Short Story Week 2017: Day One -Her Weight in Goldilocks

I seem to have made Short Story Week a tradition. If you're new to this, two years ago I decided to spend one week trying to kick start some creative energy by churning out one short story a day. A couple of those were admittedly something I'd gotten over half the work done on prior and just dusted the draft off. I tried it again last year with about the same success/failure ratio (although with fewer stories posted).

So the time has come again.

I've been talking this ritual up in my social circles for months, locking myself into a verbal contract that (probably) only I care about. For the record, as of two days ago, I had literally nothing in my head as raw material. But it's been my experience that muses tend to work best under pressure, and as of now I have maybe three days worth of ideas to try on. So let's kick off with a Carousel visit and see how this goes.

Her Weight in Goldilocks

With Caris comfortably out of immediate earshot entertaining Jill's seven month old daughter Abigail, Zelphina allowed a string of a repeated obscenity to spill out from under her breath. The Sudoku puzzle in her hands was refusing to obey the rules of elimination, and she grew increasingly frustrated every time she had to erase another '5'.

Caris strolled back into the front room where Zelphina sat long ways on the couch, her mouth pressed against Abigail's face in a pantomime devour. "Nom nom nom nom-"

Zelphina interrupted the feast. "Not asleep yet?"

"Of course she's not asleep. She's getting attention from a pretty blonde," said Caris, barely glancing at her girlfriend before resuming her story where she'd left off. "Nom nom nom nom! She ate it aaaaaaall up."

Abigail's seven month old voice made a strange squeaking sound, which seemed to please Caris. "You like that?" Caris laughed and gave her a quick kiss.

Zelphina huffed. "You know that thing can't understand what you're saying."

"She's not a thing, Zel. She's a baby."

"She's both until she's neither."

Caris paid the comment no mind. "You just ignore her, she has no maternal instinct," she told the infant.

Zelphina rubbed her eyebrows. "Maternal instinct is a trick nature plays to keep animals from abandoning their young."

"But that bowl was too hot. So she went over to the medium bowl, picked up the spoon, and..." Caris drew in a suspenseful breath and proceeded to 'eat' Abigail's cheek again.

Zelphina shot them both a look. "Goldilocks?"

"Mm-hm. But that bowl was too cold."

"Goldilocks doesn't eat all the porridge."

"My Goldilocks does." Caris lifted Abigail gently in the air and floated her back down.

"Your Goldilocks has no sense of continuity."

"She's also going to clean out the refrigerator and the pantry."

"For what purpose?"

"To annoy you." Caris winked.

Zelphina was about to make a comment about Caris's commitment to the narrative but she was distracted by the two 7's in the same section that she hadn't noticed before. "Damn it!" she grumbled.

"Honey, not in front of the child please."

"I actually did just censor myself."

"If Abigail's first word is profanity, Jill is never going to let us babysit again."

Zelphina further wore down her eraser. "I don't think we're in agreement on that being a downside."

Caris watched Zelphina glare accusingly at the puzzle's unfilled squares for a few seconds. "Zel, I want to try out something. Do you mind standing up?"

"Stand up?"

"Yeah, just for a second."

Zelphina set the puzzle book down and pushed off the cushions. "I mind a little, why?"

"Great!" Caris smiled, and Zelphina realized a moment too late what was about to happen.

"No, don't give me the damn kid!" But Abigail had already been relinquished into Zelphina's loving arms and scowl. The infant stared at her in fascination.

"She likes you Zel."

"She doesn't know me." Zelphina had to turn her head away when Abigail  immediately reached for her mouth. "I am not above biting you," she informed the baby.

Caris laughed. "You look absolutely miserable. I think down the road we may be adopting a three year old."

"Six. Bare minimum."

"We'll see." Caris sat down in the easy chair across from them. "So talk to me, what are you feeling?"

"What am I feeling? I feel like I'm going to break her. Possibly on purpose."

"Come on Zel. I'm really asking. What do you feel right now?"

Zelphina stared at the foreign object in her hands and sighed. "Resentment."

"Towards what?"

"Towards the fact that I'm supposed to feel something other than resentment. Babies are dumb. They're a burden, and they're loud, and people obsess over them. And I don't understand why people think there's something wrong with me for not liking them."

"I don't think there's anything wrong with you Zel. I think you're just wired differently."

"Well, you are literally the first person who's ever said that to me."

Caris gave Zelphina a warm smile. Then one to Abigail, who had taken up residence against Zelphina's chest. "I think she's comfortable. Do you want to see if you have any luck putting her to sleep?"

"You want me to lull her?"

"Yes honey, as opposed to euthanizing her. Why don't you give it a shot?"

"How am I supposed to accomplish this?"

Caris shrugged. "How did your mother get you to go to sleep?"

"By command. Yours?"

"Neglect." Caris's smile dimmed slightly. She recovered immediately, but a shelved memory still reflected in her eyes.

For a moment there was silence, neither comforting nor awkward, just an existing pause. Then Zelphina inhaled deeply, wincing as Abigail's voice randomly bounced off a shrill yip. Caris waited. Abigail waited. She cared about at least one of them.

"There was a little girl named Goldilocks," Zelphina told the room. "She lived in the woods with her terrible parents who had neither the foresight nor motivation to raise a child in a less volatile area. So one day she was out wandering in the forest without guidance or instructions as was consistently the case and she came across a house that she hadn't seen before."

"It seemed odd to Goldilocks that the front door wasn't locked like the door to her own home always was whenever she went outside. So she poked her head in and found the place seemed to be devoid of occupants. But a table had been set for dinner with three bowls of porridge; whatever the hell that is."

"Goldilocks climbed into the first chair, which she found uncomfortably hard, and the bowl of porridge which sat in front of her was clearly too much for her little tummy, despite what Miss Bottomless Appetite over there would have you believe. She climbed into the next chair which was much softer, but so much so that it made reaching the edge of the table all the more difficult. And again, the medium sized bowl was too much for her little tummy."

"The last chair was a high chair that seemed to be made exactly for someone her size and shape. Goldilocks climbed up to the seat which fit her perfectly. And in front of her was a bowl of porridge that was just the right amount for her little tummy. She had a taste, and once she got past the gag reflex she found the meal reasonably tolerable."

Caris interrupted. "Don't forget, she goes 'nom nom nom nom'!"

"No, she doesn't, Cookie Monster. She uses the spoon like the little lady her oppressive environment has conditioned her to be." Zelphina sighed. "Now she was full and she tried to climb back down the high chair, but she was off balance. Her hand slipped and she took a tumble to the floor, the chair crashing down on top of her. She crawled out from under the broken wood-"

"You're not going to kill her, are you?" Caris demanded.

"Can you just trust me to tell the story? So Goldilocks was hurt, and she needed a place to lie down. She staggered into the bedroom and saw three beds. The first two were too large for her to crawl into in her current condition, but the last one was the perfect size for her. She lay down and fell fast asleep."

"Now as it turned out, the house belonged to a civilized family of bears, because apes don't hold the monopoly on evolution. They'd never considered locking the door to their home because nobody in the neighboring vicinity would be dumb enough to enter a bear's territory. Despite what you might think, about the bears having to go step by step through the previous events to figure out what happened, the truth is they have a keen sense of smell and went straight to the smallest bed. Goldilocks lay asleep and vulnerable with three bears in the room who had every reason and motive to maul her right there."

Caris buried her head in a combination of amusement and distaste. "Oh Zel."

"Now, if you take nothing else from this story, then remember this. Sometimes the natural world, for reasons beyond anyone's control, takes pity. For Goldilocks awakened to three full jaws of teeth leering at her. She didn't run and she didn't cry, she only resigned herself to her fate. And in that moment the smallest of the bears, the one who had been most affected by her intrusion took a closer look at her, not out of menace but curiosity. And after a few minutes of not being torn to pieces, Goldilocks reached her hand out and rubbed the bear behind the ear. Goldilocks never went home, and her horrible parents never tried to look for her. They assumed some family of wild animals had taken her, and to a certain extent they were right. For Goldilocks spent the rest of her days as part of a family who grew to love her, and raise her as their own. And they lived happily ever after."

