I was on a late today so only got in at 19:15, then it was grab a quick bite to eat, inspect the airy Upper Dungeon, throw a bit of rotting meat to the prisoners in the dank dark Lower Dungeon, check the tripwires, make lunch for tomorrow, check e-mails, release the postman from the booby-trap cellar again*, then start blogging.
Nor was that all - having forgotten my phone today I had to revert to writing lots of ideas down, viz:
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| See? See what hours I put in for your benefit? |
Except I still haven't fathomed what the acronym "GOOHWYD" means.
Good News! Skarphedinn Photography Is Back!
Mr Thrainsson is an Icelandic photographer who takes frankly stunning photographs of his native land. Here is one of the most recent:
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| No CGI needed |
"Powers"
Saw the first episode of this yesterday and I liked it. There were two deaths within the first five minutes, then it was onto a seedy parade of drugs, sex, violence, media feeding frenzy and and under-budgeted police Division that deals with Powers - that is, people with superpowers.
In other words, a contemporary policier with superhumans, and realistic. Did I mention the swearing? It gets a bit fruity at times.
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| "Do I make you corny, baby?" |
When I say people get killed, this means they are DEAD. There are no "Oh it was only a flesh-wound" or "it was actually my clone double" or "No! that was my evil self from Reality 227#a". You get dead in Powers, you stay dead. Just as in the comic.
There are differences: Deena Pilgrim here is a sassy young black woman who combines two of Christian Walker's partners in one character. Triphammer, not seen in this episode, is completely different from the comic version - presumably because he was far too similar to Iron Man. And Retro Girl is alive, not dead. Or at least not yet ...
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| The Scarlet Woman, so to speak |
Oh, and it was very bright compared to the dark shadings of Oeming (the artist).
More later on.
"Mockingjay"
Conrad saw this in an advert in The Metro and instantly flew into BOOJUM! Film Review Mode. I can sum my review up in a single picture:
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| Well, he looks pretty mocking to me. |
This provided Conrad with a couple of bits of postal ammunition. You may not be familiar with it, as it hails from 1995; slightly shocking to think that it's 20 years old now.
The plot is that ten people awake on an American Pride airliner after it travels through an aurora over the Mojave desert. They are alone: everyone else, including the flight crew, has vanished.
| "Look! No hands flying!" |
When they arrive at Bangor airport, it is deserted. There is a wind, but the clouds overhead aren't moving. Matches won't strike, food tastes awful, the beer is all flat.
And in the distance, a horrid roaring crackle is coming ever closer ...
SPOILER ALERT!
What on earth has happened?
Well, that "aurora" was actually a rip in the fabric of space-time and the plane and survivors have been shifted fifteen minutes into the past.
So what? you say. At the very worst they're stuck in an empty world with flat beer.
Ah, but no. In this case the past is another country with a very limited lease of life. That noise, you see, is The Langoliers, who march across the globe devouring everything in their path as they get rid of the past.
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| Langoliers. Job Description: EAT EVERYTHING! |
Conrad is not sure about the logistics of a breed of monsters devouring all before them, as they would have to spread across the whole circumference of planet Earth to eat up everything, and the ones at the Poles <Mister Hand moves the post on before it descends into self-referential chaos>
You can tell this was made a loooong time ago. Nobody has a mobile phone, nobody tries to access the internet on a tablet, a couple of people smoke cigarettes.
Conrad also wonders how they shut down Bangor International Airport for an extended period of time. I mean, Bangor IA isn't like Heathrow or LAX, but it must have a fair amount of traffic.I suppose the name "Stephen King" carries a lot of clout!
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| Rush hour at Bangor IA |
Bingo!
Conrad only uses the expression to indicate that another person has successfully hit the nail on the head.**Oh, hello coincidence, fancy meeting you here! as Conrad played a game of Bingo on Red Nose Day, after people explained how it's played.
Numbers come up at random and you cross them off a sheet.
That's it. Notice that word "random" in there. There's no skill or judgement involved, you just have to be fast at shouting "Bingo".
Now, the reason this is mentioned at all is because of the adverts during breaks of "The Langoliers", and "Whichbingo". This is a website that gives you the skinny on all the bingo websites so you know which ones to play.
There are so many bingo websites that you need another one to order and rate them? This is madness!
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| Bingo is boring. Here's a SLAMBAM instead. (Submarine Launched Ballistic Missile) |
Were-creatures And Body Mass
I may be overthinking this, but after posting about various were-creatures yesterday I wondered about the were-process and the end result. After all, as a were-wolf you can say that the mass of a fully-grown adult male and a wolf are roughly similar.
What, then, in the case of the were-weasel? Do you scale down into a ferocious human-animal hybrid six inches tall? Or become a human-sized monster with short ears and long teeth? - which seems a bit like cheating.
And don't forget the were-elephant. When transformed, are you, indeed, elephant-sized? Because that means shredding your clothes into confetti, and problems with swampy ground. And mice. Or do you just become The Elephant Man with sharper teeth and considerably less sympathy?
Don't let's even consider the ultimate were-creature, the Were-whale ...
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| Yes, a were-whale. Some people have too much time on their hands! |
Finally
Instead of a cute animal, please witness my Aromatic Crispy Duck Pancakes With Hoi Sin Sauce:
Past their best (allegedly) last week, they were a bit of a faff to make, but only a bit, and none now remain.
Okay, we didn't get to either Dilithium or hoovers, but it's 9:20 and I do have a life beyond BOOJUM!.
Maybe tomorrow!
* Royal Mail; slow to learn.
** A phrase we may examine at a later date.
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