Movie Report: Payback (1999)

Book coverAfter watching Shanghai Noon a couple of weeks ago, I had to go back and watch this movie again to see how many times Lucy Liu said, “Hubba hubba.” Ah, gentle reader, I was mistaken: She says, “Hubba hubba hubba” only once, so it was not her preferred phrase, and she was actually only echoing another character who said it more frequently.

So this is a Parker film based on a book by Richard Stark (Donald E. Westlake), but he did not want any films to use the name Parker when he was alive, so the main character in this film is Porter, and he’s a thief who steals from other thieves. The film starts after Porter and an associate, Val (he of the “hubba hubba hubba”), rob a Chinese triad of a payout that Val said was going to be $300,000, but it turns out that Val was lying, and Val wanted the entire $140,000 to buy himself back into a criminal syndicate–and he convinced Porter’s wife to shoot Porter, whom she thought was having an affair with a prostitute. So the film begins with a back-alley doctor removing the bullets from Porter and his vowing to get his share of the money back.

So Porter returns to the city, commits some petty crimes, and begins climbing the ladder to recover his money. Val has turned it over to “the syndicate,” so Porter has to deal with them as he ascends to the levels where someone can give him his cut of the cash. Meanwhile, a couple of corrupt policemen stand him up and threaten him with arrest or worse if he doesn’t turn the money over to them when he recovers it. And the syndicate, although it has told him that he’s crazy to try to recoup the $130,000 that they think Porter wants–and he corrects them that he only wants his share. The aforementioned Lucy Liu plays a sadomasochistic prostitute whose best customer, maybe, is Val and who is connected to the gang that Val and Porter ripped off–whom Val points at Porter so they can kill him for him.

At any rate, the whole Parker thing was he had a code that he only stole from bad people, or at least it worked out that way (from what I remember of the books). Aside from a couple of petty crimes at the film’s beginning, that holds true. And he has a soft spot for the prostitute whose picture with Porter spurred the whole movie (taken before he was married, we are told eventually), so that kind of humanizes him. He’s not the worst villain of the lot, for sure.

So I have enjoyed the movie at least thrice now (in the theaters, when I got the DVD, and just now, but I might have seen it another time or two in the last 25 years). And since we looked at Deborah Kara Unger (who played Porter’s wife briefly) when we talked about Highlander: The Final Dimension and we looked about Lucy Liu when we recently reviewed Shanghai Noon, I guess we should take a look at Maria Bello who plays the prostitute upon whom Porter is sweet.

Continue reading “Movie Report: Payback (1999)”

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I Am Not Sure “Traditional” Is The Word You’re Looking For

Young men leaving traditional churches for ‘masculine’ Orthodox Christianity in droves:

As more and more Protestant churches unfurl Pride flags and Black Lives Matter banners in front of their gates, young men are trending toward more traditional forms of worship.

A survey of Orthodox churches around the country found that parishes saw a 78% increase in converts in 2022, compared with pre-pandemic levels in 2019. And while historically men and women converted in equal numbers, vastly more men have joined the church since 2020.

Pop Protestantism, perhaps. But such are not ‘traditional’ in any sense of the word.

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Book Report: Hannah’s Hope by Karen Kingsbury (2005)

Book coverSo after reading Gideon’s Gift and Sarah’s Song, of course I ploughed right into this book simply so I could spell plough the British way yet again. Also, what better time to finish the set than when rushing through them all at once (Heigh, Brian, how’s the ‘Bucky and the Lukefahr Ladies’ series coming? you ask, and I salute you for your British spellings as well as I avoid the question).

This book is better than the previously mentioned books because they don’t have a wrapper prologue nor, really, a bifurcated story, although some of it is told in flashback, but not a whole lot. The titular Hannah is a freshman in an exclusive high school in Washington, D.C., who keeps very busy with extracurricular activities because her parents are away for most of the year–her father, a former Senator, is the ambassador to Sweden and her mother is quite the social butterfly. Hannah lives with her maternal grandmother in a big house and does not have much in terms of companionship outside of those activities. Her driver, though, prays for Hannah all the time, and when he asks her for what he should pray for, she asks for a Christmas miracle–and later, when her parents tell her they won’t be home for Christmas, she narrows her miracle into hoping her parents will be home for Christmas. To take her mind off of the daughter’s loneliness and to keep her from pestering them during the party season in Sweden, the mother reveals a secret: the ambassador is not her real dad–the mother had been with a surfer type out in California in her salad days before returning home with a 4-year-old daughter to marry into her position in society. So Hannah reaches out to Congressmen and the press to help find her father who enlisted in the Army a decade ago and might be in Iraq. He is, but he’s going on One Last Mission, a dangerous one, because the other helicopter pilots have wives and families. So there’s a bit of tension as to whether he will Make It Home Alive, much less in time for Christmas (and the mother jets back from Sweden to quell the noise her daughter has made).