Caris looked at Abigail, who was sound asleep in Zelphina's arms, and giggled. "You're much better at this than you give yourself credit for."

Zelphina gave Caris a defiant look, but didn't say anything as she handed the child off to her. But before Abigail was two feet removed, she woke up and whined to be put back where she'd just been.

Zelphina exchanged a glance with her girlfriend. "Damn it all."

Disney's Animated Dark Age: 1961-1988

What do you think of when I say "Disney Animated Film"? Bear in mind I'm not looking for specific titles, just a general concept. Probably singing rodents, shooting stars, under-aged Barbie dolls who look like they're about twenty-eight, and all that jazz. There's a certain X-factor that defines a Disney Animated Film, for better or worse. Other studios have tried to replicate the feel of a Disney movie, but almost always lose focus and become boring. Kiki's Delivery Service and Anastasia are two of the rare examples that come pretty close, but ultimately if you're not Disney you're best off not trying to be Disney.

As I'm making it a point to revisit all of the Disney animated canon, I've noticed there's a interesting slew of these films all in one or two places about which I don't have a whole lot to say. And curiously, all of them share the common absence of the element that really defines a film as Disney. In this blog, I'm going to tackle the first of these periods that I colloquially refer to as the Don Bluth years.

I'm not trying to dog on Don Bluth, but I know he was active with Disney on and off for much of this period, and certain signature bad habits infiltrate the Disney films that also appear in much of his own work. Characters tend to make faces with more frequency, like they're trying to get a newborn to shut up. Authority figures take a few seconds to be needlessly pompous by closing their eyes and waggling their head around. And child actors- my God- they really started cutting corners on their audition process. The dialogue was bland already, but the child performances they get range from obnoxious to shrill. I take a drink every time Fievel says the word 'family', not because I'm playing a drinking game but because I want to avoid throwing the remote at the TV screen.

But moving back on topic, there was much change happening at the Disney company. Disneyland was up and running. The Florida project was underway. Walt was focusing his attention on EPCOT. And, oh yeah, there was the little matter of his death in 1966. Suffice to say, the heart and soul of the company was shifting away from the animated features, and it shows. It's not to say there aren't some gems in there, but until 1989's The Little Mermaid all signs were pointing to the conclusion that the party was over.

So let's scroll through this period. I've already covered The Jungle Book, The Rescuers really needs to be dealt with alongside its follow up, and Winnie the Pooh and company are their own entity, but here's a checklist of everything else in this age that I tend to avoid watching on my own.

A Tundra and Dominations (1961)

Let me say this up front, One Hundred and One Dalmatians isn't a bad film. Cruella makes her mark on Disney's rich history of villains with no cauldron or powers of Hell but through sheer personality. Horace and Jasper are the right kind of one cup of humor to two cups of threat. And the action scenes are surprisingly intense.

The problem is, this film is much more plot driven than character driven. Pongo and Perdita only have the minimal amount of personality needed to drive the film, when there was so much potential for character conflict. What is their responsibility to the 84 puppies that aren't theirs? Is there no thought given to how much more danger their own children will be in by the added lot? Also, while the animation would look fantastic from any other studio, when you set it next to 1955's Lady and the Tramp, it feels noticeably cheaper.

Overall, One Hundred and One Dalmatians is a really solid B-side single from Disney, like Abbey Road's "Here Comes the Sun". If the film had a little more support from its colleagues, those cracks in the quality might not be so evident.

The Bore on the Throne (1963)

Two things about The Sword in the Stone that you can't un-notice. One of the three actors that voiced Arthur recorded the line "Whoa. What? Whoa!" one time, and it repeats through the entire film. And Merlin recycles his own hopping-back-and-forth-on-each-foot-while-waving-his-wand animation every chance he gets. There.

Individual sequences work for this movie, but they don't really fit together as a whole. Half the time Merlin seems to think he's in a Disney educational short or he's the preshow for a Disneyland ride. There are about as many songs as were in Monty Python and the Holy Grail, so we're not really sure if this qualifies as a musical. And the titular Sword in the Stone only serves as bookends, like writer Bill Peet nearly forgot to work it in.

In fact there are only two scenes that really stand out as special. The first is the squirrel sequence, which plays as an emotionally tragic Silly Symphony; life sucks kids, ain't no fairy godmother to heal a broken heart. The other is the wizard's duel with Madame Mim, which the movie never bounces back from. Both scenes can be taken out of context and practically produce more enjoyment without the weight of the rest of the film's mundaneness. It's like Disney's The Phantom Menace.

The Rustic Acts (1970)

You know what would be fun? Let's do One Hundred and One Dalmatians again, but with cats instead of dogs, and instead of Cruella we'll use her driver as the villain! What could go wrong? Well, nothing, as it turns out. Mainly because nothing in The Aristocats really goes- period, much less right. There's some annoying kids, a couple of geese, some jazz music, and Sterling Holloway yells "Quiet!". That's pretty much what happens in the movie.

The only scene that works on any level is the one with the two dogs, who inadvertently foil the crime just by being in the right place. How much better would this movie have been if it had been about those two? Imagine we don't know anything about the will, or Edgar's 'motives'. We just see the story told through Napoleon and Lafayette's point of view. They sense that Edgar is up to no good and they make it a point to foil him. Then imagine they can't even communicate with the cats, but they take it upon themselves to return them to their home purely on the grounds that it's the right thing to do. And then they encounter Edgar again and it's round two. And it's that kind of back and forth, and they wind up being the heroes of the film without ever knowing what it was all about. That would actually be fun.

Throbbin' Head (1973)

It's interesting how, out of all the films of this period, Robin Hood had found new life in modern snippets. The sped up version of "Whistle-Stop" became Hamster Dance, "Oo De Lally" supplied the soundtrack to the 2015 Android commercials about different animal species getting along, and the film became the most frequently used subject for Youtube videos devoted to proving that Disney recycles their animation.

But the movie on its own terms is mediocre. In fact, it may be the single most mediocre film in Disney's animated library. To illustrate this point, when I jump out from behind a stack of crates and shout "Cinderella!" at you, your brain will recall images of the Disney version before your hand makes the slightest move towards your spray mace. But if I do the same with "Robin Hood!" Disney's fox takes a backseat to Errol Flynn, Kevin Costner, and the roundhouse kick you didn't know you were capable of.

I haven't found that anything about this movie stands out, good or bad. It just, kind of, exists. I've known many people who absolutely love Robin Hood, and while I can't argue against their feelings about the movie, I am confused as to why they love it. I personally find that the animated sequence in Bedknobs and Broomsticks mops the floor with this movie; you'd never catch King Leonidas undermining his own authority with crap like sucking his thumb.

Disney's Watership Down (1981)

Um...okay. The Fox and the Hound is historically significant in the sense that it contained the combined stamps of Disney's classic era (Frank Thomas and Ollie Johnston), renaissance period(Glenn Keane, Ron Clements), Pixar directors (John Lasseter, Brad Bird), frequent moonlighter Don Bluth, and whatever Tim Burton was. But despite that power lineage, the end result is a film in conflict with itself.

It's with this film that you begin to see exactly where Disney has limitations. The innocence that Walt worked so hard to preserve is presented here as a losing battle, but somehow not losing enough (I'm not a fan of animal death, but old dog Chief needed to die from the train to make the plot work). Tod and Copper become friends when they're too young to realize that they're natural enemies, which leads to a dark and unresolved message for kids. Not necessarily a bad thing, but under the Disney label it leaves the target audience confused and possibly horrified.

It's a pity then CEO Ron Miller couldn't have created Touchstone a few years earlier, because releasing The Fox and the Hound under a decidedly more adult label could have smoothed over many of the issues. Likewise, literally any other studio could have released the film exactly as it is to resounding acclaim. But as a Disney film, it's the equivalent of Nestlé Water, it implicitly makes promises by name that it straight up defies by taste.

