Scott Pilgrim vs. the World(2010)

[ARCHIVE: Finished Aug 12, 2010, they before the general release. My friend Mary-Alice got me a ticket into an early screening. It was awesome]

Scott Pilgrim vs. the World opens with the eponymous character informing his friends he’s dating a high school girl. This, despite his own age (he’s 22), his career (he has none), his living situation (sharing a one-bed apartment with a gay friend), or approval of his peers (he doesn’t have it). Completely unfazed, Scott (Michael Cera) deems the relationship favorable, basking in the uncomplicated nature of the young girl’s affection and the undemanding requirements necessary to obtain it. All thoughts of plain and simple, however, go right out the door at the introduction of Ramona Flowers.

Set in the magical faraway land of Canada, the story follows Scott’s quest to date Ramona (Mary Elizabeth Winstead), a mysterious girl beset by her personal League of Evil Exes. Relationship baggage is made manifest, as Scott is forced to battle everyone Ramona dated before him. On paper, the whole affair seems ridiculous, complicated in bizarre and unnecessary ways. A lesser director would be tempted to boil the narrative down, narrow the movie’s scope to fit a more recognizable genre. Thank god, then, for Edgar Wright.

Best known for directing Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz, Edgar Wright applies his trademark brand of snappy dialogue and overt pop-culture allusions to Bryan Lee O’Malley’s similarly-titled indie comic book series. Although not his own material, Wright proves to be uniquely qualified to adapt Scott Pilgrim. Some of the director’s visual trademarks make an appearance here; a fast-paced “gearing up” montage is interrupted with the careful tying of shoelaces; normally awkward characters become superhuman martial artists at the drop of a hat. There’s an early fight scene between Michael Cera and a mob of lackeys that stands on par with Hong Kong action films. The only concession seems to be a lack of subtextual dialogue, replaced with quotes directly lifted from the source material. They lack the contextual brilliance of Wright’s other films, but they still entertain.

Moreover, instead of simply parodying movie genre conventions, Wright adopts the graphic novel series’s visual language to punch up the film. Perspectives are foreshortened, sound effects onomatopoetically visualized, physical blows highlighted with impact lines. Where previous comic book films stumbled with properly including such references to a material’s origins, Pilgrim contains more of comics’ visual language (and more liberally) than any film before it. Yet the whole thing is done with such style and consistency with the film’s tongue-in-cheek spirit. The little pieces of visual flair accent without overpowering the aesthetic of the live action sequences, a testament to Wright’s artistic eye and visual restraint.

Most directors would feel satisfied with such a difficult accomplishment. Wright, however, simply moves on to the next phase. The comic book’s liberal use of video game homages are intrinsic to its appeal, and it would have been simple enough to just copy the same visual queues that appear in the original comic. Instead, their presence is increased and augmented in the process. Every masterfully edited/choreographed fight is prefaced with an appropriate VS screen. Flashback sequences are visually queued with 16-bit musical stings. Defeated minions explode into piles of coins, a la River City Ransom (only to be scooped up by cash-strapped individuals). In particular, one villain’s artful slow-motion dissolve into metal currency deserves to be captured and framed.

Perhaps the greatest achievement of Scott Pilgrim is how Wright elicited an actual performance out of Michael Cera. Comically awkward lines are his trademark, and they do appear when appropriate. But the actor does equally well when stoic determination or naive earnestness are called for. At one point, Ramona appears after changing her hair color (this happens several times); Cera’s look of abject shock and neurotic horror is classic visual comedy, a welcome surprise addition to his repertoire. Co-actor Mary Elizabeth Winstead does him one better, though; Ramona is cooly aloof, yet hints at a deeply hidden vulnerable side. Her character is not completely humorless, but does get the lion-share of dramatic moments and she delivers them well. It’s a welcome change from her normal action movie/horror film roles.

Newcomer Ellen Wong gives a particularly noteworthy performance as Knives Chau, Scott’s high school-aged (ex)girlfriend. Convincingly adolescent, Wong’s oozes naive cuteness and age-based anxiety in equal measure as she obsesses over a boy in the way only high school girls can. Accused of distracting Scott during band practice, Knives’s response, an audibly and visually meek “I’ll be quieter,” had the audience in total fits. Plus, you know, anyone who can smile in, like, every scene she’s in is a total trooper.

