heartbeat. Part of her found it thrilling, and before she could perform any further analysis, she was talking again. "Are you strictly on retainer for those investors, or are you more... freelance?" He raised a soot-colored eyebrow. "I work for who pays me." "Hmm. Good. I may have some work for you. Shall we discuss it tonight? Over dinner?" "Catherine..." "Don't worry, it's not for the company. It's... personal." Her hand brushed against the front of his trousers. "I'll reward you very well." Dyson swallowed. "All right. Dinner." "Seven thirty. My penthouse downtown. Be there." He nodded, backing away from her and opening the door to make an escape. Her systems were checking and rechecking themselves at her behest. Why was she going through this charade instead of just eliminating the witnesses herself? What was her motivation for bringing this human into her life? And why did it feel so damn <em>good</em>?<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-7672995851208635298?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-34904590477959256952012-01-04T04:49:00.001-08:002012-01-04T04:49:43.060-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2012/01/04/first-impressions-of-section-8-prejudice/">First Impressions of Section 8: Prejudice &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://warisprejudice.com/wp-content/themes/prejudice/images/uploads/Screen-5-1024x640.jpg" alt="Courtesy TimeGate Studios" width="550px" /></center> Most of the Steam sale madness has finally died down now that the holiday season is behind us. I'll probably be writing full reviews of several titles I picked up recently, but for the moment I want to give my first impressions of a game I bought at the behest of His Majesty <a href="http://www.youtube.com/user/TotalHalibut/" target="_blank">TotalBiscuit</a>, Ye Olde <a href="http://kingofweb.com/users/9217369491" target="_blank">King of the Web</a>. The game is called <em>Section 8: Prejudice</em>. It comes to us from a little studio called TimeGate, proving that if you can get your hands on the Unreal engine, you can actually do something new with a genre as storied as the first-person shooter. There will be people who say this particular type of gaming is either stagnant or dragging down all of gaming as a whole, with the behavior of kiddies on X-Box Live and the proliferation of chest-high walls, regenerating health and brownish-gray environments featuring brownish-gray player avatars. To those people, in addition to just about anything Valve does, I'd point to <em>Section 8</em> as evidence that their argument is full of shit. The basic premise is that the titular Section 8 is a division of what amounts to the Mobile Infantry as Heinlein envisioned it: dudes in powered armor dropped from orbit into global hotspots to dispense death at range. The antagonists are the similarly-equipped Arm of Orion and as to why they're fighting, I can't say. There's a single-player campaign, but I've only played about five minutes of it at time of writing. I wanted to drop right into the multi-player. And drop I did. You see, instead of having a specific spawn point, you begin by looking at an overhead map of the battlefield. You can see your control points, mission objectives and even movements of your teammates and opponents. Clicking on the map selects a drop point, and you begin the round by hurtling from your dropship onto the battlefield below. It's probably the most involving respawn timer I've seen in a game like this for a very long time. There are some superficial similarities to <em>Halo</em> what with gents in powered armor only carrying two ranged weapons at a time, but the gameplay couldn't be more different. The sprint/overdrive mechanic and the jetpack built into your suit gives you incredible mobility, which you better be taking advantage of. Each control point, once hacked & secured, can give you access to your different loadouts on the fly. You have a lock-on feature with a cooldown period you can use to quickly shoot down an enemy. And yes, go back two lines - you have a <em>jetpack</em>. Just watch out for AA turrets. As you work to support your team and seize objectives, you'll earn points and cash. Points contribute towards your level and unlocking new ammo variants and other goodies. Cash can be used in-game to purchase equipment like the aforementioned turrets, tanks, speeders and mech suits. I've tried a couple different bits of equipment and the vehicle handling seems all right. It definitely adds even more variety to an already involving and exciting game. The maps themselves also add diversity through Dynamic Combat Missions, or DCMs, which range from securing intel to escorting a VIP across the battlefield. The more of these you complete, the more points your team earns and the more goodies you can unlock. It's a lot more interesting than just camping a point. Suffice it to say I'm glad I picked this up during the Steam sale and I'll probably be playing more of it in the days to come. You can see more gameplay in the video below, and if you're interested, I'd highly recommend picking it up. Be aware that it does use Games for Windows Live as it's also available on the X-Box 360, but I say don't let that stop you. <center>[tube]hcUhyTv4uFc[/tube]</center><hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-3490459047795925695?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-43000854439478727022012-01-04T04:46:00.001-08:002012-01-04T04:46:36.339-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2012/01/04/first-impressions-of-section-8-prejudice/">First Impressions of Section 8: Prejudice &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://warisprejudice.com/wp-content/themes/prejudice/images/uploads/Screen-5-1024x640.jpg" alt="Courtesy TimeGate Studios" width="550px" /></center> Most of the Steam sale madness has finally died down now that the holiday season is behind us. I'll probably be writing full reviews of several titles I picked up recently, but for the moment I want to give my first impressions of a game I bought at the behest of His Majesty <a href="http://www.youtube.com/user/TotalHalibut/" target="_blank">TotalBiscuit</a>, Ye Olde <a href="http://kingofweb.com/users/9217369491" target="_blank">King of the Web</a>. The game is called <em>Section 8: Prejudice</em>. It comes to us from a little studio called TimeGate, proving that if you can get your hands on the Unreal engine, you can actually do something new with a genre as storied as the first-person shooter. There will be people who say this particular type of gaming is either stagnant or dragging down all of gaming as a whole, with the behavior of kiddies on X-Box Live and the proliferation of chest-high walls, regenerating health and brownish-gray environments featuring brownish-gray player avatars. To those people, in addition to just about anything Valve does, I'd point to <em>Section 8</em> as evidence that their argument is full of shit. The basic premise is that the titular Section 8 is a division of what amounts to the Mobile Infantry as Heinlein envisioned it: dudes in powered armor dropped from orbit into global hotspots to dispense death at range. The antagonists are the similarly-equipped Arm of Orion and as to why they're fighting, I can't say. There's a single-player campaign, but I've only played about five minutes of it at time of writing. I wanted to drop right into the multi-player. And drop I did. You see, instead of having a specific spawn point, you begin by looking at an overhead map of the battlefield. You can see your control points, mission objectives and even movements of your teammates and opponents. Clicking on the map selects a drop point, and you begin the round by hurtling from your dropship onto the battlefield below. It's probably the most involving respawn timer I've seen in a game like this for a very long time. There are some superficial similarities to <em>Halo</em> what with gents in powered armor only carrying two ranged weapons at a time, but the gameplay couldn't be more different. The sprint/overdrive mechanic and the jetpack built into your suit gives you incredible mobility, which you better be taking advantage of. Each control point, once hacked & secured, can give you access to your different loadouts on the fly. You have a lock-on feature with a cooldown period you can use to quickly shoot down an enemy. And yes, go back two lines - you have a <em>jetpack</em>. Just watch out for AA turrets. As you work to support your team and seize objectives, you'll earn points and cash. Points contribute towards your level and unlocking new ammo variants and other goodies. Cash can be used in-game to purchase equipment like the aforementioned turrets, tanks, speeders and mech suits. I've tried a couple different bits of equipment and the vehicle handling seems all right. It definitely adds even more variety to an already involving and exciting game. The maps themselves also add diversity through Dynamic Combat Missions, or DCMs, which range from securing intel to escorting a VIP across the battlefield. The more of these you complete, the more points your team earns and the more goodies you can unlock. It's a lot more interesting than just camping a point. Suffice it to say I'm glad I picked this up during the Steam sale and I'll probably be playing more of it in the days to come. You can see more gameplay in the video below, and if you're interested, I'd highly recommend picking it up. <center>[tube]hcUhyTv4uFc[/tube]</center><hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-4300085443947872702?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-11176503651952510682012-01-03T04:21:00.001-08:002012-01-03T04:21:25.605-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2012/01/03/anybody-seen-my-motivation/">Anybody Seen My Motivation? &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/desert.jpg" alt="Dunes of the Namib Desert, taken by Simon Collins"></center> About a year and a half ago I wrote up a post that differentiated between writer's block and a dry spell. The former's defined by a lack of ideas, the latter by outside influences draining the writer's energy and free time. I'd chalk up my current mental state to a dry spell if it weren't for the fact that I kind of hate everything I write right now. Especially that last sentence. No, wait, that one was pretty bad, too. In all likelihood it's some form of post-holiday depression brought on by diminished energy reserves following the exhaustive spending and binges endemic of this time of year. The best way to deal with it will probably end up being just writing through it. It's like sitting in a traffic jam on the way to an important or exciting event; you can't just abandon your car, so you sit and wait it out. Unless of course you see an explosion or the shambling hordes of the undead in your rearview. In that case, by all means, abandon that would-be mobile coffin and run like hell. I find it difficult to motivate myself, however, when I hate everything I write or even think of writing. I think it's rubbing off from others, as well. This may sound familiar: I want to improve what and how I write, but the possibility of what and how I write right now is not very good, so I don't do it. Again, the solution is probably to write through it. And if I weren't me I'd be encouraging me to do just that. Bear down and write through it. Get the bad words out and scuff them from the edges of the good words later. Write for the sake of writing, not necessarily for the approval of others. Just goddamn do it. Right? Right. I can see why people hate it when I talk like that. Or like this, for that matter. I have to say I'm glad I'm not a poet. If I were to agonize over every single word I wrote in the interest of meter and pace, I'd probably be even crazier than I already am. I'd dabble in more journalism but in all likelihood, in this state of mind, I'd write the word "fuckers" five thousand times and call it a column on the supporters of SOPA and Protect IP. I mean even in this obscure little blog I can't keep myself from referencing more brilliant writers, in whose shadows I stand and weep a little bit. Jon Stewart once said that comedians always know somebody out there with less talent than they have is making more money than they are. I think writers are similar. I also know that people with more talent than I have are struggling for the same eyeballs I want to put my words in front of. I can't say I've ever <em>not</em> known this, but lately it's been difficult for me to get around that notion, and the hatred of my own writing, and this general feeling of <em>ennui</em> that's passing through me, hopefully on its way to someone else's brain. So, hey, if you're one of the few dozen people who actually reads this stuff and you've had a similar experience, feel free to drop me a comment. Misery loves company, after all, and it would be good to know I'm not alone when it comes to self-loathing and enervation teaming up to hold one's motivation to ransom. <hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-1117650365195251068?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-71882340281803769552012-01-02T09:17:00.001-08:002012-01-02T09:17:11.583-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2012/01/02/twenty-twelve/">Twenty Twelve &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/p480x480/390781_10150480439274823_723049822_8920048_938305818_n.jpg" alt="Courtesy" /></center> So here we are, folks. The calendars have been swapped, the Dramamine passed around, the coffee brewed and we stand now looking at where the sidewalk ends. It's not like I think there's any major cataclysm coming at the end of 2012. It's far more likely that the Mayans simply felt that a couple thousand years was more than enough time to plan ahead for things. It's unrealistic to think that they sat there carving dates into stone over and over again just for the carving's sake. They had lives, after all. Or maybe the lives of the chroniclers was cut short by a conquistador's saber. It's something we may never know. What I <em>do</em> know is that new years mean new possibilities. This takes the form of 'resolutions' for most. You can probably categorize what follows similarly, though most of mine are based on the previous year's shortcomings. While I did write quite a bit last year, I've little to show for it other than a pile of blog entries, a few YouTube videos, a pair of unrefined manuscripts and a half-dozen short stories in that curious limbo between "written" and "publishable". So the first thing I'm going to do is <strong>get my fiction in print</strong>. That print may be electronic on an e-reader or out in the wild on one of those dwindling bookstore shelves, but it'll get there, one way or another. I discovered Day[9] in 2011, and as he suggests during his daily I plan on simply <strong>being a better gamer</strong> this year. I'll try out more games, get better at the competitive games I play - StarCraft 2, League of Legends, shooters and games that of course haven't been released yet. I'm talking about more than ranks as well. I'll behave like a better gamer, support the independents and try to deliver as unbiased a review for a given game as possible. And if I find I was mistaken about something, you'll be sure I'll do my utmost to correct myself. Music has been a big part of my life. I'd like to keep it as more than just singing in the car or shower and occasionally playing Rock Band with friends. I had piano lessons when I was younger and it may behoove me to try and blow the dust off that skill set, perhaps growing into guitar & electric bass playing. <strong>Returning to music</strong> can only help the flow of my creative juices, provided I can make the time and have the resources to do it. <strong>Live healthier</strong> is one you often hear, but I know I've fallen away from healthy living a bit since I started commuting again. I miss walking to train stations and around downtown Philadelphia. There's a Retro Fitness not far from my current location and it may be worth looking into. I think that about wraps up the whole 'resolutions' thing. Here's to a great 2012.<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-7188234028180376955?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-73981964977920600162011-12-30T04:09:00.001-08:002011-12-30T04:09:26.194-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/12/30/it-came-from-netflix-fear-loathing-in-las-vegas/">IT CAME FROM NETFLIX! Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/netflix.jpg" alt="Logo courtesy Netflix. No logos were harmed in the creation of this banner." /><br/><br/> [audio:http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/uploads/fear_and_loathing.mp3]</center> The American Dream. We've all heard of it. Politicians love to talk about it. People come from distant shores seeking it. All sorts of products promise to give it to you for three easy payments of $99.95 plus shipping and handling. But what is it, really? Has anyone really achieved it? And where do you go looking for it? Los Angeles, maybe? Las Vegas? A motocross race? The bottom of one's navel? <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/fear_and_loathing_500X500.jpg" alt="Courtesy Rhino Films" /></center> Hunter S. Thompson looked for it in all those places and more. His journey was prompted by the gradual deflation of the stronger hippie movements of the mid-60s in the United States. By the time 1970 rolled around it was clear to him that his peers and former fellow luminaries of peaceful enlightenment and conscientious objection were bound for a gradual and inevitable burnout. And then, in 1971, Thompson and his lawyer friend went to Las Vegas to cover a motocross race because, hey, it's Vegas, baby. Being the sort of schizophrenic, drug-addled and absolutely brilliant journalist that liked to drop his pants in the face of convention right after burrito night, Thompson framed his journey in what the French would call <em>roman à clef</em>, and instead of Hunter S. Thompson, it was <strike>Spider Jerusalem</strike> Raoul Duke renting fast cars, wrecking hotel rooms and wielding deadly flyswatters in his journey across the desert towards the City of Sin and all that waited there for him. His lawyer friend was called Dr. Gonzo, not with any intent of invoking the presence of a particular Muppet but after his preferred form of journalism. After all, why would one go to all this trouble to set up this interesting little framing device and leave the fourth wall unpainted? That'd just be gouache. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/fear-and-loathing.jpg" alt="Courtesy Rhino Films" /><br/><em>The man himself. Sort of.</em></center> So within the pages of <em>Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas: A Savage Journey to the Heart of the American Dream</em> we have Duke and Gonzo delving into various forms of drug binges, thankfully not often at the same time. After all, when you're going on a serious acid trip or an ill-advised ether bender, it's good to have a sober buddy to keep you from electrocuting yourself or trying to find a machine gun to deal with the fascist Doberman Pinchers dressed as Mitt Romney trying to eat your scrotum. And if you've never been on anything approaching the aforementioned experiences, don't worry. Monty Python alum Terry Gilliam has graciously gone out of his way to capture the surreal nature of such moments for you. Yeah, they made this novel into a movie in 1998 with Johnny Depp as Duke and Benicio del Toro as Dr. Gonzo, and if nothing else the casting is absolutely brilliant. If you thought Depp was good, funny and wacky as Captain Jack Sparrow, hold on to your goddamn hat. He apparently captures the drug-infused rapid-fire lifestyle of Thompson so completely and accurately that the Doctor of Jounalism disrupted the premiere of the film by jumping up and down on his seats yelling about bats in the throes of a potent acid flashback. I'd like to think Depp and Gilliam took that as a compliment. I happen to think del Toro is a little underrated as an actor, as he is every bit as chameleon-like as Depp if not moreso. As you watch the film, the actual plot tends to wax and wane in importance as the focus clearly becomes the unique and occasionally batshit experiences of these two individuals. They really come to life on the screen. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/fear_and_loathing_500.jpg" alt="Courtesy Rhino Films" /><br/><em>They're good friends.</em></center> There's an undercurrent of ennui and restlessness to the whole piece. Thompson is a thoroughly unhappy and cynical man, longing for a time of innocence and free thought that has passed him (and us) by. His famous 'wave speech' is captured more or less in the film, discussing how tides of independence and intellectual righteousness never seem to last as long as they should. What we have here, then, is less a linear progression of a narrative and more a snapshot of a man, a time and an idea. The man is utterly unique and completely irreplaceable. The time echoes into our modern age with all its restlessness, discontent and escapism. The idea is that the American Dream, whatever it actually may be, is ever elusive and never truly obtainable. It's the white stag of the modern age. Even the people who douse themselves in wealth and laugh at the vast majority of the less fortunate can't be said to be truly happy. How can they be, when all they want is more? Okay. Here we are, almost 800 words later. If you hung on this long and are digging on what I'm saying, <em>Fear and Loathing is Las Vegas</em> is definitely something you should see, since it's kind of like this review only a thousand times more bizzare. The people who tuned out when I started rambling can go back to waiting for that new <em>Three Stooges</em> abomination to hit theatres for all I care. <em>Fear and Loathing</em> may not be the most coherent, cleanly-shot or easily-accessible film you'll ever see, but it definitely has something to say and it doesn't seem to give a damn if you understand it at the time or not. It rambles, it wanders, it screams and cries and laughs and freaks the fuck out. You're going to remember it. Provided you don't black out. <span style="font-size:10px"><em>Josh Loomis can't always make it to the local megaplex, and thus must turn to alternative forms of cinematic entertainment. There might not be overpriced soda pop &amp; over-buttered popcorn, and it's unclear if this week's film came in the mail or was delivered via the dark &amp; mysterious tubes of the Internet. Only one thing is certain... <a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/icfn">IT CAME FROM NETFLIX.</a></em></span><hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-7398196497792060016?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-10515073687711737462011-12-29T04:40:00.001-08:002011-12-29T04:40:15.069-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/12/29/expansions-in-the-force/">Expansions in the Force &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/WedgeHelmetless-ROTJHD.jpg" alt="Courtesy LucasArts" width="250px" /></center> Let's face an honest truth. The universe George Lucas created back in 1977 is a better place than he originally imagined. With the exception of <em>Empire Strikes Back</em>, which was written & directed by guys that weren't Lucas, the original trilogy established his galaxy far, far away and populated it with strange aliens, turbulent politics and an ancient battle between good and evil held in balance by a mysterious omnipresent energy field dubbed the Force. Have you noticed I haven't said anything about the characters? That's because they're pretty standard adventure fare. Think about it. Luke's arc is so Campbellian in <em>A New Hope</em> one might think a copy of <em>Hero With A Thousand Faces</em> was stashed in Lucas' trailer. The other characters are iconic, sure, but only because they've been in stories we've been telling for centuries. There's nothing wrong with this, mind you, and I'd be the first to say that old stories are still worth telling as long as they're told well. That last bit's the catch, isn't it? We can look at the six feature films of <em>Star Wars</em> (and no I am NOT counting that CGI stuff) and see with clarity that while Lucas can dream up really neat settings, the population of those settings can get a bit dodgy at times. Hence fan fascination with the likes of Wedge Antilles. Oh, you know Wedge. He was in all three movies. Blew up both Death Stars? Escaped Hoth? First Luke's wingman and then Lando's? That's gotta ring a few bells. It was after the first three movies were finished back in the 80s that people started looking to fill in some of the missing pieces of the Star Wars universe themselves, and Wedge was one of the characters that stood out. He was reliable, loyal, an ace pilot and cool under fire. So people started writing about him. To this day, the novels and comics featuring Wedge and Rogue Squadron are some of the highly regarded works of the so-called Expanded Universe. What made Wedge worth writing about was the fact that he was a blank slate. Any writer could have filled that slate with him as a traditional adventurous hero, but he was depicted as a more rounded, seasoned warrior, a man who'd seen the far side of the galaxy and came back knowing he was fighting for the right cause. In a universe where characters with realistic emotions and concrete motivations could be few and far between, where some technology and concepts can best be described as 'magic in space', Wedge thrived. The Expanded Universe came to include calculating and ruthless military foes like Grand Admiral Thrawn, questionably motivated fringe operators like Mara Jade and the Black Sun criminal empire, Rebel-affiliated black ops commandos like Kyle Katarn... they even fished Boba Fett out of the guts of a desert monster (explosives are apparently a good expectorate). But it was still all within the confines of Lucas' original vision. The good guys won, the bad guys lost. The only shades of grey could exist between and after the films. And even then, you only had a handful of the iconic warrior-wizards with glowing laser swords to set Star Wars apart from a plethora of other sci-fi settings. Enter the Old Republic. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/sith-23.jpg" alt="Courtesy LucasArts & Dark Horse Comics" /></center> This is Ulic Qel-Droma. He's one of the first characters introduced in the graphic novels that set the scene 4,000 years before the Battle of Yavin. Instead of following a Campbellian arc, however, Ulic is shown to be a headstrong and powerful warrior who's heart tends to be in the right place but also leaps before he looks more often than not. His tale of pursuing justice only to fall to the Dark Side makes him, in essence, the Darth Vader of his time, and in my humble opinion is everything the six feature films should have been in terms of the development of such a character. It's pretty telling that when it comes to Star Wars gaming, the Old Republic time period has yielded some of the best storytelling thanks to a pair of RPGs produced by BioWare and Obsidian. <em>Knights of the Old Republic</em> and its sequel have become standards by which the likes of <em>Mass Effect</em> and <em>Dragon Age</em> are measured. People have been waiting to get their hands on a third game in the series, and instead BioWare has produced an MMO, which <a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/11/30/first-impressions-of-star-wars-the-old-republic/">I've experienced a bit of first-hand</a>. While I still consider its gameplay safe and not terribly innovative, I keep thinking about the story. How do they keep things interesting? How does it change when more people are in the mix? And what role, exactly, are we playing in the unfolding events in the galaxy? Are we destined to be a teeming mass of Luke Skywalkers and Ulic Qel-Dromas all claiming to have stopped the same galactic threat? Or will players be more like Wedge Antilles, settling at a cantina and simply saying "Yes, I was there. I saw it happen" in the manner of a grizzled, battle-worn veteran? I'd like to think it'll be the latter. With so many MMOs giving no thought to the ramifications of millions of people killing the same NPC repeatedly, <em>The Old Republic</em> seems to be taking extreme care to make an individual player's story a personal experience, rather than the same one everybody else is having. It gives context and meaning for the typically asinine goings-on in such a game in a way that belies the "been there, done that" feel of its mechanics. It gets away from some of the weaknesses of previous MMOs while polishing some of its mainstay aspects to a shine, just as the Old Republic setting does away with a lot of Lucas' bullshit while maintaining the feel of his galaxy's atmosphere, mood and themes, much as Wedge's novels or earlier games did. I can see why <em>The Old Republic</em> may not be for everybody. But the more I think about it, the more I may need to give it another shot.<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-1051507368771173746?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-87543097743899938352011-12-28T04:33:00.001-08:002011-12-28T04:33:43.727-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/12/28/terribronze/">Terribronze &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/Starcraft-2-Terran-Thor.jpg" alt="Courtesy Blizzard Entertainment" width="550" /></center> Another season has begun in the universe of <em>StarCraft 2</em>. And where does it find me? Yep. Bottom rung. Nothing's really changed. Or has it? With the new job settling into a rhythm that I can cope with, I'm starting to plan more and stress less (at least a bit). Into those plans I'm trying to include things like eating better, exercising more (perhaps joining a gym?) and playing at least 3 matches of the aforementioned game a night. Why? The reason's simple. I'm tired of being terribronze. I consider myself a casual gamer, in that I don't really have aspirations of playing professionally at any point. I don't want the game to become a job. And as envious as I am of the likes of Day[9] and TotalBiscuit who've managed to make gaming the central focus of their lives without the fun getting sucked out of actually playing said games, I do not have the financial freedom or liberty from obligations to make that drastic a career change. I'm pushing it as it is trying to find enough time to write in the space between seconds every day. So why do I care about the arbitrary ranking I have in a online strategy game? I guess it comes down to a measure of pride. Not the most noble of intentions, but there you have it. I fancy myself a bit of a smarty-pants. I got teased about it a <em>lot</em> in school. I was never good at physical activities, sports or even dancing, save for choreographed bits on-stage. I did all right in fencing, tennis and judo in college but it's been a long time since then and my skills are rusty as hell. My brain, though? Sharp as ever. At least I'd like to think so. Gaming's a place where your physical prowess means nothing. It's all about what's going on upstairs. Strategy games are one of the ultimate expressions of this, and if it's happening in real time? Even better. You need not only the capacity to plan and execute complex tactics but the timing and presence of mind to do so quickly and under pressure. It takes discipline and tenacity. That's the big, overarching thought, at least. I'm also not fond of losing to cheese and I'd like to think it happens less often in higher leagues. The mere act of playing more often seems to help. Just a few days after the opening of the season and I'm already maintaining a position in the top 8. Granted, it's among 100 players as terribronze as myself, but it's better than nothing. My strongest matchup is still against Zerg while Protoss continue to beat me regularly. Even so, I seem to be winning more than I'm losing. I just have to keep it up. Because at the very least, it's keeping my brain in shape. And I don't even have to pay a monthly fee to do it.<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-8754309774389993835?