The Blackballed Drone (1985)

And we've arrived. The Black Cauldron is painful. It feels like Disney is doing a Rankin/Bass impression, which is the first problem; Disney should be leading, not following. The second problem is, they crammed two books worth of source material into one film. Characters pop in with no explanation and no substance, leaving you not knowing or caring what's going on. And the third problem is that it's boring. It's really, really, migraine inducingly boring.

It's a pity because the Horned King has the presence of a great Disney villain, regardless of how little he actually does. He manages to make an impact by sheer menace (a well-choreographed lightsaber duel could have cemented him in the cosplay circuits). Sadly, the rest of the cast is absolutely useless. Protagonist Taran is just a casserole of generic exposition and dialogue, and Princess (of something) Eilonwy exists just to give Taran the other half of his conversation. And Nigel Hawthorne is wasted as the NPC bard. Then there's Gurgi. Disney could have absolved all of the issues with The Fox and the Hound if the train that didn't kill Chief had managed to run over Gurgi.

In the end, the movie straight up doesn't work, and I don't believe there was any point in its development where it did. This must have been a scary time for Disney as they only seemed to be getting a product out every four years and the results were rather unpromising. The Disney brothers were gone, and all remnants of the company's former glory had burned out. It's odd thinking how close in proximity The Black Cauldron was to 1989's The Little Mermaid (the definitive start of the Renaissance period), but historically, this was the darkest point of the Dark Ages.

The Playhouse Defective (1986)

We're not out of the dark yet. The Great Mouse Detective is remembered quite fondly by a lot of Disney aficionados, probably more so than it deserves to be. It's not hard to see why. First off, there's Vincent Price as Ratigan, the only animated villain who could out-smile the Joker. Price LOVES his character, and every scene Ratigan is in is a shot of espresso. Second, there's a lot of fun to be had in the movie, from Melissa Manchester's number to the satisfyingly gruesome demise of Felicia the cat; and the Rube-Goldberg events leading up to the line "Smile everyone!" tickle my inner child every time.

But for all of the beats where the movie works there is an underlying issue that people seem to give The Black Cauldron's follow-up a pass on. The Holmes/Watson dynamic fails. The core of a Sherlock Holmes story is to give the reader the same information Holmes is getting and then marvel at how much better he is at putting it together. And while The Great Mouse Detective isn't meant to be a legitimate Holmes story but more of a kid's introduction to the concept, it misses out on that fundamental element. Not a problem by itself, but instead of making Basil a relatable hero for the audience they flanderize him into an intellectual lunatic, and nothing more. We can see that he does trigonometry in his head but we're never allowed to experience the story from inside it.

This of course is the same stumbling block every portrayal of Sherlock Holmes has to work around, and the success depends on Dr. Watson, who serves as our liaison. This version's Watson (David Q. Dawson) is also flanderized into the bumbling sidekick with a British accent. Apart from that he has no other definable traits.

For me though, the most glaring flaw is the climax in the clock tower. It's one of the earliest uses of CGI animation, and the build up to is brilliant. But just when you think it's about to get going, it's over; I think even Yoda's fight with Count Dooku lasted longer. I think that one scene sums up my reaction to the film as a whole. It's disappointing, because it could have been awesome. It's so hard not to root for Ratigan on principle.

All Over & Complacency (1988)

(Do you want to try writing spoof titles for all these films?) Oliver & Company is the reimagining of Oliver Twist, although you'd be forgiven if you made it through the whole movie and never picked up on that. I'm actually racking my brain to remember anything about this movie, and I keep coming back to the realization that the character of Oliver could easily have been adapted out altogether.

More than anybody else, I remember Dodger. Not because he was all that great of a character, but the plot they developed seemed to favor him for whatever reason. I still don't see Billy Joel as a cartoon character, much less a terrier mix. I imagine his casting had to with the production team's assumption that music hadn't changed in five or six years, but as soon as that opening number starts you know the movie is already outdated. And Disney has the distinction of getting three strikes with a single swing: one for green lighting the line "Absoltively posilutely", one for using the line to promote the movie like it was going to catch on, and then one posthumous strike for having been in a dog-centric world and squandering the best chance of making "fetch" happen. Go to the showers.

Even though Oliver & Company was released a few months after Who Framed Roger Rabbit, and The Little Mermaid was well into its final production stage, you can kind of sense an impact Roger Rabbit had on Ariel that Oliver missed out on. Oliver didn't feel like Disney, and by this point & Company didn't seem to even know what they were anymore. But then Steven Spielberg got the Looney Tunes over to the mouse-house for a couple of months and gave them a nice pie-in-the-face reminder of what they weren't. And from there, a mermaid grew tired of the dark place she was brought up in and traded it for a chance to walk in the sun. And thus, the Dark Age came to an end.

Chasing the Rabbit: Chapter Fifteen -Running Aground

Click here for the table of contents.

Porky, Sylvester, and Wile E. were busy unloading the company van; mostly laptop cases and a couple of duffle bags containing various Acme products that would invariably have undesired results. Several feet away, Daffy Duck stared at the gates to the Disney studios with an unyielding sense of trepidation. Speedy Gonzales suddenly appeared down by his webbed feet but he either didn't notice, or paid the mouse no mind.

"Señor?" said Speedy, "Why are you so nervous? You've been here dozens of times."

"Murphy's law," grumbled Daffy.

"And this 'Murphy?' His jurisdiction extends to other studios?"

Daffy sighed. "You wouldn't understand, Speedy. You've never been accident prone."

"So what? You never worry about consequences before."

"It's just a gut feeling."

"Señor Duck, you know better than to listen to your inner voice."

"Thank you," Daffy sneered, "that's very encouraging."

Sylvester slammed the trunk of the van shut. "Tho what do you guyth think?" his trademark lisp more pronounced off camera than Daffy's, "Brown Derby?"

Porky pressed the lock button on the keychain. "What's breah-b-b-breah-b-Brown Derby?"

"It's a really nithe rethtaurant. They have a great lunch menu!"

Daffy shot them a look. "You're already thinking about food?"

Sylvester and Porky exchanged a glance, debating the best way to respond, but fortunately Wile E. nodded his head for all of them.

"I don't usually say this," Daffy huffed, "but can we try to focus? Whatever's going on in there, the rabbit's in over his pointy ears. It would behoove us to avoid litigation with Disney's paralegals." Porky flinched and Wile E. gave a sheepish shrug. Sylvester seemed a little dumbfounded. "Porky, translate for the cat."

"He muh-means try not to de-du-de-destroy anything."

Daffy rolled his eyes. "This has all the makings of a morning talk show panel. Come on, let's get this clip show started. Who's got the security passes?"

Porky pointed to Wile E., who pointed to Sylvester, who reminded Daffy "You thaid to leave 'em in your mailbox."

Daffy gave himself a face palm. "Speedy?" The mouse gave a mock salute and vanished in a trail of dust. "All right let's move out. He should be back by the time we get to the gate."

It was a short walk to the security booth which turned into a long ordeal by the untimely arrival of the Roadrunner, who took more than a passing interest in antagonizing Wile E. The mere presence of the bird was enough cause for the Coyote to drop his equipment and start closing in. It took the combined efforts of Sylvester and Daffy to get Wile E.'s focus back on the current project.

"Take it eathy, buddy," said the cat, a sympathetic paw on the canine's shoulder, "Deep breathth."

"Beat it Harpo!" Daffy snapped. The Roadrunner cocked his head, feigning innocence before bouncing up and disappearing through the parking lot entrance. Daffy rolled his eyes.

"He'th heading right into oncoming traffic," Sylvester pointed out.

"One can hope. You guys get reorganized while I see if the security guard has a dolly or a wheelbarrow or something."

Daffy approached the booth, where a large mustachioed man with red hair and a cowboy hat eyed him suspiciously.

"Morning," the duck propped himself up against the desk. "Daffy Duck-global superstar-you may have heard of me-your crickets here."

The guard scowled at him and donned a pair of eyeglasses as slowly as possible. He took up his clipboard, which may or may not have had actual names on it, and ran his finger from the top to the bottom while his mouth winced from side to side as if he was really reading it. Daffy wondered where Speedy was; it never took the mouse this long to sprint across town twice.

