Yearly Archives: 2007

I’d Say It’s Better

I don’t know if there is a gland that secretes some sort of hormone that facilitates writing. My grades in high school Anatomy were barely passing, partially because a huge chunk of our score was based on—I’m not making this up—coloring. It was presented under the guise of education and we were instructed to use colored pencils instead of crayons as a nod to our maturity, but you can slice it however you like, it was still coloring.

Anyway, I don’t ever remember coloring in a “writer’s gland,” but then I didn’t really color in a lot of those stupid sheets. I could have missed a few.

Assuming there is a gland, mine is running fairly dry these days. Whatever that hormone is, literasium or something, I’m kinda tapped out at the moment. Here’s why: I responded to a Craigslist posting that was asking for video game writers. Anyone who has read ironSoap can attest that I write, at length, about a lot of things but very high on that list of subjects is video games. I’ve recently dedicated an entire site to that pursuit in an effort to spare you all the dissections of my game sessions.

By the way, you are welcome.

So I saw the listing and thought, “Yeah, okay.” They gave me a chance to do a two-week trial run based on, I’m only speculating here, the fact that I was the only response they received. I went ahead and worked on the site through the next couple of weeks and it seemed to go pretty well. As promised, they invited me to come on board full time and become a regular contributor.

I don’t have all the details just yet, but the long and short of it is that I contribute 15 articles per week (mostly video game-related news, but I’ve also posted a couple features). They have said they do pay, just not much; the loose wording of the original email was “about enough to cover a broadband internet connection” which I guess means anywhere from $25 to $50 a month.

This really isn’t about making stacks of cash, though. Instead it is a matter of presenting my writing in a more public forum and following the ancient adage of “write what you know.” It turns out I know video games pretty well. I can wait while you recover from the shock. I can’t say at this point what, if anything, will come of this. I do know that having a schedule of how much I need to write each day has been an adjustment. It’s not difficult necessarily; I have written far more than I’m required to often enough for my own various projects. But those are writings born from desire to express, not mandated by responsibility. I’m curious if this transition of writing from pastime to necessity will affect my view of it. So far it hasn’t become a chore, only tapped my reserves a bit, which is why my personal writing locations have fallen relatively silent.

I am picking back up some of the pace, but I have to be cautious and preserve my literasium supplies.

tail -n 4 /brain/var/log/messages

  • Nik and I were discussing our summer movie experiences the other day. We saw some pretty good ones including Stardust which has a very strong Princess Bride vibe (read that as a major compliment) and Ratatouille which Nik said was her favorite Pixar movie to date. We also just caught Harry Potter and The Order of the Phoenix in IMAX 3D. I hadn’t seen an IMAX or a 3D movie since some weird thing they were showing at the local amusement park (Great America, for those keeping track) back when I was probably 12, so I wasn’t sure what to expect. It was very good and did an admirable job with what must have been a beast of a scriptwriting task. The 3D stuff was pretty impressive for the most part, but I actually thought the sound system in the IMAX theater was the star of the show.
  • My co-worker kicked the power cord for my workstation the other day. It occurred to me as my laptop stayed on and was the only thing that wasn’t at risk of losing any unsaved work that there is no reason PC manufacturers can’t include a small 10-minute battery in every power supply. I know there are products that do this but for the most part they are aimed at server administrators, not consumers. I ask, why?
  • It’s wickedly hot here in California, which is normally not so bad since most places I frequent are air-conditioned, as my pale, nearly translucent skin will attest. The exception, naturally, is the room in I work within which contains too little space and far too many heat-generating electronic components. Many of my co-workers wear shorts to work to combat the problem, but as ragtag as I typically appear, I can’t bring myself to eschew actual pants when I arrive somewhere expecting compensation.
  • Perhaps I’ve discussed my Zuma addition previously, I can’t recall. The days when that game consumed my soul are dark and grim and my mind does not revisit them readily. As a defense mechanism this localized amnesia is then somewhat flawed because it allowed me to download the version on Xbox Live Arcade which is half price this weekend only via a special promotion. My thoughts weren’t even filled with pathetic delusional justifications like, “What could one time hurt?” or “I can quit anytime I like.” I simply did it, fool that I am, casting the shreds of my dignity back into that nameless void. The sale went into effect at midnight last night and the dark circles under my eyes today are a shameful testament to just how strong my will can be against this foe.

That’s How You Know

So I was a little bummed yesterday because a game I’ve been looking forward to came out (BioShock) and I had decided I shouldn’t spend the money on it until I get paid on Friday. It was only going to be a few days but still kind of a bummer. But I was happy because I got a copy of Silent Hill 2 in the mail from Goozex which I could play (this will be my third attempt at the game: I’m determined to like it because every other SH game has been excellent but I have yet to find a way to get into this and many, many people claim it is the best of the whole series).

But then, because my wife rocks, she surprised me with a copy of BioShock when I got home.

Yet somewhere late in my work day I had started feeling a little under the weather. Then I started feeling a lot under the weather on the drive home and by the time I got in the house and ate dinner I was feeling pretty rough. It was so bad in fact that after dinner I watched a couple of episodes of Lingo with Nik, as is our custom, and then decided to completely ignore both new games in favor of going to bed early.

