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Born and raised in Oregon, I've lived most my life on the West Coast, save three years near Minneapolis, Minnesota. I survived four years in the hellish paradise that is Santa Rosa, another two in a land where "Keep Portland Weird" is the first commandment, and I am happily married and living in Utah. I am an electrical designer, Protestant, and a huge nerd. I am a brand new father, and I can't shut up about it. I abuse ellipses with wild abandon.
Sigh. See, I just don’t want to give a Professional Grievance Profiteer more attention, but on the other hand, as Ricochet’s resident Chainmail Bikini and Boob-Plate Expert, I am almost obligated to respond.
This is a weird fight to get into, really. Why quibble about what armor looks like in a Space Fantasy universe. The Star Wars Universe has people with magic swords that move things with their mind, so going after the shape of armor seems an odd hill to die on.
But let’s start with the practical, shall we? So-called “Boob Plate” is frequently criticized because supposedly having armor shaped to the female form is Bad. “It creates a weak point!” they say “And gives people a target!” to those, I’ll say that in general plate armor has weak points, namely at the joints. Plate armor isn’t perfect protection** because, well, perfect protection would leave the combatant immobile. Actually, Shadiversity does a better job explaining why this is not objectionable armor at all.
Moreover, despite what some creators and critics on the Left like to think, women are not shaped like men. As many women have noted, if you’re going to be wearing a giant hunk of metal for a while, ideally you don’t want more discomfort than necessary, and women of certain sizes as well as men of sizable girth both agree they’d rather have something accommodating them rather than restrict breathing and such.
But let’s get to the Star Wars universe. We have warriors wearing armor and jet packs. Unlike previous movies, where Stormtrooper armor seems to do nothing more than offer shiny white targets, The Mandalorian‘s title character’s armor actually protects him from things like blaster fire. It’s like the creators of this series said, “Hey, what if this armor did more for our character than just make him look really cool and awesome?” And if it works for him, it’d work for any character wearing similar armor. And again, we’re looking for reasonable comfort paired with reasonable protection, making armor shaped to the wearer makes sense.***
But let’s look back at my most excellent article of yesteryear. The chainmail bikini and its cousins were popularized by Frank Frazetta, Boris Vallejo, Julie Bell and other artists. They’ve created a lot of fantasy art that features men and women in minimal protective gear and showing off fit and well-toned physiques. It’s a celebration of the human body for them.
Much as I hate assuming motive, maybe this is why critics like Sarkeesian nitpick at armor shapes. They don’t care for the human body and its differences between the sexes. Or maybe they just want attention and this is the easiest way to get it – some people are so desperate they’ll even take negative attention.
*Only one of the four preceding words is true. I’ll leave it to you to figure that out.
**Later, Medieval Weapon Scientists would create ways to make their own weak points in plate armor. Why go for a hard to hit joint when you can punch a hole in their armor?
***Again, I’m talking about space fantasy armor in a space fantasy universe with magical space wizards wielding laser swords.
Born and raised in Oregon, I've lived most my life on the West Coast, save three years near Minneapolis, Minnesota. I survived four years in the hellish paradise that is Santa Rosa, another two in a land where "Keep Portland Weird" is the first commandment, and I am happily married and living in Utah. I am an electrical designer, Protestant, and a huge nerd. I am a brand new father, and I can't shut up about it. I abuse ellipses with wild abandon.
If you follow the Hugos any more, which I don’t, you’d learn that popular author George R. R. Martin has stirred up quite the hornet’s nest. He’s being denounced as a racist, different types of -phobes, and others. His crime? He mispronounced artists’ names and he dared praised dead white men for their contributions in the past. Most notably, he talked quite a bit about John W. Campbell, editor of Analog magazine, and also Robert Heinlein, one of the winningest authors of the Hugo awards. For those who have claimed the Hugos as their own private club, this was unacceptable. And so Cancel Culture goes for George R. R. Martin not for failing to finish his series, but instead for Wrongthink.
I will note that I haven’t too much sympathy for Martin. When people were noting that the Social Justice Warriors were claiming the Hugos as their own and stacking the deck for their favorite checkboxes, Martin was there defending the latter. He helped build the gallows they want to hang him on.
I find it more interesting to look at John W. Campbell. There’s a reason there was an award named after him, and it’s because few have had as much influence on modern American science fiction than he has as editor for “Astounding Science Fiction” which changed to “Analog Science Fiction and Fact” under his editorship. He steered Science Fiction away from the pulp scene and demand his writers understand the science they were writing on and to understand people. In a notorious episode, this included a story about the development of a possible atomic bomb and how it might happen — a story that brought attention to the FBI who investigated and tried to get him to pull the magazine from the newstands as indeed, America was attempting to create an atom bomb (Campbell won out). Science fiction today owes a lot to him, and he was editor for many of the visionary greats of the time.*
As for being a racist — well, that might be true. He said and wrote some things that even at the time could be considered racist, including defenses of slavery while noting that the industrial revolution would eventually make it obsolete. He was also known to play devil’s advocate — taking the opposite to foster discussion. There are other incidents that perhaps lean generally toward racist however, which would not be an unusual idea back in the 1930’s. So it creates a bit of a dilemma for the thinking person: do we dismiss his work based on his major personal flaws, or do we recognize his great influence in spite such. Those on the Left recognize no personal flaws in themselves and tolerate no such flaws in others; they immediately choose the former option. For authors who have been writing for decades, like GRRM and others, they can recognize the influence a man had because in many ways they would not be here without such persons.
Isaac Newton famously said, “If I have seen further than others, it is by standing upon the shoulders of giants.” The Leftists, they stand on the same and claim they are the giants. Pretending to have perfection, they cast stones at anyone who meets their disapproval – even at those who met approval only months ago.
*A lot of the more mature writers remember the influence editors had in their work and in starting their careers. Another editor who has received praise was Gardner DoZois of Asmov’s Science Fiction magazine. DoZois passed away recently, and many older authors wrote to praise him for how he helped their careers as writers.
Born and raised in Oregon, I've lived most my life on the West Coast, save three years near Minneapolis, Minnesota. I survived four years in the hellish paradise that is Santa Rosa, another two in a land where "Keep Portland Weird" is the first commandment, and I am happily married and living in Utah. I am an electrical designer, Protestant, and a huge nerd. I am a brand new father, and I can't shut up about it. I abuse ellipses with wild abandon.
Because some people complained about it, I’ve threatened to do a series on Anime Even Haters* Should See. However, I’m not quite ready there. To hold us over until I start, I’d like to talk about how they open. I love Anime openings for many reasons. In several cases, there are story reveals and visual expositions within them that when you later watch, you can be surprised with or give yourself a pat on the back for cleverness. A good example of this is Your Lie in April.**
Care is frequently placed in these, and for some anime, the opening title sequence is an important part of the show as a whole. In fact, much of Your Lie in April‘s story is presented in this opening, though we might not catch it first until you’ve seen the series. And to warn, I can’t watch this opening any more without going to tears. I’m such as sentimental sap.
I’ve just started “Hero Mask” and its opening is different:
There are no characters, but the music is perfect for a James Bond-esque mad science thriller. I remember so little of origami, so I don’t catch what each folded piece is, but the Numbering on each is most likely references to parts of the story. Again, I go back to the music. As much as I love the J-Pop that comes with a lot of shows, the minimal tense theatrical song adds to the opening and the show as a whole. It primes us for the show in ways a more familiar J-Pop opening wouldn’t.