The guard's mustache continued to tick side to side with each fake name he was pretending to examine. Daffy found it annoying at first, then strangely hypnotic. "You know," he said, "you look really familiar."

The mustache stopped moving and the guard's eyes locked onto Daffy like crosshairs. On reflex, the duck braced himself for a karate chop to the throat. Instead he was greeted by a huge belly laugh. "You saw my movie!"

Daffy found his right hand engulfed in the guard's violent handshake. "Alameda Slim! Screen star, cattle rustler, and yodeling virtuoso!" Without the slightest provocation, Slim proceeded to regale the WB crew with multiple anecdotes about the film's production and the music that never made it to the studio. The guy could talk, and he did, all the way up until the moment that Speedy arrived with the all important security passes.

"It'th about time," Sylvester muttered.

"Señor Duck's mailbox is on the top row," explained Speedy.

One quick dissertation about the current state of hand-drawn animation later and the team was loading their equipment into a yellow rolling bin. Slim gave them a warm welcome to the studio, gently slapping Daffy so hard on the shoulder that his beak popped off, and they were headed into the maze of studio streets. They waited until they were out of Slim's earshot before anyone offered up a reaction to the encounter.

Wile E. nudged Porky and gestured to a hand sign he was holding that read 'Is that where film stars go?'

"To a p-p-p-punch clock j-j-job? It's a lee-li-luh-living."

Sylvester humphed. "Thome living."

"Was it just me," said Daffy, "or did that guy look really familiar?"

"Thome people jutht have that look."



Jasmine was the last one to crawl out of the ocean. Steam filled her lungs and she coughed uncontrollably. The salt in the air brought tears to her eyes. She could barely make out the shapes of Frollo and Kronk further down the beach; the former angrily pushing away the helpfulness of the latter. Everything between the sand and the mountain had burned to the ground in one straight line, while the foliage to the side was untouched. It was almost as if whatever caused the magma flow had somehow targeted them; like someone powerful was behind it all.

The princess wringed out her clothes to the best of her ability if only to drop the extra weight of the seawater, her dress was undoubtedly ruined. Close by, a very irritated panther fared much better in shaking off the ocean's residue.

"Is everybody okay?" she called down the beach, receiving an immediate duet of 'We're good' and 'No! I'm not all right!' from Kronk and Frollo respectively. She gave Bagheera a forlorn sigh. "Let's try this again."

Bagheera watched her take a few steps towards the mountain before he realized what she was doing. "You're not going back, are you?"

"Elsa and Tarzan are still out there."

The large cat took a few strides to cut Jasmine off. "Whatever that was, it destroyed everything. I'm sorry, but your friends are gone."

"Our friends," said Jasmine. "And what if they're not? They were inside the cave when that eruption happened. They could be safe. They could be trapped."

"They're likely dead."

"Likely isn't good enough. I have to know for sure."

Bagheera grumbled. "This isn't one of your man-settlements where you have the luxury of your own rules, Jasmine. This is the jungle. You don't argue with the storm clouds about what is and isn't fair. You run from them, hide, take shelter, survive."

"That's not what we do."

"Really?" The panther made a nodding gesture in the direction of Frollo's tantrum. "I'm not sure every one of your kind would agree with you."

"I'd go if it was you out there."

"That would be foolish. If I fell to the wilderness, what chance would you have against it?"

Jasmine stopped in her tracks. "Bagheera, I understand what you're saying. And all things being equal, you're probably right. But I don't care. I'm doing this. You can come with me, you can stay here, you can go wherever makes the most sense to you. But you're not going to talk me out of doing what I know is right." And with her peace said, she turned back to the mountain and restarted her march, stumbling repeatedly over the soggy dress.

Bagheera's eyes followed her first steps before glancing back at Frollo and Kronk, then to the unblemished foliage. He shook his head as his conscience got the better of him and sprang after her again.

"I'll go," he said.

"Thank you. I could use the company."

"No. I'll go instead." Jasmine was about to protest, but the panther cut her off. "You're in no condition to travel right now. I'm better suited for this, and you have something more immediate to handle."

She gave him a puzzled look, and he nodded towards the men on the beach. "We're carrying dead weight. You need to decide what to do about it."

Jasmine scratched behind Bagheera's ear. "Promise you'll be careful."

"If it's an option," he said, before scurrying out of sight.



There was a wrecked vessel further up the coast; a large wooden ship, beached among the rocks. From this distance it looked like the wood was rotting beyond use and a gaping hole in the side about the size of a rhinoceros exposed the collection of barnacles that had taken residence inside. Its discovery sent Kronk into a rush of glee. "Hey Jasmine!" he called. "Come see what we found!"

Frollo huffed, "I don't know what you're so excited about. That boat isn't going anywhere."

"Yeah, but it could have food. Supplies. Maybe one of those rolled up maps with the dotted line and the big 'X' that leads you to a cave with sliding block puzzles and an even more complicated map!"

Jasmine reached the spot where they stood and appraised this new revelation. "Someone has clearly been here before us."

Kronk slumped down to where his eyes met Jasmine's and hopped up and down like a child. "Can I check it out?"

She smiled at him. "Just be safe about it."

"Oh boy! This is gonna be great!" Kronk practically skipped across the sand in the direction of the wreckage.

"I don't know what he's so happy about," sneered Frollo.

"He has hope," said Jasmine. She let a few moments go by in case Frollo had a response that he wanted to share. She continued when none came. "We need to talk."

"I'm sure her highness is used to getting whatever she wishes."

"I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm trying to save your life."

"Did I ask for your charity?"

"Charity? You mean basic human compassion? No, you didn't ask for it, in fact you seem to resent it."

"I was fine until any of you showed up. Since you arrived I've had demons coming out of the woods and down from the mountains-"

"Yes. And this island is dangerous whether you're with us, or alone. Which one of those do you want? Because so far, you've done nothing to convince me that it makes a difference."

Frollo just glared silently at Jasmine, but the princess refused to flinch. She may have even been able to stare him down were it not for the abrupt sound of an explosion coming from the wrecked vessel.

"Kronk!" she shouted, breaking into a sprint, and not bothering to check whether Frollo was coming or staying.

Continue to Chapter Sixteen
Return to the table of contents.

200th Blog: The Wooly Side's Open Mic Night (and a Cow Named Rover)

Somewhere in the ether of my wandering attention span, I imagine there's a little out of the way tavern called the Solla Saloon (probably down the road from The Flowing Fountain, but a bit more geared towards alcohol instead of coffee). On this particular night, or day, whenever you're reading this, I like to imagine the various characters who have appeared so far in my blogs are congregating for a little social interaction. Everyone from Marguerite to the lamb and the fox have gathered around various tables and corners of the dance floor. Copyrighted characters like Scooby-Doo and the whole Disney lot were sent invitations, which likely never made it to their recipients. But when you have a Kamyl, an Ostrich, and an Ampersand walking into a bar legalities just get in the way.

I poke my head in to see how things are going, trying not to draw too much attention to myself. It seems like they've taken a little break from the soundboard music and are having an impromptu talent show. Zelphina has just surrendered the microphone to somebody named Deitrick (one of my characters I regrettably don't even remember). He brings out a guitar and begins strumming the repetitive chords to The Beverly Hillbillies.

Deitrick (singing):

Come and listen to my story 'bout a man named Fred.
A lot of us thought he was out of his head.
He lived like a hermit in the jungle of Siberia
And he did a summer study on the culture of Assyria.

Then one day he was huntin' Easter eggs,
Tripped on a rope that was fastened to some kegs.
His gun shot off with a thunder through the silence,
But lucky for the censors he avoided any violence.

The bullet made its way to the trunk of a tree.
Of course the sudden impact pulled the bottom free.
The tree hit another, and so on down the rows,
And fifty came down like a line of dominoes. (The toy, that is. Not the pizza.)

The trees bounced back to their normal standing place.
A look of perplexion came across our buddy's face.
He jumped like a loony and he shouted with glee.
"I have just discovered a new type of rubber tree!"