Throughout the film, Ramona questions Scott about their relationship. Neither one of them is perfect or pure, and neither are their feelings, despite the “save the princess” story unfolding around them. Movies, too, are complicated, especially when adapting material from other art forms. Arguably, a satisfying and accurate translation is impossible without losing something intrinsic to a particular medium. Scott Pilgrim vs. the World, however, comes closer than many of the movies that preceded it, and it’s done so with awesome ambition. The case could be made that Scott Pilgrim is one of the best comic book films or video game flicks ever made. On the surface, the movie is just a comedy with some action scene sprinkled throughout; an uncomplicated piece of cinematic summer fluff. Perhaps it is fitting, then, that such an unassuming film succeeds and entertains where specially-marketed multimillion dollar projects fail.

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WALL-E(2008)

WALL-E, Pixar's latest offering follows the story of the last robot left on Earth. But despite the apocalyptic backdrop, it manages to present an interesting question about society while retaining a happy ending. While this is nothing new for children's films, it's a refreshing change from the current trend of bleak dystopia. When Doctor Who offers floating murderous obsidian as humanity's inescapable evolutionary fate, something needs to pick up the slack. WALL-E uses science fiction as a backdrop to explore the importance of individuality and how it can save us.

Earth, long ago trashed and abandoned by humans is left to the robots to clean up. One by one, they all break down until just one WALL-E unit is left, presenting the perfect stage for old-style pantomime. Pixar's design team has done a good job, presenting a main character whose mechanical parts blend storytelling necessity with obligatory functionality. Shovel arms serve as splendidly expressive hands. In an inspired scene, WALL-E fumbles to put on his treads in the same way people struggle with their slippers after waking up. Not since Johnny 5 has a robot gotten so much mileage out of face made of just two camera lenses.

WALL-E's interactions are easy to understand and surprisingly human. Like a mime artist, he shows and does, rather then explains. His difficulty playing paddle ball and his confusion with a brassiere reflect the playful curiosity of every inner child. And like this reviewer, WALL-E works all day, palming little souvenirs he comes across and, at the end of the day, adding them to the collection of toys he has stuffed into every nook and cranny of his swanky bachelor pad, which is meticulously organized but a little dusty. Did I mention his sweet home theater system? WALL-E and his dusty, barren stage embody the best qualities of pantomime, theater and silent film masters of old.

Into this world comes EVE, a sleek piece of modern design. Like an iPod, every function is integrated into the beautiful, seamless shape of the whole. There's something beautiful but clinical and antiseptic about her, and it's not just how she callously takes potshots with her laser gun. EVE pursues her command with singular efficiency until the lack of success drives her to frustration, unlike WALL-E, who hums a happy tune despite the overwhelming burden of the almost-Sisyphean cleanup task, readily investigating anything that piques his curiosity. And let's face it, which one of the two experiences more job satisfaction?

There's a brief moment of personality when EVE breaks free of her programming and makes a flyby of the landscape, but it's not until WALL-E introduces her to his treasure trove of human artifacts and puts on a little musical dance number that she truly shows a spark of personality. This contrast of new versus old continues when EVE is introduced to the MacGuffin, a plant sapling recovered by WALL-E. What sentience she has is overridden, turning EVE into a blank vessel whose only purpose is keeping the plant safe until she is picked up and returned to an outer space vessel waiting for her. WALL-E continues his ideal romantic production, taking her on boat rides and to scenic sunsets despite her inability to respond or even acknowledge his efforts. But ultimately it wouldn't matter; his pure-hearted affection is its own reward. Finally, EVE is picked up to be returned to a deep space vessel, and our love-struck trash compactor friend follows out of devotion.

The ship in question is a human luxury cruiser, a monument to the path of least-resisted instant gratification. Comfort and ease have been taken to their endpoint, introduced earlier and earlier into peoples' lifespan until every hour of every day is spent in effortless pampered leisure. A joke cribbed from Clueless shows two individuals, feet apart, speaking through their video messaging systems. Virtual golf is even farther removed from its Wii predecessor, requiring only a finger movement (or perhaps that's a regression to PS2 versions). Automation rules and the humans are content to be well-fed and taken care of, unaware or uncaring of what else is lost in the upkeep of the lifestyle.