So it was a more straightforward narrative without the double-effect, the half-the-story-in-flashback, method used by the other two books I read. It did have some head scratchers that made me go, “Really?” like the fact that the mother brought the box of mementoes from her California fling to Sweden with her instead of leaving it in the mansion which was their pied-à-terre in the United States–ah, well, it served to move the plot, such as it was, along.

The best of the three I read and more on par with a traditional Christmas novel. No real unreal ending where the mother and the biological father rediscover their passion for one another–that would be a different kind of book, ainna?–but still the best of the lot (unless the second in the series was the best).

So now I have most of the month of December left. Will I read a Christmas novel by a different author? Can I even find one in the stacks even though I stock up on them through the year? Stay tuned!

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Book Report: Sarah’s Song by Karen Kingsbury (2004)

Book coverAfter I read Gideon’s Gift, I was a bit divided over whether to plow through the other two volumes that I own in the Red Gloves series (which only has four books in it, so I have 75% of the whole series). I mean, yeah, they’re short and quick reads, but Gideon’s Hope was just a touch off, even for a Christmas book. Still, I finished Walden in the interim (which I suppose I could write up even though I cannot count it as a complete book as the version I read is in a three book omnibus edition) and have plucked at a couple of other books, but I picked up this book for a single-night read.

And because I thought Gideon’s Gift was a bit….off, I went into it looking for things that were wrong. Which I found, even if they weren’t wrong.

The book has a similar double-story going on and a bit of a contrived frame. An elderly woman has held on for one more Christmas so that she can share her special story (and song) with someone who needs it. She is Sarah, obv., and a worker in her old folks home, Beth, is the one who needs it. Beth has decided to leave her husband because…. well, the modern “because,” which is because she wants to get her groove back, to eat, pray, love, and just because she’s not living her best life with her husband. In short, she’s bored. But she agrees to not leave until after Christmas so as to not ruin the holiday for their little girl. So Sarah tells her the story of her youth, her love, and her song: She loved a local boy in her hometown, but she wanted bigger things, to be a singer, so she went off to Nashville, works as a secretary/receptionist at a recording label while trying to make it, got picked up by a womanizing country star who takes her on tour with promises of making her a star, but he’s not faithful to her, so she returns home only to find the boy has moved on, so she writes a song which captures her feelings for him which her Nashville bosses discover and make a hit, and he hears it on the radio and comes back to their hometown, and they live happily for five plus decades. After she finishes the story and sings the song for Beth, she gives Beth the red gloves and dies like Yoda. And Beth reconciles with her husband. Happy ending! Except, I suppose, for Sarah, although I guess she goes to heaven to be with her husband after fulfilling her last mission on earth.

Ah, twee.

The first anachronism I found was in 1940, teens (Sarah and her friend) were listening to records in their bedroom. That seems a little early for that particular trope. Also, the girl goes to Nashville in 1940 for a “record deal” which seems a little early for that particular development as well. And as she is struggling in Nashville, she is calling her parents long-distance twice a week. C’mon, man. In 1940, inexpensive apartments did not have telephones in them, and even in the 1980s, we weren’t calling someone long distance twice a week. That was expensive. Some of us can remember it. One presumes that many of the people who read Karen Kingsbury novels would know it, too, if they stopped to think of it.

But probably this book is not designed for thinking. It’s designed for quickly reading and feeling, and I’ve quickly read it and felt that I was not really the target audience. Not for any Christmas novel, actually, but yet I read them around this time of year when I can find them in the stacks.

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Enumeration

It’s like the twelve days of Christmas, except:

2: Number of lamps my mother-in-law sent over because they weren’t working.
1: Number of lamps more broken than when they were received.
1: Number of electric shocks received (so far).
0: Number of lamps repaired.

They’re old touch lamps, and they were not working (as reported to me). I took one out and put a bulb in it. It was permanently on, apparently. So, no problem. I would just replace the socket with a turn switch socket.

Except! The socket is not easily interchangeable; the base and insulation sleeve of the existing lamp are designed for a lamp which does not have a switch, and the base attached to the threaded tube doesn’t seem to come off easily. When I gripped it with a pliers to turn it to try to loosen it, I broke the base attached to the lamp. Almost enough to fit the turning switch into it, but not quite.

So what to do?

Leave it partially assembled on my work bench for months or years is the way to bet.

By the way, the design above is available for purchase along with many other designs you can see on Nico Sez. They make great Christmas gifts, I hope, as everyone is getting a Nico Sez shirt for Christmas.

UPDATE: Uncharacteristically for me, after walking off a bit of frustration, I went back and determined that the base, broken as it was had to unscrew from the threaded tube somehow. So I gripped it with the pliers, a couple of different pairs, actually, and it broke off until I managed to actually break off the threaded part as well. The base from the replacement socket threaded right on, and within minutes I had the socket wired up and I’d similarly taken apart the other lamp, broken off the other base, and replaced its socket as well.