It’s pretty telling, I think.

I still didn’t feel that hot this morning but since I’m about to take some time off and they just changed the schedule around to accommodate my preferences, I felt it would be pretty rude to call in sick. So I decided to try and tough it out. Fortunately I’m feeling a little better than I was this morning but I still have that nagging “I’m on the verge of a flu” sensation which I think is mostly being held back by the seven or eight Motrin I popped on my way out the door.

I tease, of course. I took half of one and fell asleep almost instantly in the entryway of our home.

Totally Unrelated

This has nothing to do with anything, but I thought it was really cool.

And Then Things Got Weird

I hang out in an IRC channel for work. Mostly the chatter is work-related, but sometimes it gets… sidetracked. Observe:

17:55:52 Crystal C: phamilton,
18:02:09 phamilton: yes>
18:02:53 Crystal C: phamilton, nevermind, agent was complaining about recent call page not updating…
18:03:06 Crystal C: they had logged out and back in..
18:03:12 Crystal C: the last update was at 1348
18:03:21 Crystal C: but now they all appeared miraculously
18:03:33 phamilton: I have been known to work miracles
18:03:38 phamilton: Occasionally
18:03:43 George S_: lol
18:04:15 Crystal C: phamilton, through osmosis of course :)
18:04:26 phamilton: Ew, gross.
18:04:45 phamilton: That’s not how I roll
18:05:04 phamilton needs dictionary
18:05:18 Crystal C: lol :P
18:06:21 phamilton: http://dictionary.reference.com/search?r=2&q=osmosis
18:06:31 phamilton: No, you’re right
18:06:40 phamilton: That’s *totally* how I roll
18:07:24 Crystal C: Note: Informally, “osmosis” is the process by which information or concepts come to a person without conscious effort: “Living in Paris, he learned French slang by osmosis.”
18:07:25 phamilton: Passing through semipermeable membranes is like my favorite pastime
18:08:14 George S_: say what
18:08:17 George S_: lol
18:08:17 Crystal C: phamilton, ok if you wish work magic the slimy way, thats fine too
18:09:32 phamilton: Slimy Magic… isn’t that a funk band?
18:09:44 phamilton: If not, it should be.
18:09:58 Cathy B__: phamilton i will splain that to them
18:10:05 Crystal C: LOL :D
18:10:56 phamilton: Someone is going to have to splain it to me, I’m not even sure what I’m talking about anymore.
18:11:02 Cathy B__: lol

Now, for the record, I do know what osmosis means in that context, I was only pulling her leg. I just didn’t expect it to get all weird. Also, my use of the tired cliche ‘how I roll’ was completely ironic. Completely, you understand? And yes, my co-workers abuse the ‘LOL’ privilege.

What? You didn’t know it was a privilege? It is.

One that can be revoked.

Behold! Hannah!

Hannah HamiltonMy niece, Hannah is really cute. I realize this picture doesn’t exactly capture the whole truth of that statement, but I love it so much none of the other “classic” baby pictures would suffice once I saw it. I can’t wait to meet her, although I hear she’s got a weirder schedule than I do. I think that means her and I should hang out.

In this picture, I imagine she’s thinking, “What, are you some special kind of stupid? Did you actually go to a stupid university to get that dumb? It’s like you’re a doctor of idiots.”

Just that expression alone makes me feel like her and I, we’re going to get along just fine.

Gaming Weekend

If you’re wondering where I’ve been, it’s probably because you’re not reading Tunnels of Doom, my gaming website. I can’t really fault you if you aren’t reading because you don’t like games, but since most of my time lately has been spent either working—which has involved a significant, if temporary, lifestyle adjustment; and trying to recover from working—which I’ve mostly accomplished by playing and writing about games. Actually, there may be some additional news in that vein coming soon, but I can’t say anything at the moment… mostly for fear of jinxing things.

Anyway, I’ve just posted my most recent game journal which is my weekly wrapup of the games I’m playing and my thoughts on related subjects that I call the Gaming Weekend. Here’s an excerpt:

It’s no secret that I’ve been coveting an HD TV for a couple of years now. But lately it’s starting to become more like a consuming obsession as it has seeped into my dreams and caused thoughts of a dark and sinister nature. A few months back my wife and I were talking about it and I came up with a perfectly reasonable plan which involved paying off an existing debt (which should happen by January) and using the money we’re accustomed to paying toward that debt to save for an HD TV, instead of applying that money back into our general fund. She agreed and it was a perfectly reasonable plan. It was really beyond reasonable: It was—and is—a very good plan. Responsible. Practical. Mature.

But also entirely unbearable. I’ve noted with pained powerlessness that Amazon.com is selling the exact model of HD TV I crave (the Samsung LN-T4661F for those keeping track) for a reasonable $2,000 with free shipping. I can do nothing, as it is not part of the plan to take advantage of fabulous short-term deals. I’ve taken stock of our savings account which contains sufficient funds for not only a new TV but also an HD-capable A/V reciever, speakers and probably a PS3 as well (for the Blu-Ray, obviously). Yet those savings are for the ephemeral “future” and not part of the plan. No matter how I slice it, there is no loophole in the plan, and the plan’s only flaw is that it requires discipline and patience which, normally I have an ample supply of but when matters of superhot technology are concerned, I draw from a pool so dry it cannot even be classified as a desert, they must invent a new type of landscape whose definition consists of “a place where moisture is only an abstract, theoretical concept.”