This is the world where, even when the ship's captain is presented with the plant, living proof of Earth's ecological recovery, the automated pilot is able to supersede his authority and preserve the status quo. There is no fascist enforcement of conformity because it's not needed. Everyone is happily cared for and any change in mandate can be presented as choice, whereupon the neglected, but not extinct, need for change propels every one to adopt it as if it were law. It is a state where man and machine continue in mindless equilibrium.

Like the sledgehammer-wielding sprinter of Apple's 1984 ad, WALL-E stumbles into this world and destroys the cruise liner's ecosystem, although perhaps a bit more charmingly. Individual after individual comes across our grimy, quirky hero and begin to transform. A lady sees the world past her view screen. A cleaning droid stops slavishly following marked paths. A robot meant only to push buttons is introduced to the joys of waving hello. The captain stands under his own power. Working alone, WALL-E can do little but vainly outrun the enforcement droids. With the help of his friends, each one finally thinking outside of their given roles, WALL-E succeeds in returning humanity to its home.

Detractors point at WALL-E and complain that it is overly critical of capitalism and environmental damage. Some even consider it to be an exploration into post-human civilization, as we are doomed to extinction. While WALL-E is an examination of human society and the implications of current trends, it is not judgmental. No one is irredeemable except the overly-rigid. WALL-E's infection of uniqueness propels people to look for what went wrong or missing and work towards correcting it. The earth recovers, humans rediscover their resourcefulness, and machines reach beyond their programming. Is there a need to look for a successor when, at least in the print that I watched, hundreds of humans standing around as a child waters the salvaged plant, none of them gagging on toxic fumes (although science begs the question where the oxygen came from). It's not a clear-cut answer, but it ends the film with a note of hope.

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10,000 B.C. (2008)

[ARCHIVE: This was the first article I wrote in a pact with my once-and-future-roommate, in an effort to get ourselves writing again. She has yet to finish her part of the bargin.]

There’s a moment in every movie when you realize exactly what it is you’re watching. Usually, it happens early in the movie. While the opening credits roll, the director has set the tone and mood with shots or sounds that will tell you what kind of approach is being employed. Many times, people go in knowing already knowing what to expect. After all, why would the audience be in that theater if they weren’t looking for what was on display in the television commercials? But sometimes the movie takes longer, trying to build suspense or lull one into a false sense of security. Sometimes it works. But more often than not, you’re left with a crowd that feels confused or cheated. So it is with 10,000 B.C.

Director Roland Emmerich (Independence Day, The Day After Tomorrow) tackles the film with the same grandstanding of his previous blockbusters. The landscape takes center stage, highlighted by shot after shot of beautiful, diverse locations. The film attempts to instill a sense of awe in the wild land, untouched by civilization, thrusting it in our faces with the same reverence as a newly discovered specimen long thought extinct. And in this way the movie works, if somewhat clumsily. Frosty mountain ranges, humid rain forests, arid deserts; each setting is unkempt and unique from afar. Until, of course, the humans walk into frame. Suddenly, one is too aware of how artificial the snow lands or the pristine condition of the desert huts.

The actors are no help, their hair falling into unnaturally parted messes, their grime too fresh to be more than minutes old. There’s just too much beauty in the features of the main actors that one really can’t look past the hair weaves and the mid-west accents. Which is a shame because they really try their best with what they are given. Stephen Strait (The Covenant) plays D’Leh, a young mammoth hunter that sets out from a dying tribe after not to find help for his people, but to save Evolet (played by When A Stranger Call’s Camilla Belle), the blue-eyed tan-skinned beauty taken from him during a raid by “four-legged demons.” While not offensive on paper, the lack of direction leaves the principle actors to stumble their way unconvincingly through dialogue that feels unnaturally constructed for any time period. We learn as much in a nauseating scene where D’Leh professes his love for Evolet to be as constant as the North Star.

