Pointless Man

Game of Thrones (hereafter Game of Dwarf or just Dwarf , in honour of the only reason to see the show) is about as banal as the prose in the novels which spawned it. Though I continue to watch (for the dwarf, of course), I don't care about the vast majority of the characters, fights, or intrigues on screen. They tend to be as joyless as the sex-as-penetration-only to which we are regularly treated in Dwarf , which seems to hold a world with perhaps five people who are even aware of the possibility of foreplay. Though much of this is likely the fault of the ham-handed George R. R. Martin, I do not blame him. What more can be expected from a formerly illiterate pirate? You may think I'm just making this up, but how else would you explain the prominent 'R's in his name; his poor understanding of strategy and better grasp of tactics; his tepid and repetitious prose juxtaposed with his crisp banter; his largely transactional (or rapey) and generally uncomprehending vie...

In frustation, a lady told me she just might kill a particular person. If she had to, I replied, bathrooms lack cameras, and people might believe the person in question had simply drowned. Visibly shocked, the lady decried both me and my suggestion as terrible. But I  wasn't the one who brought up the subject of murder, I retorted. I merely supplied a way to lessen the likelihood of a prison sentence should she feel compelled to actually kill that person. Neither did this mollify her nor make her feel her complicity in my jest, for the implicit absurdity of my suggestion did not impress itself on her mind so much as the image of the act, offering further evidence for Hitchcock's maxim that it is best to leave violence largely to the imagination of one's audience. You've foist a horrible image upon me, she declared. Later on, I laughingly told this story to a friend of mine. She seemed earnestly troubled by my conduct. There's too much premeditation there, she tol...

I have been a sometimes-fan of Prince since I first sat down and listened to an LP of Purple Rain back in the early '90s.  That 1984 record is probably the best rock album of its decade. Still, in all that time, I've never been able to bring myself to watch the movie in its entirety until this last Wednesday. I'm not sure I've seen a better representation of mid-80s goofiness, self indulgence, or childish faux-sexuality in a single movie. It was fantastic--almost as good as the record, though, of course, for completely different reasons. I'm not sure if I can't recommend it, or can't recommend it enough.

For the Lord! For peace! For scientific inquiry! For Plymouth Rock! For...uh...Because! Recognizing comics as a medium of nearly immediate apprehension, I am sensitive to the effect of difficult-to-read pages. It almost hurts to decipher the writing above. But such is the result of the best and quickest method I have to upload comics at present. Apy-polo-logies for the inconvenience.

It occurs to me the smaller print didn't make a good transition in the photo. It would be nice to have my scanner up and running, but that would require a working PC. Alas. The dialogue in the upper right corner is as follows: THUG: I heard he pissed off a mob boss what throwed acid in his face. Afterwards. PREACHER: Lo, he was a lost lamb, a wandering heathen, 'til the light did come unto him and cleanse him of his face. Behold the tender mercies of the Lord. SAILOR: I posit he is a primitive ancestor of man--a proto-man, if you will--decked out to appear human. He is a clever fellow, you see.

Yesterday, I was riding the bus with my son when an urban camper climbed aboard with what I assumed was the sum total of his worldly possessions. "Telling stories to teach lessons about Jedi powers. It's about goddamn time," he was saying as he strode past. After mumbling to himself for awhile, he began regaling various passengers with his dogma. I couldn't quite make out what he was saying until he took his gospel to someone in front of me. "What do you think about my flag?" he asked the cornered passenger, pulling at his hand drawn t-shirt. "What do you think about my cross? Seven stars for the seven continents." He sat down. "See, it's not just about Jesus. I'm the second coming, but I'm beyond Jesus. I'm the resurrection of Luke Skywalker. "I finally cracked the Bible!" he happily declared. "I'm not crazy anymore!"