My only approach now is to try as hard as I can to convince myself that I have done everything there is to do: I’ve exhausted all avenues, I’ve searched for any chink in the armor of the plan and found it impregnable. This can only indicate that the plan is good and foolproof and should be adhered to fastidiously and without reservation.

I didn’t say it was a good approach, I said it was my only approach. It is either that or madness, and I’ve already spent that token, long ago, when the Earth was young.

Trippy

  • I love stuff like this. Recursive!
  • So I’ve been trading games on Goozex quite a bit. One bad thing is that it’s often easier to request that people send you games without their original case and/or packaging. But I like having a case for my games. Fortunately I found this site which in turn directed me to this page on Nintendo’s website where you can get blank, empty DS cases for less than a buck apiece.
  • I also discovered, on that note, that your neighborhood GameStop/EB Games does not sell the translucent green DVD cases that XBox 360 games come in. But if you ask nicely they have a huge supply of them on hand and will probably give you a few of them for free. Slightly less scrupulous employees may need to be greased for a couple of bucks.
  • Hey, lookit some babies eating lemons.
  • There is something woefully disingenuous about a machine that tells me I smell nice.
  • Nothing can forgive me for the fact that I inexplicably love the Go Meat! commercials.
  • Fun with bad translations (note: the ads on that site are a bit dubious).
  • What? No. I mean… I can’t… Buh. Grp. Fi-ie-ie-ie-awt. Ow, my head.

Hope your day is as surreal as mine.

Seven Year Itch

I finished Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows after several days of fearfully rapid reading, concerned for the inevitability that the fate of the beloved characters would somehow be revealed to me ahead of time. Mercifully, I made it through without issue and now wish to discuss. But in the interest of those who have not yet finished and don’t want even a chance of spoiling the end, I’ll use the under-used (on ironSoap, at least) jump to prevent inadvertent plot leaks because I don’t want to be held back from the conversation.

Continue reading

Commence Curmudgeon

It’s been an exceptionally trying several months. I’ll spare you the long version; if curiosity overwhelms you I can be coaxed to reveal the Cliff’s Notes version via email. But as is often the case, more mundane matters have remained active in my frontal lobes and these are the kinds of pointless and uninteresting things that fabricate the cornerstones of our virtual communication.

It occurs to me that I owe you an apology.

  • I’ve come across a glut of “geek shame” lately, manifest in faux book covers for the upcoming Harry Potter book, eye-rolling disdain from video gamers when confronted with the reality of some new downloadable games based on German-style classics like Settlers of Catan and Carcassonne, that sort of thing. What always strikes me as ironic about all of this is that we have people who are posting on Internet forums whose primary topics are video games, Linux operating systems, iPod hacking, HDTV specifications and the like. Judging others or fearing being judged at this stage in the game? Really? You don’t think it’s a little late in the game for that particular concern to be crossing your mind, forum-monkey?
  • The Mac mini that functions as our primary household computer is starting to really annoy me. I can’t quite figure out what the issue is but it runs at a glacial pace with frequent beach-ball pauses. It’s especially apparent when trying to deal with iTunes which happens to be one of the primary apps the machine was intended to run. In terms of clock speed the mini far outpaces my aging iBook but I’ve gone to great lengths to upgrade the RAM in the iBook as high as it will allow and it doesn’t have nearly the same level of problems, even running multiple memory-hungry apps simultaneously. I know people are going to start to wonder about me after my last iPhone rant and now this, but it frustrates me that Apple’s base configurations for new computers are comically lacking in RAM. I mean, a new 1.66 GHz mini with 512 MB of RAM? What are we, neanderthals? And it costs like $250 to upgrade to a reasonable (but still not what I’d call “upgrade level”) amount of 2GB. Comparable Dell machines come standard with 1GB and allow upgrades to 2GB for $100. Listen, I get the whole “Macs cost more” meme, I really do, but this is RAM we’re talking about here. You can find 256MB sticks lying discarded on most sidewalks, so I really don’t think getting a normal amount of it should cost half as much as my system… especially when minis really aren’t supposed to be upgraded by the consumer.
  • I happened to catch an episode of the World Series of Pop Culture yesterday and one of the categories involved the bad-movie awards show The Razzies. The very next category involved the film The Breakfast Club. The announcer, after having the contestants do really well with both remarked, “It seems you know your bad movies and your good ones.” Call me a heretic, but can someone explain to me the appeal of The Breakfast Club? Or John Hughes movies in general? Look, I missed out on those during the 80s when they were I guess influencing everyone else from my generation but I’ve since been subjected to nearly all of them and I just don’t get it. They aren’t that funny, they don’t really touch some chord that strikes at the inner workings of high school life (at least not any high school I ever saw) and they all feature really whiney characters that I want to slap rather than root for. Did I just have to be there at the time or what?
  • Which reminds me: The Goonies is a terrible movie. Sorry folks, it just is, and I think it’s time we acknowledged that fact. Listen, it’s cool: I used to think that Flight of the Navigator was totally radical but I came to my senses eventually. I’m not even saying you can’t still watch it and think about how good you used to believe it was, but stop trying to convince people that there was some cinematic magic going on there. I guarantee you that at some point in the future some kid is going to post on the Internet v4.5 a dissertation on how incredible and influential The Adventures of Sharkboy and Lavagirl in 3-D was back in the halcyon days of 2005. I swear to you, that’s exactly how you sound right now.
  • It’s been like National Bad Service Month for Nik and I lately. Yesterday’s gems included a pair of Target employees who couldn’t answer the yes or no question of, “Do you guys have an Arts & Crafts section?” The reason? They were out (which I can only assume means off their shift or on a break) and, instead of answering, choose instead to take the time to explain that we needed to ask someone from Home and Garden. Also at a sandwich shop I tried to order a Diet Pepsi and had the girl who was manning the register grunt and gesture as she tried to decipher my incredibly complex order because, apparently, she had never before heard or heard of the English language. At one point she mentioned something about bananas. I drank what she gave me but I was very wary of it, fearing some sort of tropical fruit-related cola incident.

