- Tales From Monkey Island Chapter One: Launch of the Screaming Narwhal is the first Telltale games adventure “episode” ever that I felt really lived up to the promise of the point-and-click-and-grab-things genre. Most of their previous offerings have been marked by puzzles that fell somewhere in between “unintuitive” and “nonsensical.” But Tales‘ puzzles make sense; they’re not easy, but they’re not so obtuse as to ruin the fun of the story. (Which is fun, incidentally; the story is so far on par with the best Monkey Island games.)

- Wipeout Couples was actually even more enjoyable than regular Wipeout, which is one of the great “sit back and have a beer” teevee shows. Seeing people root for their spouses on the obstacle course (and cheer, and complain) makes it even more fun. Whodathunk?

- The Magic: The Gathering 2010 base set is just shitloads of fun. People complaining about the rules changes need to get slapped for a number of reasons. The base set has knights and dragons and genies and goblins and everything that should be in a Magic base set: the traditional archetypes and things that are awesome about Generic Fantasy Literature ™. And the new spells and cards are flavourful and well-designed.

MEH

- I know I’m going to get pilloried for this, but: Wednesday Comics. The strip quality was good to excellent overall (exceptions: the incoherent Teen Titans and the very been-there-done-that Metal Men and Demon/Catwoman strips), but a lot of the comics didn’t give me the feel of the old weekly serials they were trying to echo: they felt like first pages of short comic stories and nothing more. Which is fine and I enjoyed them, but I’m not gonna go jerking off over the thing because the first page of eleven or twelve stories is awesome; it’s just too small and early a sample for me to call it “good.”

I’d also call into question the value. People have been exclaiming how this is the same price as a normal comic, but normal comics are overpriced. The giant-size of the layout is nice, definitely, and there’s something to be said for the experience of reading a comic newspaper-style - but it doesn’t give me more story. In fact it gives me less. Yes, yes, I’ve seen multiple people talking about the “square foot of comics” measure as if that was somehow relevant (next up: “Wednesday Comics gives you 24% more wood pulp for your dollar!”). And if they were trying to echo the old serials, why wasn’t this thing printed on cheap newsprint and sold for a buck? That would have been a marketing revolution. As it is, it’s just another (admittedly novel) exercise in marketing to the hardcores, and I can’t get that excited over marketing to the hardcores, because that is what is killing superhero comics.

DIDN’T LIKE

- Lesbian Vampire Killers desperately wants to be the next Shaun of the Dead. Here is all you need to know: it is nowhere near being the next Shaun of the Dead. Avoid. Like the plague.

As a new immigrant to Canada (Toronto in particular), I still don’t understand the Tim Hortons thing.

There’s a reason Timmie’s is so universal an element of Canadian culture: it’s particularly Canadian in that it transcends class. Tim’s coffee isn’t particularly good coffee and the doughnuts are average at best (they used to be quite good, then the delivery model took over and now the selection is hit-and-miss - although the pumpkin spice donuts, when they show up, are brilliant).

But absolutely everybody will be satisfied with it in any situation. The glory of Tim’s is that everybody in Canada is familiar with it and it’s okay food; CEOs eat Tim’s donuts as often as their plant workers do. You show up at work and no matter what type of work you do or how important your job is, once or twice a week somebody brings a box of Tim’s donuts for everybody. I’ve been to law firms that have their own enormous, well-staffed kitchens with private menus - and they have empty Tim’s boxes in the lounge. Always.

That’s a very egalitarian thing; the well-to-do of American society just aren’t the same way about, say, McDonald’s. Tim’s is a reminder to Canadians that we’re all the same, deep down, and to Canadians that’s a very satisfying thing to remember.

Poor Firebug. Out of all the characters to get boned by Crisis On Infinite Earths, he may have gotten it the worst.

Now, sure, he didn’t die or anything. But so what? Supergirl came back. Barry Allen came back. The Anti-Monitor came back. Pretty much the only person who died in Crisis now is Prince Ra-Man, and he’ll probably come back next month. No, what happened to Firebug is worse: he became redundant.