Sometimes, you have to break something to fix it. Advice I need to remember sometimes along with what would a professional do? (which is often to make additional cuts or holes in the wall to make things easier trusting in their ability to patch drywall or make those fixes in addition to whatever I’m trying vainly to fix without the additional steps).

When I announced my triumph to my beautiful wife, she said her mother would have wanted the touch functionality repaired, as she would have a hard time bending and turning the switch by the bulb. Oh. Well, I guess we have two new lamps for Christmas.

UPDATE 2: Moments later, Facebook weighs in with its assessment of my electrical repair skills:

Thanks, I need that vote of confidence from dubious algorithms.

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Good Media Hunting, Saturday, November 30, 2024: A Thrift Store in Berryville, Arkansas

Late this morning, we ventured down to Berryville, Arkansas, to meet my oldest son’s girlfriend’s family. So of course I wanted to stop by the It’s a Mystery BookStore again (we visited it three and a half years ago). But it was closed for the week as the proprietrix was visiting family. So we had an hour to kill before lunch, so we had a cup of coffee and an appetizer at the Ozark Cafe (which might be the only place in Berryville that takes credit cards).

As the weather was nice, we took a little stroll around the square. We stopped in a gift shop on Springfield Street (strangely enough, it was on the highway that kinda sorta went in Springfield’s direction, so it might have been named for the place it went like Appleton, Fond du Lac, Beloit, and other roads in Wisconsin are named). It was odd: they started calling this “Small Business Saturday,” but very few of the small businesses in Berryville were open.

We also stopped in at a thrift shop across the street from It’s a Mystery, and it had books and other media. I bought a couple of records, and my beautiful wife bought a couple of books.

I got four videocassettes:

  • The Patriot starring Mel Gibson so I can fully revisit the fin de siècle Mel Gibson movies.
  • Paris Holiday, a Bob Hope comedy. Weird that I’m seeing so many of them in the wild this year (I bought a couple others in June.
  • Grumpier Old Men, which I can watch since I saw the first one almost a year ago exactly. And this one has Sophia Loren.
  • Sink the Bismarck which does not have an exclamation point, unlike the book.

I also got three records:

  • Sea of Dreams by Nelson Riddle. I might have bought it for the cover alone, but it is Nelson Riddle.
  • The Last Dance… for Lovers Only by Jackie Gleason. The last time I was in Berryville, I bought some Jackie Gleason on CD. It might become a personal tradition.
  • Hurðaskellir & Stúfur Staðnir Að Verki by Magnús Ólafsson + Þorgeir Ástvaldsson + Laddi + Bryndís Schram. My first Christmas album in Icelandic. And probably the only, although who knows? I have recently acquired (or actually, I just unboxed) a couple of German language Christmas albums from my mother-in-law. So who can say if I’ll ever come up with another collection of hymns or something.

The thrift store did not take credit cards, but that was okay as the total was like seven dollars, and as it was Berryville, I brought some cash.

Which turned out to be a good thing, as the Italian restaurant where we met the potential future in-laws did not take credit cards, either.

I am absolutely not kidding about carrying cash in Berryville. One of five places we’ve visited have taken credit cards. Maybe two of six, as it did not come up at the gift shop.

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And Chickens

Authorities would have been okay with firearms and cocaine. But firearms, cocaine, and chickens? Down comes the hammer.

The Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel is a Gannett paper, so there’s no way to read the article to see if it was fighting chickens and perhaps the attendant gambling, but one can speculate.

Given that it’s in the Entertainment section, perhaps.

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I Can’t Wait Until We Have To Add Numbers

Elon Musk calls Ben Stiller the R-word after actor says ‘Tropic Thunder’ couldn’t be made in 2024

So we’re up to at least two words you can only refer to by their first letters. Given the distribution of the consonants that start words and probably the fact that slurs with track statistically with consonants that begin words you can say or write (for now), someday we will run up against a dilemma: Do we go with the indefinite article (an N-word) or do we start adding numbers to them (the N1-Word or the N-Word1)? I cannot wait to see what the future brings.

The word is “retard.” Which I am pretty sure in its day was a polite way of describing an individual with mental disabilities. And it’s an actual line in Tropic Thunder, by the way.

Could it be made in 2024? Probably not in Hollywood. But some small indepenedent film maker probably. Without a distributor. So it would go directly into the miasma of streaming. Never to be seen. Much like most of the stuff coming out of actual Hollywood, actually.

And to be clear: Stiller is saying that America has killed edgier comedy, so I just presume Musk is just trolling. Keeping the engagement numbers up or something.