While I’d like to say that it’s all downhill from there, such a statement would be misleading. We are carried through the movie by Cliff Curtis, cast in the role of Tic Tic, the Obi-Wan to D’Leh’s Luke Skywalker. Equal parts stoic and empathetic, Curtis plays the elder hunter with steady hand. His paternal relationship with the young hero is nuanced and believable. Equally good is Joel Virgel, who plays ally chieftain Nakudu. Although a relatively inexperienced actor, Virgel brings an intensity to the part that underscores the tribesman’s drive to free his kidnapped son. While Strait tells us of D’Leh’s devotion, Virgel shows us with a furrow of Nakudu’s brow or in the way he grips his spear.

Unfortunately for us, the film takes these two bright spots and packages them with a bungling protagonist as they traipse from one disaster to another. The action sequences are too few and too brief, over before you can really understand what has transpired. The computer-generated animals (and when you make a prehistoric film, there are many) are not believable from any angle, a fact that is all the more clear when the film awkwardly attempts to have the actors interact with their digital costars. This might be forgivable (what digital action sequence is without flaw?) if the story could carry us from one inelegant dance to the next. It is there that the movie fails most completely and unforgivably.

The idea of a primitive human tribe traversing exotic locales and eventually brushing against a celebrated and highly regarded ancient civilization is nothing new. Most recently the formula was revisited in Mel Gibson’s primal film Apocalypto, and while the two share a lot of superficial similarities, the same cannot be said of quality. Gibson’s movie, at its core, is an escape film that used the adrenaline of doomed captivity to draw the audience along. In contrast, Emmerich tries to shoehorn lessons about race relations, slavery, ancient prophecy and environmental spiritualism so that nearly every line of dialogue drips with obvious, ham-fisted double-meaning (right down to the deus ex machina happy ending). Added on top is a thick layer of cheese borne from romantic exchanges that seem to be cribbed from teen dramas.

In the end 10,000 B.C. is a mess of a film that could only please the English-speaking cavemen that it portrays.

FINAL SCORE: 1.5 out of 4

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Men in Blew

Meet Sam Peterson II, a Cedar Springs, Michigan toolmaker. Forty years old, the volunteer firefighter has never had a criminal record until one day last March, he dared to commit the most nefarious of deeds: USING TEH INTARNET!!!

Peterson was using laptop to connect to a local wireless network. The network in question was provided by a coffee shop and was free for customers. Rather than sitting inside, Peterson chose to log onto the network during his break from the comfort of his car. And really, what is more threatening than a man, sitting in his car,
staring intently at his crotch (don't make that noise, you know that's exactly what it looks like from the shoulders up)?

Apparently, a barber across the street decided he was a world class villain, and sicced the cops on him. What did he have to say for himself when the truth got out? "I felt bad about it, but we've had problems in the past. I'd rather be safe than sorry." To this, I say LIAR LIAR PANTS ON I HOPE YOU GET AIDS YOU SHOULD ONLY GET AIDS. If you'd rather be safe, then there's no way you actually DO feel bad about it. However, I guess his fears were warrented, since his hot stylist has had stalkers before (except that hey, the stylist never said anything about recognizing this guy).

Now, the statue that Peterson was prosecuted under doesn't really bother me that much. It's designed to keep people from leeching your WiFi, which kinda sucks. But it could use some clarification, especially in the days when free wireless is becoming more and more prevalent. No, what pisses me off about this is the police.

The officers were called in to investigate Peterson as a stalker. This was quickly dismissed, so they decided to search the books for obscure laws to pin on him. Why? Because the officer "still felt that a law might have been broken." This is the problem with the po-po, assholes who go out of their way to find ways to stick it to you.

Police officers have a citation quota to fill each month, most of which are filled by traffic violations. If it feels like you're more likely to get parking or speeding tickets near the beginning or end of the month, that's because you are. There's a traffic light in my hometown with a little delay between the green signal and its corresponding Walk sign to allow for left turns. Of course, pedestrians often make a quick glance and, lacking any left turns, start to cross before the little red hand goes away.

I witnessed a uniformed officer waiting at this intersection, standing in the middle of this crosswalk. As people started to cross (before the walk signal), he started handing them tickets for jaywalking.

WHY?!?!?!

We're not talking about firing live guns in public. We're not even talking about firing water guns. It's walking across the street with no incoming traffic. There's no justice being upheld here, no protection of civilians or moderation of conflict. It's just persecution for the sake of bureaucracy.