Now to see this sight would have really been a scare,
So all of Fred's friends said, "Move away from there!
"You know that Californy is the place you ought to be!"
But instead he packed his bags and he moved to Tennessee.

Now that's not the end of this version of my tale,
But if you want the rest you'll have to order through the mail-

At which point he stops playing entirely and meanders off the stage, handing the guitar to Zelphina (who seems as confused as I am). But everyone else apparently has enjoyed the performance as they applaud Deitrick's contribution.

Zelphina takes center stage.

Zelphina:

Thank you Deitrick. That really gave us quite a lot to consider thinking about later if we feel like it. Up next we have a recitation from Jeremy Bentham AKA the mummy, as he presents Wholesome Solvent 10: Death Drop Dead.

Jeremy The Mummy:

Death, be not proud, though some dread thee with praise,
For I'm drinking milk, and I'm growing these days,
And milk hath the calcium grams that I needeth,
Potassium, phosphorus, Vitamin C- death,
Magnesium, sodium, protein and zinc,
And what I shan't drink I shall pour down the sink.
My bones will grow strong (though my skin will decay)
This I owe to my friends the U.S.R.D.A.
And shouldst thou seek me early with culprits or strainers
My face shall appear on the backs of containers
And thus dearest death, I've evaded thy mystery.
I shall remain and then thou shallt be history.

Zelphina:

Let's hear it then for our resident link to the afterlife and his public service announcement. Up next is a dear friend of ours over at the Carousel, Becky Emerson. She's presenting a liturgical-styled dance that she's choreographed herself to an untitled piece known colloquially as a diminishing verse. Please welcome her warmly.

(Note: Since Becky's dance doesn't translate well into blog narrative, only the lyrics are presented here.)

Last night a dream became reality in my slumber

And even though I am not able to encumber

It all I continue to feel the memories

Of passion, warmth, and securities

That I shared in my embrace,

Of which I still can place

Strong arms entwined

In my body and mind

As I wake to cry

So I'll know

What I've

Dreamed

Is as

Real

As

I

Zelphina:

Beautiful, Becky. Now please provide a certain degree of tolerance to the Wooly Side's very own Detective Nathaniel Guffey of The Wax Buzzard Files, who I may or may not have known for longer than I realize. He's here tonight to present an hors d'oeurve platter of non-sequiturs which should, in his own words, "leave you wanting something else".

Guffey:

1. Is every personal pronoun here tonight, or is it just me?
2. I've decided to start my own non-profit business. I'm selling things nobody wants.
3. If I had to describe my life in one word I wouldn’t bother.
4. I’ll say one thing. Any requests?
5. Twenty minutes with the bed sheets this morning and one side is still higher than the other. I literally can’t even.
6. So how long does it usually take you guys to get ready to rock?
7. I get so tired of hearing lullabies.
8. I feel lousy. I really need to stop exercising.
9. The other day at the gym some schmuck tried to steal an exercise bike. He obviously didn’t get very far. But it still took me half an hour to chase him down because I was on the treadmill.
10. I worked the register at a movie rental place when a mom walked up with her screaming kid and set a copy of Shark Tale on the counter. I gave her the pitch for the rewards card like I was supposed to and she refused. I tried again explaining the benefits but she still wasn’t interested. So I said, “Ma’am, your teeth are ugly, your kid’s annoying, and you have no taste in movies. Now you know I’m not lying. The card is a good deal.”
11. Lip-sync battle finale coming up, and I’m going in all-or-nothing with “Tequila”.
12. I had the most painless experience with the DMV today. I didn’t go.
13. I took second place in an underachieving contest. Better than I expected.
14. But I really want to be a better perfectionist.
15. I guess, technically, I am always in a mood. It goes without saying.
16. I finally played an old Pokemon game. I managed to catch 22. I have mixed feelings about that.
17. Do you ever feel the animals in the petting zoo are silently judging you? I think they’re making poker faces behind my back.
18. Nobody seems impressed that I can get jiggy without it.
19. I’m filing a civil action suit against the Village People. I stayed at the YMCA and it wasn’t fun.
20. I let myself down this past holiday season. I only managed to jingle part of the way.
21. But all things in balance. I try to do a good deed every day. In case I want to mug somebody later.
22. All my friends keep trying to talk me out of giving into peer pressure. They set me up on an expiration date. It didn’t end well.
23. I know when I’m not wanted. It’s like 3:45 in the morning.
24. Is now a good time to mention my watch has stopped?
25. I called Domino's. I asked for an impersonal pan pizza. They left it on the counter for whoever. I used to be enthusiastic about placing the order, but lately I’ve been phoning it in.
26. I took the “Which Phantom Menace character are you?” test. I got “For the last time, you weren’t IN that movie!”
27. Completely wasted meeting with my accountant. He told me the numbers just weren’t there. I had nothing to add.
28. I’m a walking contradiction because I’m not walking.
29. One of the biggest things to keep in mind is a whale.
30. I didn’t get the humanitarian award this year. They’re biased against mean people.
31. I want to invite everyone to an ice cream antisocial. Just, whenever you want, have some.
32. So this guy walks into a bar after they’re closed. No joke.

Zelphina:

So I'm about to introduce our friend the Big Bad Wolf, which is a sentence I never thought I would say. He'll be coming out to perform "Insomnia", a hard rock piece modeled after the style of Lacuna Coil. He'll be joined by my incorrigible girlfriend Caris-

Caris:

(from the floor) Take off your top!

Zelphina:

-who serves as my constant reminder that special things lie beneath the surface. But while they're coming up to the stage, I want to tell you a little story; it might shine some light on why we're all here. It's December of 1977, and a church music director named Miss Hill is in charge of the various choirs that sing throughout the services; including the Cherub Choir, made up of predominantly kindergarten and first grade children. One boy, who has only recently turned five, shows up to a Christmas program rehearsal with a five year old's 'friend'; the cow figurine, borrowed from his family's manger scene. The boy proudly shows off his companion to Miss Hill and the other children, introducing her by name. 

Rover.

Now this is coming from a five year old, who was still untouched by the adult filter of insincerity. A cow named Rover was not tongue in cheek, or a punchline of absurdity. This figurine in the boy's hand was a metaphor for the real living, breathing cow in his imagination, whose name happened to be Rover. Rover the Cow was a fictional character given life by nothing more than the mere assignment of an unusual name. And the other children in the choir, as well as Miss Hill, were able to witness this character in their own minds based on nothing more than a single word.

Skipping ahead to May of 1978, Miss Hill was vacating her position as music director and moving into the next chapter of her life. She took a few moments in front of the congregation to say thank you, farewell, and to share some of her fondest memories from her position. The last one she mentioned was the time a child came to rehearsal with a cow named Rover. A delighted laugh came from every voice in the sanctuary, as the mere mention of Rover the Cow's name summoned her into the minds of the entire congregation. Rover had been real to the child, and then to Miss Hill, and then to a sanctuary of church goers.

That, as they say...is magic.

(cue the music)

Insomnia...

Insomnia...

Ceiling fan is groaning, open molars of verruca
And the wooden rafters creaking in the hall
Headlights from the highway ricocheting off the cobwebs
In the corners where they crash into the wall

Lying for an hour to myself and to the twilight
Draped in fabricated solace for a gown
Chanting self-hypnosis. Counting sheep and respiration games
My feet are drawing circles
And they still won't settle down

I've got insomnia
I've balanced every checkbook that I own
So much insomnia
With voices and a tenor saxophone
I've got insomnia
The sandman has a scarcity of sand
But not insomnia
The things I'd do if I had strength to stand
I've got insomnia

Sighing through a grimace. Even crickets are surrendering
The time is on somebody else's side
Praying for a nightmare, get these shadows off my back
And pour another glass of warm paraldehyde

I seem to have forgotten if my eyes are closed or open
As I slip into monotony and doubt
I wonder why the darkness and the light have such contention
And they chose the cloister of my brain
To sort their issues out

Through my insomnia
It's solitary prison in my bed
And there's insomnia
A hamster wheel is spinning in my head
It's called insomnia
A tidal wave of thoughts without a lull
Because- insomnia
Find me a pen and ram it through my skull
I've got insomnia

Night has come and gone, the stars are drifting off to slumber
And the pheasants greet the sun's impending rise
Visions in the room of purple goats and floating magazines
And copper hammers filled with fireflies

Rolling off the mattress where my heels impact the floorboard
And my skeleton collapses in a heap
Lousy with commitments and a stream of expectations
Good morning everybody
And damn you all to sleep

Insomnia
With vertigo at thoughts of getting dressed
Too much insomnia
The floor is nice, the gentle taste of rest
Thanks to insomnia
I'm cashy cow my palace epson tea
I've got insomnia
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Insomnia

Zelphina:

Lovely, and unfortunately relatable. That pretty much wraps up our potpourri of presentations. I want to thank you all for coming out tonight. Please help yourself to some food. I'm sure there will be lots of dancing-

Caris:

Take off your top!