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Book Report: Gideon’s Gift by Karen Kingsbury (2002)

Book coverI don’t know where I came up with this book–I have three such titles in the Red Gloves series, which is not a series with the same characters but rather different Christmas-themed books which Kingsbury wrote to raise money for some charitable organization. After a Christmas-themed trivia night where we led all night only to lose in the final round to a team using “mulligans” for free points (which we do not as we are trivia night purists), I thought I would pick this book up for my Christmas novel this year since I knew where it was–atop the bookshelves in the office.

So: Earl was a family man who enjoyed Christmas with his wife and daughter and his parents and siblings, but he was not a believer. His wife and daughter are killed on their way to or from church, and Earl goes into a downward spiral until he’s homeless for five years when the book begins. He’s trying to be heartless, and the only things he cares about are the red gloves his wife made him (I get the sense red gloves are a motif that all the books will share). When they’re stolen, Earl starts thinking about ending it all.

Meanwhile, Gideon is an eight-year-old girl living with leukemia whose parents are living hand-to-mouth. The mother is working two jobs, and the father is only getting 12 hours a week at “the mill,” but that allows him to take his daughter to the doctor and whatnot. Gideon goes into remission long enough to move the plot forward, which is that she wants to help serve at “the mission” (her parents volunteer a lot even though they’re poor). Where she meets Earl and wants to make him believe again, so she gives him a present which he eventually opens–and it’s the red gloves! Which she bought at a second hand shop since the thief sold them or something?

At any rate, she gets sick again, and it’s dire, but Earl believes now, and it turns out he’s a rich homeless man who pays for her bone marrow transplant and reconciles with his family. And finis!

Oh, and the book has a wrapper story thirteen years later at Gideon’s wedding, so a lot of possible suspense is lost. But I guess you’re not reading this for suspense.

So it was a quick read–I ploughed through the 146 pages in an evening–but.

I mean, it’s not my first Christmas novel, so I know to expect a bit of unreality, some magic or divine intervention, but this book, this short story or novella, really, made me raise my eyebrow. I mean, the experience of the homeless guy–let’s be honest, I can too easily picture myself in that situation, as the whole year I have known my job situation was tenuous and my continued employability questionable and knowledge of the cash flow situation led me to conclude that if I lost my wife and kids and job, I would be in a perilous situation indeed–but this homeless guy has both his parents alive in a single household and one or more siblings, and he has a big payout from the accident that claimed his wife and kid, and he lived with his parents for a while after, but then he gave that all up to just live on the streets in a different city. I mean, that seems…. contrived. I don’t know. Perhaps I was just disappointed in the character whose path to homelessness did not involve having no money and no family.

Also, the father is only working 12 hours a week at “the mill”? What is he doing there, and what kind of shift or shifts is that? A single twelve hour shift? Two sixes? Is he a part time janitor or food service worker? It just clangs.

And the remission of the little girl lasting just long enough to make the events of the book happen…. Eh.

I get the sense that I am going to be harsher on these books than others–I’ve already started the next one I have of the series, and I’ve already encountered my first Oh, really? in the first chapter. But my beautiful wife, who has read many Karen Kingsbury books, asked me if this was the one with the homeless guy and said it was not one of her better books. So after ploughing through these three Christmas novellas, I won’t necessarily shun any other Kingsbury books I find on my to-read shelves. Unless the next two are also rather Oh, really?

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Book Report: Exiles to Glory by Jerry Pournelle (1978)

Book coverI guess it has been seven years that this book has floated near the top of the paperbacks stacked horizontally on the broken bookshelves as I bought it and some others in Branson in 2017. What, I have not repaired or replaced those bookshelves which broke ten years ago? Ah, gentle reader, no. And probably not soon given our current lack of means of visible support.

So this book is a bit of pure rocket-jockey stuff like you would get out of vintage Heinlein. Pournelle extrapolated a world from the middle 1970s which is strangely not so hard to extrapolate from ours: The government has become paternalistically totalitarian, but it lets juveniles commit crimes without consequences. Universities are overbooked and overadministrated into Kafkaesque hellscapes. The best the students can hope for is a union job that will get them out of the squalid megacities. Meanwhile, a couple of entrepreneurs and corporations fancy themselves the saviors of humanity want to mine asteroids. In this world, Kevin, a university engineering student accidentally kills a juvie gang member as they plan to rob him and/or torture him to death. As the gang’s attacks escalate and police are powerless, Kevin discovers some of his credits won’t transfer, so he would have to attend two extra years of college if he survived.

But he’s put in touch with an outfit that can employ him on Ceres, the asteroid, so he heads out with an attractive young woman, and adventures ensue including intrigue as to who might be trying to keep them from reaching Ceres and why and what to do when they get there.