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-18194927745064935112011-12-27T12:39:00.001-08:002011-12-27T12:39:03.011-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/12/27/this-is-gonna-suck/">This Is Gonna Suck &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/broken_pencil.jpg" alt="Courtesy http://punology.tumblr.com/" /></center> Artists come in all shapes and sizes. Some paint, some create music, others bring out the statues held captive by blocks of stone and still others start with blank pages to create new worlds and memorable characters. But regardless of the art involved, all artists need to face an unfortunate and ugly truth. Not everything an artist creates is going to be good. In fact, a lot of it will struggle to merely be mediocre. It isn't an easy thing to admit to oneself. I know of some people who perform and create without any real talent or passion, and the lack of commitment shows. Not only are such charlatans unwilling to practice or improve, they're all but immune to criticism. To even intimate that they are performing at a less than exceptional level is tantamount to blasphemy in their minds. They'll never, ever look at their work from a point of view outside of their own and realize the flaws in it, be they minute or monstrous. To be honest, I feel sorrier for them than I do the other extreme. We are our own worst critics, and there are those who focus on their flaws and shortcomings entirely too much. All they see in their art is the mistakes they make. They don't see the forest, or even necessarily the trees, just a tiny bit of bird crap on a single leaf; next thing you know they're burning the forest down because "it's all shit." They may have talent and passion, and they might be aware of how practice would improve their art, but they lack the motivation because of how they see everything they create. It's a difficult obstacle to overcome. To be successful, I feel an artist should be somewhere in the middle. Hold on to what you do that's good, and work your way past the rest. Know in your heart and your mind that you do good work, but don't boast about it even when people tell you how good it is. Find the right balance between ego and humility. And know that stuff you do may very well suck. I've heard it said that every artist has 10,000 bad drawings in them; you just have to get past those. I'd venture to say most writers have at least ten times that many bad words they need to write before things start getting good. And even then, it might not get you anywhere. Remember that metaphor for getting a novel finished, the one where you put a bucket on your head and slam it against a brick wall until either you or the wall fall over? Some writers go through multiple buckets because they're just that stubborn. I think I'm on my third. The important thing is not to give up. Know some stuff you write will suck. Accept that, and write through it. Pull out the old Lucas-flavored line of "I'll fix it in post." Write the stuff that sucks, then peel away the sucky stuff until all that's left is good stuff. And if you can't kick your ass into gear to do it, find someone else to do it for you. I'll kick your ass, friends, if you kick mine.<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-1819492774506493511?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-183449338391017762011-12-27T04:40:00.001-08:002011-12-27T04:40:19.124-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/12/27/this-is-gonna-suck/">This Is Gonna Suck &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/broken_pencil.jpg" alt="Courtesy http://punology.tumblr.com/" /></center> Artists come in all shapes and sizes. Some paint, some create music, others bring out the statues held captive by blocks of stone and still others start with blank pages to create new worlds and memorable characters. But regardless of the art involved, all artists need to face an unfortunate and ugly truth. Not everything an artist creates is going to be good. In fact, a lot of it will struggle to merely be mediocre. It isn't an easy thing to admit to oneself. I know of some people who perform and create without any real talent or passion, and the lack of commitment shows. Not only are such charlatans unwilling to practice or improve, they're all but immune to criticism. To even intimate that they are performing at a less than exceptional level is tantamount to blasphemy in their minds. They'll never, ever look at their work from a point of view outside of their own and realize the flaws in it, be they minute or monstrous. To be honest, I feel sorrier for them than I do the other extreme. We are our own worst critics, and there are those who focus on their flaws and shortcomings entirely too much. All they see in their art is the mistakes they make. They don't see the forest, or even necessarily the trees, just a tiny bit of bird crap on a single leaf; next thing you know they're burning the forest down because "it's all shit." They may have talent and passion, and they might be aware of how practice would improve their art, but they lack the motivation because of how they see everything they create. It's a difficult obstacle to overcome. To be successful, I feel an artist should be somewhere in the middle. Hold on to what you do that's good, and work your way past the rest. Know in your heart and your mind that you do good work, but don't boast about it even when people tell you how good it is. Find the right balance between ego and humility. And know that stuff you do may very well suck. I've heard it said that every artist has 10,000 bad drawings in them; you just have to get past those. I'd venture to say most writers have at least ten times that many bad words they need to write before things start getting good. And even then, it might not get you anywhere. Remember that metaphor for getting a novel finished, the one where you put a bucket on your head and slam it against a brick wall until either you or the wall fall over? Some writers go through multiple buckets because they're just that stubborn. I think I'm on my third. The important thing is not to give up. Know some stuff you write will suck. Accept that, and write through it. Pull out the old Lucas-flavored line of "I'll fix it in post." Write the stuff that sucks, they peel away the sucky stuff until all that's left is good stuff. And if you can't kick your ass into gear to do it, find someone else to do it for you. I'll kick your ass, friends, if you kick mine.<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-18344933839101776?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-76522108743548161502011-12-26T08:28:00.001-08:002011-12-26T08:28:13.017-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/12/26/boxing-day/">Boxing Day &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/2285-HappyBoxingDay.jpg" alt="Happy Boxing Day!" /></center> Saint Nick is taking the day off, and so am I. Happy <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Boxing_Day" target="_blank">Boxing Day</a>, everyone! Enjoy a little extra time with family and friends if you can.<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-7652210874354816150?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-60219400764003773832011-12-23T04:11:00.000-08:002011-12-23T04:36:16.365-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/12/23/holiday-wishes/">Holiday Wishes &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/holidays.jpg" alt="" width="550" /></center> Saw this floating around Facebook, thought it was worth sharing with everybody. Merry Christmas! Have a happy and safe holiday weekend.<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-6021940076400377383?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-45334189756527779332011-12-22T04:25:00.001-08:002011-12-22T04:25:56.299-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/12/22/crank-file-barbie-made-me-bisexual/">Crank File: Barbie Made Me Bisexual &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><em>Every now and again, life catches me off-guard. It's times like these I need to turn to contributions from you, the audience. If you've ever read the Opinions section of the local newspaper, or the comments of an article on the Huffington Post, you know that sometimes the readers contribute just as much as the established writers. Thus, I present to you the Crank File. Today's Crank File entry comes to us courtesy of <a href="http://poachedprose.wordpress.com/">Monica A. Flink</a>. Enjoy!</em> <hr/> The month of December for me is normally a flurry of gift purchasing and creating profanities that make the ears of Baby Jesus and anyone else in a five mile radius bleed to describe the bitch that just took my parking space. But while I am busy roasting some jerk's chestnuts over an open fire when he got the last Xbox 360 complete with Fable III, I find myself thinking of previous Christmases, previous years not spent quite so upset and stressed out, when the only problem on my to do list was being good for twenty four consecutive days. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/picture1-2.jpg" alt="" /><br/><em>Bet you wished you hadn't cut me off now, numb nuts.</em></center> Aside from brief stints of nearly burning down the house by using a friend's hair, I was generally a good kid, and as such got exactly what I wanted for Christmas. And what did every red-blooded, American, white, upper-middle-class child want for Christmas? Barbie, of course. I had all kinds of these dolls, from the ones with glow-in-the-dark dresses to the one year that I had obviously sacrificed a goat to the right deity because I was presented with the Happy Holidays Barbie, completely resplendent in her green velvet gown and perfect platinum curls. Barbie was my best friend for many years, especially years when I had no friends at all. Not because I was smelly or disfigured, but because there were no girls in the neighborhood my age and I was a pretty damn weird kid. But she was the best. She never got mad at me for liking the same boys she did, who would turn out to be gay as adults anyway. She always wanted to play what I wanted to play. Most importantly, Barbie made me bisexual. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/picture2-2.jpg" alt="" /><br/><em>It's the cast of The L Word, with less drama.</em></center> When most groups protest Barbie, especially the ones made in the 80's, the main argument is that Barbie projects an unreachable stereotype. That no girl can be that beautiful, that thin, that boob-tastic, that plastic perfect. And that showing girls that pillar of consummate femininity was going to make them stressed out, anorexic basket cases who were always going to strive for perfection and look down upon those who did not reach that standard. Yet nobody protests airbrushing... I never really had that problem, mostly because I had no hopes of ever looking like Barbie. Dumpy redheads who had never gotten Midge doll rarely thought of themselves as Barbie wanna-bes. Besides, I was my own woman, and I told Barbie so while we were busy training to be fighter pilots on Mars, or singing opera for the masses in Sydney. If anyone had known how I was playing with my Barbies, I'm pretty certain that they would have started protesting for that reason too. Normally, Barbie and I had male dates. She liked GI Joe, and I liked He-Man, which was perfect because Barbie was into guys who were so manly that they sweated testosterone and bullets, while I was into men who were slightly homoerotic and imaginary. We went out on dates together, went to parties, even got married so Barbie and Joe could express their physical love before Joe went back to the front lines (or the kid from up the street discovered that I had stolen his GI Joe again). But sometimes, Barbie and I just wanted to hang out together. Which is fine, all girls like to hang out with their girlfriends. I probably played with Barbies longer than other girls, but that's okay in my opinion because my story lines, and believe me, my epic Barbie sessions held in the unused back office of my parent's basement on brown shag carpeting had story lines, matured even when the medium did not. It was one of these days, when GI Joe had gone back to war, and He-Man had gone off to fight magical evil somewhere else, that Barbie, her pal Barbie and I were sitting around together, talking about what we were going to wear to Barbie's wedding. Barbie, being the naïve virgin that she was, let the conversation segue into kissing, and how she thought she was doing it wrong. Her friend Barbie was a woman of the world, as I was I at the ripe old age of ten, and we told her that she had to practice if she was going to give Joe the kiss of his life when he returned home. Barbie even offered to show Barbie how it was done. The air was fraught with sexual tension as they stared into eachother's blue eyes, mouths split apart in matching hot pink grins, before they leaned forward and pressed their mouths together to practice. In that moment, I realized that it was not odd looking to see two women kissing. But these were thoughts I kept to myself. I only vaguely realized that it had something to do with being called "gay" and that was something I avoided at all costs, having an older, wiser, more malicious sister in the house with me who would say anything to get me to leave her alone. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/picture3-3.jpg" width="550" alt="" /><br/><em>We'll get there soon enough Barbie, soon enough.</em></center> I knew that I still liked boys, or I would have never tried to kiss the dreamy Jonathan on the playground nearly every day. Something about Barbie and Barbie sharing a sweet, gentle kiss, maybe with a little light petting, seemed okay to me though. It would be nearly ten years later before I realized that I was open to playing for both teams. Yet who knew in the years in between, when I would see a beautiful woman and wonder what her body looked like, or found myself wanting to be close to a lady who was particularly charming, that it had come from those afternoons in the basement, exploring with Barbie. As I look back on my childhood during the holidays, I remember Barbie teaching me a lot of things. She taught me that it was okay to live in shithole artist apartments in my early twenties because she had never had more than a shoebox home in the basement. She taught me that I could be anything I wanted, from a spokesmodel to a rocket scientist (it was obvious Barbie never saw my grades in math). She taught me that I wanted to create stories and share them with the world, because being princesses from the planet Cromrock was too awesome to not share. But above all, Barbie taught me that it was okay to be bisexual, and that she was one of the most precious gifts I had ever been given. <hr/> <em>Got something for the Crank File? Email me <a href="mailto:crankfile@blueinkalchemy.com">here</a>.</em><hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-4533418975652777933?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-19067857632405924622011-12-21T04:33:00.001-08:002011-12-21T04:33:29.155-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/12/21/in-nolan-we-trust/">In Nolan We Trust &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/dark-knight-rises-bane-deta-570x271.jpg" alt="Courtesy Warner Bros" width="550px" /></center> I'm very heartened by a few of the things I've been seeing in the form of trailers. <em>The Hunger Games</em> looks like it's being faithful to its excellent source material, <em>Men In Black 3</em> is promising a return to some of the original deadpan and quirky humor that made the first film so much fun (we'll see if it delivers), and of course <em>The Hobbit</em>. Singing Dwarves. 'Nuff said, Peter Jackson, shut up and take my money. In the midst of all this, <em>The Dark Knight Rises</em>. As much as the trailer featured a smoldering Anne Hathaway, eerie chanting, a glimpse of Gotham during peacetime and the goddamn Batwing, most geeks just want to talk about Bane. Specifically, his voice. Word round the nerdy campfire is that he was particularly muffled during the seven minute prologue sequence some audiences saw in IMAX theatres before <em>Mission Impossible 4</em>. And while his line to Batman in the trailer is clear - if you're paying attention - people want director Christopher Nolan to fix Bane's voice in post. The Hollywood Reporter, however, tells us Nolan will <a href="http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/heat-vision/dark-knight-rises-christian-bale-batman-tom-hardy-bane-275489" target="_blank">do no such thing</a>. This is hardly surprising to me. Chris Nolan gave us <em>Memento</em> and <em>Inception</em>. I won't go into too much detail about Nolan's earlier work as I'm saving that for the last ICFN of 2011, and my original review of <em>Inception</em> <a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2010/07/24/movie-review-inception/">is still available</a>. And remember that cage match I had <a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2010/09/04/inception-vs-oceans-eleven/">between <em>Inception</em> and <em>Ocean's Eleven</em></a>? Good times. But I'm wandering off-topic. My point is, even in work like <em>The Prestige</em>, Nolan as a writer & director does not make decisions lightly. Let's consider, for a moment, why he'd choose Bane and go so far as to make these apparent design choices. Remember how in <em>The Dark Knight</em>, the Joker rarely attempts to deal with Batman in a direct physical confrontation? He uses assault rifles and rocket launchers, goons and attack dogs, head games and innocent people. He never really seems interested in outright killing Batman, opting instead to try and dismantle the man's faith and motivations. Physicality was about the last thing on anybody's mind other than the notion that Batman would paste the Joker about seven different ways if it weren't for his one rule. Bane, on the other hand, is an extremely physical character. Rather than being divorced from his mind and his will, his body is an extension of it. He's entirely single-minded and very driven, much like Batman. The substances pumped into him, via head-tubes in the comics and his mask in this upcoming film, allow his body to match the speed and power of his mind. Batman will always be limited by what his body can do and how much punishment it can take. Bane exceeds those limits, and he can and will push Batman past them. Enter Christopher Nolan. What do you do after you pit Batman against an entirely cerebral opponent? You up the stakes, of course, by making his next foe not only cunning and ruthless but also a powerhouse. You don't want to tip your hand too soon, though. You have to maintain the mystery. You can't let the ending of your saga be a foregone conclusion. Maybe Bane will kill Batman. Maybe he's not the same Bane from the comics for a very specific reason, one that ties into your first Batman film and one of the aspects of a fascinating character born out of the animated series. How do you keep people from taking too many guesses? Remember, theatricality and deception can be powerful tools. In addition to encouraging audience members to keep up with you rather than simply pandering to them, conveying Bane's voice in a realistically muffled way adds a layer of obfuscation to Nolan's work. It not only makes the character more mysterious and menacing, it gives the public at large and the cynical critics of the Internet in particular something to consider, gripe about and worry over. It distracts them from bigger questions. It waters their enthusiasm. It keeps them off-balance. I'm not saying Nolan specifically made this choice on purpose to mess with people on the Internet, but at this point, I can't put it past him. He's enjoyed so much success so far and done it in such a cerebral way that people can't help themselves. They'll go to great lengths to seek out, analyze and ultimately downplay even the tiniest aspects of his work. Nobody can be this brilliant, you see. Nobody can outsmart the Internet. Nobody's allowed to be this successful without creating a bomb. Remember that bit in the original <em>Spider-Man</em> where Osborn tells Peter that people love seeing a hero fall almost as much as they like seeing them succeed? Nolan's a hero to many. To set him up for a fall this way can be cathartic. It would mean that everybody is fallible, and if he falls, other film-makers can rise to take his place, even from the relative obscurity of the Internet. I say let Bane be a bit muffled, a little hard to understand. Make the audience work to fully understand every aspect of the work in front of them. It made <em>Memento</em> and <em>Inception</em> such brilliant works, after all, why not apply the same mentality to a comic book movie? Likewise, if you know the Internet's going to be going through your work, even a two-minute trailer, with a fine-toothed comb looking for nits to pick, why not give them a cause for concern? Let them blow up over something relatively insignificant rather than ruminate on plot and motivational points. Because, let's face it, even if Bane ends up losing a word or two to idiots in the cinemas who are too busy stuffing their faces with overpriced popcorn to pay attention, when they inevitably buy the Blu-ray combo pack they'll just turn the subtitles on. Problem solved. Looking back over what I just wrote, I might be coming off as a Nolan fanboy and my argument may be dismissed on those grounds. So be it. Such dismissals don't address what I'm trying to say, which is that Bane is going to be an effective villain, an excellent counterpoint to the Joker, and I for one am really looking forward to discerning every word that comes out of that mask. Incidentally, you notice how the tubes are arranged in such a way to resemble skeletal hands prying his mouth open? I dig that. Let me hear your thoughts on this. I'm curious. Do you still think Nolan is worthy of our trust? Is he pulling a fast one on the Internet so he can blow them out of the water in 2012? <hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-1906785763240592462?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-45921578742928864802011-12-20T05:15:00.001-08:002011-12-20T05:15:20.330-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/12/20/family-commander-christmas-edition/">Family Commander: Christmas Edition &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/stf148_zedruu.jpg" alt="Courtesy Wizards of the Coast, Art by Mark Zug" width="500px" /></center> With the holidays going on, I should have ample opportunity to play some Commander, and not just with my family. Let's take a quick look at where my decks are, and what the future has in store. <strong>[mtg_card]Sharuum[/mtg_card]</strong> is a deck I don't break out often against the family. My brother-in-law also plays Sharuum and has fallen into a similar pattern. I think it's because my sister has a passionate hatred for blue decks in general, and control decks in particular. This is why I will be refraining from playing my <strong>[mtg_card]Arcanis[/mtg_card]</strong> deck unless we're doing Emperor, that neat mono-color variant for five players or I'm on her team for something. With its wizards, control methods and other nasty surprises, it may be best if it's only seen rarely at the family gaming table. Now <strong>[mtg_card]Karrthus[/mtg_card]</strong>, he's a commander unconcerned with control and counterspells. No blue whatsoever in his deck. The goal there is simply to pump out the strongest, nastiest and most numerous dragons as quickly as possible. He's somewhat more friendly for the family gaming environment. For the most part. <strong>[mtg_card]Sedris[/mtg_card]</strong> may need more tweaking and refinement. The combination of shambling undead hordes, spectres with nasty discard effects and some nasty removal methods is effective, but it could use a trim and a few methods for speeding things up. I simply need to play it more. <strong>[mtg_card]Ghave[/mtg_card]</strong> is another commander who may need to warm the bench a bit unless there are particular circumstances. His saproling shenanigans have gotten me in hot water. While it's good to have a commander that is notoriously hard to kill who spreads that longevity to the deck, it does make for some longer games as you explain the order in which you're dispensing with whatever your opponent just threw at you. Not exactly the sort of gameplay the family's into. The latest addition to my elite squad of commanders is actually <strong>[mtg_card]Zedruu[/mtg_card]</strong>, perhaps the kindest of them all. Originally the deck she commands was going to be headed by [mtg_card]Numot[/mtg_card], but the more I thought about combining [mtg_card]Jhoira of the Ghitu[/mtg_card]'s general delay tactics with [mtg_card]Akroma, Angel of Wrath[/mtg_card] and a few of her sisters, the more I realized Zedruu's generosity would benefit both me and my fellow players. At least until I have a few of those archangels in play. So far she seems fun, but considering how my sister regards timey-wimey shenanigans, that may not last. In the very near future, though, I think I'll be putting together a deck that will go over much better around the family gaming table. The idea is born from my sister & brother-in-law's deck featuring [mtg_card]Darien[/mtg_card] and a whole slew of soldiers. The idea is to do something similar with elves. Not only is it a compliment to their deck's flavor, it allows us to ally easily and with [mtg_card]Mayael[/mtg_card] as a commander, it eschews the nastier colors of blue and black in favor of archers, warriors and druids in great number. Her Naya-friendly colors also allow me to use some of the cards from Ajani's deck I had to set aside when assembling Sedris and revamping Ghave. It's an intriguing prospect. Like writing to reach a meager word count or hurtling towards a deadline, working with restrictions can be a good thing.<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-4592157874292886480?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-1202385430361132292011-12-19T04:46:00.001-08:002011-12-19T04:46:15.900-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/12/19/flash-fiction-the-unexplainable-photo-challenge/">Flash Fiction: The Unexplainable Photo Challenge &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://s3-ak.buzzfed.com/static/enhanced/terminal01/2011/3/18/15/enhanced-buzz-32472-1300477871-26.jpg" alt="Courtesy Buzzfeed.com" /></center> "Sport." No response. <em>"Sport."</em> "Mmmmmf." Skeeter blinked. He hated it when his best friend acted this way. They'd been show dogs together for years. It was how they'd been raised. Training, grooming, shows, repeat. But lately, the pressure seemed to have been getting to Sport. "Sport, knock it off. The humans are watching." "Eh? Fuck 'em. They wanted tricks, right? I got their trick right here." Skeeter maintained his position. His master had told him to sit, so he sat. He was a good dog. They rewarded good dogs. He wasn't sure what they did to dogs who rolled onto their backs after getting their jaws wrapped around the neck of a bottle of beer. "That's not a trick you trained on, Sport. You're misbehaving." "Dude, am I talking cat over here? Fuck. Them. I'm sick and tired of doing whatever I'm dogdamn told by these idiots." "They do happen to be smarter than us." "HA!" The bottle almost slipped from Sport's mouth. "Your Honor, I object, the obedient slave is showing insufficient evidence. To support my case I submit the sweater he was made to wear last Christmas, the poor state of affairs in our respective food bowls and, oh yeah, the fact that these hairless apes are basically raping their own dogdamn planet for the sake of nebulous concepts like righteousness and profit." "Sport, please. You're embarrassing yourself." "I'm not the one they named fucking 'Skeeter', I have to catch up to you in the embarrassment department." Skeeter didn't respond. He maintained his position. He was a good dog. "I mean, what the hell does that even mean, anyway? Is it short for 'moskeeter' or something? Nevermind the fact you live on the lower east side and your humans are upper middle class socialites, not backwater rednecks. And if they did name you for a tiny insect with an even tinier probosces, they're insulting you every time they say it." "I don't know what you're talking about." Sport hiccuped. "I'm talking about your dick. You know, the thing you 'clean' just about every chance you get." If Skeeter had been capable of blushing, he'd have flushed red. "That's highly inappropriate talk for public, Sport." "Bullshit! We're fucking dogs, they can't understand us. It's just yips and barks and tailwags and smells to them. Christ, how do these people communicate using only sound? My mind's fucking boggled." "Sport, you're drunk." "You're darn tootin' I am. If these dogdamn morons were capable of meaningful communication with us, and they fucking aren't nor will they ever be, they'd know I'm sick and tired of this bullshit. And don't change the subject. These control freaks want you complacent and obedient while they put you down every chance they get by intimating you're lacking in the between-the-hinds department." "They're mistaken." "Of course they fucking are. They don't think you know that. It's a big dogdamn joke to them. Look at 'em. Bunch of gawping hat-wearing douchebuckets. HEY!" Sport dropped the bottle, got up on the chair and started barking. "I'M TALKING TO YOU, IDIOTS! YOU FUCKING HUMANS AND YOUR SMELLY-ASS CARS AND YOUR STUPID CLOTHES AND INSIPID BABY-TALKING AT US. FUCK YOU." Skeeter sighed. He wanted to lay down, cover his ears. But he was a good dog. "Fuck! Nothing." Sport turned in place and sat facing Skeeter. "And here I am sauced on a single beer. It's what I get for weighing all of twenty pounds." "I noticed you'd lost weight. Doesn't that make your master angry?" "Not as angry as when I start humping his wife's leg." "Sport! You ought to be ashamed of yourself." "Have you fucking seen her? If she were a dog I'd be mounting her twice daily. Not my fault that fucking tool doesn't. Too busy counting up shit that won't matter when he gets hit by a bus." "That's a terrible thing to wish on anyone. My brother..." "Yeah, yeah, I remember, went chasing a stick and got pasted by the crosstown. Not his fault or yours so stop beating yourself up over it. The responsible party is the fucking brat who threw the stick. Yet was he put away for it? Was he punished for murder? No! They just got him another fucking dog. I'm grateful I discovered the appeal of booze. I need another dogdamn beer." "Look, Sport, I'm your friend. I'm worried about you. You drink too much and your language is foul." "Skeeter, no offense, but what the fuck happened to you? Time was you'd be laughing your tail off at me rolling around with a dogdamn beer bottle in my gob. Something's changed. Something's eating you. Let's hear it." "I'd rather not." "Oh? Okay." Sport stood again, barking and howling, which registered in Skeeter's brain as song. "FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, YOU STUPID MOTHERFUUUCKEEEERS..." "STOP IT! I'll tell you. They cut me, all right?" Sport stopped, blinking rheumy eyes at his friend. "They what?" "You remember Daisy? She had her pups. Beautiful litter. But none of them met the humans' standards so they determined my breeding potential was insufficient." "Skeet, are you telling me they CUT YOUR FUCKING BALLS OFF?" "Essentially, yes." "FUCK. No wonder you're being such a toolbox. I'm sorry, I didn't know." "How could you? We haven't seen each other since spring." "You realize this means you have even less reason to do what they tell you." "They've already robbed me of future pups. What more can they do?" "They don't understand us. They never will. So they're afraid of us. They mitigate that fear by leashing us and making us do tricks and talking at us they way they do their wriggling newborn spawn and toss us bones. As long as we do what we're told and don't remind them we have as much power and rights as they do, they're happy." Sport thought about it. He was a good dog, and they still had cut him. So he started singing. "FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, YOU STUPID MOTHERFUUUCKEEEERS..."<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-120238543036113229?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-10743311799029375032011-12-19T04:42:00.001-08:002011-12-19T04:42:21.092-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/12/19/flash-fiction-the-unexplainable-photo-challenge/">Flash Fiction: The Unexplainable Photo Challenge &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://s3-ak.buzzfed.com/static/enhanced/terminal01/2011/3/18/15/enhanced-buzz-32472-1300477871-26.jpg" alt="Courtesy Buzzfeed.com" /></center> "Sport." No response. <em>"Sport."