What happened to the image of the policeman who was your friend, someone that you could talk to and seek for help? It's as if an edict of disassociation being enforced, turning the policemen into automatons that follow strict code. Only during extreme crises does the image of policemen change. Why is that? Because it's the only time we ever see them interact with us as people, rather than statute data banks.

Maybe if this happened more, we would feel differently. A guy who patrols the streets, stopping to have a word with the public that he's charged with protecting is more appealing than an aloof jerk who only meddles.

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Terrorism, and What it Means for Your Weekend

A couple days ago, Homeland Security had something to cheer about. Instead of just waving their "Look out, terrorist pirates behind you" flag and foaming at the mouth, they arrested three men plotting to blow up JFK Int'l Airport. And I say good for them. It's their job to get the extremists, the ones that would inflict violence on innocents. My beef with them is when they get in the way of natural rights, like bring toenail clippers on a plane or monitoring my Internets (which, I can assure you, is 50% porn like any average male). They do their work, we hear about it, and life goes on, yes?

Well, some people decided that the lack of hand-shaking and leg-humping was strange. New York City Mayor Michael Bloomberg had been awfully mum about the whole thing. I mean, it just happened two days before, why hadn't he said something or handed out medals or given coupons to Red Lobster? Bloomberg was previously known for donating a metric f**k-ton of money to Johns Hopkins University and then riding around campus on his Segeway. (I did not actually see him or his Segway, to this date I have not seen a Segway, do not bring it up it is a sore point!). So how does a philanthropist like Mike answer the burning question of why he hasn't said anything about the latest blow to terrorism in the name of democracy?

"Get a Life."
And I couldn't agree any more.

The average American life expectancy is about 75 years. A third of that on average is spent sleeping, leaving you with about 50 years or conscious thought. How many of those 438 thousand hours would you like to spend worrying about something that you can minimally affect rather than doing something to make you feel better about life? You can think about ephemeral forces that lie just outside your sphere of influence, eventually developing neuroses or psychoses or however many other -oses, until you're convinced you're on some spinoff of the OC except that Seth and Marissa have been replaced with Allah and a WMD.

But those aren't the only things out there. Your body, right now, is waging war against bacteria and viruses and bits of meatloaf you had last week that just won't digest. The battlefield is different, but the outcome is the same: sickness or death at the hands of Un-American Dirt. Will you hermetically seal yourself away for your own protection, plastic wrap everything while in your own personal enclosed sanitary enviro-suit and take up anti-bacterial arms against the terrorist (literally) cells that threaten you?!

I'm not invoking "...then the terrorists have won." Vigilance is not something to be stamped out. What I'm talking about is living in fear all the time, and letting that affect everything you do. Moving away from a city you love and have lived in for thirty years because such a major population is a terror target. Leaving a public bus because a guy with a turban just hopped on. Calling for a teacher to be fired just because she told your children to think about what the news said rather than take it at face value.

Fear is a natural response to danger. But if you calculated all the risks in your life, from driving to living in a city to using a ladder in your home, the safest thing for you to do would be to not live. That's the only way to be free from danger. So what do you do? Do you live in fear? Or do you grow a set of balls (or ovaries) and get on with your life?

You've got one life as yourself on this Earth. Afterlife takes place in another realm, if you believe in it, and reincarnation is by definition another life. And you can quietly whittle away your hours, thinking about how you could die in the next five seconds, or you could pound out that presentation that'll nail you that raise. You can decide to stay inside where it's "safer," or you can walk across the quad and actually ask that cute girl with the glasses out for coffee.

You can live fearing terrorists. Or you can actually live.

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A Few Good Gays

I'm a heterosexual man. Mr first crush on a girl was at the age of five, and aside from the knee-weakening power of Andy Lau, I've not questioned the allure of a female's vagoo. I'm also an American. I was born in the United States, so I speak English fluently, to the detriment of my native Taiwanese. Any time I want to get my ideas clearly and concretely, I get somebody to translate for me.

So why would the military, with much greater stakes than "what do you want to eat tonight?" decide that a personnel's sexuality is more important than their linguistic skills?