See, pre-Crisis, Firebug was Batman’s official Arsonist Villain. If you needed to do a story that needed an arsonist, Firebug was your guy. It wasn’t a big thing, but it was a niche. Firebug had his little place in Gotham lore, back in the days when Batman had a lot of villains who wore costumes and who were not crazy. (Nowadays, all Batman villains are crazy. Even Ra’s Al Ghul is a megalomaniac with psychotic tendencies.) A comics writer would go, “I need a fire here. Hey, Firebug!” and he’d get called up. It was reliable.

Post-Crisis, though, Firefly became the fire-oriented Batman villain of choice. Which is interesting, because pre-Crisis, Firefly was a Golden Age dorkus who fought Batman with coloured lights. Post-Crisis, though, somebody realized that “Firefly” is a more poetic name for an arsonist villain than “Firebug” is, so Firefly became an arsonist - and, because Batman now officially Fought The Crazy Types, a pyromaniac as well.

And that left Firebug out in the cold, so to speak. There was only one potential career path for him now: that of the loser semi-retired ex-villain who gets made to look like a schmuck, preferably by a C-lister or below looking for a bit of a boost rather than a major heroic type. And of course, that’s exactly what happened in the very first storyline for Gotham Central.

But even then, he did his best, and was a quality schmuck.

Melissa and Ade: disco and waltz. Well, I was kind of waiting for Melissa and Ade to have a bad week, and this was more or less it. Not that you would notice, with the judges verbally jerking off the way that they do and overpraising everything to the moon, but they weren’t nearly at the quality they were previously. The disco started off very rough, and worse it was Doriana “More Lifts! More Lifts!” Sanchez returning to her worst habits, setting up giant lifts and killing whatever flow the routine possessed. Ade was much better than Melissa in this; she was seriously lacking any sense of groove for pretty much the entire first half of the routine. But she’s pretty and she shook her ass and that’s all Nigel cares about, so whatever.

Quality reversed itself in the waltz; here, Melissa was mostly in good form while Ade was incredibly stiff. When the judges talk about how strong a male dancer is at carrying people, that’s code for “I don’t want to say anything bad but there isn’t much else to say.” His footwork was bad, his rise and fall was bad, his lines were only average (and frankly at this point any contemporary dancer should be able to manage decent lines). Still, the two of them should be safe.

Kayla and Kupono: contemporary and Broadway. Boy, they sure do feel the need to challenge these two, don’t they. Anyway, the Mia Michaels piece was predictably good; I can maybe argue with the tone of the dance (I always get this sense that addiction, as a Thing, should somehow be languid and not as frenetic as she was depicting it to be), but the choreo was inventive and exciting and the performance quality was good.

The Broadway was crap. Jesus, how do you fuck up derivative West Side Story choreo? They basically did it in Vegas, for crissake. They keep trying to play up Kupono as the next Mark Kanemura, but Mark could do just about anything well: take Kupono out of his “quirky/weird” contemporary wellhouse and he just starts to stumble really quickly. (He’s also probably the least athletic dancer remaining, with the possible exception of Philip - and Philip has at least a notable skillset to set him off from the rest of the group.) Kayla is better than he is but not really that engaging as a dancer. She’ll almost certainly make top ten; he’s on the bubble.

Caitlin and Jason: foxtrot and lyrical jazz. Caitlin and Jason can talk about how much they’ll miss each other all they want: it is bullshit. Either that, or they both have the worst partnering skills I have ever seen, because watching these two dance tonight was like watching robots dance; they were technically flawless in both routines, and the sheer lack of empathy and performance quality made both routines sterile and lifeless. I think Jason might be able to get better if partnered differently; I don’t think Caitlin would.

Jeanine and Philipchbeeb: kalinka and jive. Well, the I Hate Philipchbeeb brigade over at Television Without Pity is no doubt creaming their jeans that the show spiked these two with that horrible karlinka - one of the worst routines I’ve ever seen on the show, and not particularly the fault of the dancers involved. This routine was so bad that the judges actually took the unprecedented step of blaming the choreographers.

The jive was decent, a very reasonable outing by both parties. There were flaws (and I’m not talking about the trip-up; there were a couple of tricks that didn’t finish too cleanly), but they were easily outmatched by performance quality. Jeanine is obviously a better overall dancer than Philipchbeeb - I think she’s probably the best female dancer on the show - but Philipchbeeb is extremely underrated in the performance category. Jeanine is obviously through to top ten; Philipchbeeb is on the bubble.

