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Gabe / 8 hours ago

Something we’re working on…

Just a little tease.

-Gabe out

Tycho / 13 hours ago

Captain Forial’s finger hovers over the communications circuit, withdraws.  Then it flips out straight, like a retractable antenna, only to retreat again.  Now she’s holding her fist against her mouth.  She would go through the cycle again, maybe, if the channel hadn’t flared open, if a tiny version of her nemesis hadn’t appeared.

“Captain,” says the tiny, glowing light man.

“Yes, Admiral… Neeb,” is her precision engineered reply.  She had discovered that saying Neeb without laughing was as hard as anything she’d done in her life.  And she’d recently secured Captain over a Chiss.  So.

“We’re moving the AT-ATs to Endor, as you saw in my recent communique.  After their tremendous success routing the Rebels on Hoth, I see no reason not to press this advantage on other fronts.”

“Excellent, Admiral.  We await their arrival.” Establish a front.  Then, flank: “Have we considered that there may be environments whose native terrain might deliver even greater results than on…”

“AT-ATs are All Terrain vehicles, Captain,” burps Admiral Neeb.  His voice is fringed with exhaustion; he can’t believe he has to explain this.  “All Terrain.”

From the observation deck, she looks out at Endor’s third moon.  It’s green.  Very, very green.  Except where it’s blue.

“I forget,” she says, her voice thin.  “Does Hoth have any trees?”

He doesn’t answer right away.  She hears him typing something.  And when he comes back:

“No, no trees.”

“Just a big ball of ice, right?”

“Snow and ice.”

She lets that one go.  She has to.  If she swings at the console, she’ll need the medical droid again.  And then, the medical droid will need the repair droid.  Again.

She thinks about moisture for a little while.  Specifically, farming it.  She wonders if it’s too late for a career change.


Gabe / 14 hours ago

Monday Sketchdump!

Here’s this week’s peek at my sketchbook.

-Gabe out


Tycho / 4 days ago

I’m given to exaggeration.  Example: I once said that mice were “way, way smaller than voles,” and got an earful from the Rodent Liberation Front, Friends of the Mouse and the Vole Association.  But I am not exaggerating and am in fact being circumspect with my language when I suggest that redemption arcades are a spectacularly bad investment.

I’m not sure I would have thought the new Daredevil show was possible before I’d seen the new Daredevil.  I thought the same thing about The Flash, I guess.  If I hadn’t been forced to sit on ice and not move for a couple days, I still wouldn’t know that The Flash - against every natural law - is a worthy investment of one’s dwindling lifeforce.  Still can’t watch Arrow.  After the Crossover episode before, I decided I wanted to be an Arrow fan but I only got a couple episodes in.  It’s not for me.  And I’m not saying that I don’t like it!  I’m saying that they made it for someone else, so me not wanting to watch it sorta makes sense.

It’s about the parenthesis, the containment membrane, in either of the last two cases.  They cleverly play around with this idea even in dialogue: The Flash and Arrow are from different towns, and these towns have different rules.  Given the thesis for Flash, they’ve actually constrained themselves substantially.  I don’t feel like Arrow makes sense even according to its own rules.  I’ll dip a toe back in when the seasons ends, maybe I missed something.  But let’s talk about Daredevil.

There is an ongoing debate about whether or not Agents of SHIELD has improved or that those who hurtle in its orbit are suffering from that Stockholm Syndrome that is firmly associated with geek shows.  We want our tastes recognized so badly that we are often willing to endure the lash.  Dollhouse had two - I repeat, two - watchable episodes, and people are still leaning bouquets against its cursed stone.  We allow for qualifiers to scaffold that which is connected with our passions; a show may be “good for a comic show,” which is another way of saying “bad.”

You have Netflix, I feel very confident of this.  If not, you know someone who does.  Here’s what’s going on with Daredevil.  I don’t really have to say much, and after I say it, I’m just going to step back.  Daredevil is a comic show that you can watch without feeling like an asshole.


Tycho / 6 days ago

This is the last strip in this series, at least, I think it is; ol’ Gribbz gets home tomorrow, and it may be that something has occurred to him in the intervening period.  Judging from the response to it and other content in this vein (something my associate alluded to in an earlier post) we, uh… hm.  It seems like there is a huge group of people that nobody is talking to about this stuff, and they really, really want to know it.  Complicating matters is the fact that, in their situation, to ask the question is to fail!  You’re supposed to know it already, and if you don’t, that’s one more thing you’ve fucked up this afternoon.  The only way for you to learn it is for someone else to volunteer it.  Wheels are in motion.

I try not to let my first feeling about something be my only feeling.  My initial read on the Saurids, for example, is that they were amphibious reptilian bipeds.  That isn’t a good example I guess because that all ended up being true.  But, let’s say we were talking about Mortal Kombat Easy Fatality Packs.  These are packs for Mortal Kombat which allows players to execute Fatalities easily.  On the surface.  But is that what they actually do?  Yes.

I think I need to have my, uh… metaphor thing calibrated.

One hearkens back to the environment fighting games hatched in, an agar plate of teenage anguish in which all manner of dark creatures grew, and when I think about a person beating you in the arcade and then putting in another quarter to do a Fatality, or to perform some other literal or figurative emasculation, I try to imagine this person escaping with their life.

Fatalities are not about pressing buttons, and to make them so is what I would describe as a “profound inversion of meaning.”  Fatalities are - in the tradition of Ulysses Everett McGill, Geralt of Rivia, Sherlock Holmes, or Marinus Bicknell Willett - about knowledge.  They are about knowing what buttons to press.  Offering such shortcuts is the true shape of the medium as it stands, and pretending that it’s not, like, a genius move just trades one falsehood for another.  We need there to be a place where we can discuss techniques like this in a measured, technical way free of shaming language - except that men and women of moral vigor shun such practices, and those who take them up are in league with the horned devil.


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