In a similar vein is the title sequence for Cowboy BeBop.***
Again, little of the story, though you do meet the principal characters in the scenes and their respective spacecraft. What really sets this apart, of course, is the music, something that sets this entire series apart. That full-bodied walking bass and flashy jazz song prep you far more for this show than just about anything else. I should know, having actually purchased two of the soundtracks for this album back in the ’90s when legal streaming music was not as prevalent.
Of course, there are many openings to Anime, and the longer-standing programs with multiple seasons will have multiple title and credit sequences, creating a wealth of material.
So, enjoy it. You’ve been warned. This is an opening salvo to my upcoming series as I break back into writing at Ricochet. Take that, haters.
*I was going to call out someone specifically in this, but that would be rude. You know who you are! **I will definitely write about this one. I will probably cry hard enough there will be teardrops on my computer screens. ***I will most certainly write on this one too. No tears though.
Born and raised in Oregon, I've lived most my life on the West Coast, save three years near Minneapolis, Minnesota. I survived four years in the hellish paradise that is Santa Rosa, another two in a land where "Keep Portland Weird" is the first commandment, and I am happily married and living in Utah. I am an electrical designer, Protestant, and a huge nerd. I am a brand new father, and I can't shut up about it. I abuse ellipses with wild abandon.
Everyone has a preference for spicy food. Some love it spicy, some just want it mild. I wouldn’t say I preferred spicy food ever since I was a wee child, because really, I think I mostly ate spicy food because Dad enjoyed it, and like most young boys I wanted to be like my dad. Oddly enough the first spicy food I remember enjoying was the hot cinnamon salt water taffy. Like a mad scientist, I’d try the regular cinnamon and the hot cinnamon to test my own reactions to the delicious taffy. Sure enough, the hot cinnamon was spicy and I couldn’t eat another right away.
I also discovered Tabasco Sauce from my dad who used it generously on his breakfast eggs. Again, I’d try the same thing and again I discovered I could only eat a few bites at a time at first. Of course, as others have noted, one develops a tolerance for these things and soon Tabasco was a regular part of my breakfast meals with nary a second thought. From there I’d enjoy the hot salsas like my dad. I suppose I may have stopped there and been perfectly happy if it weren’t for the late nineties.
About that time is when I met a man who briefly moved to Oregon from New Mexico. He was a large and charismatic fellow who, being from Albuquerque, enjoyed his hot sauce. And he didn’t mean what Oregonians at the time thought was “hot.” That stuff was child’s play for him and he often would tell us this. Well, much as I liked to pretend I was not affected by such things, the truth was that I could be, and being told that my hot-sauce-fu was weak only made me wish to become stronger. Thus, began a five-year journey where I tried hotter and hotter sauces.
This was not always easy. Hot sauce was gaining in popularity at this time, however, in 1998 I moved to Minnesota. Suddenly hot sauce was rather difficult to find. For example, on my first visit to the grocery store, late-twenties me went to get chips and salsa because those were staple foods for that bachelor. Chips were easy enough to find. Salsa … well, I found not hot salsa. Just medium, mild, and … extra mild? What sorcery is this? Yes, in Minnesota, I found the strange concoction known as “extra mild salsa” and my confusion at such a things existence was only topped by the befuddlement of my acquaintance from New Mexico. “What do they do?” he queried, “take the flavor out?”
I did indeed find a hot sauce shop at the Mall of America. My friends thought I was overly fond of the mall. Me, I was just happy to find a location where I could get sauce hotter than “medium.” It was later that I discovered a buffalo wing chain and eagerly tried all the sauces there. I kept raising the envelope until I hit the hottest sauce they had on the menu. I recall enjoying wings, then suddenly having an odd sensation on my lips. I quickly realized my lips were going numb. It took a full fifteen minutes before I could properly feel them again.
I suspect there I realized two things: one, no matter how much hot sauce I ingest, there’s always something hotter and two, maybe I shouldn’t constantly be pushing the envelope, especially as I’d lost contact from my New Mexico acquaintance and there was no one to taunt my selection of spicy sauces. There was no longer anyone to impress. Being in Minnesota at the time, there were only people who boggled at my desire to remove all sensation from my lips.
I had found I’d reached my limit. Habaneros remained on the menu. Anything worse than that I generally avoided. It’s been a good plan and mostly avoids the day or two long Journey of Regret that comes after I’ve eaten a lot of spicy food. It helps that, after getting married, I’m less likely to have a dinner of chips and habanero salsa. I’ve still a taste for the spicy, I suspect aided and abetted by allergies which leave me with little sense of smell. I suspect because of this I tend towards very strong flavors as well as certain food textures.
Halting the progress has done wonders for me. Suddenly I’m not just seeking the next big spice. Instead, I’ve discovered the various tastes of the peppers and how they are complimented. Habaneros’ distinct flavor pairs well with sweet foods. A habanero mocha was one of our favorites back in Oregon. And if you get a chance to try Burnside Brewing’s Sweet Heat ale, I recommend it. It pairs apricot with habanero. The heat sneaks up on you and tantalizes then is gone again making for a multilayered brew that my wife and I still like. I’ve found an enjoyment in the small independent makers of hot sauce. Farmers Markets seem, oddly, a great place to pick up some and their varied flavors make things interesting.
I still have quite the high tolerance for heat, at least higher than average. As a result, it’s very difficult to gauge how hot something is by a given vendor’s warnings. Sometimes I’ve heard, “Careful, it’s very hot” to only get a slight tingle. On the other hand, in general I’ve found when a Korean BBQ restaurant or when an Indian restaurant warns you that something is very hot, it is indeed very hot. On the other hand, I find I’ll even try the mild salsas as even if they don’t give that tingle, a good sauce maker will have plenty of flavor there. I’ve no word on whether that’s true for extra mild salsas. I’ve only found that in Minneapolis.
Born and raised in Oregon, I've lived most my life on the West Coast, save three years near Minneapolis, Minnesota. I survived four years in the hellish paradise that is Santa Rosa, another two in a land where "Keep Portland Weird" is the first commandment, and I am happily married and living in Utah. I am an electrical designer, Protestant, and a huge nerd. I am a brand new father, and I can't shut up about it. I abuse ellipses with wild abandon.
“By doing one wrong thing, I thought I could make everything right.” ― Scott Smith, A Simple Plan
Spoken early in the novel by the narrator, this is perhaps the best summary of the story of this book and it’s a rapid downward spiral. A Simple Plan was first published in 1993, and later was adapted as a screenplay into a film by Sam Raimi, but that film pulls some of the punches of the book.
Three men, Hank, Lou, and Jacob discover a downed plane and in it is a dead man and several million in cash. Since it’s easy to guess it’s illicit, Hank concocts a plan. They hide the money, wait six months, and if no one is looking for it they’ll split it three ways; otherwise, they’ll burn the money and no one will know they were going to take it. With rather alarming rapidity, things quickly seem to spiral out of control and Hank puts himself into situations where he makes one terrible choice after another seemingly for the protection of his brother Jacob, and his family. All the while he rationalizes that this is what he must do to protect his own.