I flagged a couple of things: In one spot, a computer nerd pets a simple computer and says he’ll teach it to play Star Trek–which is fresh in mind because I read about it in 50 Years of Text Games (and I remember playing the Commodore 64 port back in the 1980s). I also flagged a spot where a man in his fifties was described as elderly; clearly, that’s from the perspective of a college student–Pournelle himself could not have held that view as he was 45 when the book came out.

I also noted that the last page was an ad for a play-by-mail game called StarWeb; 50 Years of Text Games also mentioned play-by-mail games, so I was familiar with it. Apparently, StarWeb lived on until 2021 at least (its Web site looks like it might now be defunct, but the page for StarWeb says it was updated in 2004 and probably didn’t need updating after that). Still, it intersects with what I’ve been reading, partly because I’m elderly and because I read old books and books about old things.

At any rate, a nice little read amidst all the other things I’m reading. You know, I did not really read much Pournelle when I was younger. I guess when I went through science fiction phases, I was getting Del Rey paperbacks-in-library-binding and then the big names. And Pournelle wasn’t really on the pantheon. Which is unfortunate, as I think I would have enjoyed them. I’ll pick them up as I come across them, though.

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The Winningest Christmas Straggler

I have posted about the Christmas Straggler for over a decade now. It’s generally a single Christmas decoration overlooked when packing up after Christmas which gets overlooked, and it does seem to happen every year. My posts generally occur in January or February. I don’t know how that reflects upon my housekeeping skills in the past, but I’m still mostly doing the housekeeping grind, although the lower level is only getting a full cleaning every two or three weeks–which means that anything I find whilst dusting this year I will report in…. January or February. So whatever the timing of my posts say about our housekeeping, I guess it will say it again.

But, gentle reader, this is the winningest Christmas Straggler ever, so far. Maybe.

We rearrange the living room slightly for Christmas. We turn the sofa so that one edge of it touches the wall and it faces the fireplace and the corner where the tree goes. This is not on the lower level, where we slightly rotate the furniture every decade or so; this is the main level with the record shelves and console stereo. When we first moved in, the sofa was this way all the time, and we had a television in the corner and a toy box behind the sofa (and generally toys all over the floor to better inventory them). When the boys grew older and got access to the lower level, we rotated the sofa so its back was against the wall and the mostly unused 22″ television is off to the side. We only rotate the sofa now for Christmas.

At any rate, I got the trees out this weekend, and moved the end table and little flower arrangement that hides the unused coax port on the wall, and….

That is one of the fake Christmas tree needles which has somehow lurked in the corner of the living room since…. Well, I don’t exactly know when.

Now, when we pack up after the holiday, we vacuum thoroughly where the tree was and where the sofa is going to go against the wall for the next 10.5 months. And we do vacuum the living room regularly–my son does it weekly, and I’ve done it a time or two over the course of the year. I’ve swept and Swiffered the tile in front of the firebox a couple of times over the year. I even cleaned out the firebox once this year (we don’t use that fireplace as its mantel is too close to the firebox and it lacks anything but a portable screen before it).

So where do these needles come from? Are they caught under the baseboards? Up the chimney waiting for a downdraft? In some nook in the sofa until they’re shaken out?

I have no idea, but every once in a while, one of these little plastic needles emerges, whether on the main level or on the lower level where we also have a tree.

Just to mock our housekeeping practices.

Or, I suppose, I could reframe it and think it’s just to give us a little bit of Christmas often in the middle of the year.

But, I suppose that it does our indict our housekeeping in that although I saw that needle on Saturday afternoon, it was just during the composition of the post this morning that I went upstairs to pick it up. Although in my defense, the youngest was supposed to vacuum that room on Sunday but had other pressing matters–playing football with his brother and going to the gym–and I cannot help but note that now that I have assembled the tree, the carpet beneath it has many more fake needles now. Which are undoubtedly crawling to their years-long hiding places even as I am not watching.

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Tell Me You’ve Never Heard Of The Postman and Waterworld Without Saying It

How could a twenty-something entertainment reporter or a six-month-old-generative-text-application even say “Waterworld” or “The Postman” without even known what the titles mean?

Is Kevin Costner’s career disappearing over the horizon just like his ‘Yellowstone’ character?

Jeez, Louise, children: After winning a couple Academy Awards for Dances with Wolves and a span of box office successes for the decade 1985-1995, he made the two post-apocalyptic films in the mid- to late-1990s which spawned a wave of articles just like this one which ran roughly from 1997 to, what, 2003 with the release of Open Range–or beyond.

C’mon, man, even entertainment history began before 2020.

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When Game Designers and Developers Forget

Lileks expresses disappointment with a game he purchased and played:

You are no doubt eager to know how my wonderful amusement park is going. Planet Coaster 2! So dearly desired, such a surprise when announced. Better pathways and – wait hold on you can’t be serious we dreamed of this – water parks!

I got a refund.