Randi and Evan: hip-hop and samba. I love how Nigel tries to point out the fact that Tabitha and Napoleon’s hip-hop isn’t “urban” like that’s some sort of plus. “Tabitha and Napoleon make excellent apple pie! Except they make it with bananas, and it is a cake, rather than a pie. They’re not forcing you to enjoy apples.” This reminded me of the well-known “Bleeding Love” routine from last season, which grabbed me at the time with its novelty but hasn’t aged well because it was, in fact, basically kinda shitty hip-hop. And the reason this reminded me of that routine is because a lot of this routine was a direct lift from it. Horrible, horrible routine, and Randi in particular couldn’t even dance this whitebread hip-hop with beats worth a damn. Evan was only slightly better.

The samba wasn’t as embarrassing, but - look, one of my dance teachers once told me that samba is the most exposing of Latin dances, and when I asked her to clarify she said “well, if you dance it white, you look really, really white.” Randi and Evan looked really, really white dancing this.

Carla and Turk Jeanette and Brandon: Argentine tango and contemporary. HOLY. SHIT. This season’s been pretty lacklustre for contenders for my “best of all time” lists - Max and Kayla’s samba, Philip and Jeanine’s first hip-hop, maybe Brandon and Jeanette’s hip-hop and Kupono/Ashley’s crash test dummy thing, but all at best just piercing the bottom half of the lists. But tonight, Brandon and Jeanette put together two immediate, serious contenders for both. The tango easily stands up with any ballroom performance on this show ever; right now the only question to my mind is if it’s better than Heidi and Benji’s infamous mambo. Their work on that tango was so crisp and sultry it’s mindboggling.

The Wade Robson piece was a Wade Robson piece: brilliant, with a sense of humour, and a story beyond “hey love is tough.” And they were, of course, just perfect in it.

Likely bottom three: Caitlin and Jason, Kayla and Kupono, Jeanine and Philipchbeeb.
Should go home: Caitlin and Kupono.
Will go home: Caitlin and Philipchbeeb.

There are cosmic horrors - idiotic, ravenous, indestructible things - lurking on the fringes of the universe. They adore the taste of sentient life; it attracts them to the cracks in reality, and then they force their way through for a time, destroy/eat everything in sight, and retreat back to the madness-worlds that they call home. You know this for truth; its obviousness is inescapable. Most people cannot accept this at face value, however, and that is why we come up with theories about life-destroying comets and the like.

The old races - the really, really old races, the ones that the Elders of the Universe outlived - discovered, back in the day, the power of warning signs. Life magic, using the energy of expiring souls to create runes that, if not capable of destroying those horrors, at least made planets rich with life taste like moldy Limburger to them. (Metaphorically speaking, of course.) Benevolent members of those races explored the universe and found the prehistoric ancestors of all the alien races, and taught them the rituals - who to choose, how to kill and when and where, what to do thereafter. (Murder is simple. Sacrifice is difficult.)

Of course, people being people - even when they’re aliens - after a few tens of thousands of years, everybody forgot the why and how and when and where, and it just became ritual sacrifice to appease gods. Sometimes the gods existed; sometimes they did not. However, the existent gods didn’t complain, because sacrificial worship is still worship, even if it is messy. The nonexistent ones did not complain for obvious reasons. Eventually, of course, most civilizations grew up and left behind ritual sacrifice as a practice, because it was barbaric and cruel and pointless. And it was - the original rules to create the warding signs had long since mutated into uselessness.

On Earth, the old races taught half a dozen nascent cultures, all of whom managed to forget in different ways the purpose of their task. It’s not surprising that humanity forgot the reason for the sacrifices; what would be surprising would be if somebody managed to rediscover the practice and the need behind it. It would be virtually impossible, an act of archeology so amazing Indiana Jones would jump out of the fridge and doff his fedora in respect.

Which of course means that somebody does it. An accomplished archeologist pieces it all together, and then realizes that, according to the instructions left behind on stone tablets from a dozen ancient civilizations, Earth’s current set of warning markers is just about all used up. They should have been renewed a century ago; now maybe a couple of years’ time and one person’s knowledge are all that stands between the planet and eternal cosmic consumption.