It’s a very dark tale, but a very human one. How often do we do something wrong with the justification that, in the end, we’ll see everything turn out right? Hank’s parents died years ago in a traffic accident. He admits never being terribly close to his brother. He has little connection with the people in his small town. You rarely see him interact with his coworkers. He only attends a church during funerals. He is a man who is rudderless. There is little guiding him away from the wrong thing, and anyone close to him who could guide him is weak at best — they sometimes encourage him to the wrong thing and are ineffective when attempting to guide him away from wrong. Once Hank sets on the path of self-destruction, he only has his own sense of right and wrong, which are horribly skewed.
“There is a way which seems right to a man; but its end is the way of death.” –Proverbs 14:12
Born and raised in Oregon, I've lived most my life on the West Coast, save three years near Minneapolis, Minnesota. I survived four years in the hellish paradise that is Santa Rosa, another two in a land where "Keep Portland Weird" is the first commandment, and I am happily married and living in Utah. I am an electrical designer, Protestant, and a huge nerd. I am a brand new father, and I can't shut up about it. I abuse ellipses with wild abandon.
“If you put the federal government in charge of the Sahara Desert, in 5 years there’d be a shortage of sand.” — Milton Friedman
Not too long ago, it was mentioned that Oregon had passed legislation to implement statewide Rent Control. This was in response to a crisis in affordable housing. The state government, presently run by a Democrat governor and supermajority in legislature, saw this as a move to curb the rising costs of housing, mostly in the Portland metro area. As far as I can tell, no one has reported a housing shortage over in Baker City, but the state government clearly knows better. It has run full tilt in spite of common sense warnings from anyone remotely familiar with economics. Once again, facts don’t matter if you are “morally right,” or something like that.
This has already had consequences. The daughter of a family friend has MS and has lived in the same rental home for over a decade. She was recently served an eviction notice despite never having any trouble in her home prior. Why? Well, it’s left unsaid, but the landlord has a limited time to make any renovations or repairs and raise the rent price higher before the state rent control limits kick in. Anecdotal? Certainly, but it fits in precisely with what was predicted. I suspect we’ll be hearing more of these stories.
But worry not, citizens of Oregon! The officials in the Portland area have also been hard at work to solve the crisis of affordable housing. But rather than limit what a landlord can do, they instead decided to build their own affordable housing! Voters were persuaded to vote for bonds so the metro area could design affordable homes; the first proposed is the Mary Ann. Pause for a moment to bask in these numbers: Units average about 730 square feet at an average cost of $530/sq. ft. Note again in the article that the average housing cost for a family in the area ranges at about $230/sq. ft. This is an affordable housing project in the Portland metro area. Shortage of sand indeed.
The problem is, of course, that Oregon’s government is not attempting to remedy the problem but rather one of the symptoms. A few decades back, Portland was swept up in the “Urban Sprawl” hysteria: the idea that cities and suburbs were growing at a breakneck pace which was overtaking and destroying nature around us. So the Oregon government believed something had to be done and found something to do! They created the Urban Growth Boundary.
Let’s ignore that Oregon is the ninth largest state in the union (at 98,930 sq. miles) and only 27th in population size (at 4,142,776 as of Sept. 2018). This is a pretty generous amount of land per person compared to many states — ignoring that the Federal and State governments own 60.4% of Oregon. (Notably the Feds own over 55% of the state.) Still, Oregon doesn’t suffer from insufficient land to hold its people and still have nature and farmland.
The Oregon government, however, can’t admit that their own policies are causing the so-called affordable housing shortage. Expansion is so restricted that when it’s announced that property will become available, there are bids to develop it before anything on that land has even gotten close to being ready for development. Oregon’s policy artificially chokes off supply, and of course, people who live there or want to move there will want homes and businesses. Demand doesn’t disappear. Again, anyone remotely familiar with basic economics will tell you this will be an inevitable result. But Oregon can’t admit to itself that a lack of affordable housing is a direct result of their own meddling.
Instead, they will continue to treat the symptoms and mandate affordable housing that no one can afford while patting themselves on the back for a job well done.
“Of all tyrannies, a tyranny sincerely exercised for the good of its victims may be the most oppressive. It would be better to live under robber barons than under omnipotent moral busybodies. The robber baron’s cruelty may sometimes sleep, his cupidity may at some point be satiated; but those who torment us for our own good will torment us without end for they do so with the approval of their own conscience.” — C. S. Lewis
Born and raised in Oregon, I've lived most my life on the West Coast, save three years near Minneapolis, Minnesota. I survived four years in the hellish paradise that is Santa Rosa, another two in a land where "Keep Portland Weird" is the first commandment, and I am happily married and living in Utah. I am an electrical designer, Protestant, and a huge nerd. I am a brand new father, and I can't shut up about it. I abuse ellipses with wild abandon.
“It was far easier for you, as civilized men, to behave like barbarians than it was for them, as barbarians, to behave like civilized men.” — Spock, “Mirror, Mirror” Star Trek.
Born and raised in Oregon, I've lived most my life on the West Coast, save three years near Minneapolis, Minnesota. I survived four years in the hellish paradise that is Santa Rosa, another two in a land where "Keep Portland Weird" is the first commandment, and I am happily married and living in Utah. I am an electrical designer, Protestant, and a huge nerd. I am a brand new father, and I can't shut up about it. I abuse ellipses with wild abandon.
I went and subscribed to DC Universe, the DC multi-media service which includes comics and streaming. So far, a few months out the former is nowhere near as extensive as Marvel’s Marvel Unlimited service, but it seems DC is going in a different direction with their app. As for Streaming, there’s a small helping of shows. Most of them are older films and classic television programming such as the original Wonder Woman show and black and white Superman or even Superfriends episodes which demonstrate the truth that the Jason Mamoa film tries to hide: Aquaman has always been lame.
DC Universe is creating original content as well; their first is Titans. So far, my feeling is that it’s not too bad, but not great. It’s a solid three on a scale of 1 to 5. Mostly it suffers from being a superhero program in a glut of superhero programs. By now we’ve had about ten years of the Marvel Cinematic Universe on big and small screen, and several Batman, Superman films as well, and plenty of DC television programs that are separate from the DC cinema. Titans is a latecomer and has to stick out in a market that’s glutted so bad, even I don’t feel pains missing a superhero film or tv show. However, it’s several leagues better than my least favorite series and favorite punching bag, DC’s Legends of Tomorrow (last season was also terrible, btw).
Pictured: The Titans everyone loves.
Titans also suffers from having a much-beloved predecessor, Teen Titans which aired on Cartoon Network. Many of the portrayals of these characters are popular and the voice actors still play the same characters in various cartoons – such as on DC Superhero Girls. Teen Titans played back when Millennials were growing up, thus the social media backlash against it is the typical rabid fan hatred of the new looks and different characterizations. There’s a -lot- of trashing on this show for not being remotely like the cartoon: the characterizations are different, the look is different, the atmosphere is different. It makes sense. Teen Titans was meant as a fun adolescent romp in the superhero genre, while Titans is going the Netflix route of the dark street hero types.
