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Tom Gordon's Blother

June 10, 2007

Love and Monsters
Ho hum. Guess I better get in an incomprehensible entry here, lest all that time I'd spent shuffling ten years worth of files around proves as hopeless an endeavor as, oh, locating a working Commie64 disk image of "Star Rank Boxing". Or roleplaying newfangled collaborative-story RPGs (like, most recently, the Ghostbusters-themed "InSpectres") without impersonating a lobotomized orangutan. Or possibly even attempting another Frank Exchange Of Ideas with individuals of a 'progressive' persuasion. (Alas, that rule that stipulates you can't support American military action unless you've personally lugged an M-16 through some godsforsaken combat zone abroad remains in effect -- America! Love it? Then LEAVE it! -- but of course those on the Bravely Dissenting side of things still don't have to risk financial ruin or prison buggery by making an equally Principled™ announcement to the IRS that they're no longer paying taxes to finance American McImperialism, maaaan.)

And at what point did the 'Blother' start going this namby-pamby, glorified art gallery route (for extremely loose qualifications of 'art')? Probably around when my unsupported old Sharp Mobilon interrupted the writing process for the 5,128,488th time, screaming "help, my batteries are dead"? Meh. Anyway, here's some tedious new scratchings, demonstrating yet again how quickly I suck the life and spontaneity out of any newfound Photoshop painting technique. The first is a hella grim tableau of (presumably steam-driven) eldritch industrial artifacts and tattoo-imprisoned demonic entities -- hey, you got Niven in my Mieville! You got Mieville in my Niven! -- while the other illo (prob'ly not work safe, but you can tell that even from here) is mostly just an excuse for a drool-chinned yours truly to lecherously render big happy wimmin with big happy billowing Secondary Attributes:



(For extra XP, just add your own crudely obvious double entendre in a word balloon over the macaw!)

Topical guano: recall when I'd argued for allowing megacompanies like Coca-Cola, Google, et al, to train their own (presumably genengineered and cyber-augmented) athletes, and let 'em compete against existing 'national' teams in the Olympicks? Yes, yes, I know -- pure running dog lunacy lifted out of post-Stranger Heinlein, from one clearly ingratiating himself before top-hatted plutocratic overlords, etc. etc. But you can NOT deny their extensive advertising know-how would've provided the 2012 Games in London with a more accessible logo than... whatever it was... that was unveiled this week:

Gamma World Games, by Epyx!

Okaaaay. To be fair, I get the gist of what the designers intended; something evocative of magic-markered property defacement graffiti, possibly in order to curry favor with them schnizzled blinging MySpaced spoiled brats young'uns. After all, we all know that despite Madison Avenue's best efforts, mind-stultifyingly dull Olympic events like 'snowboarding' and 'surfing' remain popular only to a tiny clique of squinting incontinent octogenarians. So that clumsy generational 'outreach' should be applauded. (It's sarcasm! You're soaking in it!) Having rationalized that, I also believe the absence of such obvious London-related symbology as the UNION FREAKIN' JACK is so glaring an omission as to have been deliberate. Eh? A craven act of ahistorical artistic self-censorship, directed towards appeasing the glass-delicate 'multicultural' sensibilities of European intelligentsia and practitioners of non-Christian religions? Unpossible!

But it IS a slippery slope, don'tcha know! If we abide that hateful standard of Empire, subliminally sneaking its way onto coffee mugs and t-shirts and other sports bric-a-brac, why, inside a decade we'll be powerless to stop King William when he orders the Royal Navy's shrunken remnants to 'take back' Boston, Bombay and Hong Kong! Er... right. However, times -- and interpretations -- change. As a child of the Bicentennial, I certainly had the particulars of the Revolution drilled into my head much earlier and more emphatically than most. Yet flaunt that distinctive cruciform before me today, and you know what's the first thing that springs to mind?

Gunter Gleeben Gloppin Globen

Not brutal colonist-stomping redcoats, but Joe Elliott, crooning in Def Leppard's video for "Photograph". (And that's probably how it should be.)
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