For years (yes, it's been that long) the White House has been drumming it into our heads that we, Americans, are under the threat of terrorist attacks at any given time. You could be bombed at work. You could be sniped while commuting to work. You could be injected with anthrax via the television broadcast waves of "the liberal media conspiracy." The Department of Homeland Security was created for two purposes: One, to make it a frickin' hassle to get out of/into the country, and two, to give us that Terror Alert graph.

Look at this piece of crap. Every single color on there is associated with some level of danger. The implication is that a NO TIME are you safe. I mean look, even forest green, possibly the most serene of all existing colors, has low risk rather than none at all. I know, it's not very realistic to say there's never a risk. Hell, look what happened last time we were caught flat-footed. But from top to bottom, the thing is blatantly designed to make you crap your pants over hypothetical levels of danger.

Officially, we engaged in Gulf War II (Electric Boogaloo) to overthrow a despot who was planning to attack America with WMDs. Realistically, everyone knows that Bush personally wanted to kick Saddam in the nuts because hey, it worked for his dad. I'm not going to debate whether Hussein was a terrible country leader, that's too one-sided and we all agree he's scum. But his absence has left an undeniable vacuum of power that so far we've only been able to plug by throwing in wave after wave of our own men.

No one has a clue how to come out a winner. If we pull out now, some other tyrant will grab the top office. We stay, and we bleed ourselves dry for a conflict that we started in the first place. Bush won't commit to a time line or a fixed budget because he has no idea how much it'll cost (and he's never balanced his own budget). In a situation like this, you'd think he'd throw everything he had his disposal. it hasn't come to that yet, but it will.

And yet, gays. Able-bodied individuals fit and willing to serve their country's military. And boy howdy, is that last qualification hard to find these days. Better yet, they speak Arab, a handy skill when you're ordered to occupy an Arab-speaking country. So you've got people who want to help, and have the skills to help in great ways. They just like their partner's sex organs to mirror their own. So they get kicked to the curb.

Wait, what?

That's right. If America was locked inside a death trap with a man who could read the instructions on how to get out, he'd strangle him first for wearing a pink triangle.

You suck, America. You're so goddamn homophobic that you're making choices that are obviously wrong to even junior high kids (I know, I asked my students). Forget for a moment that you're afraid of anybody who doesn't watch NASCAR on the weekends after hitting on the head cheerleader. If you want a job done, you're going to have to pick WHO CAN DO THE JOB, not what they do in their spare time.

What's distressing to me is that the military chose the content of the messages as grounds for discharge, rather than his method. If they had kicked him out for using a "secret level" computer for personal use, I'd have no problem with that. Computers designated for high security data transfer shouldn't be used for Instant Messaging. But no, it's where his likes to stick his pecker is the overlying issue. Congratulations, Homophobic America, you just made us weaker.

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Second Life suffers from Sequel Syndrome

I'll admit, I'm not an aficionado of Warren Ellis. Aside from a few random comic series and an episode of Justice League Unlimited, the most I know about Ellis comes from his guest appearance in Powers. Mostly known for being an incredible blend of pompous ass and storytelling master, his work really puts the "ook" in comic books without stretching the medium incredibly. But then again, not everybody can be an insane Scottish genius.

So it surprised me that Ellis would do tackle something as mundane as digital world correspondent for Reuters. But then again, perhaps it's the closest the creator could get to merging with his creation. In any case, the column is a surprisingly intriguing read. But pouring over old and new entries, I began to wonder: why on god's green earth would anyone want to live Second Life?

When I was in high school, we didn't even have MMOs. We had MUDs, essentially multiplayer Zork. Then, like now, you worked your way through quests, killing creatures, earning gold and buying things. There was always a certain goal in mind and a way to go about it. Nowadays, MMOs offer a narrative to go along with the activities, I suppose to placate those who can't put the effort into creating their own story. But it's still the same.

But in Second Life, the goals mirror those of, well, First Life: offer goods/services for something of hopefully equal value. There's no overarching quest, it's quite literally whatever you want it do be. And the more time you put into it, the more potential return there is. This is fine in theory, if not for the central problem of time.