It is a clunky mess that seems profoundly less engaging than the first version. No custom signs or music. This is not a review because who cares; I have a larger point. The problem reminded me of everything I read about Cities Skyline 2, which I also was keen to play. I do not want to play complex simulations and balance industry and traffic and other such tedious things. I just want to build something. Cities Skyline 2 was released to a friendly audience entranced by spectacular teaser videos, certain they wouldn’t sell us something that wasn’t as good as the game everyone loved. But the first release was junk. The lamentations were enough to make me sigh with relief: I don’t have to spend hours laying out streets and zoning things and dealing with powerlines. I just . . . don’t.

I have probably harped on this for years, gentle reader, as I do so many things, but I beg your indulgence yet again.

Sometimes, game designers get excited about designing their own systems and whatnot to the point that they really don’t ask themselves if users want to play that way.

For example, when I was playing Asheron’s Call (almost twenty years ago–what?), when they started talking about Asheron’s Call 2, they talked about how they would build the game so that items in the game would have to be crafted by the players. That is, they expected players to spend hours forging the swords and whatnot that players would use in the game. I don’t know why they thought players would log in after a day at work to a second job of baking or blacksmithing online, but that’s what they thought.

I mean, games like Fortnite and Minecraft definitely have the building/crafting elements of the games down and would seem to be exceptions that prove the rule, but not exactly: In Fortnite, so I understand it, you can build structures to improve your position and whatnot, but you’re not spending most of the game gunsmithing. And Minecraft started out as a crafting game, and you’re building a world. Maybe I’m talking off base here as I’ve not played them and have not watched any YouTube videos on them nor Twitch streams, but the point of the game is not to contribute to the game’s macroeconomy. It is to build and/or to adventure, and any crafting is in the service of that.

At any rate, I remember some of the games Aaron Reed describes in 50 Years of Text Games where it seemed like the games were designed with that in mind: building an interesting system and capturing those complex rules for a game that would not be very interesting to play, but it would be very interesting to design and develop. I don’t even remember which games struck me that way, and if I did mention the names, they would largely be unrecognized.

I am probably just going off on something about which I have little actual knowledge–this is a blog, after all, and the only game I play regularly is a 20-year-old version of Civ–but it does seem, even outside the gaming industry, that designers and developers get a little wrapped up in their worlds and cohorts and write for that audience and not the casual gamer.

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I’ve Been Harping On It For…. Five Years?

Jeez, I must bore people telling everyone the same thing over and over again.

Instapundit posts:

SO MANY DRAMATIC WEATHER TERMS THESE DAYS: Expert: ‘Bomb Cyclone’ Pounding The US Will Be Strong And Unpredictable.

We used to just call them winter storms, or blizzards.

Man, I’ve posted:

What, I didn’t harp on it last year? Was the weather really that mild? I dunno. That was all the way last year, and this year has been a long one.

But, unlike weather personalities, maybe I should learn a new schtick.

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Movie Report: Shanghai Noon (2000)

Book coverWhen I watched Shanghai Knights two years ago, I mentioned that I had not watched this film. So when I came across it at a church rummage sale this summer, I picked it up. And as I’ve been working evenings on my part-time contract of late, I haven’t had much chance to watch films. But I thought I’d watch one last weekend, and so I did.

So: The high-level plot of the film is that Chan’s Chon Wang is an imperial guard for the Chinese emperor with his eyes on the princess Pei Pei (Lucy Liu) who does not want to marry the man selected for her. She runs away with her tutor, who leaves behind a ransom note–instead of actually running away, she is being kidnapped–and she is delivered to an exiled former imperial guard running a set of Chinese laborers in slave conditions in Nevada. Three current members of the imperial guard are sent to America with a ransom, and Chon Wang gets sent along with them–the higher ups hope the foreign barbarians will relieve them of Wang.

When he gets to America, Wilson’s Roy O’Bannon leads a band of outlaws to rob a train. The new guy in the gang kills Wang’s uncle, the interpreter for the imperial guards and who let Wang come along. It leads to a train-borne Jackie Chan fight and to a couple of encounters between the characters where each is at an advantage to the other, but they eventually team up after another Jackie Chan barroom brawl. They team up to find the princess (and maybe to get the gold), and then a couple of set pieces involving a native American woman that Wang married by mistake who rescues them from several predicaments, and they get the girls and the gold. finis!

An amusing film. I cannot help but note that in the film, the bad guys are not Westerners trying to steal China’s heritage and treasures (which is so many Chinese-influenced or Chinese-financed East Meets West films of the last, what, forty years?). So that was nice. And it did have Lucy Liu in it.

Continue reading “Movie Report: Shanghai Noon (2000)”

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Who Else Is Listening?