Does This Mean They Take Away My Membership?

Man, I simply don’t understand it all. The fervor over the iPhone has culminated into a painful hum that assaults my eardrums and eyesockets no matter where I turn or go. Every website in existence, no matter its base subject matter, has some sort of coverage or commentary or sniveling longing regarding this device; I turn on the TV to escape and CNN has become the 24-hour iPhone network. I change the channel—somewhere safe, like Animal Planet perhaps. In between ubiquitous iPhone commercials they have Bindi Erwin’s precious (precocious? I always get those two confused) mug demonstrating how she’s taught an orangutan to use the simple gestures-based navigation to check her email (kiki@primate.org).

I shudder and retreat to bed, pulling the sheets high over my head despite the summer heat. Outside my window I hear a neighbor greet a passerby on the sidewalk: “Did you get your iPhone yet? Have you seen the visual voicemail?” They then squeal and giggle and I imagine they have drawn close together, slapping at each other’s hands and stamping their feet in spastic glee before smoothing their brylcreem’d hair and readjusting their power ties. Death does not spontaneously strike to relieve me.

The frustrating thing is that I’m usually right there with them: This is Apple after all, and my love for the company and their smooth industrial design contours is well known throughout the land. Make no mistake, among the generic media white noise directed at me only because I belong to the mercurial entity known as the public there has been a steady flux of pointed questions which all orbit the central query: “So. Are you getting an iPhone?” The assumption here is that my Apple devotion makes this a given and they direct their question to me in a wary, steeled manner that indicates they fully expect a sermon which elucidates point-by-point the wonders of an Apple-branded mobile phone.

They get a sermon, all right, and you are now subject to a digital representation of its finer points, so it’s not really what they expect. I guess I like to keep people guessing.

I, of course, realize the irony in adding to the din about this device with my own naysaying. But my status as a “hater” is not one I relish. Would that I simply drank the Kool-Aid like a typical Apple consumer, hands cupped over ears and nonsense pouring loudly from my vocal cords to mask the cries of those who would take my place. I find I’m even arguing with myself on occasion. “For all it’s shortcomings, it’s still revision number one,” I say, ignoring the startled looks from others in line at the bank who cannot discern whom I’m directing my comments toward. “Apple is known for underwhelming first gen devices. Maybe by this time next year you’ll sing a different song.” I find myself pleased that I’ve quickly moved to the front of the line, but dismayed that all windows seem suddenly devoid of tellers. Strange, that.

But even with Apple’s predictable track record, I still don’t find myself getting very excited by the prospect of a cell phone. I can see the appeal in a convergent device, that’s for sure. But consider the Cingular 8525 for a moment. WiFi, 2 megapixel camera, full qwerty keyboard, bluetooth, large and spacious screen: Check, check and check some more. So far we’re close in feature list to the iPhone. Then there’s the 3G, expandable micro SD slot and integrated flash for the camera which, you may note, are all things that the iPhone lacks. Sure, it doesn’t have the spiffy touchscreen (it does have a cool slide-out keyboard thing happening, though) and it lacks the hefty hard drive for all that music-playing joy.

But then again, it’s only $300 which means I could buy it, an 8GB iPod nano ($250) and a 1 GB micro SD card to store extra stuff like Windows Mobile apps (did I mention the iPhone has no third-party application support outside of browser-based ones?) and still save $35 compared to the iPhone. Since you can’t use your iPod songs as ringtones on the iPhone anyway, I’m not losing any features there and from what I understand I might actually be able to check my email on the 8525 without hucking it against the wall.

Yes, I know, the comparisons sound remarkably like the ones people make when Apple people (like myself, let’s not forget) start talking about OSX. Or the iPod. Apple fans love to wail about the user experience: “Interface is king!” We cry, trying to hide our cracking voices underneath a muffled cough. I certainly don’t want to undermine the arguments I myself have made in the past but in this case I just don’t see that Apple is doing what Apple does best. Touch screens? Really?

Really?