Zelphina:

-and alcohol will be guiding us towards our inevitable destination. But I want to leave you with a few choice words from our resident bard herself, and I hope you'll join us again for our 300th blog some time over the next four or five years. Kungaloosh!

A dreamer doesn't buy advice or worship regulations.
A dreamer doesn't nail a price on selfish celebrations.
A dreamer's path is everywhere. A dreamer's wrath is home.
A dreamer: prone to solitaire, their humble catacomb.

The stars entice their wounded eye while sunbeams tip their tongues.
Their ladders stretch into sky, with clouds instead of rungs
A dreamer's dreams are what they seem; the muses and the gods,
To dream and dream and dream and dream and dream and dream and dream and dream and dream and dream and dream and dream no matter what the odds.

Editorial: Eight Video Game Characters Who Deserve a Comeback

What could be more fun than a stroll down Nostalgia Avenue? Alone? At night? With a dead car battery and no cell phone? I don't know why you'd be carrying a dead car battery, but put it down and let's talk video games.

Our species is one of narrative. It's in our nature to weave stories; given any two variables and we'll certainly draw a connection between them regardless of how absurd.

The modern video game has expanded well beyond the horizons of anything we could have predicted back in the days of Galaxian. We didn't know why space invaders in color were hovering over us or why we needed to shoot them down. We just accepted the premise as was and focused all of our aggression on those rat bastard purple guys that flew more erratically than the green ones.

But imagine trying to remake that game today. Elements like back story, motivation, and believable character resolution have become so commonplace that we only notice when these things are omitted. This is a good thing. But in the evolution of video games, I feel there have been a few old/really old school characters that never lived up to their full potential; be it technical limitations, budget issues, or simple oversights by the developers.

So here then to shine a little light on some of the old birds who still have some life in them, I give you eight video game characters who deserve a comeback.

1. The Bat (Adventure 1979, Atari)

You don't get much more old school that this. In case I need to explain Adventure, this was the great grandparent of every role playing dungeon crawl ever to grace the television screen. There were three difficulty levels, and going from beginner to intermediate was one hell of a spike. In addition to mazes that barely made sense and up to three giant ducks that we're calling dragons, there was the freaking Bat.

What did the Bat do, you ask? The Bat took things. Things that you needed. And carried them around while you tried your damnedest to position your graham cracker of an avatar in the right spot to retrieve the thing that you needed. What was the Bat going to do with the things it took? Nothing. Just fly around with it like a Labrador that snatches up your work's security card and thinks the list of every obscenity in your lexicon that you shout at it is an indication that you want to chase it around the whole neighborhood.

The Bat would pick up literally anything. Your sword, leaving you unarmed. The bridge, leaving you stranded. It could even carry one of the duck-dragons while it was still alive, turning its personal game of keep away into execution tag. And you couldn't do ANYTHING about it except hope.

The update

We no longer accept games placing themselves in unwinnable situations (that has to be reserved for player stupidity). As such, we need a fantasy type game like Skyrim or Diablo where weapons and treasures are plentiful and a kleptomaniac Bat is more of a nuisance than a game killer.

I suggest that the player's character is a sort of beastmaster. At the lower levels you can form a companionship with animals like rabbits, and the upper levels lead you to the most powerful creature (the dragon of course). The Bat is an optional animal to master, and one of the most complicated; probably luring it to you with only the most expensive shiny objects. But once you've succeeded in taming the thing, not only do you have access to whatever hoard it has amassed throughout your game but you're given the option of controlling it. Imagine a flight-based stealth mission to retrieve some of the coolest treasures without having to fight your way to them.

2. The Black Knight (Black Knight 1980, pinball)

My memory is a little hazy. I'm probably referring more to the sequel Black Knight 2000, released in 1989. Steve Ritchie is considered one of the all time great pinball designing gurus, with a particular flair for 'flow'. Flow, as I've only just learned, refers to those metallic tunnels and ramps that keep a ball moving in all directions without losing its velocity.

The character of the Black Knight was one of those rare characters that not only broke the fourth wall but addressing the player directly but was also self aware as a fictional antagonist. "Give me your money!" was his war cry (voiced by Ritchie himself). Interestingly enough, there was no defeating the Black Knight. Pinball machines are like most old school arcade games; there is no official ending. You play until you lose, or drop (and then lose). You may be able to defeat other players' scores but you would eventually have to give up against the machine.

The update

The self awareness is what fascinates me the most about this character. Pinball doesn't really translate to modern systems, but a lot of fun could be had from a game based on medieval tournaments. Imagine a series of mini-games involving jousting, archery, sword fighting, and whatever the hell else people did back then. You start off as a rummy commoner and have to build yourself up in prestige and skill to even be worthy of the Black Knight's taunts. He may even sabotage you a few times throughout your journey. And all things being equal, the guy is unbeatable.

However the game has a built in cheat system which you're encouraged to use until you finally make yourself invincible. When you go this route, you essentially become the Black Knight, who earned his reputation as being the best by underhanded means. Video games need to teach more lessons in ethics.

3. Crazy Climber (1980, Arcade)

This was one of my favorite arcade games even if the double joysticks took quite a bit of adapting to. You play a guy who climbs the outside of a skyscraper, while scientists throw flowerpots at you, windows close on your fingers, and King Kong's smaller scaled stand-in throws a few punches at your path upwards. Why are you climbing the outside of a skyscraper? Because. That's why.

Randomly some voice shouts "Go for it!" whenever the game feels you need encouragement. And at the top of your publicity stunt is an impatient helicopter pilot who can't be bothered to grant you more than thirty seconds to reach for its metal bars.

The update

You're playing in an open world environment like Grand Theft Auto. But you aren't shooting taxi drivers or beating up prostitutes (which instantly makes you a better person). Your thing is perilous stunt work. You're like Banksy but performance art instead of vandalism.

So your goal is to draw as much attention to yourself without ever actually exposing your identity. That means climbing buildings in the most populated areas and not getting caught. Choose your buildings carefully. And don't die.

4. Evil Otto (Berserk 1980, arcade)

Better known as death by 'have a nice day' (actually nobody knows it by that, I just made that up). So you're running around a futuristic lab with electrified walls and armed robots that mock your cowardice. And then you hear the throwback to the land before memes, the grandfather of soul crush: "Intruder alert! Intruder alert!". And a bouncing invincible happy face comes right through the freaking wall.

I can't think of a more horrifying way to go than at the squash of a maniacal happy face. The sequel Frenzy allowed you to take down Otto with three shots, which always felt wrong somehow. Of course he respawned and came at you at twice the speed, thus making him undefeatable in the long run.

The update

Okay, the gameplay of Berserk is not likely to translate directly into a 3D format, but we can still work with the basic idea. Take a third person shooter like Uncharted and set it in space. You can even simplify the premise to, you're a prisoner on board a vessel that gets attacked by robots. But Otto needs to be used sparingly, without about the frequency of Pyramid Head in Silent Hill 2. In fact, why not make him a byproduct of space madness, and give the unstoppable smirk of death deeper purpose? He can represent isolation. I swear, the message boards will light up.