So much hate …
DCU is banking on “Titans” being the draw to their service, much as CBS All Access has done with “Discovery”. It seems to be roughly parallel. Many Star Trek fans hate the latter for their own reasons, but it has drawn some to subscribe to All Access. Will it work? I can’t rightly say. I subscribed to DC Universe as I’m an old comic book fan and I want to read old and new stories. So far DC hasn’t put out a digital archive nearly the size of Marvel Unlimited, as noted above, so you can read a few issues of the original appearance of Superman in Action Comics but you won’t get nearly as much in that original line. On the other hand, I was delighted to find old programming in the movies and television section, so I’ve stayed so far.
Titans story loosely adapts some older comic book characterizations and general plotlines based on characters, but other than that keeps its own direction. The show centers around the principles search for their selves. Dick Grayson is trying to build a life away from his former years as Robin, but never really escaping that life. Rachel/Raven finds there’s much more to her than meets the eye and it’s far darker than her worst nightmares. Kory/Starfire has no memory, literally having little self at all. Their search centers around Rachel, and the story orbits around what’s happening with her. Occasionally those orbits swing rather wide, perhaps making this 11-episode season a bit longer than needed. Unfortunately, these searches are never really satisfying.
It stumbles as well, much like a lot of first seasons do as the production works out its voice and characters and story. There are a few other crimes I find. Episode 4 works out to be an episode-long commercial for another upcoming DC Universe show, Doom Patrol, and much of it plays out about as painfully as you’d expect. On the other hand, it probably has one of the best character introductions in a superhero I’ve seen:
On the other hand, the Grant Morrison run of the Doom Patrol comic book was one of the most brilliant works that is often imitated but never equaled. Morrison himself had one other great work from that time period, Batman: Arkham Asylum, but I’ve found I’ve not cared for much of what he’s made since. Anyhow, seeing these characters was fun, but we dwelt too long on them for a show about the Titans.
The show is entertaining enough, but again, it has yet to seriously stand out. Again, the question we’ll have to ask is, “will this draw people to the DC Universe service?” I’m not sure, but my guess is ultimately not enough. We’ll see if further original content can do the deed.
Born and raised in Oregon, I've lived most my life on the West Coast, save three years near Minneapolis, Minnesota. I survived four years in the hellish paradise that is Santa Rosa, another two in a land where "Keep Portland Weird" is the first commandment, and I am happily married and living in Utah. I am an electrical designer, Protestant, and a huge nerd. I am a brand new father, and I can't shut up about it. I abuse ellipses with wild abandon.
One of my church sisters shared this story today. It’s well past Veterans’ Day now, but poignant story all the same. The Korean War is called “The Forgotten War,” and it’s easy to forget just how vital it was. Here’s a part of her mother’s story.
I cry over tootsie rolls…
On June 25, 1950, North Korea invaded South Korea and took over most of South Korea. Thankfully, America came to the rescue and began pushing back the North Koreans. The Americans pretty handily pushed the North Koreans back into North Korea. This seemed relatively easy until the Chinese secretly joined forces with the North Koreans. Due to a series of poor choices by an overzealous general, the Americans found themselves in the frozen tundra of North Korea set for battle. There was one particular group of marines that had to hold a hill that overlooked a pass they were ordered to protect. Let’s just say that the temperature on that hill was a balmy -20 degrees. The hill very quickly got cut off from the other American forces and all communication. All they knew was that they had to hold that hill, and Marines are apparently stubborn enough to do what they are told. All of their rations were frozen. They couldn’t start fires to heat them up because they would become easy targets. They found that the only thing they could eat were tootsie rolls. They would put the frozen tootsie roll in their mouths and let them warm up until they softened enough to be chewed and swallowed. This is what they consumed for three days and three nights as the Chinese fought relentlessly to push them off that hill. Believe it or not, they held that hill even though they lost 2/3 of their men. They limped off that hill with only half of the remaining force not injured.
I once heard my Korean mom say, “Without the Americans, we would not be here today.” My mom was born in November of 1949 in South Korea. She was 1 year old when they were on that hill. Those marines held that hill for her and for me. They consumed tootsie rolls as a diet so that I could have a future of freedom. They suffered frostbite and had limbs amputated. They fought beside their friends, and saw them fall. They gave their lives on that frozen hill. On Veteran’s day, this is what I think of. I cry over the families that had to say good-bye forever on that day. I cry over the men that were forever scarred physically and emotionally from that day. I cry because they inadvertently did it for me. I cry over tootsie rolls.
Born and raised in Oregon, I've lived most my life on the West Coast, save three years near Minneapolis, Minnesota. I survived four years in the hellish paradise that is Santa Rosa, another two in a land where "Keep Portland Weird" is the first commandment, and I am happily married and living in Utah. I am an electrical designer, Protestant, and a huge nerd. I am a brand new father, and I can't shut up about it. I abuse ellipses with wild abandon.
As I noted in an earlier post, Stan Lee, Marvel giant, co-creator of many of its titles and constant cameo in many of the Marvel Cinematic Universe films has passed away today at the age of ninety-five. He and Jack Kirby began Marvel Comics in 1961 with its first title, The Fantastic Four, and went on to create some of the most iconic characters in the genre: Spider-Man, the Hulk, and the X-Men as well as many others: Doctor Strange, Black Panther, and collaborated in the creation of Iron Man, Thor, and Ant-Man.
Stan Lee was born Stanley Martin Lieber in Manhattan, New York City. Even in his youth he wrote and began his comic career with Timely Comics which would later evolve to Marvel. Stan Lee served in the military during World War II in the US Army where his talents were eventually applied to training films and materials.
DC comics grew during the Great Depression and became prominent after the end of WWII, but its success began to wane. Stan Lee and Jack Kirby came in at the right time with their new characters The Fantastic Four. It proved a hit and they would introduce more titles that would eventually create the comic book giant Marvel which would dominate the industry along with DC even today over other smaller publishers.
I will admit, my first introduction to Stan Lee was not in comic books. As a young boy my parents limited my comic books and most of them remained in the “for kids” category. No, I remember his distinctive voice on Spiderman and His Amazing Friends, “Welcome true believers, this is Stan Lee!” As a kid I loved superhero cartoons and I had no idea who this guy was or why he introduced Spider-Man, but it made the show that much better. It was only later that I learned just who he was and what he was to the industry.
In fact, his later career most of us know him by his appearances, both in public and in film. The earliest cameo I can recall him in was not a Marvel film at all, but in Kevin Smith’s highly underrated film, Mall Rat, but he has appeared in some television cameos beyond his narration for Spiderman. He appeared at Conventions, had his own television shows, and of course Marvel Cinematic Universe aficionados eagerly looked for him in films. He always seemed to enjoy those, and was gracious to his fans.
It was my hope to meet him at last year’s FanX Salt Lake Comic Convention where he was scheduled to appear. Health issues made him cancel and many of us hoped he would recover well enough for another appearance, but we all – as many did – feared that was the last chance. He suffered several illnesses in the past year, suffered a bout of pneumonia and vision trouble. Most likely sensing his time was near, Stan Lee filmed several of his cameos. His presence will be missed in those films.
Before health issues loomed, Stan Lee enjoyed a rather active Twitter presence and was one of the first who challenged the character limit rules by tweeting multiple times in succession and of course always signing off his Twitter threads with, “Excelsior!”