Is there something fundamentally broken about the precision of the well-used stylus? Is the vaunted iPod click wheel somehow already obsolete? Have we already grown weary of the arcane and ancient button with tactile feedback? Are these relics truly ready to be put out to pasture? Perhaps you don’t have to navigate the world with my stubby and greasy fingers, worn slick from years of nearly constant application of Kleenex to nose to stem the tide of my allergy-collecting nasal passages (yes, the collection has grown quite large, thank you for asking!) but primitive though I may be, I still like interacting even with abstractions like electronic interfaces via some tool. I hope the 8525 can withstand the abuse of being dragged, along with my knuckles, along the ground.

Naturally the iPhone does do something… uh, righter than the competition and that is provide a robust and long-lasting battery solution. Judging solely on the performance of my once-awesome and now hopelessly mundane RAZR, plugging a phone in once every two days sounds, when you say it out loud, like a pittance of a chore—it very nearly relinquishes its chore status when you put it that way. But I assure you that is only the case if it were possible to apply some degree of leeway to that requirement. When you use your cell phone as your primary (read: sole) means of voice communication, a dead phone is an affront to your ability to function in society. I don’t know why exactly this is so. But faced with the prospect of severance from humanity or eating lunch, I often find myself racing home with my stomach growling like that dog in Cujo, eyes flitting down to the blinking battery indicator on my phone, glowing an angry red (also like the eyes of the dog in Cujo) and marking the countdown to my dissolution as a modern person. There is no sustenance here save at the business end of a grounded, three-prong electrical outlet.

Is a nine-hour battery worth the media blitz that haunts my nightmares?

Is there any chance that I won’t, at some distant point in the future, own an iPhone and find myself filled with shame for the words I’ve written today?

No. And no.

Or, as an Alternative, Your Movie is Garbage

I’ve talked about horror movies before and I even reacted to my viewing of the original Hostel with a heated rant. I didn’t mention the movie by name at the time, but that’s what I had just seen that prompted the post. And you know, since that time I haven’t watched a lot of the trash that’s being peddled as “horror” but which is just graphic torture and I’ve been much happier for it. I miss good horror movies (okay, that’s a strange phrase in itself but let’s not quibble over the limitations of language at the moment), but whatever. I can always catch monster pictures on Netflix or wherever.

So anyway, it’s no surprise that I had less than zero interest in the sequel to Hostel (cleverly titled Hostel: Part II). I literally loathed the first with its utter absence of subtlety or sense of humor, its moronic excuse for suspense and its urban-legend-like attempt to prey on American arrogance. Stand in line for a sequel? Not a chance.

Well it turns out the movie isn’t doing so well. So writer/director Eli Roth starts whining on his blog about piracy, the movie industry’s lack of support for the R-rated horror film and how he’s going to be all busy so his (ahem) fans should surge into theaters to see it so it gets the support he so obviously deserves while they still have a chance to experience his work.

I have a thought. Maybe—and I’m going out on a limb here—your movie just plain ol’ sucks? Ever consider that?

Now, I haven’t seen it (nor am I going to… I told you before, I’m done with this kind of horror movie) so I can’t really say one way or the other, but a lot of reviews have stated that the movie is basically a rehash of the first, which for once is in keeping with the tradition of horror movies. But whether it is or isn’t, I doubt they’d mix up the formula much. This is Hollywood, after all, and they aren’t known for breaking new ground very often and when it comes to a sequel their willingness to try something new is laughable… almost oxymoronic considering what a sequel really is. But I think we can safely assume that it’s at least similar.

Roth gripes that it’s all piracy that makes his movie unpopular because people are watching an unfinished cut online instead of paying to see it in the theaters. I find that highly unlikely, but let’s assume for a minute that there were hordes of people watching the film without any music or post-production effects: It stands to reason that if the movie were unfinished but really good, people who had enough interest in it to download it would think, “I gotta go see the final version!” Not to mention that he’s citing the same ol’ argument that people who pirate stuff are those who would have otherwise paid to see it which is difficult to prove at best. I submit that people who download stuff are those who would maybe, someday have spent money on it but are for the time being only really interested in getting a peek and seeing if it’s worth further investment.

But okay, let’s ignore the reviews and let’s grant Roth that his movie is suffering because of (sigh) piracy on the Internet. Let’s say he has the very best torture-horror movie ever. Isn’t it possible that there are a lot of people like me—people who might even describe themselves as fans of horror movies—who saw the first one (it did make a good amount of money) but decided, based on that movie, that either a) They weren’t into that kind of thing or b) Roth himself isn’t the gift to splatter pictures that he thinks he is? Wouldn’t that explain the lackluster box office numbers just as well as these Internet rogues with their copies of Bittorrent?

And I’m sorry but the whole “movie industry hates R-rated horror movies” is such junk that I’m surprised it isn’t a scene in one of Roth’s illustrious films. Listen to me carefully, those who perceive Hollywood persecution of your favored style or subgenre: Hollywood doesn’t care one iota about your label. You know what Hollywood cares about? Money. That’s it. It’s not a secret, it’s not some cabal of overlords ruling against some subset of motion pictures or another in secret entertainment tribunals, it’s just the bottom line. So—stay with me here, Mr. Roth, this is going to be important for your career—when the people don’t like something (and by people I mean the movie-going public; the audience), Hollywood doesn’t like something.