5. Jumpman (1983, Atari, C64, IBM, Apple II)

Some time after "It's-a me" Mario surrendered his original stage name, Randy Glover and Epyx seized upon a platforming character by the same name that very few have been able to top. We're set on a Jupiter base where terrorists are setting bombs that require a defusing expert (I grew up in a much more casual time period). Ladders, robots, bullets you can literally dodge, and ropes that either go up or down (not both) all decorate the playing field. Amazingly enough, the levels never felt repetitive.

The update

At its core, Jumpman is a non-linear obstacle course, but in modern gaming story is just as important as mechanics. So let's develop our little guy and present him as a sort of 'everyman' in the wrong place at the wrong time. Jupiter base is a tourist center for people who want to do rope challenges and the like, but for some political reason it gets taken over by bombers while your character happens to be in the waiting area. He has to rely on his wits to defuse bombs and traverse obstacles, learning as he goes, and occasionally gaining new access to old areas. Mix Prince of Persia with Metroid Prime and you've got the playground that plays in the heads of every kid who ever saw Raiders of the Lost Ark.

6. Mephistopheles (Faust: Seven Games of the Soul 2000, PC)

Okay to put it succinctly, this was not a good game. The puzzles had no inner logic to them, at least not in their final translation. And most of the gameplay involved just clicking everywhere until something happened. It was like Myst but without the 'Aha!' moments. But the one place where the game excelled was the depiction of Mephistopheles, courtesy of voice actor Geoffrey Bateman. Meph serves as the 'devil' of the classic Faust narrative but in a much grayer area than usually depicted. He's slick, manipulative, and imposing. But he's also intelligent and charming, and bizarrely heroic in places. By his own description, he's that 'angel' who wishes to do evil but is required to do good.

The update

It would be an M-rating all the way but imagine a 3D platformer/puzzle game a la Portal where your goal is to crawl your way out of Hell. You're not given any indication of why you're there but you're given a guide in Meph, who's actively rooting for you to fail. He gives you left-handed compliments and passive-aggressive instructions. You're presumably running the gauntlet for his personal entertainment, but in the end you're very wrong. Meph is not the final boss like you'd expect, but instead you have to confront the reason your soul was in Hell in the first place, and that changes based entirely on the way you played the game and the choices you made. It's probably VERY hard to actually get the redemption ending, but if you're so tenacious you'll discover that he was in fact on your side from the beginning; just unwilling to take you by the hand.

7. Nick Bounty (A Case of the Crabs 2008, on-line)

By Pinhead Games. Please visit their site and remind them that they're awesome. Nick Bounty is a detective, somewhere on the spectrum between Guybrush Threepwood (The Secret of Monkey Island) and Frank Drebin (specifically the Police Squad! television version). Absurd and surreal cases come across his desk: counterfeit crabs and paralyzing salt; and Nick meets every challenge with unyielding enthusiasm and more competence than one might expect from him. Like every good Private Eye, he rolls with the punches (and explosions). Nick is the optimism in his hilariously cynical world, and that alone makes him a hero who deserves to win.

The update

Oh, like I've really got something to offer this series. Point and click adventure games may never reclaim their former glory, but their souls live on in a lot of the indie developers. Nick Bounty's only two outings are much shorter than you'd wish them to be, but you can't deny Pinhead really packed in the creativity and wit. More people should play these free games and bask in the triumph that is our lovable detective. I can only hope it stirs up enough goodwill to bring us a third game, or a flash animation series.

8. Rayne (Bloodrayne 2002, PS2, Xbox, Gamecube)

Once Uwe Boll has put his grubby hands on it, it's over, but there was a time when Bloodrayne was a genuinely passable franchise. It was gory (want to randomly slice off a Nazi's face?), gratuitous (the slow pan around Mynce is a work of satirical beauty), and a pretty good bargain bin purchase. It was nothing special. Except when it was. Two words, Laura Bailey. I know I rave about her at every opportunity, but her voice work as Rayne is electrifying. You can hear the heart of gold subtlety beneath the (literal) bloodthirsty killer's exterior. She's driven by emotion, but unlike the complete bore that is God of War's Kratos, Rayne has complex layers of feelings. Some of them may even be positive ones.

The update

There's been a conscious effort recently to produce a wider array of strong female characters in video games, but Rayne is the kind of character who tends to provoke criticism. You tend to see her on 'top 10 most sexist' character lists, which I've always found dreadfully unfair. Yes, we need more strong female heroes; Wonder Woman couldn't have come at a better time. But we also need strong female anti-heroes. Imagine her possibilities in the hands of a writer like Amy Hennig (Uncharted), who knows how to bring out a character's core by presenting them with their moral event horizons. What line won't Rayne cross to get what she wants? Why won't she cross it? Her games always had the fun factor, but they seemed to beg for more substance than they got. I think there's a lot of life left in the old girl, and if Lara Croft can get a second reboot, why not a half-vampire?

Honorable mention: Stanley the Bugman

I have no idea what could be done with him, but this little footnote in Donkey Kong history deserves a second appearance in something. In case Donkey Kong 3 slipped past you in 1986, DK took refuge in a greenhouse, leaving poor Stanley to defend his flowers from the ape and the hornet nests DK stirs up. The game's not great, but the one thing that always stood out to me was just how stressed out Stanley looked on all of the artwork. I've always assumed he was this innocent bystander in the Mario-verse who leads a pretty mundane, if routine, life. Then one random morning he shows up for work and: What the f-? How did that even get in here? Mario is credited as an everyman character, but he's honestly a superhero compared to Stanley, who is so confused that he can only think to reach for his bug spray and do his best. I think we've all had days like that.

The 3rd Annual Sci-fi/Fantasy Festival: and the Long Walk Back to Reality

My library ran its traditional Sci-fi/Fantasy Festival over the weekend and I think it was our most successful year yet. I've never had a job that has challenged me creatively to the degree that my library assistant position has, and I truly am fortunate.

As I've neglected my blog throughout the past month, I thought it might be worthwhile to share a little bit of the adventure I've been on, and some of the unique experiences I was able to participate in. To start off, I have to give much credit to my co-worker Krysten. She's been a driving force in the Adult Fiction department, steering us into more programming specifically geared towards the whole nerd community. She also does quite a lot of the thankless grudge work that holds the whole thing together; phone calls to vendors, budgeting, city permits, etc. Three years ago when she got the idea for a one day festival approved, I was one of the hand-picked employees to be brought on board the project. The journey since has been nothing shy of incredible.

So I'll start by bragging about our Youtube videos. Our first one was actually a delayed video from last year, recreating the Doctor Who episode Rose (with a nod to The End of the World), which was my script with Justin's directing. The music cues that Justin added really rescue the spot from my very off the mark Christopher Eccleston impression. The next one was our annual Batman spot with Anthony reprising his role as the Dark Knight (undoubtedly to be a recurring tradition). Madalyn is Harley Quinn, and we have her to thank for how good the costumes look. I think I've officially played the only version of the Joker who serves as Batman's straight man. Last up is The Time Agency, starring Aubrey as the forcibly sincere hostess. I directed that one myself, to serve as an advertisement for our breakout room, which I'll talk more about shortly.

The final bit of pre-festival appearance I made was on Talk of Alabama, and this was my only unhappy memory of the whole process. Let me stress that I have nobody to blame but myself, mainly because I felt useless. Krysten and I went on a local morning show, and I'd prepped myself up for anything: except for the expected. I was ready to be funny. I was ready to bring out filler. The only thing I wasn't ready to do was answer the questions we'd asked them to ask us. Krysten was. She knocked it out of the park. And good for her, this is her brain child, she deserves all the credit. And to be fair, my wife watched the spot and assured me it looked fine. I've no reason to doubt her, but I still feel like I let myself down, and that's a little bit of an ego bruise.