On Monday night, my beautiful wife and I were talking about an upcoming Christmas-themed trivia night, and I was not enthusiastic about it as my Christmas trivia is probably wanting. After all, at the Thanksgiving potluck last Sunday, they offered Thanksgiving-themed trivia, and I/we only got 70% of the questions right (the other couple from the North Side Mindflayers were on their own and did better, but they do carry the team in actual trivia nights).

So Monday night, I said that the best that I could hope for was to be asked in what films now-standard Christmas songs appeared, and I mentioned that “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” appeared in Meet Me In St. Louis (which I watched last year).

And suddenly, Facebook was all like….

Because of course it was. But then St. Louis Magazine was all like….

St. Louis Magazine is listening to me, too?

So I briefly thought maybe it was just a news story that Facebook thought I would be interested in because Facebook reads my blog and knows I just saw the film and is maybe not listening to the keystrokes forming this post even now.

But that’s just what they want me to think.

Coincidence starts with the same letters as COINTELPRO. C’mon, wake up!

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Book Report: Flynn’s In by Gregory McDonald (1984)

Book coverI am not sure where I picked this book up; it is not included in a Good Book Hunting post, so I might have gotten it before I started them, or I might have gotten it at a garage sale where the small number of books I bought did not warrant a photo and comment. At any rate, I will not try to calculate how long has passed since I first read this book, but it was probably longer than The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin. I went through my real Gregory McDonald phase in middle school and high school where I borrowed the books from the Community Library. Although I reckon I could have read it at college. Or even later; it’s entirely possible I will find the book already in the read books section of the library when I try again to organize it.

So this is the third of the Inspector Flynn books. Flynn is a Boston homicide detective, but he gets called away a lot on special cases (presumably, the preceding two books and maybe Confess, Fletch where he also appears). He is awakened in the middle of the night by a police commissioner who instructs him to drive to a remote location and tell no one. And to come alone. So of course Flynn brings his sidekick Cocky, a medically retired policeman, and they discover that the commissioner is the guest of a secretive Rod and Gun Club where wealthy and powerful men come together to re-enact boarding school traditions and to be weird. One of their members has been shot and killed, and they have moved the body to a local motel that poses as the front for their two-thousand-acre retreat. They’ve brought Flynn in to discreetly investigate, but stymie him when other members start dying.

The cover says that it’s a novel with murder, and I think the main theme of the book is poking at the power brokers of the world or caricatures thereof. Amongst the club members who are suspects (and sometimes victims), we have a judge who wears a dress and makeup when at the lodge; a Senator who drinks heavily all day and all night; a nudist who wears nothing; and cold players determining the fate of companies owned by other members. Given the setting (an isolated hunting lodge) and its language/style, it must have seemed like quite a throwback to Agatha Christie and other protocozies with an American Poirot minus the facial hair investigating.

So it winds up within its 198 pages with perhaps not so much as a true whodunit–or maybe I just did not see the clues which in retrospect pointed to the killer because I’m not really into that genre these days and am out of practice for not so much clues in the story but clues in the writing.

At any rate, it was okay. I wonder how much my tastes have changed and evolved from when I was in the 1980s and limited to what the Community Library had in abundance. I am pretty sure I read a number of Dell Shannon/Elizabeth Linnington books back then and, well, read more than one (I read one, Blood Count, earlier this year and was pretty disappointed). I have to wonder what I would think of Fletch books now (I read three in the omnibus Fletch Forever, in 2011). I haven’t read a pile of McDonald since these book reports began which probably testifies to the memories my cells have about what I think about McDonald these days. Coupled with the fact that you don’t see many of his books in the wild any more–at least not where I browse fiction, which is the smaller library book sales predominated by recent thrillers and Westerns. But the peak of McDonald’s sales were in the 1980s, and those who bought him originally have emptied their houses long ago.

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Missed It By A Fraction

At Powerline, the post is entitled The high cost of low-heeled joy.

I know, gentle reader, you get the allusion, but I will quote the post for those who reach this site via Internet search. I need all the Traffic I can get:

Someone may want to rewrite Traffic’s look at the dark side of the music business (I think) in “The Low Spark of High Heeled Boys” to cover Kamala Harris’s presidential campaign. Something like “The High Cost of Low-Heeled Joy” might work.

Ah, c’mon, man, are you even a blogger? You could have gone with The High Cost of Round-Heeled Joy to get the Shakespearean-era allusion in there and to cast aspersions on the political candidate’s alleged sordid sexual history. Shakespeare + Traffic in the same blog post? The ticket to mad hits and .000000018 cents in ad revenue, baby!

Ay, me.

You know, I was too young to know Traffic in its heyday, but when I was a bagger…. Oh, I’ve told that story before, the last time someone on the Internet alluded to it (probably).

After 21 years in blogging, gentle reader, I am bound to repeat myself in my dotage. You are very polite to keep coming back and listening politely or perhaps scrolling past grampa telling the same story again.