Fortunately! There is a remedy, and it’s remarkably simple.

Don’t make crappy movies.

Or, I guess in this case, don’t make crappy movies more than once. People are weird, you know? They’ll see something different or new just to be a part of the water cooler conversation. I’m guessing that’s all Hostel was: Water cooler conversation. Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Roth, did you believe your own hype, that you had made some kind of dawn-of-a-new-era cinematic masterpiece? No, I think you made something that surprised some people and got them talking. But then a second went by and their collective attention span turned to American Idol or Brangelina or the new Spider-Man movie or whatever. So you came back to a collective “meh?”

Yeah, that sounds about right.

Oh Yeah?

Apparently this is the explanation behind the bizarre “Peter can’t fly himself to safety” aspect of the Heroes season finale.

Listen, Tim: “Suspension of disbelief” is when we accept that there are people with genetic mutations that allow them to pass through walls and shoot radioactive fire from their hands. It is not when you cheat and change the rules you made up because you want something to happen that isn’t necessary to your show’s internal logic.

Stupid.

Heroes and Goats

Topic the first: Doug Wilson seems to be waffling a bit on what to do about his team’s embarrassing exit from the post season. At least he’s not all sunshine and roses over Ron Wilson’s performance, so that’s one good thing. But I was serious in my rant against Ron: I think he’s got to shoulder the responsibility for not lighting the fire in the Detroit series. People kind of overlooked his role in the loss to Edmonton last year but it was quite clear that this roster wasn’t missing much in the way of talent and depth so if a team like that slides pitifully from the playoffs you have no choice but to look at the coaching staff and say, “Dude. What happened?”

The second topic is Heroes, so if you don’t wish to be spoiled as to the show or, more specifically, the season finale then you may want to quit reading now.

So, some people hated the finale. I didn’t hate it exactly, but I understand part of the sentiment. It’s tough to really express why the last episode was such a let down when almost everything leading up to it was so very good. But I knew there was trouble when they took a commercial break at 8:50 pm and they still hadn’t gotten to the climactic confrontation we all knew was coming.

I think the main problem was that for the first time I felt like the writers cheated, and they did so in what should have been the most pivotal scene in the whole season. TVAddict mentions the implausibility of how the fight with Sylar went down and those gripes are very valid. Sylar and Peter both seemed to conveniently find and lose powers as suited the writers which is a good way to annoy a loyal audience. I’m not trying to make this as inflammatory as it may sound, but this is part of why Lost is suffering from backlash: Because they conveniently ignore plot elements that they introduced whenever it suits them. Episodic shows demand that their writers not be lazy and resort to copping out of inconvenient story elements just because they don’t suit what they’re trying to do presently.

I do think the TVAddict was flat wrong with a lot of complaints, and was taken appropriately to task in the comments on that post. But the main points that didn’t sit well with me were as follows:

  • Peter can fly. We’ve already established plainly that he actually possesses the powers he absorbs and requires no proximity, so Nathan’s last-minute heroics should have been unnecessary. Some have suggested that Peter can’t use more than one power at a time and Ted’s radioactive surge was taking up his “power slot.” That’s a fairly flimsy explanation since he seemed to be both invisible and heal himself when Claude threw him off the roof earlier, at least that’s what Isaac’s painting indicated but we can’t really tell because the show used the device of actually showing the invisible characters for the benefit of the audience so it’s not really clear (hurr…) one way or the other. In any case, it wasn’t explained and without some kind of clarification Nathan’s heroics came across as kind of idiotic instead, undermining what I gathered was supposed to be a key moment for the character.
  • All of which is kind of moot when you consider that it was never explained why Peter was occasionally able to control Ted’s powers. And I don’t mean it wasn’t adequately explained, I mean that unless I missed a key scene (there was about two minutes at the beginning of Chapter 22 that I missed due to a TiVo mishap, I suppose it could have been there but I doubt it) it was never explained at all. Especially since none of the other powers he absorbed went wildly out of his control like that; Peter’s ability seemed in fact to be far superior to Sylar’s in that he didn’t need an understanding of a power’s function in order to utilize it. He certainly didn’t consciously work to figure out how to use Claire’s healing ability nor did he have any problem un-invisible-izing when he wanted. That Ted’s power seemed so volatile—and only to Peter as well; note that Sylar never seemed to struggle with it—was lazy work on the part of the writers.
  • Nathan’s change of heart was terribly executed. I recognize that it probably seemed more dramatic on paper to have him show up out of the blue like that, but it did several things: It made him seem like an inconsistent character. Pardon my geek, but if this were a scenario in a Heroes role-playing session and I was acting as GM, I’d dock the player controlling Nathan experience points for acting out of character. What, up until that very moment, suggested that he would a) Turn his back on The Plan at the last moment, b) Leave behind his wife and kids, c) Sacrifice himself hours after having achieved his dream of being elected to congress? Especially when—and I could be wrong about this, I’d have to watch it again to know for sure—I think that he was operating under the impression that Sylar was the bomb, not Peter. He would have had no reason to get involved or even show up in the plaza.
  • I recognize this is a comic book-esque show so you can’t take these things for granted but I assume we’re to believe Peter and Nathan are dead. This poses a problem with the show going forward in that we’ve seen how their mother is involved in the machinations but she’s not a very good character by herself and was only mostly tolerable as kind of the devil on Nathan’s shoulder to Peter’s angel. The familial connection is now limited to Claire and I don’t see Claire spending any more time with her since she’s been reunited with Bennett. Her presence on the show has the potential to be unwelcome next season. What I’m getting at is that I sure hope one of them survived. Fortunately, if the alternate future episode is any indication, Peter can live through the blast.
  • While we’re on the topic of living and dying, I’m wishing that Sylar would have just kicked the bucket. They nicely set up next season’s villain so I’m not sure why they need him around. Also, DL has worn out his welcome and I’m a bit disappointed that he seemed to pull through.
  • They wasted too much time with Hiro’s training. And even with all of that, it still felt forced and weak.
  • The scene with Peter’s flashback/dream/whatever that included the old man from earlier in the season was… clumsy to say the least. What exactly was happening there? Why was it significant? Why the whole John Lennon vibe? And why oh why can’t there be at least one character on the show who is not either a superhero or somehow tangled up in the conspiracy? Isn’t anyone in this world just normal? I guess the only ones were Simone and Ando, but she’s dead now and he seems to have been kind of written out. Figures.