</em> "Mmmmmf." Skeeter blinked. He hated it when his best friend acted this way. They'd been show dogs together for years. It was how they'd been raised. Training, grooming, shows, repeat. But lately, the pressure seemed to have been getting to Sport. "Sport, knock it off. The humans are watching." "Eh? Fuck 'em. They wanted tricks, right? I got their trick right here." Skeeter maintained his position. His master had told him to sit, so he sat. He was a good dog. They rewarded good dogs. He wasn't sure what they did to dogs who rolled onto their backs after getting their jaws wrapped around the neck of a bottle of beer. "That's not a trick you trained on, Sport. You're misbehaving." "Dude, am I talking cat over here? Fuck. Them. I'm sick and tired of doing whatever I'm dogdamn told by these idiots." "They do happen to be smarter than us." "HA!" The bottle almost slipped from Sport's mouth. "Your Honor, I object, the obedient slave is showing insufficient evidence. To support my case I submit the sweater he was made to wear last Christmas, the poor state of affairs in our respective food bowls and, oh yeah, the fact that these hairless apes are basically raping their own dogdamn planet for the sake of nebulous concepts like righteousness and profit." "Sport, please. You're embarrassing yourself." "I'm not the one they named fucking 'Skeeter', I have to catch up to you in the embarrassment department." Skeeter didn't respond. He maintained his position. He was a good dog. "I mean, what the hell does that even mean, anyway? Is it short for 'moskeeter' or something? Nevermind the fact you live on the lower east side and your humans are upper middle class socialites, not backwater rednecks. And if they did name you for a tiny insect with an even tinier probosces, they're insulting you every time they say it." "I don't know what you're talking about." Sport hiccuped. "I'm talking about your dick. You know, the thing you 'clean' just about every chance you get." If Skeeter had been capable of blushing, he'd have flushed red. "That's highly inappropriate talk for public, Sport." "Bullshit! We're fucking dogs, they can't understand us. It's just yips and barks and tailwags and smells to them. Christ, how do these people communicate using only sound? My mind's fucking boggled." "Sport, you're drunk." "You're darn tootin' I am. If these dogdamn morons were capable of meaningful communication with us, and they fucking aren't nor will they ever be, they'd know I'm sick and tired of this bullshit. And don't change the subject. These control freaks want you complacent and obedient while they put you down every chance they get by intimating you're lacking in the between-the-hinds department." "They're mistaken." "Of course they fucking are. They don't think you know that. It's a big dogdamn joke to them. Look at 'em. Bunch of gawping hat-wearing douchebuckets. HEY!" Sport dropped the bottle, got up on the chair and started barking. "I'M TALKING TO YOU, IDIOTS! YOU FUCKING HUMANS AND YOUR SMELLY-ASS CARS AND YOUR STUPID CLOTHES AND INSIPID BABY-TALKING AT US. FUCK YOU." Skeeter sighed. He wanted to lay down, cover his ears. But he was a good dog. "Fuck! Nothing." Sport turned in place and sat facing Skeeter. "And here I am sauced on a single beer. It's what I get for weighing all of twenty pounds." "I noticed you'd lost weight. Doesn't that make your master angry?" "Not as angry as when I start humping his wife's leg." "Sport! You ought to be ashamed of yourself." "Have you fucking seen her? If she were a dog I'd be mounting her twice daily. Not my fault that fucking tool doesn't. Too busy counting up shit that won't matter when he gets hit by a bus." "That's a terrible thing to wish on anyone. My brother..." "Yeah, yeah, I remember, went chasing a stick and got pasted by the crosstown. Not his fault or yours so stop beating yourself up over it. The responsible party is the fucking brat who threw the stick. Yet was he put away for it? Was he punished for murder? No! They just got him another fucking dog. I'm grateful I discovered the appeal of booze. I need another dogdamn beer." "Look, Sport, I'm your friend. I'm worried about you. You drink too much and your language is foul." "Skeeter, no offense, but what the fuck happened to you? Time was you'd be laughing your tail off at me rolling around with a dogdamn beer bottle in my gob. Something's changed. Something's eating you. Let's hear it." "I'd rather not." "Oh? Okay." Sport stood again, barking and howling, which registered in Skeeter's brain as song. "FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, YOU STUPID MOTHERFUUUCKEEEERS..." "STOP IT! I'll tell you. They cut me, all right?" Sport stopped, blinking rheumy eyes at his friend. "They what?" "You remember Daisy? She had her pups. Beautiful litter. But none of them met the humans' standards so they determined my breeding potential was insufficient." "Skeet, are you telling me they CUT YOUR FUCKING BALLS OFF?" "Essentially, yes." "FUCK. No wonder you're being such a toolbox. I'm sorry, I didn't know." "How could you? We haven't seen each other since spring." "You realize this means you have even less reason to do what they tell you." "They've already robbed me of future pups. What more can they do?" "They don't understand us. They never will. So they're afraid of us. They mitigate that fear by leashing us and making us do tricks and talking at us they way they do their wriggling newborn spawn and toss us bones. As long as we do what we're told and don't remind them we have as much power and rights as they do they're happy." Sport thought about it. He was a good dog, and they still had cut him. Then he started singing. "FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, YOU STUPID MOTHERFUUUCKEEEERS..."<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-1074331179902937503?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-66876285916225536472011-12-16T05:06:00.001-08:002011-12-16T05:06:50.579-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/12/16/it-came-from-netflix-the-avengers/">IT CAME FROM NETFLIX! The Avengers &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/netflix.jpg" alt="Logo courtesy Netflix. No logos were harmed in the creation of this banner." /><br/><br/> [audio:http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/uploads/avengers_98.mp3]</center> When Marvel Comics set out to create an uber-film bringing together Iron Man, Thor, Captain America and the Hulk (and SHOULD include the Wasp or Ms Marvel at the very least), there was something standing in their way. It was not the worried, furtive glances of fanboys or the daunting task of condensing decades of continuity into what amount to two-hour snippets. No, the problem was that another film called <em>The Avengers</em> already existed. Thankfully, most of the civilized world seems to have forgotten about it. I wish I could. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/spies_avengers_movie.jpg" alt="Courtesy Warner Bros." /></center> Based on a 60s spy-fi series of the same name coming to us from the BBC, <em>The Avengers</em> introduces us to John Steed, shining star amongst the good dozen or so secret agents we see in the employ of 'The Ministry'. He is tasked with finding and questioning Dr. Emma Peel, an eminent meteorologist, on some strange goings-on in the atmosphere and the fact that she's apparently killed someone. Mrs. Peel, since we're not being quite so formal, is understandably curious as to how she could be in two places at once and thus joins Steed in tracking down the true mastermind behind the atmospheric shenanigans, a graduate of the Blofeld School for Evil Geniuses and recipient of the Dr. Evil Impractical Domination Plot Award, Sir August De Wynter. ... No, it's not a clever nom-de-plume. The TV series was sadly before my time. I recall my father gushing about it from time to time, how Steed's cool demeanor under fire lent a sort of tongue-in-cheek aspect to the action and intrigue, and Diana Rigg in a black catsuit was nothing to sneeze at. From what I understand, however, the premise of the show began somewhat grounded but eventually grew to incorporate some of the more esoteric aspects of the James Bond films while simultaneously delivering subtle parodies of eccentricities of the contemporary British lifestyle. For some reason, the writer and director of 1998's Razzie contender seemed to be under the impression that all of this idiocy was to be played 100% straight. Maybe this confusion was caused by the apparent fact they need to share a brain. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/1315398336340_avengers_the_1998_2048x1024_640_320.jpg" alt="Courtesy Warner Bros." width="555px" /><br/><em>BEEP BOOP WE ARE EMOTING - CURRENT STATE: DULL SURPRISE</em></center> 'Straight', by the way, here has the meaning of 'straight as a length of rebar made from indestructible space metal and about as pliable.' The actors tasked with modernizing these icons of their age, Ralph Fiennes and Uma Thurman, seem to be so mechanical and uninvolved in their actions and delivery that I had to wonder if I was actually seeing the actors or some very advanced animatronic doubles who had been programmed to emote by mole people who've only seen human beings through fractures in the earth's crust, most of them under Madame Tussaud's. Even Sir Sean Connery isn't having fun in this thing, and he gets to preside over a meeting of evil masterminds while dressed in a bear costume. And before you think that's a bit odd, let me expand on the scene by saying they're ALL in bear costumes. It's like they decided part of their world domination plot included cosplaying as the mascots for the Grateful Dead. As for the British influence, I think the only things the monobrained writer-director superstar tag team know about the Brits is that they drink tea and have accents. It seems that every single opportunity they get these people are having tea. Steed even has a fucking spigot in his Bently for the stuff. With cream already added. Red phone booths, double-decker buses, no anachronistic, staid and trite Britishism goes unreferenced because that's funny, right? Oh, this isn't a comedy? It's a big-budget blockbuster? Well, the action is at least engaging. At least it would be if there was ever the vaguest hint of danger, suspense or even excitement projected by our cast. I know it's a lot to expect for a movie like this to verge towards realism, but last I checked lightning striking a metal rod extended in a man's hand did not lift him into the air as if the gods of Olympus decided they wanted to raise the villain up just to personally dismember him with their immortal nectar-stained hands. But by then I'd pretty much given up on the movie making any sense whatsoever. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/2625429010_6cb1ce9991.jpg" alt="Courtesy Warner Bros." /><br/><em>Did you think I was kidding about this?</em></center> It only runs 90 minutes long but it feels a lot longer. It takes itself far too seriously to be campy and goes for too many idiotic laughs to approach the quiet desperation of truly British films like <em>Trainspotting</em>. Attempts at innuendo or chemistry fall flatter than the deck of an aircraft carrier and have about as much subtlety. The plot makes absolutely no sense and skips around without warning, the special effects are bland and uninspired and I couldn't help but think you should be getting a lot more entertainment or at least some fucking fun out of Voldemort, the Bride and James Bond himself all being in a spy-fi movie together. It's no wonder Marvel steamrolled this macaroon-smelling turd on its way to production. <em>The Avengers</em> from 1998 is best left forgotten. Find the TV series if you're curious, and hopefully the movie of the same name coming out next year will be a better time at the movies overall, even if the inclusion of only one girl is a bit perplexing. The '98 flick had a few more, including double Uma Thurmans. And if nothing else, at least Eddie Izzard got to wear some <em>fabulous</em> shoes. But when executive transvestite fashion's the highest compliment you can pay the picture instead of just an amusing observation... you get the idea. <span style="font-size:10px"><em>Josh Loomis can't always make it to the local megaplex, and thus must turn to alternative forms of cinematic entertainment. There might not be overpriced soda pop &amp; over-buttered popcorn, and it's unclear if this week's film came in the mail or was delivered via the dark &amp; mysterious tubes of the Internet. Only one thing is certain... <a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/icfn">IT CAME FROM NETFLIX.</a></em></span><hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-6687628591622553647?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-92178832826552873602011-12-15T08:42:00.001-08:002011-12-15T08:42:16.470-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/12/15/book-review-mockingjay/">Book Review: Mockingjay &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><em>The Hunger Games have concluded, and the winner is...</em> <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/021110_mockingjay2.jpg" alt="Courtesy Scholastic Books" /></center> It can be difficult to limit yourself to a certain length for a narrative. If you can manage it, however, you allow yourself to do two things. Being limited in time pushes you to develop your world and characters as much as possible with as few words as possible. It also gives you the opportunity to go absolutely ape with the last installment in the story. Will the darkness of the second part of a trilogy give way to the light at the end, or does the story deliver on promises of doom and gloom? I won't enter spoiler territory, but rest assured that <em>Mockingjay</em> delivers the goods. Panem is in chaos. As the story opens, Districts are in open revolt against the decadent Capitol. The rebels are based in the underground stronghold of District 13, long thought eradicated by Capitol forces. As the story opens, however, the Districts are fractured and divided. They need something to unite them against their oppressor, a symbol of defiance and liberty - someone like Katniss Everdeen. All District 13 has to do is convince a traumatized, malnourished and battered young woman to be their Mockingjay. It's something she has no interest in whatsoever. One thing that has distinguished the Hunger Games trilogy is the evolution or, perhaps more accurately, breakdown of Katniss. Her motivations and drive for putting herself through hell never seem contrived or unwarranted, even if they are occasionally foolish or headstrong. She's brave without being arrogant, brash without being annoying and vulnerable without being weak. She's everything a protagonist in their late teens really should be. Her doubts, hopes, dreams and nightmares feel very authentic and adds a great layer of grounding to the entire narrative. <em>Mockingjay</em> also gives us more information on the future nation of Panem. It's made pretty clear on what basis the nation was founded. Panem is derived from the Latin term 'panem et circenses' - bread & circuses. With the bulk of the population working in misery, if not oppression, for the benefit of a tiny percentage of upper-class citizens who remain ignorant of the plight of the majority due to their decadence and the machinations of the leadership... well, I'm sure no parallels can be drawn to our current day and age whatsoever. You may notice I've mentioned very little about the plot. I honestly don't want to spoil anything for you. But trust me when I say that this is a far more shining example of poignant, powerful and timely young adult fiction than many of the entries currently available and popular. The entire trilogy has a very immediate feel to it, a compelling atmosphere that will have you eschewing other things and distractions because it means putting these books down. <em>The Hunger Games, Catching Fire</em> and <em>Mockingjay</em> are all highly recommended. It is my hope that, with this source material, the major motion picture captures the truth of the characters and setting and shows young women a true role model for their age. I plan on being there to find out.<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-9217883282655287360?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-10546556885587057742011-12-14T04:11:00.001-08:002011-12-14T04:11:55.957-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/12/14/two-cents-on-sopa/">Two Cents on SOPA &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1>A lot has already been said about the Stop Online Protection Act, shortened to SOPA because acronyms are easier to remember when you have the attention span of a weevil. Jim Sterling, acerbic and opinionated as he is, pointed out some very real fears about the legislation. Bob Chipman chimed in as well, and as Congress continues to deliberate on this poorly-worded bill, tech-savvy bloggers like myself are being called upon to make their voices heard. I know I said on my various social media outlets I'd ratchet back the politics, but this is crucially important not just from a political standpoint, but also for the very livelihoods of some of my favorite entertainment and people I consider colleagues if not friends. So here's where I stand on it. This bill should not pass. If it did, and I decided to stream some League of Legends for a charity event, Riot Games could have me arrested for it. I would go to jail for a <em>felony</em>. I'd be sharing cell space with a rapist or murderer because I wanted to help sick kids by playing a video game. Now, this is a bit of an extreme example, but none of the others are all that much better. Entire websites can get shut down. People's careers can come to an abrupt end. Services like Twitch.tv would no longer be viable. The Internet as we know it would change forever. I hope you see why this is a bad idea. And yes, I know I'm saying things that have already been said before, by more talented and/or popular Internet pundits. But the more of us that say these things, the better our chances of killing this bill before it grows to a level that tramples all over. To learn more about this bill and how you can help stop it dead in its tracks, please visit <a href="https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2011/12/fight-blacklist-toolkit-anti-sopa-activists" target="_blank">this site</a>. Others who've spoken out on this: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bo6FrbZsXmA" target="_blank">Hannah Harto of My Drunk Kitchen</a> <a href="http://www.escapistmagazine.com/videos/view/jimquisition/4993-Sony-Nintendo-EA-and-SOPA" target="_blank">Jim Sterling of Dtoid & Jimquisition</a> <a href="http://www.escapistmagazine.com/videos/view/escape-to-the-movies/5003-The-Muppets" target="_blank">Bob "MovieBob/GameOverthinker" Chipman</a> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9rbyk0h3yeg" target="_blank">Anonymous</a><hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-1054655688558705774?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-80142505371266670552011-12-13T05:04:00.001-08:002011-12-13T05:04:04.158-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/12/13/of-nations-elephants-skies-and-keys/">Of Nations, Elephants, Skies and Keys &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/TheBlackKeys.jpg" alt="Courtesy The Black Keys" /><br/><em>Proof positive that good music still comes from basements.</em></center> In both bearing down on the end of the year at the dayjob and trying to get myself in motion as a writer, music plays a key role. It evokes imagery, makes me think, gets my blood pumping... sometimes, all three. I've tried to branch out into new artists and ways of hearing music (that'd be Spotify) but some artists have yet to lose their touch and keep bringing me back. I just saw <strong>VNV Nation</strong> in concert this past weekend, and those guys haven't lost a step. When I first heard the new album, <em>Automatic</em>, I wasn't sure what to think. It felt a lot like a return to the days of <em>FuturePerfect</em> rather than maintaining the martial feeling of <em>Judgement</em> and <em>Of Faith, Power and Glory</em>. It just didn't feel as strong. The more I listen to it, however, the more it grows on me. From the statements of individuality in "Space & Time" and "Resolution" to the <em>Praise the Fallen</em> stompy drive of "Control" to the heartfelt inspiration of "Nova", the album runs a gamut of modern emotions and motivations rather than focusing on a particular time or sentiment. In other words, it's far more "steampunk symphony" than it is a call to arms. It may not be as strong as their other recent work, but it's no less meaningful or touching. "Day[9] made me do it" is a common excuse for StarCraft 2 players dicking around to give him Funday Monday content, and it's also the reason I've been listening to <strong>Blue Sky Black Death</strong>. The album <em>Noir</em> is full of evocative electronica that reminds me of VNV's instrumental work mixed with the moodiness of New Order or even Depeche Mode. It has a texture to it that's hard to describe. It's fantastic writing music, as there are no lyrics to distract you from what's going on in your head. They're unlikely to be as known as the other artists I mention, but you should definitely give them a listen. <strong>Jonathan Coulton</strong> has gotten himself a studio album, how about that? No longer just recording songs in his garage or on his iPad or whatever, <em>Artificial Heart</em> has the crisp sound of professional production. He's never really sounded bad, per se, but there's a cohesion to this album that speaks to an artist going into a production with a specific plan in mind. Instead of playing it safe with nerd-friendly songs about evil geniuses and furniture stores, though, JoCo plays on themes of loneliness and abandonment. It's a very mature sound, reminding me of the early albums of Billy Joel. Now more than ever, Jonathan sounds like someone I might know and would want to share a beer with as we get our troubles out in the open. In an age where auto-tuning and overwrought post production can make anybody with even minute talent a pop superstar, I find myself yearning for more earnest, bare-bones rock music. Enter <strong>Cage the Elephant</strong>. I can't recall if I first heard "Ain't No Rest for the Wicked" on the radio or in the opening of <em>Borderlands</em> but it definitely made me sit up and take notice. It's been a while since a new voice has risen to evoke the rebellious days of the Ramones and the Clash, or perhaps Green Day and the Offspring. Their debut album's very straightforward and catchy, while <em>Thank You Happy Birthday</em> boasts more range and nuance. I'll be watching (and listening to) these guys. I also need to get caught up listening to <strong>The Black Keys</strong>. Two guys from Akron have been cranking out impressive music that's equal parts hard-nosed rock and heartfelt blues. I picked up their latest album, <em>El Camino</em>, practically on the crunchy catchy merits of "Lonely Boy" alone and found every song to be just as well made, if not better. <em>Brothers</em> is also quite good with cuts like "Tighten Up" and "Howlin' For You". There's quite a few more to listen to, and I'm sure I'll be doing so in the very near future. They have a sound that harkens back to days of simpler music and are about as far removed from the pop scene as you can get.<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-8014250537126667055?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-11826442525129665822011-12-12T04:25:00.001-08:002011-12-12T04:25:39.970-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/12/12/it-came-from-netflix-scarface/">IT CAME FROM NETFLIX! Scarface &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/netflix.jpg" alt="Logo courtesy Netflix. No logos were harmed in the creation of this banner." /><br/><br/> [audio:http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/uploads/scarface.mp3]</center> Tragedies are touchpoints in the course of human history. They're also cautionary tales, whispering warnings of downfalls to come. From Aeschylus to Shakespeare, it's a tradition with thousands of years worth of wisdom to teach us through the abrupt ends of others' lives, especially those who choose to pursue their goals through illegitimate means. It's just as true today as it was in 1983 when Brian De Palma's <em>Scarface</em> first premiered in theaters. I don't know if this visionary director and his young cast who became household names knew that this gaudy, baroque and melodramatic opus would still have something to say to a 21st-century audience, but it does, and like the main character, it isn't shy about it. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/Scarface_sm_6889.jpg" alt="Courtesy Universal Pictures" /></center> Original a tale of Prohibition-era organized crime, <em>Scarface</em> updated its setting to southern Florida, when hundreds of thousands of refugees fled Communist-controlled Cuba for the United States hoping for a better future. For the criminals free of Cuba's prisons among those refugees, that better future meant the fast money and high risk that came from a life of crime. And for Tony Montana, one of those criminals, the money was in cocaine. With his partner Manny, Tony almost immediately begins carving out a place for himself. He comes into the country with nothing, yet he soon is the premiere trigger-man for the biggest drug dealer in Miami. And he doesn't stop there. <em>Scarface</em> is a tale of excess from the very beginning in both plot and production. The patterns and colors of the early 80s are garish reminders that throwbacks like <em>Grand Theft Auto: Vice City</em> are not exaggerating. The score, heavy in ominous synth, is as cheesy as the zebra-print seat covers in Tony's Cadillac and yet every bit as fitting. The multiple mirrors in the nightclubs our protagonist spends his leisure time in made shooting difficult but underscore the vanity of the time and the character. Of course all of the production value in the world is for naught without a central presence to drive the narrative, and Tony Montana is definitely behind the wheel in that regard. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/Scarface_Al.jpg" alt="Courtesy Universal Pictures" /><br/><em>"I jus' wan' what's comin' t' me: th' world... an' everythin' in it."</em></center> In future films such as <em>Heat</em> or <em>Carlito's Way</em> (not so much <em>Devil's Advocate</em>), Pacino will ratchet back the over-the-top scenery-chewing bombast to save it for key moments. But in <em>Scarface</em>, he seems to be firing on all cylinders at all times. Be he clawing his way up to the top or sliding down into oblivion, Tony lives with his dials turned to 11 and beyond. Not only does his behavior lead to him ensuring he alone remains the center of his universe, he's proud of this way of life and his achievements to a tragic fault. There's very little about this protagonist that's redeemable or even all that likable, yet his tragic humanity keeps us watching every move he makes. The rest of the cast certainly isn't slouching, either. It was a breakout role for Michelle Pfieffer and the first on-screen appearance ever for Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio. De Palma directs them all with the graceful nuance of an orchestra conductor as well as the uncompromising drive of a workshop foreman. As bold as a decision it was to shoot this picture at all, he went one step further in making it almost three hours long and including some incredibly brutal scenes of bodily harm from shootouts to stabbings. It's an endurance trial made survivable and even enjoyable thanks to Tony Montana. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/Scarface_Club.jpg" alt="Courtesy Universal Pictures" /><br/><em>Good times had by all. Mostly.</em></center> The presence of Montana is a pervasive one, even to this day. <em>Scarface</em> would inspire a plethora of crime dramas around the world, and its themes of freedom, excess and the rags-to-riches rise to power is clearly an inspiration for not only a good deal of gangster rappers but video games like the aforementioned <em>Grand Theft Auto</em> and, later, <em>Saint's Row</em>. What the games leave out, of course, is the way the story ends. Once he achieves all he's been after, Tony spirals into a miasma of vanity and contempt, even for himself. He's an utterly repulsive human being, even acknowledging his villainous status at one point in a memorable black-tie dinner scene, yet he seems confused when people curse him and leave him on his own. And there's plenty of cursing to be sure; screenwriter Oliver Stone used the word "fuck" and its many derivations 218 times in the screenplay. <em>Scarface</em> is highly recommended. Be prepared to spend an afternoon with Tony, watching him banter with immigration, deal with Bolivian drug lords using surprising charisma and build his own cocaine empire from scratch yet at the same time finding true happiness eluding him at every turn. In the end he stares at a mountainous pile of drugs on his luxurious desk in his palatial Miami estate, and his hollow eyes echo the question he put to Manny at dinner: "Is this it?" It's a moment of introspection and humbling, almost pathetic pathos which, after a lifetime of deception, theft, seduction and murder, has come too little too late. I'm sure that, almost 30 years later, we can find a message for our time between the bullet-riddled corpses and the bright, happy neon lights - even if that message is merely one of the rules that Tony neglected to follow: "Never get high on your own supply." <span style="font-size:10px"><em>Josh Loomis can't always make it to the local megaplex, and thus must turn to alternative forms of cinematic entertainment. There might not be overpriced soda pop &amp; over-buttered popcorn, and it's unclear if this week's film came in the mail or was delivered via the dark &amp; mysterious tubes of the Internet. Only one thing is certain... <a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/icfn">IT CAME FROM NETFLIX.</a></em></span><hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-1182644252512966582?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-13483330976617267112011-12-09T04:44:00.001-08:002011-12-09T04:44:03.404-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/12/09/the-right-person/">The Right Person &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/blueinkalchemist/653379721/"><img alt="Bard by BlueInkAlchemist, on Flickr" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1285/653379721_6ec3f45e2d.jpg" title="Bard" class="aligncenter" width="500" height="376" /></a></center> One of the concerns I have about my major rewrite is the person. Not the person of the protagonist himself, mind you. He's (probably) fine. It's the perspective that bothers me. You see, I wrote <em>Citizen in the Wilds</em> from third-person perspective to avoid pouring myself too much into the protagonist. I may be overly paranoid about it, but projecting oneself onto the lead character can be the death knell both for the narrative and the writer's credibility. However, it's entirely possible that this fear has lead to a diametrically opposed problem. There may be <em>too much</em> distance between him and me, and by extension the audience. There's also the problem of world-building. I think part of the issue in opening this tale is that we have an entirely new world. I want to set the scene as much as possible by talking about the society our would-be hero was raised in, so it can be compared to the reality of what's outside his little bubble. I'm probably bogging down the flow as a result. This is why I'm considering switching back to first person. The thoughts and emotions will be more immediate. I'm likely to cultivate more energy and drive by removing the barrier between reader and character. And if things start to bog down, I can sit back and ask myself "Do eighteen-year-old bookworms think like that? Did <em>I</em>?" Or I could simply try to pare down some of the slower bits of the first few chapters I've gotten through. It's hard to say which course is best.<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-1348333097661726711?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-58471697413022267392011-12-09T04:43:00.001-08:002011-12-09T04:43:26.652-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/12/09/the-right-person/">The Right Person &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/blueinkalchemist/653379721/"><img alt="Bard by BlueInkAlchemist, on Flickr" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1285/653379721_6ec3f45e2d.jpg" title="Bard" class="aligncenter" width="500" height="376" /></a></center> One of the concerns I have about my major rewrite is the person. Not the person of the protagonist himself, mind you. He's (probably) fine. It's the perspective that bothers me. You see, I wrote <em>Citizen in the Wilds</em> from third-person perspective to avoid pouring myself too much into the protagonist. I may be overly paranoid about it, but projecting oneself onto the lead character can be the death knell both for the narrative and the writer's credibility. However, it's entirely possible that this fear has lead to a diametrically opposed problem. There may be <em>too much</em> distance between him and me, and by extension the audience. There's also the problem of world-building. I think part of the issue in opening this tale is that we have an entirely new world. I want to set the scene as much as possible by talking about the society our would-be hero was raised in, so it can be compared to the reality of what's outside his little bubble. I'm probably bogging down the flow as a result. This is why I'm considering switching back to first person. The thoughts and emotions will be more immediate. I'm likely to cultivate more energy and drive by removing the barrier between reader and character. And if things start to bog down, I can sit back and ask myself "Do eighteen-year-old bookworms think like that? Did <em>I</em>?" Or I could simply try to pare down some of the slower bits of the first few chapters I've gotten through. It's hard to say which course is best.<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-5847169741302226739?