The first program I worked on for this year was our nerd trivia competition. It's styled after Jeopardy! (I call it Red Alert!). This was my second (non-consecutive) year hosting this kind of program. The participants seem to enjoy it to a point, but it's never really felt like a success to me; more of a break even kind of reaction. My basis for comparison is our Adult Trivia nights (which I also host) that always feel more, I don't know, energized. But thank God my wife was there as the scorekeeper, because I can't read questions and keep track of who's buzzing in at the same time. In fact, I'm proud to say that in the whole process, she was there for me at the two roughest spots. Thanks always sweetie!

So back to the breakout room. This was Madalyn's pet project, and it was a privilege to be a part of it. The Time Agency was a massive success. I don't have the statistics, but roughly half the teams escaped, which tells us that the puzzles were the right amount of difficulty. The story was, a time traveler from the future stole something vital to the timeline and hid it in a study in Victorian England. I talked some about this in a previous blog, as well as posting the journal I wrote for one of the puzzles. One of the most fun aspects of the breakout room was the way Madalyn and I lapsed into our characters, even if they were both completely off-screen. I was Sir Lucius (I forget the rest of his four names) the owner of the study in Victorian England, while Madalyn was Gil Terrence, the chrono-burglar. It was a really bizarre way to approach a character's creation, but in the end I was part of writing a breakout room, and that's a new one on me.

But my biggest contribution was the Choose-Your-Own-Adventure styled Powerpoint presentation (171 slides in all!) based on the classic S1 D&D module The Tomb of Horrors. Wow that thing took a lot out of me, and the participants only uncovered about half the secrets. I don't know how or when I'm going to be able to present it in any form on this blog, but suffice to say I think I'm locked into a third year. The gears are already turning.

I got to play a tiefling in Justin's live D&D game, which rocked in no uncertain terms. I have high hopes we'll get to do a follow up next year. And for the record, Chris, Aubrey, and Connor are the most chaotic band of players I've ever had the 'you've got to be kidding me' joy of charging into a burning building (that they set on fire) with. I got to play Hades at a Disney villains meet and greet, which was a wonderful piece of group improv. I got to sit on a panel with Bobby Nash, who is an author on a level I aspire to one day reach, and I certainly hope to be as warm and generous as he is should I ever get there.

The main takeaway is this: I've always been a nerd. I wasn't always proud to be one; because it's not just a trope, there really was a time that it could get you beaten up. In 2002, there was a Star Wars film, a Star Trek film, a James Bond film, a Lord of the Rings, a Harry Potter, and a comic book based movie (Spider-Man) all in the same year. I honestly thought that was the apex of nerd-dom. I thought, this was literally the best time to be a nerd, and it was a fluke that would never come again. The convention circuits like Dragon Con were islands in a sea of...normal stuff.

I remember the first year I took my wife to Dragon Con. We stepped off the subway and into a tunnel full of superheroes and elves on the escalators. She turned to me and said "I'm home." Those two words summed up the passion every nerd has ever had for shaking hands with Mark Hamill or posing for a picture with a Dalek.

But this is 2017, and that island has opened up to nearly all facets of culture. The stories and characters we retreated into for so long are embraced by the masses now. 2002 wasn't an anomaly, it was a preview. The safe havens of the convention circuit are no longer just a chance to come out of hiding anymore; they're a chance to shine, to spread prosthetic wings and glide to the costume contests. And I have a job where not only am I happy, but once a year I get to be part of creating that celebration for anybody who wants to come out and play for a few days. I used to think that being able to say "I'm home" was everything I could hope for, but I've come to realize that there's an even greater feeling; when you're finally in a position to follow it up with "and so are you". Thank you to everyone who made our festival special, and I look forward to seeing you all next year.

5 Tips for People Who Want to Give Chris Chibnall Tips About Showrunning Doctor Who

Hey, have you heard that Peter Capaldi is stepping down from his role as the Doctor? Yeah I thought so. Oh, and Steven Moffat is finally doing what Wikipedia hackers have been demanding since 2010 and vacating his position as show-runner, making way for Broadchurch's Chris Chibnall. That should be fun.

Of course, we're invariably going to be treated to a plethora of open letters to Mr. Chibnall from the fans (between now and eight months before he steps down) expressing their collective insight into what the show should and shouldn't be. The first one I've seen appeared Sunday in the Telegraph, and there's more to come.

Nerds are nothing if not opinionated (self-reflection acknowledged), but maybe as a public service to us all we could hone the advice into a usable pool? Here are my suggestions that nobody asked for to keep in mind before offering suggestions that Chris Chibnall has not asked for.

1. He probably knows what the show is about.

Everybody has passions, and we all think that we somehow have nuggets of wisdom just for caring so much. And yes, passions really can drive us to understand something. But we're talking amateurs versus professionals. In my blog, I have plenty to say about comedy. But if I were to sit down to dinner with Bob Newhart I would be more than comfortable accepting that I've got no tips whatsoever for him.

I don't know how Chibnall is going to do. I don't know where his ambitions lie or if he's coming from a place of "We HAVE to do this while I'm driving!". But the bottom line is, he's got the job. And he didn't get it from Michael Grade, so that's a plus. The powers most directly affected by the show's success or failure have decided that Chibnall is the one to carry on the legacy. That by itself means he knows more than you or me.

2. There are no roots that need gotten back to.

People on social media like to complain about when Doctor Who lost its identity or why it's not true to form anymore. Good lord, it's not complicated. He travels in a box and does stuff. That's it. Roots are officially watered.

The show has a fifty plus year history, the first five of which never even knew he was a Timelord. About the last time the show was in danger of not being Doctor Who was the American television movie in 1996, and even then Paul McGann emerged as a beloved contributor to the icon. At this point it's not likely we're going to see the show lose its way. We've all figured out what Doctor Who is.

3. Pearl Mackie/David Tennant/Nabil Shaban won't be returning no matter how vocal you are about it.

This one's easy. The show-runner doesn't care about your petitions. Nobody on staff has ever read a message board and thought "Wow! We never thought of bringing Sylvester McCoy back! Let's call him right now!" They're using the resources they have to make the show work the best way possible. You only have to look at Dimensions in Time to see what gratuity looks like and how wrong it feels. Actually don't. It will change you for the worse.

4. It doesn't make business sense to change the Doctor's gender at this time.

I don't have a problem seeing a female Doctor. If Joanna Lumley comes to the audition and mops the floor with the competition, then go for it. But lately people have been demanding a female Doctor just for the sake of itself. I don't get what that accomplishes. It would make more sense to me that the show spins off into a Romana series or something for when the Doctor goes on his endearing eighteen month hiatuses.

I don't predict the BBC would ever shake things up that much on their cash cow; especially considering that every time a cast member leaves, a subset of audience goes with them. The people who clamor for a female Doctor are still watching the show. The BBC is always going to prioritize for the audience that might wander away, and keep bringing them back with familiarity. Is that wrong? I don't know. But it's entertainment, where very little is at stake. Equality is better directed at real world issues.

Update: 7/16 Well, what do I know? Welcome to television history Jodie Whittaker!

5. You don't know what you want.

Just face it, you don't. When Jurassic Park hit theaters, people griped that it wasn't like the book. When Hannibal was released, people griped that if you read the book there were no surprises. Spider-Man 3 gave everybody what they asked for, and I'm willing to bet you're in a worse mood now just because I even mentioned that movie.

I can't think of a single time I've written something that's come out on paper the way it ran in my head. The reason is twofold (at least). For one thing, my head has not typed out the words; it has an amorphous idea that's constantly reworking itself. For another, sometimes an idea works in one's head that doesn't work on paper. It's an old saying of professional scriptwriters; every script is three stories: the one you imagine, the one you write, and the one that gets made. So really, what chance is there that you're ever going to see a Doctor Who production that appeases your own ambiguous expectations?

The best case scenario: Chris Chibnall knows what he's doing. The worst case: he doesn't. The more probable: he kind of knows, but he's also going to be figuring it out as he goes. In any case, the Doctor will survive. The show is about reinvention. This is one phase. There will be many more.

My only tip for Chibnall is this. Try to remember that we, the fans, tend to have really lousy ways of expressing how much we care. I don't envy the position you're taking on, but I'm very grateful that you're even willing to take on such an incredible role. Welcome to the legacy.