But, I’m not all disappointment and angst. There were some good parts to the finale:

  • The foreshadowing of the next bad guy I mentioned was fantastic and appropriately creepy. Granted, that little girl is kind of creepy anyway with her big gums and freakishly small teeth, but it was a well-written scene that worked on every level.
  • I guess Niki and Jessica merged finally? At any rate Niki used the super strength and they seem to be coming to a sort of balance. It makes her character less annoying.
  • Some people (like TVAddict) disliked the reveal for HRG’s first name. Not me, I thought it was wonderfully done and a somehow appropriate name. The problem with leaving it mysterious is that stuff like that ends up getting really awkward the longer the character remains an integral part of the show. Look at some of the scenes with the Cigarette Smoking Man in the X-Files once he’s become a major character and you’ll see what I mean.

So the end result is a phenomenal season of TV with a sort of disappointing climax. I guess that makes the entire first season “pretty good”? I dunno, I still like the show and I’ll definitely be back in the fall, but I kind of hope they get a lot of flak for how they handled this important piece of the puzzle so they know next year that a great set up with a lame payoff equals grouchy fans.

Perhaps on the upside, I’m not that excited about the “Generations” premise to season two so maybe it will have just an okay set up but a really spectacular climax. Would I like that better? Hm. I don’t know. Why can’t the whole thing be awesome?

Stupid TV.

The Usual Hybernation

Following the Sharks’ annual ouster from the playoffs I usually get kind of quiet around here. I’m sure part of it has to do with all the Sharks talk that precedes their inevitable failure leaving little more to say once they finally succumb to their own mediocrity. Plus, I tend to make it a point to do other stuff besides think about sports once I’ve been let down once again and coming back to the site is a harsh reminder of the hope and promise I held a few short weeks ago.

But life goes on and I haven’t been entirely silent since I’ve been filling up my video game journal these last few weeks. I suppose it makes no sense to have a separate place to talk about video games and not sports since I’d guess there are just as many people who couldn’t care less about the Sharks as there are people who couldn’t care less about XBox or whatever. Let’s face it, most of what I’m interested in writing about is of no interest to anyone, anywhere, ever. Perhaps I should just accept that and recognize the futility of trying to cater to a readership which, frankly, doesn’t exist.

At least in this case I’ve already started keeping ’em separated so there’s no sense stopping now. I’m just saying.

While I wouldn’t call my general lack of postiness a problem exactly, it does bely a general apathy toward the kind of daily updates that are in theory the point of ironsoap.org. Even then, apathy isn’t exactly the right word. I don’t want to get all meta the way I used to with existential angst over the deeper meaning of the blog or whatever. All I’m saying is that I have things I want to relate and stories I might be interested in telling but there is a curious clash between three distinct desires: One is the desire to chronicle myself as has been the historical focus of this site. Two is the intention of writing in some sort of functional capacity, be it creating a novel or writing for other outlets (paid or unpaid). Three is the basic inclination to save thoughts and ideas for use in actual conversation with other humans.

Here’s what I mean: If I write down the little thoughts and theories that occur to me regularly and post them here, I find that I feel discussing them in person with people is somewhat redundant. Are they simply being polite and letting me carry on when they’ve already read the Cliff’s Notes version online? Meanwhile, if I spend the time I have writing these blog entries is that actively preventing me from using my “writing time” for projects that might better benefit me or, ultimately, be more satisfying from a creative standpoint? In either case, my desire to have a repository where I can keep some of the random ideas I come up with is steadfast and maybe useful to others? It’s difficult to separate oneself from it enough to come up with any useful conclusions.