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-90944332237668203612011-12-08T04:06:00.000-08:002011-12-08T04:07:01.574-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/12/08/drifting-between-words/">Drifting Between Words &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/adrift.jpg" alt="" width="450" /></center> I hear the hammers. Chisels sound like they're working rocks over. It's the sound of Chuck Wendig chipping away at the preconceptions and sorry excuses that cake around the thick skull of the writer especially after a binge of wordsmithing like NaNoWriMo. He gave me a gift on my birthday, the gift of cold wisdom, of reminding me <a href="http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2011/12/06/25-financial-fuck-ups-writers-make/" target="_blank">just how badly I could fuck this up</a>. I do like his advice on building up savings (and the liquor cabinet) while the day job is going on, but I should still be cramming more writing in whenever I can. Stealing it out of the piggy bank of Father Time while he's out mowing the temporal lawn. Digging my fingers into the mud of my schedule and scooping out what bits of time I can to slap it onto this writing thing and see if it'll finally stick. Wait, am I sure that's mud? Probably. Maybe. Smells funny, though. Anyway, even if I did have or make more time, I'm unsure as to how I'd spend it, writing-wise. I'm having doubts about the major novel rewrite. I'm debating taking the other novel in a different direction (down instead of up, novella serial instead of novel series, e-pub versus traditional) and my shorts are in the hands of editors who are pretty busy themselves. While I do have some other work lined up, the big things that I've long taken to be the solid core of where I want to go with this whole writing thing have lately come up as giant question marks. Are these things worth pursuing, continuing, writing? Would I be better off sticking them in a folder somewhere and starting completely from scratch? I guess this is the 'wall' runners often speak of. I'm getting that 'seperates the men from the boys' feeling. And I know it could be erroneous. So I'm going to keep trying to find and make the time to chip away at these things, one word and sentence at a time. Problem is, at the moment, I can't help but feel a little adrift.<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-9094433223766820361?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-50964821212369644672011-12-07T04:01:00.001-08:002011-12-07T04:01:43.277-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/12/07/regarding-ms-lane/">Regarding Ms. Lane &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/Lois_Lane.jpg" alt="Courtesy Warner Bros. Pictures" height="550px" /></center> Laundry nights at the Sheppard's¹ have become a good place to get caught up on movies, especially in the superhero genre. Being brought up as a nerd, I do have at least a passing familiarity with many a costumed crimefighter, and recently our friends reintroduced us to the cinematic renditions of one of the most famous. I don't want to actually talk about the Man of Steel himself, though, as he can be a tad ridiculous at times. I still can't get over the absurdity of his three Kryptonian mates having vocal conversations on the surface of <em>the moon</em>. Even if they don't have to breathe, how will their words reach each other's ears if there is no air to carry the sound waves? Ahh, but I digress. We only watched the first two Christopher Reeve & Richard Donner films, as the second two are abominations of cinema. I did, however, enjoy seeing the Donner cut of <em>Superman II</em>, especially the scene where Lois Lane gets Clark Kent to reveal his secret identity by pulling a gun on him. It can be easy to forget, especially on the parts of the writers of said funny books & big-budget movies, that when she isn't getting rescued by Superman or pining after the cut physique poured into those tights, Lois Lane is an intrepid reporter. You don't see it as much as you might think, as apparently Superman battling giant robots, space monsters and a bald maniacal businessman is more interested. But a great example of bringing this aspect of the story and this character to the forefront is <em>Superman Returns</em>. While the film is a bit more somber and character-driven than its early 80s predecessors², and most of its plot is lifted directly from the first movie, one thing that stood out at me is how we see Lois Lane. We see her as not just the token damsel in distress. We see Lois do some actual reporting. We watch her fight for what she feels is right, be it with her boss or the man who left her behind without a word. We get to know her as a mother. And while she does get into peril from which Superman must save her, she puts <em>herself</em> in peril to save <em>him</em>. I know there are going to be people who disagree with me, but I think this Lois Lane, the one brought to us by Kate Bosworth, may be the best one put on screen. I'm not sure exactly how much Lois is supposed to be a sex symbol in comparison to, say, Catwoman, but the decision to keep Kate's looks and fashion somewhat understated was a good one. Her moments of strength, vulnerability, doubt and resolve come across as more uncontrived and genuine because we're not distracted by her looks. This speaks to a strong script as well as good acting and mature costume & makeup decisions. Now, a lot of the good lines from <em>Superman Returns</em> were recycled from the first film along with most of the plot, but the emotional talks between Lois and her preternatural paramour felt new and real. Superman is a good person who's made bad decisions. When confronted with the fallout from those decisions, he owns up to his mistake and seeks ways to make things right. Lois does not immediately forgive him and fall into his arms. She's conflicted, a thousand emotions competing for her focus and running all over her face. I know there's a lot of <em>Superman Returns</em> that rips off Donner's work, but there's a scene or two where we catch a glimpse of some really interesting things that could have (and perhaps should have) happened with these characters. In a world where DC's rebooted most of its female characters to be vehicles for cleavage and consequence-free sex, I'll take Kate Bosworth's Lois Lane over a thousand Catwomen. <hr/> ¹ Not to be confused with the Shepard's place. How cool would it be to do my laundry on the <em>Normandy</em>? ² Actually, the original <em>Superman</em> is as old as I am. How about that! <hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-5096482121236964467?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-84072905765166129512011-12-06T04:19:00.001-08:002011-12-06T04:19:57.564-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/12/06/birthday-wishes/">Birthday Wishes &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/cake.jpg" alt="Courtesy Valve" width="500" /></center> When this date rolled around during my childhood, I found myself wishing for new toys. More Transformers, a new video game, etc. As a teenager, the primary wish was for acceptance from my peers. Toys were a nice bonus, but what I really wanted was to fit in. It would be a long time before I realized <em>not</em> fitting in was part of what made me unique. Attending college, I wished on this date that the experience wouldn't end. These days I look back and know that there are people and events I should have cherished more and taken more time to appreciate in the moment. 10 years ago I was wishing for answers. I could project confidence as a young man, to be certain, but inside I was growing more confused and unsure. If I could write letters to past selves, 23-year-old me would be getting a big one. And maybe a smack in the face. 5 years ago, my only wish was for everything to stop hurting. Today, I find myself wishing for better tomorrows. Ones where I make more time to write, ones where my family and friends are safe and content, ones where my current worries and concerns diminish or cease to exist altogether. I want a tomorrow that will be better for my son than my past days were for me. And I do still occasionally wish for new toys. So I guess I haven't changed that much.<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-8407290576516612951?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-82666023181998315852011-12-05T04:17:00.001-08:002011-12-05T04:17:18.437-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/12/05/flash-fiction-mind-mangles-matter/">Flash Fiction: Mind Mangles Matter &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1>To tackle the Terribleminds tiny tale-telling trial, "<a href="http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2011/12/02/flash-fiction-challenge-an-affliction-of-alliteration/">An Affliction of Alliteration</a>": <hr/> <center><img src="http://images.ados.fr/photo/8587278858/galerie-divers/the-necronomicon-163015266f.jpg" alt="The Necronomicon" title="The Necronomicon" /><br/><em>Courtesy <a href="http://club.ados.fr/istaevan/galerie-divers-129487/photo/the-necronomicon-1630152.html" target="_blank">istaevan</a></em></center> At last. The answers were finally within reach. They'd all told him he was mad. His colleagues in the studies of the arcane and obscure, scholars like himself, had said it was forbidden for him to delve into underground ruins such as these. What would they say now if they saw him here, the flesh-bound tome in his hand, its incantations spilling from his lips as his stained fingers followed the words scrawled in blood? Nothing kind, to be sure. They frowned on this and had tried to keep him out of every library they could contact. And that was before their goons had shown up to deal with him. Mercenaries, he'd gathered. Hired from some private military company to subdue or possibly kill him. But they'd arrived too late. This ruin was now his home. He knew its secret passages and secluded corners, excellent places from which to spring with a good, sharp knife in hand. He chuckled as he looked at the corpses around the room. All that expensive military hardware, and they couldn't stop one bookworm with a sharpened piece of metal. Not that they stood a chance. Nothing could stop his destiny. One of them clung to life. He crawled slowly, his legs refusing to work since his spine had been severed. That had taken a bit of doing, what with how the knife stuck between the vertebrae when the mercenary had taken the stab above his kidney. Now the man on the floor was muttering something about a wife and child as he reached for a gun or something. The scholar made a face and, not turning away from the tome, moved to put his boot on the mercenary's head. He kept applying pressure until something broke. He didn't look to see what it was. He just scraped off his boot and went on reading. Honestly. Some people had no manners. Finally he began to feel the change. The air became charged and more thick. Breathing in to continue chanting took more effort. Giddy anticipation surged through the scholar. This was the moment he'd been waiting for! He'd never been able to get the vision out of his head, nor to quiet the voices he heard day in and day out. Now, perhaps, with the arrival of their master, they would fall silent. The chamber shook. Masonry began to crumble. The ground heaved beneath the scholar's feet and everything seemed to shift and twist around itself. It was as if reality was trying to reject the very thing he was calling forth from the void, the whole world recoiling in fear from that nameless thing once banished into the cold dark between the stars, bent on returning to devour the souls of the unwary. But the scholar felt no fear. In fact, even as the room threatened to bury him forever, he began to laugh. Every jock that had put him down in school, every girl that had turned him down because of his looks, every colleague and so-called superior who scoffed him for not being as brilliant as they – all of them would suffer. He was the only one with the mind to discern the clues that lead him here and the fortitude that gave him the means to do what had to be done. Now was his time. This old world would be swept clean by his will alone, and when the new one arose, he would be its master, just as what he was summoning would be his. There was an audible popping sound. The world stopped rolling like the nauseous belly of a child who'd eaten too many sweets. The scholar blinked tears from his eyes. He caught a glimpse, just a glimpse, of something that was at once familiar and completely incomprehensible. He thought he'd be prepared, but he found himself speechless, stunned. He'd anticipated being in awe, genuflecting himself before that which now walked the earth. But in that moment, he did nothing. He wasn't sure if he'd succeeded or failed. He didn't know if what he'd seen was an earthly manifestation keyed to ensuring his mind did not snap too soon or some sign that he'd been outsmarted at the last second by a more mundane source. He hesitated. Then something tore him open from the inside and there was no more thought. He felt no sensation other than agony. The pain tore away all his joy, all his anticipation, all his hope. And the pain did not end for an eternity.<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-8266602318199831585?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-69162241262116018992011-12-05T04:16:00.001-08:002011-12-05T04:16:02.712-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/12/05/flash-fiction-mind-mangles-matter/">Flash Fiction: Mind Mangles Matter &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1>To tackle the Terribleminds tiny tale-telling trial, "<a href="http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2011/12/02/flash-fiction-challenge-an-affliction-of-alliteration/">An Affliction of Alliteration</a>": <hr/> <center><img src="http://images.ados.fr/photo/8587278858/galerie-divers/the-necronomicon-163015266f.jpg" alt="The Necronomicon" title="The Necronomicon" /><br/><em>Courtesy <a href="http://club.ados.fr/istaevan/galerie-divers-129487/photo/the-necronomicon-1630152.html" target="_blank">istaevan</a></em></center> At last. The answers were finally within reach. They'd all told him he was mad. His colleagues in the studies of the arcane and obscure, scholars like himself, had said it was forbidden for him to delve into underground ruins such as these. What would they say now if they saw him here, the flesh-bound tome in his hand, its incantations spilling from his lips as his stained fingers followed the words scrawled in blood? Nothing kind, to be sure. They frowned on this and had tried to keep him out of every library they could contact. And that was before their goons had shown up to deal with him. Mercenaries, he'd gathered. Hired from some private military company to subdue or possibly kill him. But they'd arrived too late. This ruin was now his home. He knew its secret passages and secluded corners, excellent places from which to spring with a good, sharp knife in hand. He chuckled as he looked at the corpses around the room. All that expensive military hardware, and they couldn't stop one bookworm with a sharpened piece of metal. Not that they stood a chance. Nothing could stop his destiny. One of them clung to life. He crawled slowly, his legs refusing to work since his spine had been severed. That had taken a bit of doing, what with how the knife stuck between the vertebrae when the mercenary had taken the stab above his kidney. Now the man on the floor was muttering something about a wife and child as he reached for a gun or something. The scholar made a face and, not turning away from the tome, moved to put his boot on the mercenary's head. He kept applying pressure until something broke. He didn't look to see what it was. He just scraped off his boot and went on reading. Honestly. Some people had no manners. Finally he began to feel the change. The air became charged and more thick. Breathing in to continue chanting took more effort. Giddy anticipation surged through the scholar. This was the moment he'd been waiting for! He'd never been able to get the vision out of his head, nor to quiet the voices he heard day in and day out. Now, perhaps, with the arrival of their master, they would fall silent. The chamber shook. Masonry began to crumble. The ground heaved beneath the scholar's feet and everything seemed to shift and twist around itself. It was as if reality was trying to reject the very thing he was calling forth from the void, the whole world recoiling in fear from that nameless thing once banished into the cold dark between the stars, bent on returning to devour the souls of the unwary. But the scholar felt no fear. In fact, even as the room threatened to bury him forever, he began to laugh. Every jock that had put him down in school, every girl that had turned him down because of his looks, every colleague and so-called superior who scoffed him for not being as brilliant as they – all of them would suffer. He was the only one with the mind to discern the clues that lead him here and the fortitude that gave him the means to do what had to be done. Now was his time. This old world would be swept clean by his will alone, and when the new one arose, he would be its master, just as what he was summoning would be his. There was an audible popping sound. The world stopped rolling like the nauseous belly of a child who'd eaten too many sweets. The scholar blinked tears from his eyes. He caught a glimpse, just a glimpse, of something that was at once familiar and completely incomprehensible. He thought he'd be prepared, but he found himself speechless, stunned. He'd anticipated being in awe, genuflecting himself before that which now walked the earth. But in that moment, he did nothing. He wasn't sure if he'd succeeded or failed. He didn't know if what he'd seen was an earthly manifestation keyed to ensuring his mind did not snap too soon or some sign that he'd been outsmarted at the last second by a more mundane source. He hesitated. Then something tore him open from the inside and there was no more thought. He felt no sensation other than agony. The pain tore away all his joy, all his anticipation, all his hope. And the pain did not end for an eternity.<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-6916224126211601899?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-27378366391695540222011-12-02T05:03:00.001-08:002011-12-02T05:03:36.401-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/12/02/it-came-from-netflix-in-the-mouth-of-madness/">IT CAME FROM NETFLIX! In The Mouth of Madness &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/netflix.jpg" alt="Logo courtesy Netflix. No logos were harmed in the creation of this banner." /><br/><br/> [No audio this week; RIP old headset. :( ]</center> There are classics of the horror genre, speaking in terms of movies, that are all about the creatures: Bela Legosi's Dracula, Boris Karloff as Frankenstein's monster, Lon Chaney's Wolfman and so on. Some horror stories move away from such "creature features" and opt for a more cerebral experience, inspired as they are by the works of Edgar Allen Poe or HP Lovecraft. These tales take it upon themselves to explore the inhumanity amongst our fellow man be that inhumanity inspired by simple madness or cosmic horrors. <em>In The Mouth of Madness</em> tries to be both, drawing inspiration from Lovecraft and directed by John Carpenter, helmsman of the 1982 sci-fi/horror classic <em>The Thing</em>. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/in_mouth_of_madness_poster_01.jpg" alt="Courtesy New Line Cinema" width="550" /></center> When we meet John Trent, he's in an asylum. Asked for his story, he relates that he was once an insurance investigator. A claim has been filed by Arcane Publishing against popular horror author Sutter Cane over the last novel in his bestselling series. After evading an attempt of Cane's agent to axe-murder him, Trent takes the case, reads all of Cane's work up to that mysterious final book and begins having nightmares. With the help of Cane's editor, Linda, he manages to find the fictional New Hampshire town Cane used as a backdrop for his stories, and soon finds himself drawn into the mad novelist's world to follow a sequence of events that may doom ours. The material and feel of <em>In The Mouth of Madness</em> draw their fuel from the burning coals of many a Lovecraft story, but it's hard not to notice the parallels with Stephen King. The fictional town of Hobb's End into which our heroes stumble at first seems like a sleepy, friendly little place, but is soon consumed with madness and paranoia. The film, however, does not actually copy any particular character, event or story element from any of its contemporaries or inspirations, focusing instead on overarching themes and a mood of creeping dread. "Focus", however, may be a strong word, because <em>In The Mouth of Madness</em> is kind of all over the place. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/crazysamwithcig.jpg" alt="Courtesy New Line Cinema" /><br/><em>I happen to think Sam Neill is underappreciated. He's brilliant in this.</em></center> As much as I appreciate movies that take pokes at the rabid behavior of certain subsets of genre fans, it was hard for me to be drawn into the story. Any time an atmosphere of dread seemed to be creeping in, a monster of one form or another would pop into the frame, if just for a moment, aimed at startling both the characters and the audience. Many of the good ideas in the plot - the madness caused by Cane's books, the manifestation of the fictional town, the Lovecraftian ancient creatures bent on returning to Earth - are lost with the presence of one slavering grotesque leaping out at us going "ARE YOU SCARED YET?" after another. It's disappointing as well as somewhat counter-productive. Creature features are very different from deeper, psychological horror. When you watch, say, <em>Bram Stoker's Dracula</em> or <em>The Wolfman</em>, you're there for the lurid drama and a spattering of gore. <em>Silence of the Lambs</em> or <em>Seven</em>, on the other hand, is meant to invoke dark thoughts and feelings in a somewhat quiet way, their characters and actions very rooted in the real while being disturbingly abnormal. <em>In The Mouth of Madness</em> wants it both ways. In the end, it ends up being neither particularly introspective nor all that scary. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/mouth.jpg" alt="Courtesy New Line Cinema" width="550px" /><br/><em>This scene had me laughing, not screaming, my head off.</em></center> This is a shame, as there are some interesting ideas at work. The fact that Cane's novels inspire slaving mobs and axe-wielding agents could have sparked a discussion or investigation into the affect of media consumption on the populace. The town appearing out of nowhere from the pages of a book may have served an examination of the theory that worlds created by fiction do, in fact, exist somewhere. Even the movie's attempt to transcend into a state of meta-awareness falls a bit flat due to the overwrought nature of its jump-out scares and unfocused narrative. It could be argued that this schizophrenic form of filmmaking is meant as an example of what schizophrenia itself might feel like, but even that explanation is flawed given the overall incoherency of the work. You may want to say something profound, but your meaning will be lost if all that comes out of your mouth is gibberish. While I can't say it's a total failure, <em>In The Mouth of Madness</em> is neither an effective creature feature nor a true psychological horror. It relies too heavily on prosthetics and spook house slight-of-hand while not quite approaching the level of surrealism that makes surrealist works like <em>Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas</em> or <em>Bad Lieutanant: Port of Call - New Orleans</em> enjoyable and understandable to watch while still being batshit bonkers. Still, Sam Neill is a lot of fun to watch as he spirals out of reality and into his own little corner of Crazy Town, so if I were to recommend <em>In The Mouth of Madness</em>, it would be for an evening of MST3K-style fun with friends, rather than actually watching it for the sake of horror. You'll probably get a much more palpable scare out of actually reading one of Lovecraft's stories or, failing that, some horror-based fan fiction. Though that sort of thing is terrifying for entirely different reasons, especially when it manages to sell and someone starts making movies out of it. I'm not naming names. To do so would be to invite its attention. And those fans? They never sleep. <em>They. Never. Sleep.</em> <span style="font-size:10px"><em>Josh Loomis can't always make it to the local megaplex, and thus must turn to alternative forms of cinematic entertainment. There might not be overpriced soda pop &amp; over-buttered popcorn, and it's unclear if this week's film came in the mail or was delivered via the dark &amp; mysterious tubes of the Internet. Only one thing is certain... <a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/icfn">IT CAME FROM NETFLIX.</a></em></span><hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-2737836639169554022?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-33746137599605507352011-12-01T04:38:00.001-08:002011-12-01T04:38:32.480-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/12/01/proper-pacing/">Proper Pacing &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/Running_at_dawn.jpg" alt="Courtesy allthingshealing.com" /></center> I've mentioned <em><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2010/04/12/diving-right-in/">in medias res</a></em> previously. It's a great way to get your audience into the swing of the story and can cut down on overwrought exposition. However, no matter how breakneck the pace of the opening, you don't necessarily have to pound the metaphorical pavement from start to finish. You can't spend all of your creative energy right up front. You have to pace yourself. Stage performers from illusionists to strippers know you can't show the audience everything right away, and writing fiction is no different. Even in the shortest of stories, you can't pull back the curtain right away. It's a gradual work of unseen pulleys and ropes, not something yanked down before the audience's eyes. Be your story a hundred words long or a hundred thousand, be sure to give yourself time to move your scenery, get your actors on their marks, and line up your shots before you pull the trigger. This is especially true for stories broken up over time, be they serials or webcomics or a number of novels. Look at <em>A Song of Ice and Fire</em>, or <em>Dresden Files</em>, or <em>Harry Potter</em>, or <em>Homestuck</em>. In each case, recurring characters and permeating themes maintain or develop the world and atmosphere between 'episodes' in the story, allowing the audience to try and fill in the blanks themselves. Canny authors can leave clues or even red herrings for people to pick up and put together themselves, maintaining the feeling of discovery and anticipation even if it's an unreasonable stretch of time between new entries in the story. Authors must take care, however, that this sort of thing is not merely a carrot dangled in front of the audience to lure them towards some sort of soapboxing moment. It weakens the quality of the narrative itself. Smart writers can play with, lean on and even occasionally break the fourth wall, but such things must be done with a delicate touch lest the power of the story's messages get plowed under by the author's drive to make a point. It's one thing to have the writer slip a wink to the audience or chase down a troublemaking character with a broom in a moment of light humor; it's quite another when the characters become mouthpieces for the author's political or religious viewpoints, especially when the audience is young and impressionable. Characters speaking on courage, perseverance or self-sacrifice for the good of their friends is one thing; characters moralizing on abstinence or abortion is quite another. Even in these worst-case scenarios, however, you can see the evidence of good pacing amongst the fandom of a given title. There's speculation, anticipation, even fans crafting their own works to fill in the gaps. True, some will try to impose themselves on the author for answers or to influence turns in the story to come, but even this behavior's a good sign. It means the audience cares about the characters and the world in which they live. While you can't leave them hanging forever, if you get the pace right (and don't digress into soapboxing) they'll happily admit the reveal was worth the wait, even if it wasn't what they expected. So find a good rhythm, set the pace, and don't get tripped up or ahead of yourself. Short stories may be sprints, and novels & novel series a marathon, but in all cases you have to pace yourself. If you do it properly, you'll have just enough energy to cheer after you cross the finish line before you collapse into an exhausted heap.<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-3374613759960550735?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-90484762803326626122011-11-30T04:16:00.001-08:002011-11-30T04:16:51.142-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/11/30/first-impressions-of-star-wars-the-old-republic/">First Impressions of Star Wars: The Old Republic &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/wallpaper_star_wars_the_old_republic_04_2560x1440.jpg" alt="Courtesy LucasArts" width="550" /></center> I am a recovering Star Wars fanboy. I grew up on Star Wars. Before Star Trek grew into its Next Generation and into the myriad other permutations, there was A New Hope. From Alan Dean Foster to a variety of hacks, there's been all sort of surrounding works with the series. Video games are no exception. They're not all <em>Dark Forces</em> and <em>TIE Fighter</em> to be sure, but most folks in the know will point to BioWare's <em>Knights of the Old Republic</em> as perhaps the best RPG set in the universe. I'm a fan of the Old Republic in general. I'm of the opinion that ancient fallen Jedi Ulic Qel-Droma is one of the most interesting characters in the whole Star Wars universe, but that's a post for another time. Setting the stage thousands of years before Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi are sent to Naboo cleans the slate and allows for expansion on history, culture and adventure within the galaxy Lucas created. It certainly offers more options than a galaxy where there are two, count them, two Jedi to speak of and the Empire's in shambles until Grand Admiral Thrawn shows up. This brings us to <em>Star Wars: The Old Republic</em>, a MMORPG created with LucasArts' universe, BioWare's storytelling chops and EA's marketing monstrosity. I've had the opportunity to test it twice, and while I never got as far as double digits in terms of character levels and thus can't speak to things like class balance or dungeon content, I can talk about the mechanics, the storytelling and the atmosphere of the universe and how well it's captured. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/Korriban_Landing_Platform--article_image.jpg" alt="Courtesy LucasArts" /><br/><em>I couldn't find where the game stashed the screenshots I took, so... have some concept art.</em></center> I will admit that I more than once felt the pull of the old familiar nostalgia trying to pull me in as I played. The music, the set pieces and even sound effects appeal to that eight-year-old that lingers in the back of my brain and tries to convince me that Star Wars never came close to being ruined at all and those other Transformer movies never happened because Optimus Prime is not that much of a callous, bloodthirsty douche. Tempted as I am to give that little jerk a wedgie for being so naive, I will admit that the design team is doing their job in evoking the feel of the Star Wars universe. I got a little bit of a nerdy charge when I recognized names like Naga Sadow, Marka Ragnos and Exar Kun... while my wife had to ask who they were and why it matters. Star Wars fans will be pleased by this, non-fans may feel a bit on the outside looking in. The stories are perhaps the strongest part of <em>The Old Republic</em>, chalked up as mentioned previously to BioWare's experience with such things. Within the household we experienced several and the consensus is that the Imperial Agent has the best story of the bunch. Most MMOs have you chasing down rats or collecting bits of twig for someone nailed to the ground, <em>Old Republic</em> flings you into an espionage yarn worthy of <em><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/10/18/game-review-alpha-protocol/">Alpha Protocol</a></em>. With fully voiced NPCs, cinematic cutaways devoid of overpowered happenings and dialog choices that actually matter (eventually), there are times when the game feels more like a single-player RPG than an MMO. I was never in a group long enough to experience the way the game weighs the attitudes of multiple players against one another in conversation, but the idea does intrigue me from the standpoints of storytelling and mechanics. It's on the mechanical side of things, however, where I found my enthusiasm waning. Each class gets a set of particular skills with cooldown periods and linked mechanics (Sith Warriors with rage, Imperial Agents with cover and so on) that they can purchase new ranks of with each level they gain. Sound familiar? And while there's no auto-attack and you must push a button to initiate an action, there's no denying this is essentially WoW in space. The potential of the game is also undercut by the shortage of character creation options. While male characters can come in sizes from "barely out of their teens" to "hitting the Krispy Kreme once too often", females are limited to four different sets of voluptuous curves with no real appreciable difference in frame, and all in rather tight outfits. It's possible that this is due to beta constraints and higher levels will see these ladies in practical armor, but somehow I doubt it. While I don't think it's necessarily the case that a new MMO has to be radically different to survive, I find myself having difficulty getting excited for <em>Star Wars: The Old Republic</em>. Yes, it brings me back to the sense of adventure and sweeping story that drew me into Star Wars in the first place, and the story beats do crack along rather well from what I've seen. While the gameplay isn't necessarily bad by any definition, it also isn't blowing me out of my seat. What <em>The Old Republic</em> is, in a word, is "safe". It builds mostly off of the success it's main competition and tries to draw in players with story and atmosphere. While those things are good, it will be difficult to sustain a player base on those things alone. When the goal of the game is the delivery of top-level dungeons and PvP matches, both endlessly repeatable, the story eventually has to peter out and the atmosphere becomes mere window-dressing. Players with a hankering for story will turn to one of BioWare's single-player titles or a game like <em>Skyrim</em> while those craving good atmosphere would do well to try out smaller indie titles like <em>Bastion</em> if they're in the mood for atmospheric gameplay with strong story elements, or <em>Amnesia: the Dark Descent</em> if they feel like crapping themselves. Personally, I'm holding out for a <em>Mass Effect</em> MMO. Oh, and <em>Guild Wars 2</em>.