The good Doctor only learns of this person’s work gradually, when other, less magically-inclined heroes ask him to consult on a grisly, occult-looking murder. Finding the person involved proves to be difficult, even for one of his calibre. But then comes the most troubling question: what if the archeologist is right? What if the heightened and honed magical abilities of the Sorcerer Supreme (and similarly powerful mages) aren’t an upgrade to the old blood magic, but merely an interesting, totally non-similar skill set, and they can’t deal with the cosmic horrors at all?

It’s Strange’s job to protect this reality from destruction. Does being the universe’s protector mean being the universe’s butcher when necessary?

That is about the most perfect thing imaginable.

That would be Betty, imagining Jughead to be Archie, and trying to fuck-strangle him to death.

Consider reality television, as a genre, along two axes. The first axis is amount of specific talent required. On the one hand, you have a show like MythBusters, wherein Adam and Jamie bring a wealth of scientific and engineering skill, or Ice Road Truckers, where a very dangerous job is done by experienced drivers. On the other hand, you have a show like Survivor, where specific knowledge is entirely secondary in terms of the show’s gameplay and presentation to less tangible people skills, or The Hills, where everybody is a retard and the only thing that matters is the clash of personality. Call it the difference between traditional IQ and emotional/social intelligence.

The second axis is degree of competition. Reality shows are either competitive or not, sure, but there are degrees of competitiveness. A show where the public votes on the winner is inherently less competitive than one where the winner is decided by a single person, like Donald Trump in The Apprentice; there’s simply more chance that the public will judge incorrectly or in a biased manner. A panel of judges, in turn, produces a show more competitive than one judged by a single arbiter. And of course, the most competitive show is one where the contestants are eliminated only by other contestants. And of course there are shows where competition is either entirely moot, or where the “competition” is strictly A) for funsies or B) something about self-improvement.

So, visually, you get this:

Increasingly one sees that reality TV trends towards the corners. The social/noncompetitive corner is dominated by MTV-style docusoaps like The Hills and other such totally worthless and horrible shows. The talent/noncompetitive corner is the realm of docudramas like Deadliest Catch. Social/competitive is exemplified by The Bachelor, where the goal is entirely competitive and the means to get it entirely social. (Survivor, while primarily a social competition, has nonsocial elements in its competitive axis.) Finally, talent/competitive is exemplified by Wipeout, which while not exactly high-class is definitely A) entirely about physical talent and B) competitive in the purest sense, as victory is determined solely by one’s time on the fancy obstacle course.

What this means is that any new successful reality show has to find its own microterritory within the corners. And clearly, the most room exists in the competitive/social quadrant. Isn’t science helpful?

- Finally got around to seeing The Quiet Earth, the mid-80s New Zealand sci-fi movie about a guy who discovers that, as a result of a scientific experiment he worked upon, every person on Earth has disappeared. It’s flawed: needs better actors, and the tail third kinda drags a bit - but it’s still very compelling and well worth seeing if you’ve got the means. (By which I mean the internet.)

- Caught Total Wipeout, the British version of Wipeout, this week, and it’s all the dumb fun of regular Wipeout except the jokes from the host are actually clever and kind of witty!

DIDN’T LIKE

- Maybe it’s a bit harsh to say I “didn’t like” Public Enemies, because Johnny Depp and Marion Cotillard are both amazing and Christian Bale quite good, and they are the bulk of the acting time in the movie - but the movie just drags. Even the gunfights are boring, and this is a movie about frigging bank robbers. How can a movie about bank robbers have boring gunfights? Well, this one does. (I’m also not a fan of the DV cinematography in this case; it sometimes makes the film look cheap.)

- People have been emailing me to ask if I’ll do a remix of Justice League: Cry For Justice, and I don’t really see the point, because this comic is so painfully bad the jokes are too obvious to bother making. This is a comic where Green Lantern demands the heroes be more “proactive” and nobody bothers to point out that he already did that, and in the process temporarily destroyed the universe, except whoops it was a giant yellow space bug controlling him or something. This is a comic where the Atom tortures a bad guy by stomping on his brain and nobody points out that his wife killed one of his closest friends by accident doing the exact same thing. This is the shittiest comic I have read in god knows how long. Ultimatum is a better comic than this, because as stupid and offensive as Ultimatum is, at least in that comic people in tights fight other people in tights. This is stupid and offensive and absolutely jack shit happens.