Homo Sapiens are living longer thanks to advancements in medicine and sanitation. But we essentially still have a very limited time in which to experience life. Some people never experience meat. Some people never have sex or get married., and this was 30 years ago. When you add in the added distraction of a simulated world that offers more freedom and control than one's real existence, the once slightly troubling desire to escape reality becomes a driving reason in creating isolation.

Why doesn't this apply to other video games? Most interactive media is meant to stimulate oneself on a certain level, brief forays into an alternate situation that intrigues or distracts the mind. Engrossing stories, brain challenges, competition can found in all sorts of mediums, games included. But there has never been a question that such activities, books, movies, sports, music, video games, have always been meant to supplement life, not supplant it.

People earn a living playing game after game of online poker. Friends text and chat with each other abundantly, even when sitting next to each other (usually for laughs, but still!). Teens return to their respective homes in order to play online together rather than hang out together.

Thankfully, I haven't heard of someone giving up life outside to live exclusively online, and for the most part such an occurrence is still laughable. But the next generation is already living in a world where computer literacy is a primary skill and the Internet is a staple of everyday life. Who knows how they would view such an existence?

The point is, First Life is superior to Second Life in nearly every way. The rewards of engaging the tactile senses far outweigh the brief humor one might feel from making it rain dildos. As a distraction, SL might be fun for a brief time, but the people that herald it as a revolutionary breakthrough in human communication and lifestyle are either misguided or insane (in the bad way).

There's just nothing really unique to be gained from SL. Selling avatar clothes? It might take a while, but go to school and try your hand at fashion design. Selling property? Real estate licenses are pretty easy to come by. Selling physical services? Okay, this one I think is preferable online if only for fear of STDs. Just don't tell anyone whom you want to respect you that you're an online whore.

I haven't played the game, so my view is biased in that way, but the only business advantage I can see is that it's easier to start up (if you consider 3D modeling easier). But it has the exact same amount of difficulty to succeed. Less, actually, if you count the decreased population.

At any rate, Second Life the video game is just that: a game, a recreational activity, and a boring one at that (phallic storms notwithstanding). Anybody who tries to tell you otherwise, that you can pay your bills (not just supplement your income) by devoting all or most of your time to it while still coming away feeling enriched by the experience is selling something.

Of course, soon afterwards, I stumbled upon a news article detailing Playboy's plan to enter SL. No word yet about what they plan to trade in to make a profit, but if it's the laughable idea of selling sexy avatars or the images thereof, they've already been beaten to the punch.

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Nothing is Sacred

Sorry for the delay in updates. My church had a break-in.

Last Thursday I was scheduled to leave for the airport at 2AM to pick up some guests, specifically members of Joyce McMillan's family. Before/after I left, some rogues came in from behind and raided our church. They popped the lock handle off one of the windows and made off with about 20 computers (including the one recording our security cam footage) and a flat-panel TV.

I'm better now, but I'm in a bad place. I was livid the first couple hours when I heard. I seriously thought the day would end with me charged with assault, and part of me wanted it to. I managed to shut myself away from everybody and slept through the anger.

I keep staying up till like 3/4AM, hoping maybe that by staying up, I'll be keeping the church safe for a little longer. I'm real tired, though. So I'm not in a very bloggy mood.

Is nothing sacred? Why would they choose a church, a place of worship, of all places? Putting aside whatever prejudices you might have about organized religion, if it was just the building of an organization that does charity work in the community it would be unpardonable to steal from them. And that's pretty much how it is out here.

I mean really, I've been out here for almost a year, and the
main goal of this church has just been to help the community, religous conversion aside. We run Saturday morning English lessons for elementary kids. Three times a week we have computer classes for adults. We have a joint park revitalization project with the local government and nearby Buddhist temple.
There's monthly visits to nearby schools for story time. There's is no in-your-face evangelism or theologically-based exclusion.
We're just people getting together and doing good works.

Doesn't that count for anything?

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Microsoft vs. Free

So here's something that caught my eye a couple days ago. Microsoft is attempting to sue Linux developers for copyright infringement. This is just patently ridiculous (hohoho, a funny).