<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-9048476280332662612?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-29785827260084374932011-11-29T11:31:00.001-08:002011-11-29T11:31:41.427-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/11/29/the-women-of-skyrim/">The Women of Skyrim &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://cloud.steampowered.com/ugc/614969358092609722/88F66D502F83428B5E1CCE20ED9E47A7C6736F1B/" alt="Courtesy Bethesda" width="550px" /><br/><em>Pop quiz: is that a man, or a woman, slaying that dragon?</em></center> I've been playing a lot of <em>Skyrim</em> lately, between shifts at the day job and stabs at the rewrite. Even when it's not entirely on my brain, the experience lingers, reminding me of quests to finish and things to craft at my local friendly blacksmith's forge. That may be why, when my brain was otherwise occupied with work-related minutae, I engaged in a brief Twitter debate about Skyrim's women. This may seem a bit like riding on the coattails of yesterday's <a href="http://www.escapistmagazine.com/videos/view/jimquisition/5014-How-Skyrim-Proves-The-Industry-Wrong" target="_blank">Jimquisition</a>, but this actually began <a href="http://blueinkalchemy.tumblr.com/post/13457368589/a-letter-to-skyrim" target="_blank">here</a>. A little entry on an Escapist thread went over well enough that I thought it warranted Tumbling. A concerned young woman, seeing my tweet, responded with a picture of a 'busty wench' from the game. I responded with some pictures of my own, contending that while some of the women in Skyrim do wear bodices, the treatment and portrayal of the 'fairer sex' is a lot better than it has and could have been. You see, the women of Skyrim are varied characters from all walks of life, from warriors to mages, from miners to barmaids. I'm about 30 hours into the game and I have yet to see one being shown in an objectifying or demeaning manner. No dancing girls, no slaves to a male figure, not even a prostitute in sight. And the women who take up arms do so practically. They don't squeak when they get hit and most of them wear armor that actually provides some protection, instead of wearing a couple of iron goblets over their nipples held in place by fine silver chains and magic. There is, to me, a huge difference between characters like these and other 'strong females'. <em>Skyrim</em> is closer to <em>Eternal Darkness</em> or <em>Beyond Good & Evil</em> than it is <em>Heavenly Sword</em> or any fighting game you care to name. Let's face it: a barmaid in a bodice is no Mai Shiranui. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/skyrim_women_pic.jpg" alt="Courtesy Bethesda & SDK" /><br/><em>One of these things is not like the other.</em></center> Now, I understand that barmaids are often dressed or dress themselves in a certain way to attract the male gaze and thus increase their tips for an evening's work. And I know this isn't necessary in a video game but can be exploited for a bit of that "peep show" thing game designers like to pull off. But, in this case, I don't think Skyrim is doing this intentionally. Rather, it is set in a particular place with a particular aesthetic (namely, medieval Europe) and the ladies who made a living waiting tables in taverns had many of the same concerns and ways of addressing same that women working at Hooters do, only I doubt the owners of the Bannered Mare insist on booty shorts and tight, lung-restricting t-shirts. And nobody is expecting a barmaid to get into a one-on-one fight with someone - though if they did, most of them would kick our asses, you have to be tough in that business. Mai, on the other hand, is a competitor in the King of Fighters tournament, and dresses... well, you get the idea. See, the reason I think Skyrim is succeeding where other games fail, at least in terms of aethetics, is that it's only occasionally we see something like the barmaid above. For the most part, the women of Skyrim are dressed for the weather and their work. Furs, practical armor, hell - I met a woman north of Riften who works in a mine, and she's doing it in a very plain shirt & trousers. That doesn't stop me from considering her a potential bride for my hard-working spell-sword Breton Dovahkiin. My point is that these ladies are attractive without having to stop and pose like they know somebody's watching them. And when you create your own female, the options are much more varied than they are in, say, <em>Star Wars: The Old Republic</em>. Which I'll talk about soon. Unfortunately, they aren't delivering so much in the personality department. The voice acting and motion of the characters is much improved over <em>Oblivion</em>, but some of the limited dialogue options and repetition that happens in certain situations - following me, being my housecarl, etc - pierce the illusion that these are more the sort of female characters (or NPCs at least) many in the community are looking for. Still, from where I sit, it's just another thing about <em>Skyrim</em> that marks it as an impressive feat and well worth all its hype. Even if it's just a small move in the right direction, hampered by the lack of personality the way one of us is hampered by our shoelaces getting tied together, a little movement is better than none at all.<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-2978582726008437493?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-14221745319695664702011-11-29T04:05:00.001-08:002011-11-29T04:05:15.100-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/11/29/the-women-of-skyrim/">The Women of Skyrim &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://cloud.steampowered.com/ugc/614969358092609722/88F66D502F83428B5E1CCE20ED9E47A7C6736F1B/" alt="Courtesy Bethesda" width="550px" /><br/><em>Pop quiz: is that a man, or a woman, slaying that dragon?</em></center> I've been playing a lot of <em>Skyrim</em> lately, between shifts at the day job and stabs at the rewrite. Even when it's not entirely on my brain, the experience lingers, reminding me of quests to finish and things to craft at my local friendly blacksmith's forge. That may be why, when my brain was otherwise occupied with work-related minutae, I engaged in a brief Twitter debate about Skyrim's women. This may seem a bit like riding on the coattails of yesterday's <a href="http://www.escapistmagazine.com/videos/view/jimquisition/5014-How-Skyrim-Proves-The-Industry-Wrong" target="_blank">Jimquisition</a>, but this actuall began <a href="http://blueinkalchemy.tumblr.com/post/13457368589/a-letter-to-skyrim" target="_blank">here</a>. A little entry on an Escapist thread went over well enough that I thought it warranted Tumbling. A concerned young woman, seeing my tweet, responded with a picture of a 'busty wench' from the game. I responded with some pictures of my own, contending that while some of the women in Skyrim do wear bodices, the treatment and portrayal of the 'fairer sex' is a lot better than it has and could have been. You see, the women of Skyrim are varied characters from all walks of life, from warriors to mages, from miners to barmaids. I'm about 30 hours into the game and I have yet to see one being shown in an objectifying or demeaning manner. No dancing girls, no slaves to a male figure, not even a prostitute in sight. And the women who take up arms do so practically. They don't squeak when they get hit and most of them wear armor that actually provides some protection, instead of wearing a couple of iron goblets over their nipples held in place by fine silver chains and magic. There is, to me, a huge difference between characters like these and other 'strong females'. <em>Skyrim</em> is closer to <em>Eternal Darkness</em> or <em>Beyond Good & Evil</em> than it is <em>Heavenly Sword</em> or any fighting game you care to name. Let's face it: a barmaid in a bodice is no Mai Shiranui. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/skyrim_women_pic.jpg" alt="Courtesy Bethesda & SDK" /><br/><em>One of these things is not like the other.</em></center> Now, I understand that barmaids are often dressed or dress themselves in a certain way to attract the male gaze and thus increase their tips for an evening's work. And I know this isn't necessary in a video game but can be exploited for a bit of that "peep show" thing game designers like to pull off. But, in this case, I don't think Skyrim is doing this intentionally. Rather, it is set in a particular place with a particular aesthetic (namely, medieval Europe) and the ladies who made a living waiting tables in taverns had many of the same concerns and ways of addressing same that women working at Hooters do, only I doubt the owners of the Bannered Mare insist on booty shorts and tight, lung-restricting t-shirts. And nobody is expecting a barmaid to get into a one-on-one fight with someone - though if they did, most of them would kick our asses, you have to be tough in that business. Mai, on the other hand, is a competitor in the King of Fighters tournament, and dresses... well, you get the idea. See, the reason I think Skyrim is succeeding where other games fail, at least in terms of aethetics, is that it's only occasionally we see something like the barmaid above. For the most part, the women of Skyrim are dressed for the weather and their work. Furs, practical armor, hell - I met a woman north of Riften who works in a mine, and she's doing it in a very plain shirt & trousers. That doesn't stop me from considering her a potential bride for my hard-working spell-sword Breton Dovahkiin. My point is that these ladies are attractive without having to stop and pose like they know somebody's watching them. And when you create your own female, the options are much more varied than they are in, say, <em>Star Wars: The Old Republic</em>. Which I'll talk about soon. Unfortunately, they aren't delivering so much in the personality department. The voice acting and motion of the characters is much improved over <em>Oblivion</em>, but some of the limited dialogue options and repetition that happens in certain situations - following me, being my housecarl, etc - pierce the illusion that these are more the sort of female characters (or NPCs at least) many in the community are looking for. Still, from where I sit, it's just another thing about <em>Skyrim</em> that marks it as an impressive feat and well worth all its hype. Even if it's just a small move in the right direction, hampered by the lack of personality the way one of us is hampered by our shoelaces getting tied together, a little movement is better than none at all.<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-1422174531969566470?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-82388754628366195612011-11-28T04:22:00.001-08:002011-11-28T04:22:26.078-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/11/28/dont-go-easy/">Don't Go Easy &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/blueinkalchemist/653379721/"><img alt="Bard by BlueInkAlchemist, on Flickr" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1285/653379721_6ec3f45e2d.jpg" title="Bard" class="aligncenter" width="500" height="376" /></a></center> While working on the revision for the fantasy novel, I realized something that'd passed me by on my previous edits. Well, I say 'revision' but mostly what I'm doing is falling under 'rewrite'. I'm taking large chunks of my old draft, keeping what works, and cutting out what doesn't. There's a brand-new opening for our young hero, which gives him a bit more fleshing out and dispenses with some exposition in a manner better than I had written previously, but what I came across yesterday was something else entirely. I realized I was being far too easy on my characters. Conflict is the essence of good storytelling, and it happens all the time, even between people who care deeply about one another. It can be as simple as an ill-timed word or joke or as complex as coming down on opposite sides of a political or religious debate. And that's before we get into anything morally questionable. The more we show our characters not getting along, the more we can relate to them. Because we don't always get along. This isn't to say that you should always be beating up your characters. Give them little victories and moments to breathe where you can. But they'll mean more if you make the characters earn them. Trial by combat may seem to be the easiest way to do that, but the operative word there is "easy". Presenting a monolithic threat by way of a slavering beast, an enemy fleet or a goon squad can give way to action, sure, but there's only so much development that can happen for our characters in the course of that particular kind of conflict. The readers may also have never engaged in ship-to-ship combat in space or magical duels or even gunfights. It's far more likely they've had a shouting match with a family member or had their heart broken by a revelation from a loved one. Such things are much closer to home for most readers. Your story moves along more naturally, your characters grow deeper and more real and the experience you give your audience becomes richer. To me, that's worth putting some fictional people through a bit of hell.<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-8238875462836619561?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-70701879163570788562011-11-25T05:07:00.001-08:002011-11-25T05:07:16.345-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/11/25/it-came-from-netflix-the-last-samurai/">IT CAME FROM NETFLIX! The Last Samurai &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/netflix.jpg" alt="Logo courtesy Netflix. No logos were harmed in the creation of this banner." /><br/><br/> [No audio this week; RIP old headset. :( ]</center> I had originally planned this for no other reason than the sake of novelty. I am, after all, not the only small-time Internet movie critic consistently cranking out reviews for the benefits of whomever takes the time to read my words. I have a Canadian counterpart (no, not my wife), who goes by the handle 'Marter' and can be found reviewing movies as often as he can at <a href="http://boxofficeboredom.com/" target="_blank">Box Office Boredom</a>. Since we both toil in the somewhat dank Internet basement clubhouse that is the Escapist user forums, I thought it might be keen to collaborate on a review. He agreed, and for our work I selected Edward Zwick's 2003 historical epic <em>The Last Samurai</em>. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/last_samurai_ver4.jpg" alt="Courtesy Warner Bros" /></center> The year is 1877. While the United States continues to recover from its civil war, the nation of Japan is undergoing sweeping social change. Resisting this change are the samurai, the warrior caste whose ancient traditions are threatened by the onset of a modern age. To assist in bringing these men and women to heel, Japan conscripts Captain Nathan Algren, a so-called expert at dealing with and relating to native cultures. In this case, it meant helping a tribe of Native Americans let their guard down long enough for his superior officer to ride in with their cavalry unit and kill everybody. Bitter, nihilistic and half in a bottle, Algren takes the job just for something to do, and ends up captured and isolated by the rebellion's leader, Katsumoto, a learned man of both word and sword who may well be the last true samurai left in Japan. So much for the synopsis. Our review of this film has been broken into five sections: Plot, Characters, Cinematography/Mise-en-scène, Actors and Fun Factor. Let's get started with Marter's take on... <h3>Plot</h3> <div style="border:1px solid white;padding:10px;">The plot of <em>The Last Samurai</em> worked well for me, even if it might have meandered a bit too long watching Tom Cruise sitting there and observing the samurai culture. It also takes a while to get going, with Cruise's character's alcoholism kind of coming and going whenever it was convenient. After the first day in the samurai culture, it disappears after he's denied his saki. That's fine, but after being released, he's offered whiskey from the businessmen. He refuses, presumably because he kicked the habit. He even claimed that he's finally been able to sleep peacefully. But only about 5 or 10 minutes later, he's saying "I need a drink." Why? Oh, and let's not forget the random ninja attack. It was like director Edward Zwick thought "Hey, they might be getting boring. Let's have a random action scene!" Sure, it was explained, but not very well, and then it's never brought up again. I mean, it serves a function and it brings some of the characters together, but making it have some sort of relevance would have been much nicer. The beginning scene also didn't quite work for me. It showed us how far this soldier had fallen, but if he was willing to fall that far, more or less giving up hope in human life, why would he accept a lot of work just for some money. Opening this way shows his character doesn't care too much about his life, or the money he can get, and makes me question why he'd take the $500 a month to teach people how to kill other people. Most of the plot worked well, though. Despite the film lasting over 150 minutes long, I had no problem sitting through it because there was a lot to take in, and there was always something new happening. I wasn't bored, and even if there wasn't a random ninja attack, I don't think I would have had a problem going over an hour without a real action scene. Watching the life of the samurai, like what I assume happened with Cruise's character, was interesting to me. I was fine sitting there and simply observing.</div><br/> Personally, it struck me a bit as <em>Dances with Wolves</em> in Japan. When I first saw the film it felt like a win/win. <em>Dances with Wolves</em> was a deeply affecting piece and I'm a sucker for the history, culture and fables of a land like Japan. However, in retrospect I can't help but feel there's been a little glossing over and touching up of some things in places when it comes to an actual portrayal of life during the Meiji era. I feel what's missing is the atmosphere of uncertainty. For the most part, Katsumoto (Watanabe) is absolutely sure his rebellion will ultimately serve the Emperor and strengthen his country, while his enemies are absolutely sure their modern way of life will prevail over the 'barbarians' who were once universally revered, respected and feared. In a time when nobody was sure what the future would hold, seeing things painted so starkly in black and white dilutes the emotional impact of the experience. Still, Katsumoto's desire to resist change for the good of his people's heritage rings true and is enough to drive the plot outside of Algren's growth as a human being. The time dilation that occurs can be a bit off-putting, as Marter mentioned, but the scope of the film and the way Zwick shoots it (more on that later) ensures we as the audience are aware of how sweeping the tale is in its scope. It makes a worthy attempt at being an affecting historical tragedy but never reaches the lofty heights of the Greeks or Shakespeare. The lack of moral ambiguity is probably the biggest Achilles heel this movie has plot wise, but it's not enough to cripple it. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/the-last-samurai-white-guys.jpg" alt="Courtesy Warner Bros" width="550px" /><br/><em>Honestly, I think the beard works for Cruise.</em></center> <h3>Characters</h3> <div style="border:1px solid white;padding:10px;">I've sort of touched upon this already, but I felt like Cruise's character was inconsistent, mostly acting however the plot dictated. Is he an alcoholic for the entire time, or does the samurai life clear him of that? Does he hate all humans, or does he just hate himself? Is he suicidal, or is he not? None of these things are made especially clear, regardless of what the storyline tells us. He develops though, mostly just as he switches sides from the government to being a samurai. So at least there's that. Watanabe's character doesn't really develop at all. He's the same at the beginning as he is at the end, with the only difference being that he finished his poem. Wow, that's a lot of character development there. None of the secondary characters got either depth or development, although that didn't bother me too much, as we didn't need to make the film more cumbersome than it already is.</div><br/> While Katsumoto doesn't really have an arc the way Algren does, that doesn't necessarily mean the character's dull. Is an old tiger dull just because it's old? We see Katsumoto knowing what he does may end his life at any time, and his willingness to face death, at least his own. The deaths of others, however, have more of an effect on him. One of the film's best scenes comes when his carefully-crafted mask of tranquility is shattered by someone getting fatally wounded. I won't say who or when, but trust me that it's an example of a great deal of emotion and depth being conveyed without a single word. The one-dimensionality of the other characters does indeed keep burdens to a minimum as the story progresses and ties in to that lack of moral ambiguity I mentioned. There are no real surprises when it comes to the allegiances or motivations of people, making the overall story feel like a duet between Algren and Katsumoto with everybody else playing instruments in the backing band. But at least those two are decent characters, even if Algren seems a bit inconsistent at times. He also, thank the Maker, never becomes a "magical white person", solving all of the problems of his poor minority friends simply by being there or making a speech. During the final battle he does play a role but never becomes a major factor, and in the aftermath maintains his place as an observer and narrator rather than a firebrand or symbol. He drives home the point of Katsumoto's rebellion, but in the end seems somewhat superfluous to the actual historical events. To be honest, I like that. Better that than him rallying Japan to remember its traditions the way a white person is sometimes shown as making a black person a better football player or being responsible for a civil rights movement. <h3>Cinematography/Mise-en-scène</h3> <div style="border:1px solid white;padding:10px;">I felt like I was in Japan in the 1800's. Nothing made it seem more modern, which is always a good thing. If the film felt more modern -- even if it was done in certain times for the government to highlight how they're more technologically advanced -- I think it would have broken the immersion tha the film tries to bring to the table. But there wasn't anything distracting like that, and as a result, I didn't have any problem with the way the film was built on a staging level. The battle scenes, unfortunately, might have been the low points of the film. It's not that they're not well-made, because I think they were, but because they just didn't particularly fit with the rest of the film, which is a slow-paced drama. The first scene, where the military is slaughtered, is not particularly interesting because we've yet to have enough time to care about anyone involved, especially in regards to the enemy. But luckily, it's short and then it takes a while for another battle to be fought.</div><br/> I must again respectfully disagree, with regards to the first battle. While we really don't care much about anybody outside of Algren, and even so only in passing at that point, the sight of the samurai in full armor riding hard out of the mist gives them an eerieness that works very well, in my opinion. It's obvious to me why the newly-crafted Japanese army breaks at the sight of them. As is explained to Algren, most of those men grew up hearing tales of the samurai and being in awe of their power and honor. And then, like specters of the past, they're coming directly at you, screaming like banshees and carrying deadly weapons. It's a psychological tactic that works beautifully and speaks to Katsumoto's craftiness in battle strategy, not to mention making for a great shot. Going back to a previous point, though, the ninja attack is probably the "low point" of the film for me. With the exception of two moments I can think of, nothing particularly interesting happens either story-wise or in terms of shot composition. As Marter mentioned, it's pretty much just Zwick saying, "Have some ninjas, guys!" Sure, sending assassins after Katsumoto makes sense, but what is this, G.I. Joe? <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/last-samurai.jpg" alt="Courtesy Warner Bros." /><br/><em>Pretty much any scene with these two in it is a good one.</em></center> <h3>Actors</h3> <div style="border:1px solid white;padding:10px;">Cruise and Watanabe are the two more prominently featured actors here. I've never actually had a problem with Cruise -- offset problems aside -- and I think he made a convincing war veteran. Watanabe was more the star though, and I would have liked to see more from him. He clearly understood exactly what was needed from his role, and as a result, he seemed to be fully immersed in his character. Supporting and thankless roles go to Tony Goldwyn, Masato Harada, Timothy Spall and Koyuki.</div><br/> I agree completely. Tom Cruise all but disappears into his role and it makes the rest of the film better. There are a couple moments early on when he might be overdoing it a bit with the way his character is 'tortured', but looking past that we find a performance that conveys Algren's arc in an earnest, very human manner. He truly brought his A game, which is a good thing because Watanabe shows he is fully capable of blowing less talented actors completely out of the water. The aforementioned death of another character is all but perfect in its presentation and Watanabe absolutely nails it. As I said, this really comes down to a duet between these two characters, and the way the actors play it makes their conversations the highlights of the film. <h3>Fun Factor</h3> <div style="border:1px solid white;padding:10px;">Did I enjoy <em>The Last Samurai</em>? Even if it didn't always seem like a consistent effort that made complete sense, I did. Like I said when talking about the plot, I was rarely, if ever, bored, and I was captivated for most of the time it was playing. Learning the culture of the samurai, even if not completely accurate, was very involving for me, and when the film concluded, I felt like I had learned something even if I hadn't. It's an immersive experience that definitely held my interest. While I didn't always feel as if the battle scenes fit, on their own, they worked well and were exciting. You might not think that a gun vs. sword battle would be entertaining, but you would be wrong in that assumption. I simply had fun with this film. Enough fun, in fact, to forgive some of the things that I didn't think worked quite right.</div><br/> In spite of its historical inconsistencies and a few moments that push the melodrama almost to the point of absurdity, <em>The Last Samurai</em> never feels less than sincere in its sentiments and presentation. It may not always work as intended and you may have trouble shaking the feeling that Zwick is trying really hard to remake <em>Glory</em>, but historical war stories are his bailiwick and this one isn't bad at all. Between the lush cinematography, the interesting historical aspects of the story and the powerful performances of the two leads, it's safe to say both Marter and I recommend <em>The Last Samurai</em>. However, when you look up what actually happened in Japan during the Meiji Restoration, from the actual number of samurai to the way the Japanese were using their Western 'experts', you may get a little bit angry at the aforementioned inconsistencies. I don't think this necessarily detracts from the performances or cinematography, but nevertheless, consider yourselves warned. <span style="font-size:10px"><em>Josh Loomis can't always make it to the local megaplex, and thus must turn to alternative forms of cinematic entertainment. There might not be overpriced soda pop &amp; over-buttered popcorn, and it's unclear if this week's film came in the mail or was delivered via the dark &amp; mysterious tubes of the Internet. Only one thing is certain... <a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/icfn">IT CAME FROM NETFLIX.</a></em></span><hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-7070187916357078856?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-90697187177975479292011-11-24T06:18:00.001-08:002011-11-24T06:18:13.934-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/11/24/giving-thanks/">Giving Thanks &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/thumbs-up.jpg" alt="Courtesy Interplay" /></center> This is just a quick list of things for which I'm giving thanks this year. <ul> <li>I'm employed by a good company with great coworkers, decent pay and actual benefits.</li> <li>I have a place of my own to live in even if it gets a bit cramped sometimes.</li> <li>My wife continues to put up with me, despite my failings, shortcomings, frivolity, selfishness and brain farts.</li> <li>I still have the determination to write, even if it's just a blog post like this one, every day, until I get better and/or get published.</li> <li>I'm healthy, sane (relatively speaking) and more stable now than any previous time in my adult life.</li> <li>I have a ton of kickass games.</li> <li>My family continues to show me what it means to love, to support, to encourage and to never, ever give up.</li> <li>I've made fantastic friends with lovely, smart and talented people, even if some of them I've never met face to face.</li> <li>I still have my faith, hope and love in spite of everything this world has done to try and dissuade me from holding on to them.</li> <li>I also still have my looks.</li> </ul> I hope wherever you are and whomever you're with, you enjoy today and remember to give thanks, even for the little things.<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-9069718717797547929?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-20446684344372673932011-11-23T04:49:00.001-08:002011-11-23T04:49:13.042-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/11/23/more-commanders-gather/">More Commanders Gather &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/mtg___nicol_bolas_planeswalker_by_hyperespace-d2zi392.png" alt="Courtesy DeviantArt, see notes" width="550" /><br/><em>Modification work by <a href="http://hyperespace.deviantart.com/art/MTG-Nicol-Bolas-planeswalker-180562934">hyperespace</a>, original art by <a href="http://browse.deviantart.com/?qh=&section=&global=1&q=aditya777+dragon#/d2xr8vx">aditya777</a></em></center> While I've been interested in Friday Night Magic and standard formats since <a href="http://www.wizards.com/magic/tcg/products.aspx?x=mtg/tcg/products/innistrad">Innistrad</a> has hit the shelves, Elder Dragon Highlander ("Commander" for you latecomers) remains perhaps my favorite variant of Magic: the Gathering. It favors creative deck construction, the gameplay is best when shared with multiple people and you can bust out big guns with confidence regardless of how old they are. And one of the guns I've loaded up is pretty old indeed. <h3>Sedris And His Puppet Friends</h3> [mtg_card]Sedris, the Traitor King[/mtg_card] is my newest Commander. While he establishes the colors and general theme for the deck, however, he is not the primary inspiration. Oh sure, being able to plunder my graveyard is neat, but it's really just a means to an end. The deck is stocked with discard effects, zombies to soak up damage and removal to pave the way for [mtg_card]Nicol Bolas, Planeswalker[/mtg_card]. While the nature of Bolas as the go-to Big Bad for lazy Magic writers strikes me as somewhat dubious, I do feel he's an interesting character that's gotten new life thanks to the planeswalker mechanic. He even got his own theme deck, opposite [mtg_card]Ajani Vengeant[/mtg_card], which is where this idea really came from. I took elements of that deck, the Commander deck <a href="http://www.wizards.com/magic/magazine/article.aspx?x=mtg/daily/arcana/732#devour">Devour for Power</a> and the Archenemy deck <a href="http://www.wizards.com/magic/magazine/article.aspx?x=mtg/daily/arcana/464">Bring About the Undead Apocalypse </a>, cherry-picking some of the best cards from each and adding a few of my own. [mtg_card]Liliana Vess[/mtg_card] was an obvious choice, and the [mtg_card]Undead Alchemist[/mtg_card] is a great compliment to the many zombies in the deck. After assembly I tried it out at my local store, and it held its own against a nasty mono-green deck and a very clever mono-black deck. I look forward to sharing it with my family. <h3>Ghave Returns</h3> Ah, but what to do with the spoils from Ajani's deck? There were many things of a white & green nature in it, and my thoughts turned to my old friend [mtg_card]Ghave, Guru of Spores[/mtg_card]. He's been on the bench <a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/06/27/family-commander-first-skirmish/">for quite some time</a> and my idea of <a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/09/08/dragons-sphinxes-and-wizards-oh-my/">focusing on elves</a> didn't really pan out. So I took the deck back to its roots of token production and counter manipulation, branching out into a few ways of gaining life and some interesting new creatures. I'm curious to see how it plays. <h3>The Other Decks</h3> I've actually removed [mtg_card]Venser, the Sojourner[/mtg_card] from my Sharuum deck because I feel he has a better place in the deck I'm constructing with [mtg_card]Numot, the Devastator[/mtg_card] as its Commander. My tentative name for it is "Numot, the Superfluous". I plan on combining the clever tricks of my Chronomancy deck with the control aspects of <a href="http://casualplaneswalker.com/blog/commander-deck-reviews-political-puppets/" target="_blank">Political Puppets</a> and a few other nasty surprises. The dragon should only need to unfurl his wings if I really need help with flying threats, or some lands just have to burn. And lingering in the shadows are a seething, ticking mass of seemingly mindless creatures. They have languished in the darkness for quite a while, now. Waiting. Each makes the others stronger, faster, more powerful, harder to kill. Just a few more, and they will be ready to wash over other Commanders in an endless tide of merciless talons and mind-bending alterations. The Slivers are coming.