One of the suggested strengths of the Marvel stories were that they were meant to be human stories. DC characters are frequently compared to the Greek Myths: heroes greater than those around them with the confidence and the ability to overcome. Marvel characters instead were meant to be humans who happened to become extraordinary in some way and often developed into allegories. Spider-Man, for example, is frequently discussed as a coming-of-age story, a boy discovering new found power but also responsibility that comes with it. Rather than being above the day-to-day human struggles, Lee’s characters wrestled with humanity as well as with the supervillains. Couple that with banter and it was a recipe for success.
He was an ambassador for his industry, and one confident on the page as well as on the screen. We will miss him and his presence. He’s had a sizeable footprint on the entertainment industry, creating lasting characters that appeal to so many even today.
Born and raised in Oregon, I've lived most my life on the West Coast, save three years near Minneapolis, Minnesota. I survived four years in the hellish paradise that is Santa Rosa, another two in a land where "Keep Portland Weird" is the first commandment, and I am happily married and living in Utah. I am an electrical designer, Protestant, and a huge nerd. I am a brand new father, and I can't shut up about it. I abuse ellipses with wild abandon.
One well that TV execs like to go to frequently is the “gritty reboot.” They’ve dipped into that well so much in the past decades it’s running dry, but until they get nothing from it, they’re going to keep lowering the bucket to get all they can. In this case, we take an Archie Comics title, Sabrina the Teenaged Witch, which given from its publisher it would be noted this title would typically be lighthearted fun much like most incarnations of it on television of which are a surprising amount. A couple of cartoons and a live-action show that involve wacky adventures of a talented half-witch half-normal girl raised by kooky witch aunts. Netflix takes this and, building off The CW’s Riverdale (the gritty Archie and Friends reboot) and gives us The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina.
The background of the show actually takes a lot of material from the original source material. Some of the side characterizations are very similar to the comics. Sabrina’s parentage is explained and it’s a major factor of the original material and this show. Much of the background material remains true to source. It just adds a very large dose of Satan in the mix. I’m not even kidding about that last part. Not even a smidgeon. It’s the major conflict of the show.
In the very first episode, it’s shown that Sabrina has been living your average teen girl’s life. She goes to a normal school, has relatively normal friends (in context of this show at least), and has a relatively normal (again, context) doting boyfriend. But she’s expected to set it aside and join the local witch academy, abandon her mortal life, and sign over allegiance to Satan. I seriously warned you people, but did you listen? Oh no! Oh, the witches-slash-Satan worshippers use flowery language to make it seem as if it’s a great thing, “do what thou wilt” and all that, but Sabrina is at least smart enough to figure out that it’s a complete lie. She refuses, which opens up infernal retribution until through talented legal work she manages to get “dual citizenship.” The show plays off this dichotomy that completes against each other. And at least it manages to show those allied with Satan as being capable of terrible and horrifying depravity.
There is, unfortunately, a problem with this running theme of, “No man can serve two masters”. The evil is clearly defined: Satan and all his works. The longer the show goes the nastier, the more horrifying this wicked anti-church proves itself to be. The other side has … modern secularism. It’s not even well-defined, like modern secularism. We don’t see much of religion in Greendale beyond the church of Satan. We don’t see concerned priests or pastors. Don’t see church buildings. Don’t see churchgoers. In fact, the only reference we see of G-d on any basis is spoken from the mouths of those against Him. G-d and his followers are silent or non-existent. Secularism offers nothing save the possibility of mysticism and LGBT virtue. The only real opposition we get from the followers of Satan are his followers because they’re a terribly fractious bunch.
It seems the message is, “when faced with evil, do evil so that the worse evil will be overcome,” but we’re not given a reason why one evil is worse than another, other than that evil is opposed to Sabrina and those around her. There is no guide rail beyond the personal feelings of our modern individuals, which I suppose makes this one of the most 21st-century shows of those I’ve seen. The show is well-produced and fairly well acted. By the end, I found it left a bitter, awful taste in my mouth, but given the themes perhaps that is the best way it could end this.
Born and raised in Oregon, I've lived most my life on the West Coast, save three years near Minneapolis, Minnesota. I survived four years in the hellish paradise that is Santa Rosa, another two in a land where "Keep Portland Weird" is the first commandment, and I am happily married and living in Utah. I am an electrical designer, Protestant, and a huge nerd. I am a brand new father, and I can't shut up about it. I abuse ellipses with wild abandon.
Every so often I feel the need to re-assert myself as one of Ricochet’s prominent nerds. I suspect this is because prominent nerds can’t really help ourselves as we ache to tell someone – anyone, really – about our 17th level Paladin and his Holy Avenger or about who could win in a fight: Superman, Goku, or The Hulk (it’s Superman, by the way). Today, mostly because we seem to have a large number of collectable card game players, I will represent their ancient arch-nemesis: The Miniature Gamer (more on the conflict later).
Take it slow if you need to. The turtles will.Pictured: large scale conflict at a much more manageable scale.
Miniature games actually are pretty old in the gaming world, though the more familiar iterations we have today, which are frequently fantasy or sci-fi versions of the hobby. However, historical games have been around longer and have attracted many a player. The historical mini-wargames typically focus on periods of great conflict of course, such as World War II represented in Flames of War or Bolt Action. Other take generalized conflicts for inspiration, such as many medieval war games or Team Yankee which takes modern military equipment and armies and pits them in hypothetical conflicts.
In the future, we fight for humanity with chainsaws.
Of course, the modern granddaddy of popular miniature wargames is Warhammer. Warhammer 40,000 and Warhammer Fantasy Battles were for decades the most popular wargames. Warhammer 40,000, a miniature wargame that takes place in a far-flung future where humanity on its last legs struggles against foes that consist of alien, other men, and even eldritch, remains today and is recognizable on a global scale. The game has seen spinoffs in various video games, roleplaying games, board games, and even in that dread realm of collectable card games. In fact, when I mentioned “miniature wargames” I’m certain those of you with passing knowledge of the hobby most likely associated it with Warhammer games.
WAAAUGH! We have ridiculous armor!
Side note: the creators of the original World of Warcraft real-time strategy game wanted to make a Warhammer game, but had some trouble. The original models and images of that game owe inspiration to Warhammer Fantasy models – right down to giant shoulder armor pieces that make little sense in a real world or video game, but make perfect sense in a hobby where the player paints his own pieces. Giant shoulder pads make for large paintable surfaces.
Oh yes, the painting! For some mini-gamers this is a chore, for others this is an absolute feature of the game. Many who consider the hobby are turned off by this idea. However, as a player I can say that even with my limited skill, it’s a rewarding aspect. There is skill to this part, and there’s plenty of room for a player to customize his army’s look. Rarely will two armies be exactly alike. Everyone has their own flourishes. Everyone paints at different skill, and everyone has ideas as to what they want their force to look like. In fact, for some this is the only part of the game worth pursuing. My lovely wife Amanda has expressed a desire to learn to paint my miniatures that are woefully behind in paint, much less than she expresses a desire to actually play the game.
If painting just isn’t your thing, there’s plenty of games that have pre-painted miniatures. Hero Clix is one example. This is a simple personal-to-small scale battle game with all the minis pre-painted so you needn’t worry about that part. There’s plenty more to choose from, like X-Wing. Though customizing this does require you paint, there’s no requirement to do so. Instead you can jump right into colorful battles.
Pictured: Little stress for tiny details.