The exacerbating factor is that I’m not really digging on my “day” job with the kind of enthusiasm I’d hoped for. Whenever this is the case I tend to romanticize the act of creating (especially writing) to an unhealthy degree and feel that if I just had that one break I could be ridiculously happy tapping away my thoughts and ideas for a living. Logically I know this is a zillion to one chance and rife with pitfalls and hardships along the way which, compared to my generally comfortable existence, isn’t nearly as attractive as it seems. Not to mention the fact that while I enjoy it immensely, I’m aware of my considerable shortcomings regarding the skill of writing. And no, I’m not fishing for compliments so don’t bother.

In fact—and I’m going to be more honest about my intentions here than I usually am—I confess that part of my melancholy regarding the site is that it isn’t likely to merit compliments were I to fish for them anyway. Nor does it merit debate when I wax controversial. Nor does it seem to merit much at all. I guess I was told often enough as a youngster that I was a talented writer that I started to feel that if I just put writing out there, whatever it was, people would recognize said talent and come flocking for more. I had daydreams of phantom phone calls from publishing houses and news journals asking—no, begging for my services. That my “audience” consists entirely of a handful of old friends and my family and has remained so for five years of pretty consistent updating has been an unmistakable indication that my “talent” either does not exist or exists at a level indiscernible from the millions of others who probably had the exact same fantasy.

On any given day I’m fine with this: Complaints from someone as blessed as I must sound like the pestering whine of a mosquito in the ear. Please, swat me away. However the examination of this phenomena (or lack of any phenomena I suppose) reveals that the issue lies in the fundamental assumptions: Namely, I’m not a remarkable writer and I probably don’t really have anything all that interesting to say.

Which leads back to the earlier issue which is that maybe the problem is the blog gets in my way. Maybe I need to work harder on more formal writings, maybe I need to sever the ties with the loose-format, disposable post dashed off in a few minutes of downtime. Perhaps I just need to stop using writing time to get introspective about sports teams or video games. Or, maybe it’s just a silly pipe dream anyway and what I should be doing is paying more attention to my work instead of feeding wild flights of fancy about jobs I’m woefully unqualified for.

Anyway, it’s unlikely to matter as I’ll forget all about my current sour mood in time and go back to cheerful obscurity as I intensely debate the merits of the new Transformers movie or something to my audience of three. Whatever the case, thanks for sticking with me. I don’t say it enough, but I’m honored you care enough to let me bother you now and then. Sorry I can’t make it more worth your while.

This is the End, My Friend

At first I was a frothing mass of pure vitriol; unbridled anger. Every single thing I was afraid of had come to pass and Yet Another Disappointing Season had come to a bitter end.

But as I seethed I made my way upstairs to shave my playoff beard, the itchy uncomfortable thing that was making the onset of summer less than welcome. Its presence was a show of solidarity. Being bald, my primary hairstyle is shaven but a shaved head and full beard is an odd combo so I had attended to neither region since the day before the Sharks clinched a playoff berth late in the season.

Something odd happened then. As tufts of my scraggly beard and patchy hair tumbled away into the trash bin, so did my rage. A calm, familiar sense of resignation was left beneath the sheen of excess human fur. Yes, we’ve been here before. Many times. Many, many times indeed.

The primary difference this year is that instead of lobbing hatred at Chris “Cheap Shot” Pronger or some random zebra, my frustration was all internal to the team. My team. I could pick out a handful of players who I felt were without much fault but I was surprised to find my resentment was, for once, all centered on the group as a whole because honestly I felt that more than anything they just dropped the ball. They rolled over, they let it get away… they simply didn’t want it. But I did. I wanted it. For a short time I had let myself believe it could happen, this time. This year.

How silly, of course. This is the Bay Area. This is never The Year. But I forgot that, and now I was fighting bitterness. The calm that grew as I showered the bits of hair from my shoulders and then moved to lather my face with foam and scrape away over a month’s worth of remaining stubble perhaps grew in tandem with the realization that I was, for the most part, mad at myself for caring. For holding out hope that was un-earned. What, other than a pretty good regular season, was the basis for my dream of watching the Sharks in the Finals? Expert analysis from talking heads who have fewer functioning cognitive abilities than some dust mites I’ve known? A single series against a team they beat with a deeply flawed execution, especially on the critical special teams?

No, the signs were there. This was not The Year. Had they managed to stumble into a victory over the Red Wings the hated Ducks with their despised defenseman would have made short work of them. And so my hostility was directed at myself for slipping into uncharacteristic optimism, even if only in my mind. But the realization had a healing effect. Of course they lost. Why be grouchy? It was as is always expected: No matter what else, the teams I want to win will always find a way to lose. So it goes.

The time for reflection and specifically directed anger is not now. Now is the time to say congratulations to the Red Wings: They certainly earned it. Hasek was excellent, and deserves kudos for his performance. They clearly wanted it more, even if their idiot fans don’t deserve it. You can’t hold that against the team. I hope they go on to oust the Ducks, just because I really do hate the Ducks.

My dad has a theory that you can’t feel too badly if you lose to the team that ends up winning it all. After all, they are the best so perhaps there is some consolation in thinking you might have been second best. Sometimes that line of thinking helps. Not this time. I do want the Wings to make it to the Finals, but I hope they’re soundly trounced there by Buffalo. Vengeful? Maybe.

But sue me, my team just got booted from the post season. I have a right to a little bit of angst.