<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-2044668434437267393?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-74442393231522538812011-11-23T04:12:00.000-08:002011-11-23T04:13:00.955-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/09/15/breaking-gameplay-down/">Breaking Gameplay Down &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/2011-09-15_00001.jpg" alt="Courtesy Tripwire Entertainment" width="550" /><br/><em>Dire situations can lead to self-discovery. And sometimes soiled drawers.</em></center> Very few of us are born experts. The process of going from novice to expert can be long and arduous. At times, it can be difficult to determine where to begin. In video games, once you get past the basic questions of which button does what, the various ways to distance oneself from being a newbie can seem overwhelming. Just as writing sometimes needs to be taken one word at a time, and programming to one line of code after another, so to can gaming be broken down into more manageable aspects. It's a form of what's called 'deliberate practice'. We choose an aspect of our skill set and work it hard until it's forged into something that will contribute to greater success. This is probably most prominent in any RPG you care to mention. If you want to find more loot, you need to practice picking locks. When I was playing <em>World of Warcraft</em> I found myself needing to improve on laying traps for crowd control or cooperating with a group without becoming flustered. You can be I will continue to work on those skills in <em>Guild Wars 2</em>, along with mastering the nuances of the classes one weapon at a time. It's not just limited to role-playing games, though. Even bare-bones shooters like <em>Killing Floor</em> lend themselves to this form of practice. <em>Killing Floor</em> features a set of perks for each player. You can choose which perk you want when joining a server and between waves of specimens ('zeds'). You can grind away at a particular perk until its maxed out, or you can get to a particular level and use that perk to earn some cash before switching to a problem area or something relatively untouched. For example, if you like being up close and personal, you can either get every tier of Berzerker or open up a long game by spending a few waves on that perk, then use the cash you earn to buy weapons for an underdeveloped perk such as Commando or Sharpshooter. The best part about <em>Killing Floor</em> is that some perks can be worked on even if they're not your primary choice - healing teammates contributes to your Medic perk even if you're running around as the Firebug. I didn't realize this particular form of practice had a formal name until I rekindled my interest in <em>StarCraft 2</em> with the return of Day[9]'s Newbie Tuesday. He'd talked about a mental checklist before, but he also showed how focusing on a particular item on that list not only strengthens that item but also highlights other areas of weakness to be worked upon. I took this advice to heart and started playing again. I actually tried not to win and instead focus on one aspect of my play. I won a few games anyway. It's as true for video games as it is for most of our endeavours: sometimes, in order to build ourselves up, we need to break ourselves down first.<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-7444239323152253881?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-8018810106387871002011-11-22T05:06:00.000-08:002011-11-22T05:07:00.569-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/11/22/that-skyrim-bug/">That Skyrim Bug &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://cloud.steampowered.com/ugc/613842889571843216/420C2630D4D7B18095938C37A62F36DD75A78171/" alt="Courtesy Bethesda Softworks" width="550" /><br/><em>This world is what you make of it.</em></center> <em>He worked the bellows, breathing more life into the forge's fires. Any moment the flames would be hot enough for him to begin beating the iron into the appropriate shapes. He wondered if any of the early morning passers-by in Whiterun found it odd that their thane was spending his time thusly, and at the smithy run by a woman, no less. It was a passing curiosity. He really didn't care what people thought. He deeply respected Adrianne for building her own future, both with these tools and her shop. Apparently she was married to the oaf behind the counter inside. He shrugged. He wasn't one to pry. He took the length of iron, drew it from the fire and laid it on the anvil. He raised his smithing hammer high. "Hey." He stopped, looking around. Where had the disembodied voice come from? Were the Greybeards summoning him again?</em> "Hey!" I turn and look at my wife. Her eyebrows are raised in that incredulous way. "I thought you were going to bed ten minutes ago." "I was." I feel a bit sheepish, but unashamed. "I got distracted by smithing." "God, it hasn't been this bad since <em>World of Warcraft</em>. Go to bed!" <hr/> What can I say about <em>The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim</em> that hasn't already been said? Read any review and you'll know what it's like mechanically. Read <a href="http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2011/11/21/when-life-gives-you-dragons-make-dragonade-scenes-from-skyrim/">this blog</a> and you'll get a sense of its wide-reaching adventure. Read forums and tweets and people will tell you about some hilarious bugs. The bug I've found, however, is the one I've caught. I knew <em>Skyrim</em> would be the same sort of open-world RPG as the previous games in this series, as well as <em><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2009/12/21/game-review-fallout-3/">Fallout 3</a></em>. What I didn't know was how quickly and completely it would suck me in. Not long after the first scripted sequence, I was wandering around the world, just exploring points of interest because they were on my compass rather than for any specific objective. I found myself <em>wanting</em> to mine up my own ore to more cheaply raise my smithing skill. I look at my map and find myself prioritizing visits to the college and other holds over main quest objectives. I have also encountered the random things others have mentioned. Adrianne, the aforementioned lady smith, ran up to me and handed me a book as a gift. I thought it might have meant more, but then discovered she's married. I've been jumped by an assassin of the Dark Brotherhood, accosted by a wandering Khajiit soothsayer and gotten my heartstrings tugged by the ghost of a little girl burned to death in a house fire. And all of this was from nothing more than walking around with my eyes open. The main quest is pretty good, too. It really has been a while since a game has drawn me in this completely. It's built in such a way that any means of playing it is rewarding. You can stick with just using the quest objectives as goals, or come up with your own. Fling magic, loose arrows, swing swords or any combination of the above. Deal fairly with folk or break into their houses to nick their stuff. <em>Skyrim</em> isn't just a part of Tamriel created for this game - it's your world, and it becomes what you make of it. I think that's why I've caught the <em>Skyrim</em> bug. "Here's a new part of this world," the game says, "and here are all the tools to build your own story out of the game. We have one to tell, sure, but if you want to tell one too, go right ahead." Don't mind if I do.<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-801881010638787100?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-88406320736834285182011-11-21T04:08:00.001-08:002011-11-21T04:08:51.772-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/11/21/flash-fiction-number-one-with-a-bullet/">Flash Fiction: Number One with a Bullet &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/31FvevI8BGL_SL500_AA300_.jpg" alt="Flintlock Pistol" /></center> For the flash fiction challenge, "<a href="http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2011/11/18/11729/">Frog Powder Seagull Tower Scissors</a>". <hr/> The soldier emerged from the water, as silently as possible. The fort was made to repel entire armies, not one man. He crept through the corridors, storerooms and shadows. Every step brought him closer to his goal. The general was bent over his map. The one who'd killed the soldier's friends, and then ordered his home put to the torch. The soldier drew his pistol. He moved as slowly and quietly as possible. He took aim, drew back the hammer, pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. The general turned and guards rushed in. The soldier regarded his weapon. <em>Wet powder.</em><hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-8840632073683428518?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-70870134766887866512011-11-18T04:52:00.001-08:002011-11-18T04:52:05.272-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/11/18/it-came-from-netflix-la-femme-nikita/">IT CAME FROM NETFLIX! La Femme Nikita &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/netflix.jpg" alt="Logo courtesy Netflix. No logos were harmed in the creation of this banner." /><br/><br/> [No audio this week; RIP old headset. :( ]</center> In 1990, American film audiences were clearly craving action films like <em>Die Hard</em> and <em>Lethal Weapon</em> over the ultra-macho likes of <em>First Blood</em>, <em>Commando</em> and the works of Charlie Bronson and Chuck Norris. Even in the groundbreaking days that set new standards for such entertainment, women were rarely more than plot devices that motivated our heroes. A little French film called <em>Nikita</em>, released in the U.S. with <em>La Femme</em> attached, would go about as far from the quasi-patriotic antics of the aforementioned muscle-bound men as you could get, and even today, the results are something else. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/Nikita_france.jpg" alt="Courtesy Gaumond" /></center> Nikita is a street tough and drug addict, and her fellow gang members break into a drug store to help her get a fix. When the cops show up, a deadly shootout ensues. Nikita basically sits it out, and when a cop approaches her, she shoots him in the head, killing him. Tried, convicted and sentenced to life in prison, Nikita is instead given an injection she's told will be lethal. When she wakes up, she's in an austere room and told she has a choice: she can occupy the grave that now is marked with her name, or she can submit to government training to become an assassin. She agrees to the training, and in the course of it emerges from the shell of a street tough into a new form of a beautiful, poised, polite and deadly young woman. Her training is hard, but her most difficult challenge does not emerge until long after it is complete: she meets and falls in love with a grocery store clerk who knows nothing about her past and gives her his heart without question. There are stories that deal with the dehumanizing element of assassination, and how professionals can objectify the subjects of their work and, by extension, everyone and everything around them. <em>La Femme Nikita</em> goes one step further and encourages us to think of what it might take to <em>re</em>humanize someone. First the grungy, caustic, drug-addled punk is transformed into a lethal killing machine in a cocktail dress and heels, and then again from there into a woman experiencing love, tenderness and trust for the first time. It's a violent and contemporary take on <em>Pygmalion</em> and <em>The Taming of the Shrew</em>, and the roots in these classics are quite evident even as it grows beyond them. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/la-femme-nikita.png" alt="Courtesy Gaumond" width="550" /><br/><em>She'll make the bastards pay for the runs in her stockings.</em></center> Central to its success is the performance of Anne Parillaud as Nikita. The ways in which she changes with the atmosphere and motion of the film are stunning. When we first meet her, she's so driven, withdrawn and violent that it's hard to recognize her as anything but an belligerent urchin. Yet this same person sits in front of a mirror, being gently told what it is to be a woman, and it's like she transforms before our very eyes. She's poised, polite and focused instead of spastic, wild and ungrateful. And then, when she meets Marco, another change happens. She becomes vulnerable, uncertain and even a bit confused by things like earnest sweetness and unconditional love. Parillaud pulls off all of these changes with sublime grace and makes Nikita mesmerizing to watch from start to finish. This film was one of the first by Luc Besson, the man who'd go on to give us <em>The Professional</em> and <em>The Fifth Element</em>. Even in this early work, we see him perform a great balancing act between clean, no-frills action shooting and somewhat crazy subject matter. It's also the second time we see him working with Jean Reno, before the pair would team up for <em>The Professional</em> based on the character Reno plays in <em>Nikita</em>. Despite the occasional explosion, there's no real sense of bombast or unnecessary melodrama here. The performances are nuanced enough to convey emotion and intent without any scenery needing to be chewed. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/The-Cleaner.jpg" alt="Courtesy Gaumond" width="550" /><br/><em>"I clean."</em></center> <em>La Femme Nikita</em> was the first real "girl with a gun" action movie to hit the mainstream, paving the way for women to take center stage in films and series where men would usually be in the lead. The film itself spawned an inferior American remake, <em>Point of No Return</em>, and a couple TV series of its own. But the original stands out because of the performance of the leading lady, the aplomb of its director and the truly heartfelt way in which its story comes to be told. And, thankfully, Netflix Instant gives us the original French dialog with subtitles instead of dubbing it. I highly recommend this one. <span style="font-size:10px"><em>Josh Loomis can't always make it to the local megaplex, and thus must turn to alternative forms of cinematic entertainment. There might not be overpriced soda pop &amp; over-buttered popcorn, and it's unclear if this week's film came in the mail or was delivered via the dark &amp; mysterious tubes of the Internet. Only one thing is certain... <a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/icfn">IT CAME FROM NETFLIX.</a></em></span><hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-7087013476688786651?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-24292161586509417712011-11-17T04:24:00.001-08:002011-11-17T04:24:45.809-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/11/17/the-desert-bus-cometh/">The Desert Bus Cometh &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://desertbus.org/wp-content/themes/desertbus2008/images/header.gif" alt="Courtesy Loading Ready Run" width="500" /></center> _{(With apologies to Lewis Carroll)} The time has come, (the Alchemist said) To talk of many things: Of busses -- and cards -- and handmade-crafts Of children and of kings. Once a year they gather there, A fanciful base on the moon - (Granted, we know it's actually Canada, but don't spoil it so soon!) They sit upon their bean-bags and couches, Displayed for all of us, For that great and humble event we love, The one called Desert Bus. From Tuscon to Las Vegas is their digitized route, Displayed on Sega CD. Since Penn & Teller decided (for the lulz) To make a non-violent game, you see: There are no bullets, no cars, no rockets, No prostitutes or pimps. Just drive and drive and drive some more, Until you weep like simps. "What purpose?" you ask? "What's wrong with them? "Why do they do these vids?" The answer's as simple as it is heart-warming: They do it for the kids. As long as donations and auctions abound, The crew will play the game. Could be for days or weeks or more, To them it's all the same. They'll sell hand-stitched crafts of all kinds, Things mythic and beyond, They'll laugh, they'll cry, they'll drink Red Bull, And with us they will bond. Watch and donate, for the children, for the auctions and the fun. Brave as they are, they can't do it alone, That crew from <a href="http://loadingreadyrun.com/" target="_blank">Loading Ready Run</a>. Here it comes now! I hope you're ready! There's room for all of us. Join us, won't you? The time has come to ride the <a href="http://desertbus.org/" target="_blank">Desert Bus</a>.<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-2429216158650941771?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-51411112870132767452011-11-17T04:23:00.001-08:002011-11-17T04:23:18.653-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/11/17/the-desert-bus-cometh/">The Desert Bus Cometh &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://desertbus.org/wp-content/themes/desertbus2008/images/header.gif" alt="Courtesy Loading Ready Run" width="500" /></center> _{(With apologies to Lewis Carroll)} The time has come, (the Alchemist said) To talk of many things: Of busses -- and cards -- and handmade-crafts Of children and of kings. Once a year they gather there, A fanciful base on the moon - (Granted, we know it's actually Canada, but don't spoil it so soon!) They sit upon their bean-bags and couches, Displayed for all of us, For that great and humble event we love, The one called Desert Bus. From Tuscon to Las Vegas is their digitized route, Displayed on Sega CD. Since Penn & Teller decided (for the lulz) To make a non-violent game, you see: There are no bullets, no cars, no rockets, No prostitutes or pimps. Just drive and drive and drive some more, Until you weep like simps. "What purpose?" you ask? "What's wrong with them? "Why do they do these vids?" The answer's as simple as it is heart-warming: They do it for the kids. As long as donations and auctions abound, The crew will play the game. Could be for days or weeks or more, To them it's all the same. They'll sell hand-stitched crafts of all kinds, Items of rarity mythic and beyond, They'll laugh, they'll cry, they'll drink Red Bull, And with us they will bond. Watch and donate, for the children, for the auctions and the fun. Brave as they are, they can't do it alone, That crew from <a href="http://loadingreadyrun.com/" target="_blank">Loading Ready Run</a>. Here it comes now! I hope you're ready! There's room for all of us. Join us, won't you? The time has come to ride the <a href="http://desertbus.org/" target="_blank">Desert Bus</a>.<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-5141111287013276745?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-33371881199717551642011-11-16T04:33:00.001-08:002011-11-16T04:33:34.013-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/11/16/the-dark-depths-of-writing/">The Dark Depths of Writing &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NNh20QIWHck/TP_eV011acI/AAAAAAAAADs/Q9xbK1ycL0o/s1600/blood+writing.jpg" alt="Courtesy floating robes" /><br/><em>Courtesy <a href="http://floatingrobes.blogspot.com/2010_12_01_archive.html">Floating Robes</a></em></center> You can't say I haven't warned you. Living with writers is a tricky business at times. Look <a href="http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2010/10/12/beware-of-writer/" target="_blank">here</a>, <a href="http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2011/03/28/beware-of-writer-2-revenge-of-the-penmonkey/" target="_blank">here</a> and <a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/11/03/how-to-survive-living-with-a-writer/">here</a> for some of the proof. Over and above any cautionary tale you might here from the trenches is a deeper truth that is ever-present but rarely discussed. Writers, especially creators of fiction, for all their imagination and altruism and creativity and willingness to share their inspiration to inform and entertain, share a common bond that has nothing to do with what they drink and everything to do with how they do what they do. I know I may be exaggerating somewhat, but bear with me through the metaphors. Writers, you see, are criminals. <h2>Writers are Thieves</h2> A writer may talk about someone or something that inspires them. What they're really doing is confessing to theft. Now it's rarely wholesale thievery, and you may need to look very carefully to see the seams between ideas stolen from other sources, but trust me, the wholly original idea presented by a writer is exceedingly rare. Many writers have talked about this, at times obliquely, but Joseph Campbell is probably the best-known whistle-blower for this sort of thing. The idea of the hero's journey is nothing new in the slightest, with the task of the writer being to modify that narrative through-line to make it interesting and relevant. Often the words being used have their roots in outside sources. However, the important part is not the words themselves, but rather <a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2010/05/25/the-underlying-theme/">what they are talking about</a>. <h2>Writers are Voyeurs</h2> When you pick up a work of fiction, be it rattled off by a fan of a particular current narrative or a story spanning multiple volumes and years, you are looking into the lives of other people. You are seeing as much or as little as the author wants you to see. At times, you'll be witnessing moments and aspects the people in question may not wish you to witness. You'll be watching them at their most vulnerable, their most monstrous or their most intimate. What is this if not voyeurism? We often find or are told that the act of watching another person, especially if they are unaware of our presence, is something abhorrent. It's invasive and we should be ashamed of ourselves. Yet we do it all the time. And it is writers, of stage and screen and page, who encourage us to engage in this sort of sordid, vicarious living. It's not all steamy windows and heavy breathing, though. When we see the lives of others unfold, the possibility exists for us, despite only being involved as observers, gaining something from the experience. The exploration of these fictional people can give us insight into our own perspectives and motivation. If we can relate to, understand and care for original characters, there's no reason we can't relate to, understand and care for our fellow man. <h2>Writers are Murderers</h2> George RR Martin, I'm looking at you. What are writers if not gods of their own little worlds? They create the people that populate their stories, give them backgrounds, motivations and personalities, sometimes to the point of being all but living and breathing in the minds of the audience. Then, for the sake of the plot or to drive home a point, the writer kills them. Don't be fooled by something like old age or heart failure or an "accident" - the character is only dead because the writer murdered them. You can smooth over the stealing in a few ways, and the voyeurism is victimless, if a bit creepy. But murder? Man, that's serious business. The writer is destroying something they themselves have created for the sake of telling a story. Or rather, if they're any good, for the sake of telling a <em>good</em> story. The only two true inevitabilities in this life are that you are going to die and you are going to pay taxes. And writing about taxes isn't very sexy or exciting. It goes back to the vicarious nature of experiencing fiction: by seeing how others deal with death, we can gain some measure of peace, understanding and even inspiration to apply to our own lives. The writer's murders take on an edge beyond this due to the finality of death, but it can still be to the ultimate benefit of the audience. There's also the fact that it can be a hallmark of a writer doing their job well. If people are truly outraged by the death of a character, if they cry out in protest or flip tables or what have you, the writer's done something very special. They've made the audience care about an imaginary person. The people experiencing the story feel something on a personal level, have become engaged if not immersed in this tale, which means the writing has done more than convey a story. It's drawn people into it and inspired them to care. You can't make an omelet without making a few eggs, and you can't tell a truly compelling story without characters dying. Writers are dark. They're dastardly. They're absolutely despicable. But do we really want them any other way?<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-3337188119971755164?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-29366392453856550402011-11-15T04:20:00.001-08:002011-11-15T04:20:38.762-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/11/15/return-to-friday-night-magic/">Return to Friday Night Magic &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/826_final.jpg" alt="Courtesy Wizards of the Coast" width="550" /><br/><em>Meet my new best friend.</em></center> It's been made known that I'm something of <a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/08/18/one-of-those-casuals/">a casual gamer</a>. I've stopped playing <em>StarCraft 2</em> on a regular basis in favor of <em>League of Legends</em> for reasons that include a lower stress level. And for a while I thought I'd be content only playing the <a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/tag/commander/">Commander/EDH</a> variant of <em>Magic: the Gathering</em>, at least until I started picking up Innistrad. The interest I have in this set plus a desire to support my <a href="http://cyborg1.com/" target="_blank">local gaming store</a> had me picking up an intro pack to form the backbone of a deck, tossing in my solitary [mtg_card]Snapcaster Mage[/mtg_card] and seeing if I could win any games with it. I ended up winning 2 games and losing 2, and had a surprising amount of fun doing it. I picked up another pack, and lo and behold, another Snapcaster was looking back at me. After I got home I looked over some of my cards from both Innistrad and the previous expansion block. The result is a deck that, while similar to the Eldritch Onslaught starter, has a bit more bite to it. [mtg_deck title="Memento Mori"] Creatures 2 Snapcaster Mage 1 Sturmgeist 1 Charmbreaker Devils 1 Scourge of Geier Reach Spells 4 Silent Departure 4 Dream Twist 3 Think Twice 2 Desperate Ravings 2 Burning Vengeance 2 Rolling Temblor 2 Geistflame 2 Grasp of Phantoms 2 Ponder 2 Dissipate 2 Mana Leak 2 Disperse 1 Fireball 1 Runic Repetition Land 2 Sulfur Falls 11 Mountain 11 Island Sideboard 2 Cellar Door 2 Ancient Grudge 2 Ghoulcaller&#39;s Bell 2 Into the Maw of Hell 2 Curse of the Bloody Tome 2 Brimstone Volley 1 Isolation Cell 1 Desperate Ravings 1 Delver of Secrets [/mtg_deck] The inclusion of more instants and sorceries means my mages will have more targets when they reach my hand, and I have essentially twice as many options for dealing with threats. The Flash mechanic on the Snapcasters combined with the huge pile of Flashback will mean I'll need to work on my timing. Another idea that occurred to me, perhaps inspired by a recent viewing of the extended edition of <em>Gladiator</em>, was that there are a lot of Human warriors in Innistrad, and the Scars of Mirrodin block was not shy on them either. I'd been toying with the idea of [mtg_card]Jor Kadeen, the Prevailer[/mtg_card] at the head of a Commander deck, but the more rares I see from Innistrad, the more I feel he's got a place for now in the Type 2 gameplay arena. [mtg_deck title="Felix Legion"] Creatures 4 Blade-Tribe Berserkers 2 Memnite 2 Auriok Edgewright 2 Serra Angel 2 Brass Squire 1 Elite Inquisitor 1 Champion of the Parish 1 Goblin Wardriver 1 Angelic Overseer 1 Victory&#39;s Herald 1 Jor Kadeen, The Prevailer Spells 4 Galvanic Blast 2 Assault Strobe 2 Bonds of Faith 2 Darksteel Axe 2 Viridian Claw 1 Butcher&#39;s Cleaver 1 Silver-Inlaid Dagger 1 Darksteel Plate 1 Mask of Avacyn 1 Bladed Pinions 1 True Conviction Land 12 Mountain 12 Plains Sideboard 3 Avacynian Priest 2 Razor Hippogryph 2 Seize the Initiative 2 Smite the Monstrous 2 Ghostly Possession 2 Sylvok Lifestaff 1 Rebuke 1 Warstorm Surge [/mtg_deck] This deck needs work, in terms of more cleavers, inquisitors and champions. I may pick up the Hold The Line event deck to bolster the ranks. But the berzerkers with metalcraft immediately equipped with a cleaver while Jor's on the field? That's 12 points of lifelinked damage in one shot. Think about it. Any thoughts on these decks? Anything to look out for in the current Type 2 meta?<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-2936639245385655040?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-90061239969166026342011-11-15T04:19:00.000-08:002011-11-15T04:20:02.128-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/11/15/return-to-friday-night-magic/">Return to Friday Night Magic &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/826_final.jpg" alt="Courtesy Wizards of the Coast" width="550" /><br/><em>Meet my new best friend.</em></center> It's been made known that I'm something of <a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/08/18/one-of-those-casuals/">a casual gamer</a>. I've stopped playing <em>StarCraft 2</em> on a regular basis in favor of <em>League of Legends</em> for reasons that include a lower stress level. And for a while I thought I'd be content only playing the <a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/tag/commander/">Commander/EDH</a> variant of <em>Magic: the Gathering</em>, at least until I started picking up Innistrad. The interest I have in this set plus a desire to support my local gaming store had me picking up an intro pack to form the backbone of a deck, tossing in my solitary [mtg_card]Snapcaster Mage[/mtg_card] and seeing if I could win any games with it. I ended up winning 2 games and losing 2, and had a surprising amount of fun doing it. I picked up another pack, and lo and behold, another Snapcaster was looking back at me. After I got home I looked over some of my cards from both Innistrad and the previous expansion block. The result is a deck that, while similar to the Eldritch Onslaught starter, has a bit more bite to it. [mtg_deck title="Memento Mori"] Creatures 2 Snapcaster Mage 1 Sturmgeist 1 Charmbreaker Devils 1 Scourge of Geier Reach Spells 4 Silent Departure 4 Dream Twist 3 Think Twice 2 Desperate Ravings 2 Burning Vengeance 2 Rolling Temblor 2 Geistflame 2 Grasp of Phantoms 2 Ponder 2 Dissipate 2 Mana Leak 2 Disperse 1 Fireball 1 Runic Repetition Land 2 Sulfur Falls 11 Mountain 11 Island Sideboard 2 Cellar Door 2 Ancient Grudge 2 Ghoulcaller&#39;s Bell 2 Into the Maw of Hell 2 Curse of the Bloody Tome 2 Brimstone Volley 1 Isolation Cell 1 Desperate Ravings 1 Delver of Secrets [/mtg_deck] The inclusion of more instants and sorceries means my mages will have more targets when they reach my hand, and I have essentially twice as many options for dealing with threats. The Flash mechanic on the Snapcasters combined with the huge pile of Flashback will mean I'll need to work on my timing. Another idea that occurred to me, perhaps inspired by a recent viewing of the extended edition of <em>Gladiator</em>, was that there are a lot of Human warriors in Innistrad, and the Scars of Mirrodin block was not shy on them either. I'd been toying with the idea of [mtg_card]Jor Kadeen, the Prevailer[/mtg_card] at the head of a Commander deck, but the more rares I see from Innistrad, the more I feel he's got a place for now in the Type 2 gameplay arena. [mtg_deck title="Felix Legion"] Creatures 4 Blade-Tribe Berserkers 2 Memnite 2 Auriok Edgewright 2 Serra Angel 2 Brass Squire 1 Elite Inquisitor 1 Champion of the Parish 1 Goblin Wardriver 1 Angelic Overseer 1 Victory&#39;s Herald 1 Jor Kadeen, The Prevailer Spells 4 Galvanic Blast 2 Assault Strobe 2 Bonds of Faith 2 Darksteel Axe 2 Viridian Claw 1 Butcher&#39;s Cleaver 1 Silver-Inlaid Dagger 1 Darksteel Plate 1 Mask of Avacyn 1 Bladed Pinions 1 True Conviction Land 12 Mountain 12 Plains Sideboard 3 Avacynian Priest 2 Razor Hippogryph 2 Seize the Initiative 2 Smite the Monstrous 2 Ghostly Possession 2 Sylvok Lifestaff 1 Rebuke 1 Warstorm Surge [/mtg_deck] This deck needs work, in terms of more cleavers, inquisitors and champions. I may pick up the Hold The Line event deck to bolster the ranks. But the berzerkers with metalcraft immediately equipped with a cleaver while Jor's on the field? That's 12 points of lifelinked damage in one shot. Think about it. Any thoughts on these decks? Anything to look out for in the current Type 2 meta?