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Book Report: The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin by Benjamin Franklin (1969 ed)

Book cover

It almost seem like fait accompli that I would read this book after listening to the audiocourse The Life and Times of Benjamin Franklin during a long car ride in early October. But I spotted the Classics Club edition and not the Harvard Classics edition that I bought in in 2020 when I assigned it to my boys to read during their long, long vacation from in-person classes. I’m not sure either of them actually read it, but the oldest has been looking for Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations which I also got in cheap editions for the boys about that time as well. Wait, that’s digressing.

So: Whereas the audiocourse was a long, full biography on Benjamin Franklin, Franklin wrote his actual autobiography in chunks. Part of it he wrote when he was young and was trying to capture what it was to be on his way up; the second part was written decades later when he was an accomplished businessman and influencer in Pennsylvania; and the last part of it was assembled from some notes after Franklin’s death. So this book is not the Director’s Cut. Or maybe it is. But it’s more than an autobiography as it gave some others time to do a bit of hagiography was well.

Still, it’s an amazing story: Franklin, born into a very large family, eventually becomes apprenticed to his brother a printer, but he breaks his apprenticeship and goes on the run from Boston to Philadelphia where he becomes a printer, eventually a writer and owner of a printshop, and he moves and shakes with the important men in the colony (but not necessarily the decendents of Penn who really owned the place). He makes the most of the opportunities he gets and speaks up on the virtue of industriousness (but, as we know from the audiocourse, although he described the virtues he espoused, he never completed The Art of Virtue). The autobiography, as I have mentioned, focuses mostly on his early life and mostly the business life as that is the example he was hoping to set. When get to page 246 of 300, we’re at 1756. His role in the events leading up to the American Revolution, the Revolution, his ambassadorship after, and his brief retirement get almost a page for each year depicted. Of course, this last was the bit the least assembled and polished by Franklin, and it’s at a high level summary. But, still, what a life.

Given my current position, hammering on the theme of personal industry was inspirational. My favorite aunt once said I had hustle because I had a full time job, a sideline of selling estate sale finds on Ebay, and thoughts of running a vending machine route or video game route. I somehow lost a bit of that ambition, probably after having a blog that did not turn profitable, publishing books which have not earned enough to cover the cost of the first book’s professional cover, trying to write a couple of software applications but getting stumped at certain points and doubting anyone would use them anyway, putting together a collection of fine fashion which has not sold a single t-shirt except to myself, and other bits of “hustle” that did not actually pay out. I have some ideas for other sidelines, but I’m not sure that they would pay out more than they cost, and certainly would unlikely pay me much in net revenue. But Franklin’s example leads me to thing maybe I should.

I read this book once before, probably in my college years–I think it was required for a class, but I’m not sure which one it would have been. I really need my transcripts to jog my memory of what exactly I took in that collection of English classes which was almost too many credits in one discipline to allow me to graduate. No, really.

At any rate, I cannot recommend this book highly enough. The text is very approachable, although the sentences are longer than you would get in a Don Pendleton paperback or a Jeff Kinney book designed to get kids to read. But I’ve found that it’s easier to read than English prose from the same period. And a pleasure to read as well. I’ll have to read this again, probably when I find the copy which I bought in 2020 or one of the cheap copies I bought for my boys.

And I’m going to just stop trying to guess what the longest time between re-reads is when I re-read a book. I mean, this book is, what, thirty years give or take? A while, indeed.

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In Preparing For A Trivia Night, I Confused Myself

So on my way to market today, I heard “You Keep Me Hanging On” on the radio, the local robostation that places the greatest hits of 80s, 90s, and whatever from its home computer office in a shack somewhere in Iowa or something, and I tried to remember who sang it.

“Kim Wilde,” I thought. “No, wait, Kim Wilde did ‘Bette Davis Eyes’. Who was it?

That’s a warm up for my self-doubting dithering that has become a hallmark of my Trivia Night answers. The moment where I confused myself and changed my answer from “Unchained Melody” to “Unchained Medley” and tried to convince my team to change the team answer in the exaggerated earnestness of the truly, pathetically mistaken and prepared to be only a little smug when we got it wrong and to have lost by only a point thwarted by the sound-minded team members, and we ended up winning by a couple of points….

Anyway, it is Kim Wilde who sang “You Keep Me Hanging On” forty years ago:

And you probably already know it was Kim Carnes who sang “Bette Davis Eyes”:

Which is why the North Side Mind Flayers would like to contact you to replace me.

But that’s neither here nor there.

What is important, forty years later: Kim Wilde or Kim Carnes?

Ah, gentle reader, as you might know–as my analyst would, should I ever get an analyst to pick an answer from all the things which I conceive could be wrong with me from my earliest days–I do not favor blondes with long faces probably because they remind me of my sainted mother. So I’ll have to go Kim Wilde here.

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