How do you get into the game? It can be both easy and difficult. Many game and hobby stores carry miniatures and rules, though the stores that have these will also have miniature war game players who are always happy for new victims converts players to join in. Frequently there might be someone willing to loan out a few pieces to allow one to try the game out. Because we’re nerds, there’s always going to be at least one guy who knows the rules back and forth, if not two or more so one needn’t buy the rules right away. In fact, in it’s early days Privateer Press ran with this idea, recruiting volunteers who’d serve as “Press Gangers”. A Press Ganger took at least two painted forces at minimum play value and would introduce curious gamers to the game by allowing them to play one force as they played the other and explained aspects of the game. Since the minimum was relatively inexpensive for the hobby, it was an easy way to sell the game by using players already enthused about the system.
Did I mention “relatively inexpensive”? Er, yes. And more than painting this can be one of the daunting aspects. For example, when I was playing Warhammer Fantasy Battles, the base rule book cost $50-100 (depending on edition), and a starter box cost about $100. That’s already a steep entry fee, but any Warhammer player of either game would tell you that you’ll be spending more to bring that starter force to a level you can play it against others. A lot more. This is from one who knows. At one time I was a single man who had disposable income or who’s misused income only affected myself, and I poured a lot of money into the hobby. Fortunately, I can take heart that Warhammer Fantasy Battles will be around as long as 40,00k.
D’oh! No … no. Years ago Games Workshop declared they were ending Fantasy Battles and creating a new game, Age of Sigmar which used some of Fantasy Battles pieces but definitely not all. So yes, I spent a lot of money in a game that is no longer played and with people who feel so burned by the publisher that they have no desire to try the new one. It’s understandable: my faction more or less came out relatively unscathed but some of theirs vanished entirely in the new system. Crud. Like many of these nerdy hobbies, occasionally one’s collection ceases to have much use.
I’ve not been this disappointed since the elves left Middle-Earth.Pictured: Original starting force for my team. Not pictured: the remaining $1000 I’ve spent.
Warhammer is/was on the high end of that spectrum, however. There’s plenty more mini-wargames to play that are far more affordable at start. The key phrase there is “at start”. My go-to game while in Santa Rosa was Warmachine by Privateer Press. Their goal has been to make the game accessible financially at start. You can get right into the game with $50 and some glue. Their battleboxes have an initial faction team and a mini-rulebook to get a new player in with little fuss. Of course, I spent a small fortune building up my forces for that game as well. So far, they haven’t shown signs of abandoning their signature line.
Because of costs, taking this hobby up general means not taking another hobby up, such as collectable card gaming. And here’s the conflict I mentioned. In general gamers get along, but miniature war gamers and card gamers both like to congregate at game stores as it’s generally easy to find potential opponents in a centralized location. I’ve played mini-wargames and CCGs at homes as well, but as a personal dwelling locale requires collaboration, the game store makes it easier to just pick up a game by walking in.
Wargames typically take up table space. A typical battlefield is four feet square to four feet by six feet, that space used by two or more players and occasional spectators. That’s easily one table that several card games could take place. Game stores are of course not interested in discouraging either players. Card games are generally less expensive and attract many players (read: customers). Mini-wargamers are smaller in number, but spend a lot more on their hobby. Thus, there’s some resentment between the two, mostly in trying to find available game space. Especially when it’s the stores official night for minis or for card games and both gamers show up to play their games. Fortunately, gamers have a large number of shy, awkward types and introverts, so open conflict rarely surfaces. Just deep-seated resentment.
And there you go, the hobby in a nutshell. I have gotten some of my nerdy-ness out of my system and you, the Ricochet readers, are spared another for some time once again.
Born and raised in Oregon, I've lived most my life on the West Coast, save three years near Minneapolis, Minnesota. I survived four years in the hellish paradise that is Santa Rosa, another two in a land where "Keep Portland Weird" is the first commandment, and I am happily married and living in Utah. I am an electrical designer, Protestant, and a huge nerd. I am a brand new father, and I can't shut up about it. I abuse ellipses with wild abandon.
“I call heaven and earth to witness against you today, that I have set before you life and death, blessing and curse. Therefore choose life, that you and your offspring may live…” — Deuteronomy 30:19
I must admit, this verse has been on my mind for some time, but it has especially come to the fore with the events of Charlie Gard and Alfie Evans.
It seems such a simple choice. Who wouldn’t choose life? Even then, G_d saw a need to exhort the Israelites about to enter Canaan to make the choice of life. Given how things have gone in the past years, it’s clear life is not an obvious choice. Although it has been the United Kingdom that is most recently on our minds, let’s not forget that people point to that system and urge us to adopt something like it.
Life and death are set before us. Which way will we choose?
Born and raised in Oregon, I've lived most my life on the West Coast, save three years near Minneapolis, Minnesota. I survived four years in the hellish paradise that is Santa Rosa, another two in a land where "Keep Portland Weird" is the first commandment, and I am happily married and living in Utah. I am an electrical designer, Protestant, and a huge nerd. I am a brand new father, and I can't shut up about it. I abuse ellipses with wild abandon.
“All right everyone, line up alphabetically according to your height.” — Casey Stengel
Truth be told, my dad watched a lot of sports when we were growing up, but I don’t recall him electing to watch nearly as many baseball games as football games. That may just be the fuzzy memory of youth, of course – a detail that at the time wasn’t important to note. He did watch baseball mostly so that he could have sports happening somewhere in the vicinity while he read. Baseball was, in his opinion, perfect for reading.
However, I do know that the sense of humor of men like Yogi Berra and Casey Stengel appealed to my dad, and he’d use their quotes frequently accompanied by a big grin as if he told the joke successfully himself. The above Stengel quote was a favorite of his – and Casey Stengel had plenty of good ones – and he’d use that on the kids’ soccer team he coached, eyes twinkling with amusement as grade school soccer players tried to figure out how to work this one out. Eventually, he’d let them off the hook. Eventually. Usually, when he was nearing the point he couldn’t contain the laughter.
I’ll have to admit, I inherited my dad’s sense of humor and appreciation of quotes like the one above. And I may or may not have used it on a Sunday school class I was teaching. By “may or may not” I mean I actually used this quote. I’m certain my eyes twinkled with amusement as the kids tried to work just how they could accomplish this. Eventually, I let them off the hook. Eventually. It was about when I was nearing the point I couldn’t contain the laughter.
Born and raised in Oregon, I've lived most my life on the West Coast, save three years near Minneapolis, Minnesota. I survived four years in the hellish paradise that is Santa Rosa, another two in a land where "Keep Portland Weird" is the first commandment, and I am happily married and living in Utah. I am an electrical designer, Protestant, and a huge nerd. I am a brand new father, and I can't shut up about it. I abuse ellipses with wild abandon.
If you’re a modern gamer of any sort, and definitely if you are a gamer of the fantasy sort, you’ve seen the memes and complaints about armor designs for female characters. Namely, the complaint rests around how little the armor actually covers.
The images are common, although modern sensibilities and the increasing popularity of gaming among women has decreased the appearance of such outfits somewhat. The criticisms revolve around the idea that such outfits are made just to tantalize as such armor is of course impractical. These were common enough that Blizzard, which held a weekly WoW comic contest, nixed comics mocking male vs. female armor. Apparently, it got to be too common a theme. However, the familiar “chainmail bikini” look didn’t start that way.