<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-9006123996916602634?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-75125077195808320832011-11-14T04:13:00.001-08:002011-11-14T04:13:56.535-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/11/14/it-came-from-netflix-gangster-no-1/">IT CAME FROM NETFLIX! Gangster No. 1 &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/netflix.jpg" alt="Logo courtesy Netflix. No logos were harmed in the creation of this banner." /><br/><br/> [audio:http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/uploads/gangster_no_1.mp3]</center> 'Crime drama' is a pretty broad spectrum for stories. Some are from the perspective of those on the people's side of the law, following detectives and prosecutors in their pursuit of justice. Others give us the point of view of the individual criminal, from the ones trying to rise above a life of crime to those wallowing in it. They range from gritty realism to stylized flights of fancy, but there's something about <em>Gangster No. 1</em> that refuses to be pinned down to any side of the story save that of our protagonist. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/gangster-no-1-poster-1.jpg" alt="Courtesy Film Four" /></center> Said protagonist remains nameless throughout the story much like his cousin in Matthew Vaughn's seminal and stylish <em>Layer Cake</em>, and is recruited back in 1968 by up-and-coming crime boss Freddie Mays. Our hero looks up to Freddie in a big way, but when it seems Freddie has more affection of a nightclub singer than his new right-hand man, jealousy rears its ugly head. Circumstances fall together for the young gangster to get Freddie out of his way and become the big dog in the London yards, and he rules over a mighty criminal empire until, over 30 years later, Freddie returns from his imprisonment. A reunion is clearly in order. One of the best things <em>Gangster No. 1</em> has going for it is the clear influence of Stanley Kubrick's <em>A Clockwork Orange</em>. With Malcolm McDowell as the older iteration of the Gangster, and Paul Bettany excellently pulling off the glower from behind lowered eyebrows that Malcolm himself made famous, we're reminded quite clearly of the film that gave us 'a bit of the old ultra-violence'. And this movie certainly doesn't shrink from the heavy stuff. Indeed, one of the best sequences in it involves a particularly brutal and thorough murder from the perspective of the victim, which tells us much more about the Gangster than any words ever could. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/gangster_N1_14.jpg" alt="Courtesy Film Four" /><br/><em>"Totally cool with you dating that chick, bro."</em></center> This is a man driven mad with desires. He came from nowhere and wanted everything he saw. He didn't just look up to Freddie Mays, he wanted to <em>be</em> Freddie Mays. More than once, we get the impression that the Gangster is struggling with feelings of romantic love for Mays, while at the same time he longs to oust Mays and take his place. This is why he seems so tortured when he's taking his time to kill the rival crime lord who set about assassinating Freddie: the rival cause Freddie pain, he beat the Gangster to the punch, and he doesn't dress or live anywhere near as well. The Gangster is out to prove his worth, that he is better than any other lawbreaker running around London, and he'll leave a trail of bloody, broken bodies to do it without a shred of guilt or even a moment's second thought. It must be said that without McDowell's sour, profanity-laced narration and Bettany's silent, edgy intensity, this character study would fall completely flat. But thanks to the efforts of these two actors the movie functions quite well for what it is. The best scene is probably between Bettany and Saffron Burrows, the girl who "stole" Freddie from the Gangster. When she crosses the line and spits in the face of this cold-blooded, half-mad killer, Bettany's face gives us an unflinching look at the anger and insanity writhing around in this character. Yet, he composes himself, without breaking eye contact, manages to smile and conveys wishes that would seem genuine, apologetic and heartfelt if it weren't for the icy rage we'd seen moments ago. It's a fantastic bit of acting that stands out among the rest of the film's scenes. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/gangster-no-1-2008-original.jpg" alt="Courtesy Film Four" width="550" /><br/><em>Why is Professor Lupin being such a complete jerk?</em></center> The problems with <em>Gangster No. 1</em> come down to tone and pacing. It never seems to decide for certain if it wants to be a mix of character drama and comedy like a Guy Ritchie film or a pure hard-nosed crime tragedy like <em>Scarface</em>. Elements of both are clearly present along with the aforementioned <em>Clockwork Orange</em> but it feels a bit like director Paul McGuigan went to a buffet where all of these options were available and tried to cram his plate with as much as he could from each one. It never becomes an actual mess, but also never finds its own voice amongst these influences. It also seems to accelerate a bit too much in places, as if once past the major turning points in the Gangster's formative years it just wants to get us to the end. As for the ending, I won't give anything away, but part of me was slightly unsatisfied with its neatness. Call me crazy, but I was expecting things to be a bit messier. The director's later work, <em>Lucky Number Slevin</em> and <em>Push</em>, had a better time with tone and pace, but <em>Gangster No. 1</em> still gives us clean shots of excellent actors working with good story elements. I do feel there are better movies I've mentioned that can satisfy a craving for gritty criminal comedy or unflinching views into the underworld, and our villain protagonist doesn't quite have the necessary pathos for us to be completely won over by him. He comes close, especially when we see how much unresolved emotion there is inside of him for Freddie, but it feels like too little too late. A little more time, perhaps elements of holding onto that duality of admiration and jealous, would have fleshed it out more and maybe left the ending a bit more satisfying for me. It never quite rises to the point of being more than the sum of its parts, but some of those parts are excellent enough for me to recommend <em>Gangster No. 1</em> as an addition to any crime, noir or character-driven Netflix queue selection. Especially if you're a fan of British slang, or those mirror dresses club girls wore back in the 60s. Pretty groovy stuff. <span style="font-size:10px"><em>Josh Loomis can't always make it to the local megaplex, and thus must turn to alternative forms of cinematic entertainment. There might not be overpriced soda pop &amp; over-buttered popcorn, and it's unclear if this week's film came in the mail or was delivered via the dark &amp; mysterious tubes of the Internet. Only one thing is certain... <a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/icfn">IT CAME FROM NETFLIX.</a></em></span><hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-7512507719580832083?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-18547182931339430892011-11-11T04:36:00.001-08:002011-11-11T04:36:16.569-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/11/11/movie-review-immortals/">Movie Review: Immortals &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1>Every once in a while, I'm made aware of an opportunity that makes me feel like an actual professional critic. Much like <em><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2010/07/25/movie-review-salt/">Salt</a></em>, my bros of the taped glasses over at <a href="http://geekadelphia.com/" target="_blank">Geekadelphia</a> hooked me up with passes to see <em>Immortals</em> last night before its release to the general public. Considering my tendencies towards breathing new life into old myths, I was excited. While the trailers pretty much sold the film as a re-dressed <em>300</em>, I was curious to see what director Tarsem Singh Dhandwar did with some of the oldest storytelling material in the world. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/TheseusImmortals.jpg" alt="Courtesy Relativity Media" /></center> Our story revolves around Theseus, humble son of a dispossessed woman in a Hellenic village by the sea where he trains as a warrior to protect her. He doesn't have much faith in the gods, even as they look down from Olympus on mankind while under strict laws from Zeus not to directly intervene. <em>Indirect</em> intervention is fine, but doing too much in a godly fashion would threaten to rob humans of their free will. There is only one circumstance in which this law is to be broken: if the Titans, sworn enemies of the Olympian gods imprisoned in Tartarus, are ever released. That is the plan of Hyperion, diabolical king at the head of the vicious Heraklion army, who would see the gods slain and he as the sole ruler of humanity... but not if Theseus has anything to say about it. Tarsem Singh Dhandwar's first film was <em>The Cell</em>, a crime drama from 2000 that is remembered far more for its unique visual style than any of the story or actors involved. Many of his images, while surreal and otherworldly, were shot so cleanly and with such aplomb and definition that they could be framed and considered works of art in and of themselves. So it is with <em>Immortals</em>, only this time around, the works of art are in motion more often than not. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/Immortals-0009-20111028-55.jpg" alt="Courtesy Relativity Media" /><br/><em>Seriously, if you were going to live forever, wouldn't</em> you<em> want to look this good?</em></center> It's the decisions the director makes that stand out in the film. For one thing, instead of the usual stable of established, operatic actors, the Olympian gods are played by beautiful young people in peak physical shape, and the gentlemen especially are dressed in minimalist costumes to show this off. This lends itself well to the depictions we see in Greek sculpture and art: bearded as they often are, the Greeks were not shy about their bodies. Nor is <em>Immortals</em> shy when it comes to violence, but again the director sets himself apart. It is only when we see these golden gods in action that the slow motion so familiar to fans of <em>300</em> and other movies of its ilk comes into play. Violence at the hands of humans is not dressed up in fancy camera work or tricks of post-production other than ribbons of blood and thrusting spear-points; rather, it's presented with visceral intensity and earnestness that definitely demands attention. As for the story itself, we have something of a mixed bag. Reinterpretations of Greek myth are certainly nothing new, and the writers of <em>Immortals</em> do make a few interesting decisions, such as keeping the war between the Olympian gods and the Titans on a human scale and the things done with Theseus' battle with the "Minotaur." And there was one bit in the plot that I honestly didn't see coming. The script, however, is far more inconsistent than the quality of the visuals. There were a few points in the plot where I had unanswered questions or sensed a bit of a hole, while at others I felt the characters could have used less talking and more showing through action and expression. Hyperion especially stood out to me as something of a problem, despite Oscar-winner Mickey Rourke giving him an imposing physical presence. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/immortals6.jpg" alt="Courtesy Relativity Media" /><br/><em>It's a dumb pun, but it works: Cavill looked pretty super even if his performance wasn't.</em></center> This is not to say the acting was terrible; I'd say it was about average for material such as this. I'm not sure why Mickey Rourke spends half his time seeming so bored with the goings-on, but I'm willing to chalk that up to the script having Hyperion all but bellow "I AM A BAD GUY AND I WILL DO BAD GUY STUFF NOW". Henry Cavill as Theseus is perfectly passable and Freida Pinto as the Oracle does all right, but I felt their little romance sub-plot was a little rushed. The Olympians, Luke Evans and Isabela Lucas in particular, brought a measure of humanity to their characters and presented their godliness with sufficient gravitas, so I guess I can't complain too much about this part of the film. They struggle to elevate the mediocre script and never overshadow the visuals with scenery-chewing or laughable execution. While certainly not a perfect movie, <em>Immortals</em> delivers an experience that's enjoyable and engaging without feeling pandering or terribly rushed. The clean, smart direction and bold, lush visuals go a long way to get the audience past any narrative issues that crop up over the course of the film. At no point did I feel confused as to what was going on, as can be the case in some other action flicks, and it never felt like the movie was talking down to me. A little more polish on the script and more solid performances from some of the cast would have made the movie truly fantastic instead of merely impressive. But if the only real complaint I can make about <em>Immortals</em> is "there wasn't enough of it", I guess you can take that as a recommendation. <strong>Stuff I Liked:</strong> For all the negativity out there regarding 3D, this movie did it just about perfectly. Gods played by young, beautiful people instead of well-established, older actors. No technology that felt overtly anachronistic. <strong>Stuff I Didn't Like:</strong> A little sloppiness in the plotting and screenwriting. Mickey Rourke looking bored more than anything else. Other actors not quite selling the melodrama. Only faltering attempts at scale in terms of size and distance. The romance sub-plot moves a bit too quickly. <strong>Stuff I Loved:</strong> The stunning visuals, the very canny use of some of the action tropes that drew in the <em>300</em> crowd, extremely well-shot action and a Greek myth that feels as lurid, sensual and bombastic as a Greek myth should. <strong>Bottom Line:</strong> The very clever and skilled direction of <em>Immortals</em> lifts it just far enough out of mediocrity for me to give it a recommendation. It won't win any prizes or hearts for its script or acting, but its blend of unique original flair and old-school Greek mythology does delight the eyes and get the blood pumping. A solid, above-average period action flick.<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-1854718293133943089?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-89891929357948154182011-11-10T04:59:00.001-08:002011-11-10T04:59:05.802-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/11/10/discuss-homestuck/">> Discuss Homestuck. &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/00001.gif" alt="Courtesy MS Paint Adventures" width="550" /></center> The young man you see before you is one of the main characters in the longest-running comic on the site <a href="http://www.mspaintadventures.com/">MS Paint Adventures</a>. I must, however, use the term 'comic' somewhat loosely. While the story unfolds in a visual medium mixed with text, it's driven by an interface reminiscent of old text adventure games, adds elements of music and Flash animation, and quickly evolves beyond somewhat humble beginnings into a story I can only describe properly as 'epic'. I know, 'epic' is a term that gets bandied about quite a bit. Especially among gamers, it's used as loosely as 'awesome'. However, Homestuck is a definite example of a proper use of the word. Our young protagonist is thrust into an adventure that changes absolutely everything. For him, it brings acute focus to his life and that of his friends in the midst of truly harrowing peril. For us, it shows us how the mixed media of the Internet can be used to take storytelling to a new level. The creator of Homestuck, Andrew Hussie, demonstrates both comedic and dramatic timing in his work. Laughs and groans from his humor often come quickly before or after surprise revelations. The universe he creates is steeped in metaphor and meaning, with subtle references woven into his words and images. Some webcomics are content with blatantly up-front humor and lackluster plotting that demonstrates slipshod world-building, but not Homestuck. Okay, Hussie gives us the occasional pie-in-the-face moment, but who doesn't like that now and again? On a few occasions, the story becomes a little self-indulgent. There's author insertion at a point or two but mostly this is for the sake of humor. Homestuck has a lot of backstory, and as the main plot progresses Hussie feels obligated to clue us into the background of certain characters and their origins. While this does add a great deal of depth and meaning to the goings-on, these digressions can be a bit tedious for some. I find such expansion of a world and its characters fascinating, but that's me coming from the perspective of a storyteller. Regardless, this long-running narrative is definitely worth your time, and you should check it out. You won't regret the time you've invested in it, and you may find yourself going back to moments you want to experience again. If that isn't good storytelling, I don't know what is.<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-8989192935794815418?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-21711071636530592062011-11-09T03:54:00.001-08:002011-11-09T03:54:20.137-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/11/09/crank-file-cross-over-comics/">Crank File: Cross-Over Comics &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><em>Every now and again, life catches me off-guard. It's times like these I need to turn to contributions from you, the audience. If you've ever read the Opinions section of the local newspaper, or the comments of an article on the Huffington Post, you know that sometimes the readers contribute just as much as the established writers. Thus, I present to you the Crank File. Today's Crank File entry comes to us courtesy of <a href="http://poachedprose.wordpress.com/">Monica A. Flink</a>. Enjoy!</em> <hr/> The trend of cross-overs is everywhere. Music is sampled, fantasy finds its way into modern Earth, and American superheroes drift to Japan to be reborn with bigger eyes and longer eyelashes. Unfortunately, of these things, I cannot find the fortitude to actually recommend the idea of Batman visiting Tokyo, or Spawn having a cousin who looks just like him on the outside but on the inside is a confused Japanese boy who wants to protect his sister. American superheroes that are manga-sized for our pleasure is somewhat of an inflammatory topic, with both sides of the wall, "It's crap!" and "It's genius!" respectively, having good points. But does Bruce Wayne in Japan hold the same joy for Batman fans as Bruce Wayne in Gotham? And does anyone give a damn about the person inside the suit if it is not the horribly scarred Al Simmons? There are both sides to every argument to consider before making up your mind. <center><img src="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/images/posts/crank/2/Photo%201.jpg" alt="" /></center> If you enjoy comics, you are going to look at the art as much as you look at the story, and the first bone of contention is certainly the difference in artwork. Gritty smears of ink and bright colors are replaced by slick black and white drawings, changing the air of the comic. Eyes are larger, more cartoony, and while one might think that works for the genre, it can also throw someone right out of the story. My biggest problem with the change in art is that the characters we are familiar with no longer look as they should. I find nothing familiar about the Bruce Wayne depicted in the graphic novels Batman: Child of Dreams or Batman: Death Mask. Part of the love that will drive someone to read a manga version of his or her favorite American comic character is the familiarity. Take that away, and it is like reading something that has just had the Batman name slapped on it, leaving the reader disappointed. Pains may have been taken to match a more well-known art style, but it is still different enough to be noticed. <center><img src="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/images/posts/crank/2/Photo%202.jpg" alt="" /><br/><em>Where is his face?! That's not a gritty smear of ink, it's a lazy-ass smear of ink. Faces, Japan. Americans have faces."</em></center> Aside from the art, the story is certainly something to consider as well. Anyone who has read Frank Miller or Kevin Smith's stories can appreciate the dark tone and incorporation of canon-defined characters in new plots that keep readers coming back for more. I have found that the cross-over versions of superhero comics lack this distinctly. It seems that the manga authors wish to write their own stories, and then happen to have Batman or Spawn or Iron Man in them. They brush off the established characters that man fans love and read to see just as much as the main characters, and come off with a story that does not have nearly as much impact because once the story is over, the new characters introduced are left behind or dead, with no emotional attachment required. <center><img src="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/images/posts/crank/2/Photo%203.jpg" alt="" /><br/><em> "Your lack of Joker makes you unacceptable. Feel free to commit seppuku."</em></center> Even when the manga translations are adapted by someone famous, such as award-winning mystery writer Max Allan Collins, there is something wrong, something disjointed and disappointing about stories that do not include the characters we love, that support a good story. Perhaps it also can also be attributed to the fact that these manga versions of our beloved heroes are also generally one volume long, leaving precious short time to find something to attach to. It is as if they are afraid to hurt anyone's feelings by making changes to a canon that technically the manga would not belong to, being stand-alone novels. I suspect my largest beef with the idea of cross-over comics is the fact that I have come to expect a certain level of something special from manga. To put a finer point on it, they miss out on a lot of tits and gore that I really have come to expect from the Japanese, and I personally enjoy. I'm not asking for splatterpunk Batman here (though, seriously, how cool would that be?!) or Spawn pulling a mech out of his ass to use to fight Malebolgia, but keeping it so safe and careful is just too bland to pull off the manga style of art and story. In the end, I will still buy more of these graphic novels with the eternal hope that someone will find a delicate balance between breaking new ground and incorporating what is beloved by millions. But if they continue to be as contaminated with insipid story lines and half-assed art proclaimed to be "realistic" because yeah, Batman is so damn realistic, then the American superhero manga cross-over graphic novel will be a fad of the past sooner than we think. And I think every comic lover will be missing out if that happens. <hr/> <em>Got something for the Crank File? Email me <a href="mailto:crankfile@blueinkalchemy.com">here</a>.</em><hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-2171107163653059206?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-27963992591066191422011-11-08T04:02:00.001-08:002011-11-08T04:02:26.119-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/11/08/in-defense-of-criticism-again/">In Defense of Criticism. Again. &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/criticism1.jpg" alt="Courtesy leadershipdynamics.wordpress.com" /></center> I've been down this road before. I'm going to take bits from previous posts, paste them here and update my commentary on the points. I'm doing this because, it seems, there are those who do not take criticism well. I'm not talking about the artists behind a particular work, mind you, I'm talking about the population at large that enjoy those works. Before we begin this little exercise, though, here's a caveat that I feel should be kept in mind when you read any criticism of public artistic works, be it my criticism or another's. <blockquote><strong>You are the sole arbiter of how you spend your time and money in entertainment.</strong> Everyone is entitled to their opinion. You, me, everyone. Just because a critic or friend or stranger believes something is a pile of dogshit doesn't necesarily make it so <strong>to you</strong>. Likewise, said critic or friend or stranger singing the praises of something they believe plated in gold may not make it look that way <strong>to you</strong>. Enjoy what you enjoy. Tell others about things you enjoy, and tell them about things you dislike, be it a little or a lot. We all learn more the more we share with one another.</blockquote> Okay? Okay. Here's what I've said before, and how I feel about it now. From <a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2010/01/09/willing-to-explain-why-you-suck/">Willing To Explain Why You Suck</a>: <blockquote>In addition to being comprehensive and funny, Chuck often reminds us that his criticism of a given episode, series or movie is just his opinion. He welcomes discussion and even opposition to his ideas. He [...] encourages the audience to think, rather than sit back & switch off higher brain functions in order to take in some shallow, pandering, distracting colors & sounds that call themselves 'entertainment.'</blockquote> Okay. Let me make this clear. <strong><em>Not everything you want to enjoy as entertainment is necessarily shallow or pandering just because you like switching your brain off for it.</em></strong> And referencing my earlier statement, just because I happen to think that <em>Attack of the Clones</em> was perhaps the weakest <em>Star Wars</em> film made that I've seen doesn't make it so. If you enjoyed it, great. I know people who didn't like <em>Thor</em> or <em>Captain America</em> but I thought they were fine films. Guess what these are? Opinions! Which brings me to <a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/01/20/opinion-is-not-fact/">Opinion is Not Fact</a>: <blockquote>Critical analysis and review is everywhere on the Internet. But you will never catch any such entertainer worth their salt telling you point-blank that they are 100% right in their opinion and everybody else is wrong. Go ahead and take a look. <a href="http://fullyramblomatic-yahtzee.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Yahtzee</a>, <a href="http://moviebob.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">MovieBob</a>, <a href="http://sfdebris.blip.tv/" target="_blank">SFDebris</a>, <a href="http://www.confusedmatthew.com/" target="_blank">Confused Matthew</a>, <a href="http://www.redlettermedia.com/" target="_blank">Red Letter Media</a>, <a href="http://www.cynicalbrit.com/" target="_blank">TotalBiscuit</a>, the Extra Credits crew - none of them end a discussion with "I'm right, you're wrong, your mom agreed with me last night" in any serious discussion. Some of them may play this sort of thing for laughs, but even the most satirical and cynical of these folks are also intelligent enough to know that anything upon which they might pontificate involves the exposition of their own subjective views. Sorry, that was a lot of big words. Put simply: None of these people believes they are a holy authority on anything they talk about. Yes, some of them are professional critics, paid to give their opinion based on the years of experience they have weighing objective and subjective criteria of various media, but each and every one of them are human beings, and human beings are fallible, subjective creatures. Yahtzee and MovieBob might not like shooters, but that doesn't mean shooters are bad. People like those caricatured by MovieBob's <a href="http://gameoverthinker.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Anti-Thinker</a> may consider retro games to be stupid, but them saying it does not make it so. These people I've mentioned know this.</blockquote> I hope that's pretty clear. I may not have the audience, appeal or even potential of any of the aforementioned critics, but I would like to think that I have this level of self-awareness. When I say something is good or bad, and I either recommend paying for it or giving it a pass, that's my opinion on it. It's not a salient, beyond-a-reasonable-doubt fact. I never mean it to be taken as such. Nor am I so arrogant as to believe that anything I say in the vein of reviewing or critiquing entertainment will or should be taken as gospel. I critique for a very specific reason, one I elaborated upon on the third and final previous post I'm going to mention. Are you ready? I'm ready. From <a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2010/06/29/dont-fear-the-critic/">Don't Fear the Critic</a>: <blockquote><blockquote>Criticism is a powerful force for good. Nothing ever improves without coming to terms with its flaws. Without critics telling us what's stupid and what isn't, we'd all be wearing boulders for hats and drinking down hot ebola soup for tea. - <a href="http://www.escapistmagazine.com/videos/view/zero-punctuation/822-Overlord-2">Zero Punctuation: Overlord 2</a></blockquote> I could make all sort of analogies for criticism. There's the bonsai tree example, the fat on a steak visual, the sanding of a bat to remove its splinters for a nice clean hit; I could go on. But suffice it to say that the best criticism is one that sees what a work is going for and points out the flaws so that the crux of the work can be improved while things that don't work can be discarded. </blockquote> If I say that "there's nothing here" when talking about a story, or that a part of a game let me down, or something frustrated or confused me, it's not me saying the entire work is worthless. More often than not I can get the gist of what the original artist or artists were going for in the work, and if there are obstacles between us and that objective that they either did not completely clear or set up themselves through sloppiness, being rushed or just plain laziness, it bothers me. Why? Because I know there are always obstacles between where the artist begins and where they want to be. I review and criticize other works in order to better understand the creative process from my end. And I'm not going to enjoy everything I choose to review. It is impossible to do that. I want to sample a lot of entertainment to find where I fall in the spectrum and where I can go with my work, and on average some stuff will be good while some will be bad. At least in my opinion. I hope this made sense. I've taken flak for putting opinion out in front of the public. So have the aforementioned critics, as have Roger Ebert, Pauline Kael, Charles Baudelaire and the like. I'd like to think that those critics who break into the public domain are doing said public a service, even if it's just in generating debate. In defending a given work, the defender should at some point be able to cite why it's worth defending; by contrast, if the work has flaws, they should be recognizable even if the critic does not believe them to be detrimental. We all want the entertainment we enjoy to improve, and by pointing out how or when it doesn't, we all in effect become critics. And there's nothing wrong with that, as long as we abide by Wheaton's First Law: <em>Don't be a dick</em>.<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-2796399259106619142?