Historically, Windows has been the granddaddy of pirate success stories. The story goes that Xerox was developing a computing system that focused heavily on a graphical user interface (GUI), as opposed to the traditional command-line driven operation systems of the time. Steve Jobs, Apple president/guru/shaman at the time, somehow finagled an exchange with Xerox that eventually ended with Apple producing the Macintosh computer. Bill Gates, riding the wave of success of Microsoft's MS-DOS, releases a GUI operating system the next year that bears remarkable similarities to Macintosh.

How did this all shake down? Some have speculated, but in the end, the general public still views Apple as the eccentric alternative and Microsoft as the mainstream. The monolithic, fearsome mainstream, but the primary choice, nonetheless. They based their ideas around those of a competitor, eventually muscling them out of business. It's practically their slogan.

So imagine my mirth when Ballmer, full of his usual bluff and bluster, cried foul. The best part? Microsoft isn't even targeting a true company, he's targeting developers. Linux is (at its core) freeware, available in many different flavors from a variety of sources. What profit, then, is there to pursue compensation from people who are not in it to make money? I can financially understand the RIAA going after pirates because those individuals are actively taking apart when the RIAA has put together. But Linux (until proven otherwise) is not touching Microsoft's coveted source code, simply implementing the same atomic ideas.

The scary part is that they'll probably win, making it a crime to use to distribute an alternative operating system. they've got the money and thus the lawyers to make it happen. And when that happens, the slippery slop will tilt even more, resulting in the closure of anything and everything that does anything similar to what Microsoft attempts, regardless of who was first. Today it's Windows vs. Linux, Windows Office vs. OpenOffice. Tomorrow it's Internet Explorer vs. Firefox, MSN vs Yahoo, Hotmail vs Gmail, MSNBC vs. CNN, WMP vs. VLC, Xbox 360 vs. PS3.

And in the end, when you listen to your Microsoft while you drive your Microsoft to the Microsoft to order a cup of Microsoft on your way to work, where you run Microsoft on Microsoft to develop Microsoft, you will look up at Brother Bill's omnipresent smiling face and contemplate how much to Microsoft him.

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Christian Extremitism

It's always tricky talking about an intellectual enemy postmortem. The easy way out is to simply denounce the person and their actions, rather than trying to present a more rounded presentation that doesn't pass judgment. I guess that's why I'd make a terrible speaker of the dead.

Jerry Falwell passed away. A leading American fundamentalist (and televangelist), he was uniquely in a position to bring about
great change for Christianity in the western world. And yet, instead of using his opportunity to build bridges within the worldly community, he merely upheld long-held, archaic platforms that his religious backing demanded he do.

In the 1960s, Martin Luther King Jr. spearheaded the Civil Rights movement within a nation that, although not discriminatory in writing, was still racist in practice. Falwell, by then a pastor for several years, denounced the actions of King and trumpeted segregation as not only right, but the will of God. He denounced the peaceful actions of his Christian pastor senior (King had been a pastor since '53, Falwell since '56).

Why would he do so, especially in light of Civil Rights contemporaries like Malcolm X? X had a long history of violence and promoting hatred as a member of the Nation of Islam. Practically a poster boy for everything that White America warned against at the time. And yet a Southern Baptist minister who preached weekly about the all-inclusive love of God was Falwell's target. Now, admittedly, Falwell changed his policies later in his career, but such an action is indicative of the changing tide of public perception (or the need for more money), not of a change of heart on Falwell's part.

Most people remember Jerry for his controversial comments immediately following 9/11:

I really believe that the pagans, and the abortionists, and the feminists, and the gays and the lesbians who are actively trying to make that an alternative lifestyle, the ACLU, People For the American Way, all of them who have tried to secularize America. I point the finger in their face and say 'you helped this happen.'

Once again, in the face of public backlash and criticism (this time much more immediate), Falwell back-pedaled. Perhaps I am a product of my unique upbringing (single-parent, single-child, atheist childhood), but I always believed that the role of religion in any and all situations is to bring comfort to people, whether through belief in a higher purpose, support from fellow humans, or the calming qualities of rituals. Prosecution and blame are the charges of justice, not theology. Theology should teach you how to live a better/happier life, not make you crap yourself in fear.

Jerry Laymon Falwell Sr., had a unique opportunity to bring people together but squandered it being divisive and as hateful as his most extreme religious critics. May he find the peace thereafter that sought to deny others.

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