“My massive pecs will protect me from the venomous serpent!” (Art by Frank Frazetta)
Really, we can go back to the sword-and-sorcery tales from the days of pulp fiction. Much of this early fantasy, of which Robert E. Howard’s Conan is a prime example. These sorts of stories have worlds where men are real men, women are real women, and small furry creatures from Alpha Centauri are real small furry creatures from Alpha Centauri. The John Carter of Mars series from Edgar Rice Burroughs, though more of a space opera, has similar themes. The Martians wear next to nothing – stuff that would be beyond scandalous on Earth but is perfectly fine on Barsoom, and such fashion choices are common in either gender.
“Bloodstone” by Frank Frazetta
Artists later tried to recreate the primal worlds of Barsoom or Conan’s primordial Earth. Frank Frazetta is one of the best known of this time (though, of course, there were plenty more). If we note, we can easily find women in scanty armor if that, but there are plenty of men in minimal clothes as well; sometimes Frazetta’s heroes are protected with naught but a codpiece, helmet, and layer after layer of rippling muscles. Such art is a theme of his. Today it would still offend modern sensibilities in that the men are the primal brutes saving the beautiful and sensuous women but, make no mistake, the state of little armor was a common theme.
“This is my codpiece!” (Art by Boris Vallejo)
Boris Vallejo followed this tradition, though he has more women with the role of the killer or hunter. Vallejo’s women range from the Frazetta look to the well-muscled body-built look. They are not scantily-clad damsels in distress, but warriors, sorceresses, and assassins. There’s still the theme of the well-built, well-endowed humans full of brutal power and virility. This continued to contemporaries and protégés of Vallejo, including Julie Bell who favors body-builders in her fantasy art, showing the power of the male and female form.
“Look at my horse; my horse is amazing …” (Art by Boris Vallejo)
Much of this continues well into the ’80s with comic books keeping the look. Conan had two comic book titles: one where he was still a barbarian wearing as little as possible, another where he was a king. Apparently, being royal means putting on a dadgum pair of paints. Other titles had a similar look, such as Warlord, where the title character wore a winged helm and a leopard-print loincloth. That’s all he needed to kick evil’s derriere. Of course, another of these popular titles was Red Sonja.
Pictured: Potential guest on “What Not to Wear”
Red Sonja was a spin-off of Conan and she had what is the iconic chainmail bikini. Sonja swore an oath to never lie with a man who could not defeat her in combat and, at the time, none could match her. Since she was within the Conan world, she maintained the Conan look, that is, fight wearing as little as absolutely necessary. One’s skill as a swordsman or swordswoman was the best defense against incoming blows, definitely not a full suit of heavy armor.
David Sim would later poke fun at this look in his Cerebus series with the character Red Sophia. The title aardvark character defeats Red Sophia who has made a similar oath. She disrobes in front of him and asks what he thinks of this. He looks at her bared torso and comments that the scars will heal once she ditches the chainmail bikini and goes back to regular clothes. It’s a little mockery of the popular image, noting the pitfalls of such attire.
Thus, the armor-kini remained a popular image to use for some time, and since the game industry, for some time, was dominated by geeky adolescent males, it was guaranteed popularity, that’s for sure. And, most likely, it’s a calculated choice for a company to go the scantily clad woman in armor as it’ll attract that large audience.
This has less to do with the history of such warrior women and more to do with the marketing maxim of “sex sells.” Unfortunately for us, the use of such marketing ignored why the original authors and artists sought such portrayals – to demonstrate the raw power and allure of the human form in all sexes, not just the female. We have sacrificed one aspect of art for something lesser. Except not for less clothes, we demand more nowadays.
Born and raised in Oregon, I've lived most my life on the West Coast, save three years near Minneapolis, Minnesota. I survived four years in the hellish paradise that is Santa Rosa, another two in a land where "Keep Portland Weird" is the first commandment, and I am happily married and living in Utah. I am an electrical designer, Protestant, and a huge nerd. I am a brand new father, and I can't shut up about it. I abuse ellipses with wild abandon.
I haven’t liked summer for ages. Sorry, folks. I’m the guy who is stomping on everyone’s good time. I mean, let’s face it, ever since about high school I’ve hated it. Summer has always been hot and uncomfortable with the guarantee that there’s always a limit to how much of your clothes you can take off and be socially accepted. Not that I’ve tried. That anyone can prove. I’ve experienced dry heat and high humidity and just about all between and I can safely say it’s all bad. All of it.
I hated walking in Minnesota summers that felt like you were swimming in the air, hot and muggy and uncomfortable. I don’t like the high desert summers where the air sucks out every single ounce of moisture in you and brings the temperature in your car up to three digits. It makes people crazy, too. Just ask my totally existing detective friend who notes that all the crazy and stupid crimes go up in the summer. He’s an autumn/winter guy too.
I guess I did like summer when I was in school. In elementary school summer meant no schedules. We could ride our bikes to the city park pool – our parents bought us season passes which I am sure was both for us and for them. Sometimes we’d go to a park and play at war, running around without black plastic toy uzis and trying to off each other in a show of stealth and bravado. Other times we’d head to the arcades which were the new great thing, get five – five! whole tokens for a dollar instead of the usual four quarters to the dollar. We’d play Pac-Man, Centipede, and such. Sometimes in our small town, we went to the used book store where they had a rack of used comics. We’d trade in our old ones and get another in turn – three for one. Those were idyllic days.
Some time in high school that ended. In our family, we were required to find work. First, that was stressful enough for a shy, introvert boy who struggled to put himself forward. Once a job was found, I had to sacrifice halcyon days of summer for work. When the job involves counting the smelly beer bottles of my fellow Oregon citizens – well, the bloom is off that rose. Summer hasn’t been the same. It never will.
I’ve moved from that small town that’s changed and will never be the same. I don’t see those friends as much any longer. My siblings are in different states, and the days when kids could ride anywhere they wanted in town on a bike without a helmet and explore and do as they liked are long gone. And at times that loss can be acutely felt. I don’t like summer.
Born and raised in Oregon, I've lived most my life on the West Coast, save three years near Minneapolis, Minnesota. I survived four years in the hellish paradise that is Santa Rosa, another two in a land where "Keep Portland Weird" is the first commandment, and I am happily married and living in Utah. I am an electrical designer, Protestant, and a huge nerd. I am a brand new father, and I can't shut up about it. I abuse ellipses with wild abandon.
Or so says one of my best friends Jer, who claimed it was from a musical. As he follows musical theater, I assume he’s right but I’ve never heard of it nor can I find anything where that quote is from. He noted this while we were driving around the western suburbs of Portland, OR. I’d point to empty lots where housing would be built someday and explain that I designed the street lighting for that, and so on.
That’s something I like about working in the consulting engineering business. Even as a modeler/designer, I can point at something and say, “I worked on that.” Housing developments, assisted living centers, medical centers, schools, military facilities, temples … none are safe from my Finger of Pointitude! “I worked on that. I worked on that. And that. And that.” My poor wife is probably bored of me pointing at the 11-story building right near I-15 North that I point at constantly and proudly note: “I helped design that.”