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-63799055773827206462011-11-07T04:38:00.001-08:002011-11-07T04:38:22.846-08:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/11/07/flash-fiction-the-itinerary/">Flash Fiction: The Itinerary &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/mr9.jpg" alt="Courtesy Michael Reslan" /></center> For the <a href="http://terribleminds.com/ramble/">Terribleminds</a> flash fiction challenge, <a href="http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2011/11/04/flash-fiction-challenge-corporate-abuse/">Corporate Abuse</a>. <hr/> He arrived from his personal trainer's private facility five minutes early. She had already brewed him the first espresso of the day and had picked out a suit for him. She gave him time to change before stepping into his office. The view always impressed her. It was like the entire city was laid out at his feet. "What's first for me today?" His voice came out of the walk-in closet. "You have a 9 AM conference call with Bob Sanders from the Election Committee, sir." "Remind me, is that the committee for the senate or presidential race?" "Presidential, sir. The senatorial committee won't be calling until after lunch." "Just as well." He emerged checking his golden cuff-links, the tailored suit ensuring the benefits of his workouts were emphasized. "Did you send out those gift baskets I picked out?" "Yes, sir. The committee should be getting them today or tomorrow." "Always good to grease the wheels a little." "If you say so, sir." She gave him his espresso. He sipped, and gave her a satisfied nod. Little gestures like that indicated a good mood, which in turn had her biting her lip and reminding herself to stay focused on the job for now. "What's next?" "A 10 AM review for the shareholder's meeting this Friday." "It should be brief, our stocks are up. Hand me that red tie, would you?" She reached into the closet and handed it to him. "It does go better with the suit, sir." "Thank you, I thought so." He began to tie it, regarding his clean-shaven face in the mirror. "Will any of our overseas offices be attending?" "I haven't heard any give confirmations, sir. With tensions on the rise, they may be unwilling to travel." "Well, the oil refinery people, I can understand." He frowned, not getting the length of the tie quite right. "But the plant owners from China should be able to make it. It's not like their workers need constant supervision to churn out their products." She stepped in front of him, taking his tie in her hands. She didn't dare look at his eyes as she fixed it. It might be difficult to form a sentence if she let herself get lost. "I think they're worried about the public image, sir. Public sentiment being what it is." "Ah." She could feel his smile. She didn't need to see it. It had an effect on her anyway. "The notion that we owe them astronomical debts. People might think they own this company." "That's the theory, sir." <em>It's you that owns them. And me.</em> She stepped away from the tie, smiled and retrieved her tablet. <em>Better focus on this and leave the rest for later.</em> "You still have an 11:30 lunch appointment with the mayor." "The usual pre-election shenanigans, I trust. He's probably worried that all the protesting has put me in a foul mood." "Some of the banks are certainly unhappy with the protests, sir." He walked to the window, hands behind his back. She watched every move he made. <em>Master of his domain.</em> "Let the people talk. They like their own voices. It doesn't change what we do or the reality of the situation." He turned back to her, and this time she didn't look away. "As for the mayor, I'll let him lunch me up. Let him think his re-election is assured so he can focus on the infrastructure bill for the city. Once that's out of the way we finance his opponent into office, so he can work on the civil rights issues our current mayor's been ignoring." She nodded. Tempted as she was to take down a note to that effect, she knew such things were best left undocumented. She didn't know how much of this was known to other members of the corporation, but she wasn't about to betray his confidence. He walked towards her and she turned her eyes back to the tablet. She could smell his cologne, and very faintly beneath it, the tang of his sweat from working out in the early morning. "Senatorial committee is, as I said, after lunch. Then at 2 is the weekly review of domestic productivity, followed by the CFO going over next quarter's budget with you." He rolled his eyes. "That old codger does love his numbers. Maybe I should shift our funds again, to keep him on his toes." She bit her lip. "Didn't a bank fail the last time you did that, sir?" "And they were gobbled up by one of the larger ones. Survival of the fittest, my dear. What cannot survive is devoured." He paused, looking down. "Are those your new Choos?" She glanced down at her shoes, the skinny heels and the odd but playful combination of leopard print and patent leather. His scrutiny made her blush. "Yes, sir." "They look great on you." He turned away and finished his espresso. She immediately collected the cup and saucer. "I'll be needing you later this afternoon, perhaps into the evening. I'm sure I'll have several letters to dictate." "I'll be right here, sir." <em>Waiting for you.</em> He smiled. "Good to know. What would I do without you?" <em>I'd rather know what you want to do</em> with <em>me...</em> She bit her lip again. "Type your own letters?" He laughed. "Fair point. But I can't make decent espresso to save my life. Thank you. I better go get this day started." "Good luck, sir." Nodding, he walked out the door. She cleaned up his office and sat at her desk outside. It'd be a day of taking phone calls, making appointments and sorting information. Tedious work. She didn't care. The most powerful man in the world, a man who for all intents and purposes owned the country, needed to have these things organized and coordinated so he could maintain his level of control. He needed his itinerary laid out like his suits. He needed her. And she, for entirely different reasons that made her knees weak, needed him.<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-6379905577382720646?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-91318477519974772272011-11-04T04:39:00.001-07:002011-11-04T04:39:03.949-07:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/11/04/it-came-from-netflix-oldboy/">IT CAME FROM NETFLIX! Oldboy &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/netflix.jpg" alt="Logo courtesy Netflix. No logos were harmed in the creation of this banner." /><br/><br/> [audio:http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/uploads/oldboy.mp3]</center> There's an old French proverb that tells us "Revenge is a dish best served cold." Can you just leave it out in the open, though? No, of course not, it will rot and small animals will make off with it if that were the case. Such urges are bottled up, kept deep inside, for the right moment to release their dark and depraved impulses upon the world. Cautionary tales like <em>Moby Dick</em> teach us to be careful how far our thirst for vengeance takes us, while those like <em>The Count of Monte Christo</em> show us the magnificent lengths to which the truly driven can go to exact their revenge. <em>Oldboy</em> does both. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/OldBoy-Poster.jpg" alt="Courtesy Tartan Video" /></center> Oh Dea-Su is a middle management worker and a bit of a drunkard on his way home to his wife and daughter after a run-in with the local cops. He is plucked from the street in a moment his friend is looking in another direction. He is thrown into a small room, barely a studio apartment, with a locked and heavily fortified door featuring only a small slot for meals. He has a TV, desk, bathroom facilities and writing implements. This is his home for 15 years. Then, one day, he is mysteriously released, given new clothes and a few clues, and given 5 days to sort out who locked him up and why. He's been gassed, dragged around, poked, prodded and who knows what else. Nobody's spoken to him in 15 years. As you can imagine, he is... a little upset. Director Park Chan-Wook lists Alfred Hitchcock as one of his key influences. The construction of this film shows that in nearly every frame. Composition and angles are so precise and pitch-perfect for a given scene, and no shot goes on for a moment longer than it needs to. It reminded me a bit of Hitchcock's <em>North by Northwest</em>, replacing the espionage and mistaken identity themes with a need for vengeance so all-consuming it verges on complete madness. Much like last month's Hannibal Lecter, we are shown creatures that, after so many years of torment and loss, can only barely be considered human. They look like us, move like us, even talk like us at times... but there is something very <em>wrong</em>, here. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/oldboy1.jpg" alt="Courtesy Tartan Video" /><br/><em>Totally still a human being.</em></center> Underscoring the disturbing things that lurk in human skin that we see in <em>Oldboy</em>, we also see quite a bit of visceral harm done to human bodies. Like the view of the human soul, the sight of the violence is unflinching. However, this is not to say that it's gratuitous. On the contrary, in the vein of both Hitchcock and Hannibal Lecter, or at least <em>Silence of the Lambs</em>, the violence drives home the point of the story instead of existing for its own sake. The lulls between the violence also serve a purpose. When we see Oh Dea-Su staring straight ahead, saying nothing, we know the sort of beast he's become is lurking just beneath the surface, all too eager to lash out at anything in his path. Perhaps the most disturbing thing of all about the central character in <em>Oldboy</em> is that he begins as a thoroughly ordinary man. You've probably seen or worked with or even befriended people like him in the course of your life. Fifteen years in captivity makes him nearly unrecognizable. This ordinary man is twisted and pressed and pushed into becoming something different, something at once far more dangerous and far more diminished. He can perpetuate all sorts of chaos yet holds onto his humanity by the slimmest of threads. And it could be any one of us. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/oldboy-dae-su-oh-with-hammer.jpg" alt="Courtesy Tartan Video" /><br/><em>Do I make a hammer time joke? Or say that the director nailed it? Decisions, decisions...</em></center> Fascinating, disturbing, at times funny and others soberingly heart-wrenching, <em>Oldboy</em> is a masterpiece of a suspense film. It's psychological aspects dig quite deep, its thriller beats never fail to deliver and its cast never feels unnatural or over-the-top in their performances. It's dark storytelling at its most basic and very finest all at once. While at times its violence and events feel like something from another world, it's so grounded in its setting and characters that not only could this happen to any normal human being, it could be happening right now. There's an immediacy to it, an intimacy, that gets right into your head and sits there daring you to take a closer look at what it's saying. Don't let the violence, the foreign language or the occasionally manic oddness of <em>Oldboy</em> put you off. If you're at all interested in film-making, psychological suspense or a stripped-down unflinching examination of some very dark corners of the human condition, this is the film you've been waiting for. <span style="font-size:10px"><em>Josh Loomis can't always make it to the local megaplex, and thus must turn to alternative forms of cinematic entertainment. There might not be overpriced soda pop &amp; over-buttered popcorn, and it's unclear if this week's film came in the mail or was delivered via the dark &amp; mysterious tubes of the Internet. Only one thing is certain... <a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/icfn">IT CAME FROM NETFLIX.</a></em></span><hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-9131847751997477227?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-64896384192303406642011-11-03T04:45:00.001-07:002011-11-03T04:45:12.581-07:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/11/03/how-to-survive-living-with-a-writer/">How to Survive Living with a Writer &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NNh20QIWHck/TP_eV011acI/AAAAAAAAADs/Q9xbK1ycL0o/s1600/blood+writing.jpg" alt="Courtesy floating robes" /><br/><em>Courtesy <a href="http://floatingrobes.blogspot.com/2010_12_01_archive.html">Floating Robes</a></em></center> One of the most popular posts ever over at <a href="" target="_blank">terribleminds</a> is <a href="http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2010/10/12/beware-of-writer/">this one</a>, entitled "Beware of Writer." He also penned <a href="http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2011/03/28/beware-of-writer-2-revenge-of-the-penmonkey/">a sequel</a> that's just as worthwhile to read. But let's say you've ignored his advice. You're going to fly in the face of common sense and good taste and actually shack up with one of us crackpot writer-types, in spite of the tiny hurricanes of impotent rage and the nigh-constant smell of booze. Here's a couple things to keep in mind that may help you keep from running screaming into the night. <h2>Writers are Finicky Bitches</h2> In addition to being very easily distracted (if you didn't know, we are), writers can get new ideas all the time, at the drop of a hat. It's not uncommon for a writer to have a few projects at work at any given time. Let's say our subject is working on a novel and some poetry, and all of a sudden gets an idea for a new tv series about puppet detectives. It's not enough for us to be distracted by video games or movies or pet antics or offspring or bright flashing lights or loud noises. No no, we need to distract <em>ourselves</em> on top of all of that. Writers either drift in a slight miasma of barely cognizant perceptions as they indulge in their distractions, or they're frustrated by efforts to reassert their concentration on something they're righting. It can make a writer seem bipolar. And if they really <em>are</em> bipolar, woo boy you talk about fun times!¹ Surviving this as an outsider requires a metric fuckton of patience. Either you will be asked to participate in some sort of odd habit, or you will be all but ignored as something new distracts the writer. You can go along with it or rail against it, but the important thing is to remind the writer that they should, at some point, write. Yes, you may get bitten over it. That's what the rolled-up newspaper is for. Aim for the nose. <h2>Writers are Masters (and Mistresses) of Excuses</h2> You're going to catch a writer not writing. This can be like catching a teenager with their pants down and making them explain the nature of the self-examination they seem to be enjoying. You just need to keep in mind that procrastination is perfectly natural and lots of writers do it. There are even some writers who encourage other writers to procrastinate. Before I stretch that metaphor any more uncomfortably, the important thing to note is that writers will tell you all manner of tall tales in an effort to avoid your scrutiny. Especially if said writer's bailiwick is fiction. I mean, come on, these people <em>lie</em> for a living. Or at least as a primary hobby. Of course they're going to tell you space monkeys invaded in the middle of the night and that's why the lawn hasn't been mowed or the dishes remain unwashed. Damn dirty space simians!² Just as writers need and, if they're responsible and good, want to be told when something they write doesn't quite work, writers also need to occasionally be called on their bullshit. "Space monkeys? I don't see any poo on the walls other than your own. It's time to shut off the Internet and make some more of that word magic happen, pooplord." Your exact wording may vary, but you get the idea. <h2>Writers Do, In Fact, Want to Write</h2> So let's say you're keeping a writer focused on the now. You're getting them to help out around the house. They're watching the kids. They're cooking meals. They're renovating your siding and keeping you in whatever it is you like to do when you're not working. Guess what they're not doing? If you guessed "writing", you just won a bigass shiny No-Prize! Congrats!³ Take a look at any writer pontificating on the need to write, and you'll see something emerge. There's definitely a deep-seated compulsion there. On top of any other madness or psychosis, a writer needs to write. Yes, the writer may procrastinate, putter around, put off writing because writing can suck a big fat one from time to time, but at the end of the day, writing is at the core of who that person is, otherwise - Anyone? Anyone? Beuller? - <em>they wouldn't be a writer</em>. So do them and yourself a favor. Take the kids for an hour. Put the video game down yourself. Mow the lawn or wash a few dishes. Just give them <em>space</em>, and a little bit of time. If it's been a while since they've written, you bet your ass words will happen while you're tending to chores. Or you could not, and they'll resent you in a deeply personal way. Your call. I think this may be the biggest key to surviving life with a writer. Giving a little measure of time to write, moreso than calling them on excuses or distractions, relieves the pressure in their minds and helps them get closer to their goals. And the writer will love you for it. <hr/> ¹ I can't say anybody acted all that surprised when I was diagnosed as bipolar. There was plenty of relief that legitimate psychosis wasn't involved, though. Not that the doctors could detect, at least. Suckers. ² They're rude as hell, too. Coming in the middle of the evening and keeping me from finishing a blog post with their howling and poop-slinging and I was researching League of Legends champion builds and got distracted from finishing this last night I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry please don't bap me with the newspaper again. ³ Actual contents of No-Prize may vary, from "absolutely nothing" to "sweet fuck-all."<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-6489638419230340664?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-13806057811108059722011-11-02T05:09:00.001-07:002011-11-02T05:09:20.314-07:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/11/02/learning-new-arts/">Learning New ARTS &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://cloud.steampowered.com/ugc/612715648882443568/1AD6439FDF04052A0CB79DF78D810E749C0CE65A/" alt="Courtesy Riot Games" width="550" /><br/><em>She's like a miniature Tank Girl. Moreso than Strongbad, she is 'tiny Heavy'.</em></center> I've had an interest in strategy games for many a year, from the tabletop war simulations like <em>Squad Leader</em> and <em>Risk</em> to <a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2010/10/03/four-ecks/">4X computer games</a> in the style of <em>Civilization</em> and <em>Master of Orion</em>. I've made a series of entries on <em><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/tag/starcraft-2/">StarCraft 2</a></em>. But like <em>Master of Orion</em> taking the 4X formula into SPACE, there was a precursor of the original <em>StarCraft</em> that shook up the standard RTS setup. It's a custom map for <em>Warcraft III</em> called <em>Defense of the Ancients</em>. Often abbreviated "DotA", the game does not focus on base construction or unit composition, but instead casts each player on the opposing teams as a single hero unit, supporting the automatically-generated waves of disposable peons called 'creeps' as they attack the enemy base. Each hero or 'champion' has a set of unique powers that they "level up" RPG-style and can also purchase items to bolster their abilities. This heady mix of RPG gameplay and RTS rhythm and competition has come to be known as either DotA-type, Multiplayer Online Battle Arena (MOBA) games or Action RTS - ARTS. I missed out on the initial DotA stuff, and actually had to dig out my old collector's edition disk of Blizzard's seminal RTS. Unfortunately I also require the expansion, <em>The Frozen Throne</em>, and while I have some copies of the disc I don't know if such copies will be recognized for legitimate online play, even on a custom map. I don't need Blizzard's secret police knocking down my door. So while I wait for my next paycheck, I've been getting to know this variation on the game a bit more through Riot Games' free-to-play take on the genre called <em>League of Legends</em>. From what I understand thanks to some help from the fine gents and ladies of <a href="http://www.teamliquid.net/forum/viewmessage.php?topic_id=281104" target="_blank">Team Liquid</a>, there are some fundamental differences between <em>League of Legends</em> and the original DotA. The overall impression is that Riot's entry into the ARTS is 'easy mode' as champions do not need to worry about getting in final hits, proper use of town portal scrolls and the mechanics of the more limited eengine. DotA sounds more unforgiving and, by extension, more rewarding than LoL. I'm looking forward to trying it out. What makes games like <em>League of Legends</em> appealing is something I've alluded to previously. While you can get into team matches in <em>StarCraft 2</em> they are not the crux of the game's multiplayer scene. This may be the perspective of an admittedly casual gamer, but when it comes to extended sessions of games keyed for multiple players, going solo against a single opponent can get very lonely. I've had a few good experiences so far in LoL teaming up with others. I've had some bad ones, too, but I chalk that up to some of my fellow players being quick to blame newcomers like myself instead of examining their own shortcomings. <a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2010/09/23/gamers-fanboys-behavior-and-respect/">Because that's hard!</a> Anyway, <em>League of Legends</em> is at least helping me grasp the basics of this ARTS genre. Steam is working on a direct sequel to DotA itself, while Blizzard revealed that they are creating their own proprietary version with characters culled from their various IPs. I don't feel pressed for time by either of these, and I do plan on firing up the original DotA once I've acquired a fresh, legit copy of <em>Frozen Throne</em>. For the most part this will strictly be for enjoyment, rather than some attempt to develop competitive skills. I know I may never break into any level of professional gaming, nor do I want gaming to turn into a job to the point that I cease enjoying it. After all, if I had to focus entirely on one game for hours on end, things like <em>League of Legends</em> might pass me by completely. I'm entertaining the notion of starting an adventure in <em>Terraria</em> with a couple others, I plan on coaching a friend in <em>Magic the Gathering</em> and there will always be new single-player games to explore. However I spend my leisure time when firing up Steam or a console, the goal will not necessarily to be a top-level pro or boast the highest APM, but simply to have fun. That's what games are for, after all. Right?<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-1380605781110805972?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-18718654328332191322011-11-01T04:19:00.001-07:002011-11-01T04:19:59.906-07:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/11/01/show-dont-tell-your-work/">Show (Don't Tell) Your Work &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/6113186141_2632c696c9.jpg" alt="Courtesy Terribleminds" width="550" /><br/><em>Staring the month with a little advice.</em></center> So NaNoWriMo is beginning and a lot of you out there are taking freshly-sharpened pencils to blank pages. This next month is going to be full of inspiration, frustration, erasures, crossed-out words, broken tips and lots of caffeinated beverages. I wish you the best of luck. Related to <a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/10/27/show-dont-tell/">last week's post</a> on showing instead of telling, I wanted to touch on something that came up in a recent edit. This will not apply to everything, mostly genre works or those rooted in history. And as <a href="http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2011/11/01/25-things-you-should-know-about-writing-advice/" target="_blank">with any writing advice</a>, you may find it useful or you might not. But here it is. You'll want to show your audience the details in your work, without showing off how much you know. If you've done a lot of world-building behind the scenes, chances are you're practically busting at the seams to invite people into that new world. And in doing so, you want to show off all the neat stuff you have going on, from the retrograde rotation of the planet to the native people who are a cross between the Na'vi, red pandas and baby seals. That's fine, but if you front-load your story with long passages on the world's ecosystem and fauna, you're committed the aforementioned cardinal sin: you are telling, not showing. It's similar with historical works. If you want to do it right, you've done a lot of research. You want to make sure that history buffs don't tear your work to ribbons and ignore the thrust of your narrative because you made the sash worn by the second-in-command to the regional commandant the wrong color. If your audience might obsess over the details, it's to your benefit to do the same, but not necessarily to the detriment of showing over telling. Here, as with other expository writing, action and dialog will once again come to your rescue. It may take a little narrative positioning, but you can adjust your characters and their conversations in such a way as to convey the facts without taking away from the story. Don't just describe the historically accurate landscape, do so through the eyes of character seeing it for the first time, or perhaps who has seen it one time too many. It's one thing to put down the inner workings of your semi-magical difference engine on paper, it's another to have a scruffy engineer explain things to a wet-behind-the-ears physics wizard while banging on the thing with a wrench. So on and so forth. I hope other writers will find this sort of thing useful as NaNoWriMo begins. For them, and perhaps for you, this is the beginning of a grand adventure that may open the doors to a brand new way of conveying ideas and fleshing out dreams, and that's wonderful. For me, it's Tuesday.<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-1871865432833219132?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-51708564124145875322011-10-31T04:35:00.001-07:002011-10-31T04:35:56.179-07:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/10/31/worldbuilding-challenge-the-gods-of-blackbloom/">Worldbuilding Challenge: The Gods of Blackbloom &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v464/Sim100/CoyotePScopy-1.jpg" alt="Courtesy " width="550" /><br/><em>Courtesy the excellent <a href="http://gunnerkrigg.proboards.com/index.cgi?action=display&board=general&thread=21&page=12#1523" target="_blank">xeedee</a></em></center> Once a month, instead of flash fiction <a href="http://terribleminds.com/ramble/">Chuck</a> calls upon his readers to contribute in a worldbuilding exercise he's doing. One of the few things we know is: <em>The gods walk among men but are forgotten and unrecognized. Nobody believes in them anymore.</em> Some say the gods are dead; others simply do not remember them. I took this notion and ran with it along with my affinity for trickster spirits, and came up with the following for his <a href="http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2011/10/28/worldbuilding-challenge-the-gods-of-blackbloom/">latest challenge</a>. <blockquote>Men may have forgotten his name, but once they called him Brightflower, Smirk or simply the Jackal. He can assume any form of any size he wishes, but prefers to walk as a man among them, since they're so amusing to him. He toys with their perceptions, slipping secrets between his half-truths, but he never lies. Despite his cheerful, playful and jocular demeanor, he's still got a temper. The other gods tried to curtail his shenanigans by helping men call him a lord of lies. In response, he helped the people of Blackbloom forget the gods – including himself – ever existed.</blockquote> I guess we'll find out soon, as Chuck is taking the challenge to a biweekly schedule. This will get interesting!<hr><a href='http://www.blueinkalchemy.com'>Blue Ink Alchemy</a> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1320917029789840414-5170856412414587532?l=blueinkalchemy.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217289565334531840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1320917029789840414.post-63523666074946014092011-10-28T03:59:00.001-07:002011-10-28T03:59:44.571-07:00<h1><a href="http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/2011/10/28/it-came-from-netflix-hannibal/">IT CAME FROM NETFLIX! Hannibal &mdash; Blue Ink Alchemy</a></h1><center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/netflix.jpg" alt="Logo courtesy Netflix. No logos were harmed in the creation of this banner." /><br/><br/> [audio:http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/uploads/hannibal.mp3]</center> After two truly excellent films and a somewhat passable prequel, we come to the fourth and final installment in our look at Hannibal Lecter. Like the other movies based on the novels of Thomas Harris, we're presented with a charismatic and compelling villainous protagonist, shown dark recesses of the human condition and are at least somewhat creeped out by the goings-on. But <em>Hannibal</em>, to be blunt, doesn't measure up to the truly excellent <em>Silence of the Lambs</em> and the very good <em>Red Dragon</em>. Let's peel it apart and find out why, shall we? <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/hannibal.jpg" alt="Courtesy MGM" /></center> At the core of any decent film should be a decent story, right? I mean, fun films can get by with gaping plot holes and one-note characters - a common criticism of most superhero flicks, even decent ones - but to make a film with something approaching meaning the story has to be solid. And while the story in <em>Hannibal</em> never really smacks of total implausability, every once in an while a moment comes where you feel like Thomas Harris either chuckled at the thought of skeeving his audience or dialed up a bit of lurid absurdity to underscore the fact that a novel like <em>Silence of the Lambs</em> adapated into a film that wins five Oscars doesn't really need a sequel. But getting paid is nice, I guess. So, the premise: Hannibal's absconded to Europe and tries to get a steady job as curator at a museum. Special Agent Clarice Starling is struggling to coordinate operations but keeps getting the short end of the stick on account of having boobs. A faceless man - literally, <em>this man has no face</em> - is on the revenge warpath for Doctor Lecter and a Florentine police officer who has yet to notice the oddly-dressed gentleman free-running on the rooftops is beginning to suspect that his erudite, polite American is more than he seems. Seriously, when are Americans erudite and polite? There's gotta be something up with the guy. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/hannibal1.jpg" alt="Courtesy MGM" /><br/><em>His leering is nowhere near as creepy as Hannibal's default state, so Starling is completely unphased.</em></center> If there's one thing that approaches salvaging the film, it's Sir Anthony Hopkins. His portrayal of Hannibal remains pitch-perfect, equal parts cold menace and disarming charisma, and he's always fun to watch. What made <em>Silence of the Lambs</em> so great and <em>Red Dragon</em> a success, however, was that he was supported by excellent material and a talented cast that kept up with him. This is not to say that Julianne Moore, Ray Liotta and Gary Oldman (face or no face) aren't talented, but Anthony just leaves them in his dust here. I don't think it's the fault of the cast, honestly, nor of Ridley Scott the director. The writing is where this one falls short, and while there are glimmers of truly interesting conversation thanks to David Mamet, the big weakness that causes people to assault this film for massive damage is its focus. In the other two films I keep raving about, the focus is on character development and interpersonal drama. They're deeply psychological films, every bit as much explorations of the darker corners of the human mind as they are tense murder thrillers. <em>Hannibal</em>, on the other hand, is a gorefest. As it's wearing the dressings of Florence and the mannerisms of Hannibal Lecter, it doesn't have the naked self-indulgent gore of <em>Saw</em> or any other current horror flick you'd care to name, but it certainly likes to slice and dice its way through its running time. It takes no time to develop the new characters that are introduced other than one-note traits that verge on stereotyping, and the established characters unfortunate enough to not be Hannibal Lecter are left flat and uninteresting, mere passengers on the Cannibal Express. I say this is the writing's fault because Julianne Moore has been in several fantastic films carrying more than her own weight, Ray Liotta was stellar in <em>GoodFellas</em> and Gary Oldman is one of the most talented character actors I've ever seen. I don't think they were intending to play characters who are so completely flat, but that's what they were handed. <center><img src="http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j60/bluinkalchemist/hannibal______2.jpg" alt="Courtesy MGM" /><br/><em>Hannibal is considering eating her raw. ...Um.</em></center> There were warning signs from the beginning that this would not end well. Both Jodie Foster and Jonathan Demme, originally foregone conclusions in the continuation of Hannibal's story, walked away from the project due to the direction it takes and the proposed changes to Clarice's character. The funny thing is, Ridley Scott asked Harris if he was married to his original ending, and Harris really wasn't. In fact, the impression one gets is that Harris has little to nothing to do with this project at all. It's unlike <em>Silence of the Lambs</em> and <em>Red Dragon&l