There’s something gratifying about that — about being able to show others the fruits of your labor. When I worked the lighting design job for an electrical contracting firm (where I designed the aforementioned streetlighting), the electricians and techs would come into the office, soaked from rain and with mud up to their knees and comment out loud to me that they couldn’t handle working in an office all day. I’m sure the Point Principle is part of that. Any of them could drive through a neighborhood and point to anyone who’ll listen.
Building something new takes work and effort, far more work than tearing something down. It’s natural that we show pride in the things we’ve had a hand in creating.
Born and raised in Oregon, I've lived most my life on the West Coast, save three years near Minneapolis, Minnesota. I survived four years in the hellish paradise that is Santa Rosa, another two in a land where "Keep Portland Weird" is the first commandment, and I am happily married and living in Utah. I am an electrical designer, Protestant, and a huge nerd. I am a brand new father, and I can't shut up about it. I abuse ellipses with wild abandon.
Okay. Okay, I’m calm. Sorry. That’s not a good start. It’s just –What the heck?!
Ahem. Sorry, let me start again. Listen, I get it. Your species evolved to be charismatic enough that people just want to hug you and squeeze you and love you and keep you and call you George. Evidence: My daughter has two beloved panda plush toys that she occasionally needs to rescue from my son. I get it. You’re cute and fluffy and the black and white markings just make it. You’re so dadgum cute that everyone wants to hug and cuddle the giant panda and take care of him and make sure nothing ever ever ever ever hurts him.
I’m just saying that you have to do your part. Like sex. Wait, no! Not with people! With each other. For the sake of motherly love create mother pandas! You can evolve to be so cute we want to take care of you, but if you don’t pass on those genes a fat lot of good that’ll do you. I grew up hearing how hard it was to get pandas to mate in captivity. What I didn’t know was that it’s just about as hard to get you to mate in the wild. Most male animals smell a female in estrus and gallop off to spread your genes. Not you. Half the time you can’t be bothered.
“Sure I could find a mate, but this is a comfy rock.”
It’s a problem. It’s a big problem that human beings are pouring billions of dollars in trying to solve and are coming up with less satisfying results for the money than a California bullet train. If you’re going to be cute and adorable, don’t be a jerk about it. Like your neighbors the Red Pandas. They aren’t jerks.
Pictured: Not a jerk.
Eventually, all the money the world is not going to help if you don’t life a finger … paw … claw … whatever to help yourselves. Seriously. Get busy pandas.
Born and raised in Oregon, I've lived most my life on the West Coast, save three years near Minneapolis, Minnesota. I survived four years in the hellish paradise that is Santa Rosa, another two in a land where "Keep Portland Weird" is the first commandment, and I am happily married and living in Utah. I am an electrical designer, Protestant, and a huge nerd. I am a brand new father, and I can't shut up about it. I abuse ellipses with wild abandon.
O Lord, God of my salvation, …I cry out day and night before you. Let my prayer come before you; …incline your ear to my cry!
For my soul is full of troubles, …and my life draws near to Sheol. I am counted among those who go down to the pit; …I am a man who has no strength, like one set loose among the dead, …like the slain that lie in the grave, like those whom you remember no more, …for they are cut off from your hand.
You have put me in the depths of the pit, …in the regions dark and deep. Your wrath lies heavy upon me, …and you overwhelm me with all your waves. (Psalm 88: 1-7)
I have been to several churches in the past three decades that preferred the use of worship music over more traditional fare. I tend not to have too much trouble with it, save in a few areas. One such is its glaring absence of an ability to seriously address the pain of the soul. I guess it’s not too much of a surprise. Pain is something that nowadays we have trouble really accepting. However, in a church — a place where one should be shown how the world really works — denial of pain is just as bad if not worse than what we find in the World at large.
Worship music seems to seriously struggle there. There’s a strong streak of, “Yaaaay, Jesus!” and “Yaaaay, Lord!” there. Even songs that brush against the problem of pain tend to sound like, “Sometimes I’m sad, but yaaaaay, Jesus!” Listen, I don’t have a problem with praising the Lord, and especially not in times of pain. But read the above Psalm in whole. There’s little cheer. It’s hard to imagine an upbeat tempo to this. It is a lament. The Psalmist is at rock bottom. He starts by calling out to his Lord, and lists his pains but never does he pause to say, “Yaaaaay!”
For the decade I struggled with an inability to find my partner, to start my family, loneliness became increasingly painful. For me to go to church and be bombarded with demands to cheer isolated me. What was wrong with me that I couldn’t be happy in whatever spot I’d gotten myself into? It was almost as if I couldn’t be honest about how deep my loneliness had grown with no idea how to pull myself out. I couldn’t cheer and for that, I felt lesser.
But it isn’t so. If anything we’re shown in the scriptures that pain is real and deep. That sometimes we cry out to our Savior with nothing more than our calls for aid because the depths of despair are such that we cannot muster more than the weakest cheer at best. Shared pain is lessened. And we mustn’t be afraid to speak or even sing out in our pain.
Born and raised in Oregon, I've lived most my life on the West Coast, save three years near Minneapolis, Minnesota. I survived four years in the hellish paradise that is Santa Rosa, another two in a land where "Keep Portland Weird" is the first commandment, and I am happily married and living in Utah. I am an electrical designer, Protestant, and a huge nerd. I am a brand new father, and I can't shut up about it. I abuse ellipses with wild abandon.
It began a couple decades ago with a misunderstanding. This took place when I was actively online using primarily text-based interfaces most of the time. Unlike my time here … on Ricochet … whatever. Anyway, I was chatting with one of my friends and she pipes up: “Do Canadians really like fighting matches or something?”*
Me: “What?”
Friend: “Fighting. My calendar says it’s Boxing Day in Canada. Do they really like Boxing or something?”
Me: “I don’t think that’s what it means…”
Friend: “Or wrestling. Do they like wrestling? Do they celebrate Canadian Wrestling Day?”
Me: “That’s not what it means at all. But I like the cut of your jib.”
Thus, Canadian Wrestling Day was born. It kind of spiraled out of control, complete with text-based conversations where suddenly someone would execute a flawless (text-based mind you) pile driver or body slam on their conversation partner.
It escalated when we started sending each other Canadian Wrestling Day cards. Okay, Hallmark totally doesn’t make these nor has at any time (even though they should), but one year I discovered that Target had this machine in the store that would let you design and print your own cards. Among the designs one could pick were WWF (World Wrestling Federation) or was it WCW or I can’t remember. In any case, the fact that Target had these machines and that the fact they allowed us to using wrestling superstars on these cards totally aided and abetted the celebration of Canadian Wrestling Day.
Of course, the nature of the online world means it’s easy to lose touch with people quickly. I’ve not seen this person for some time. Canada’s Wrestling tradition goes uncelebrated by most Americans today. It had a shorter fake holiday life span than Talk Like a Pirate Day. But there’s still a small part of me that fondly remembers Canadian Wrestling Day, and every year Boxing Day comes around, I body slam some random person just to help them get in a holiday spirit.**
*The conversation went roughly like this. It was two decades ago, people, I don’t remember the details.
“All right everyone, line up alphabetically according to your height.” — Casey Stengel
If you’re a modern gamer of any sort, and definitely if you are a gamer of the fantasy sort, you’ve seen the memes and complaints about armor designs for female characters. Namely, the complaint rests around how little the armor actually covers.
