This week, Monday 14th January 2013

Posted on By Captain Pigheart

Week One: Completed

Happy CatI have survived the first week back at work. I was pleased to find it was exactly as stressful and full of nonsense as I had anticipated. It’s sort of nice to be right. Getting up in the morning hasn’t been too rough and I successfully stared at my writing book each day last week. So that’s partway to victory. I did succeed in publishing something every day last week which definitely counts as a win, though it might prove a tough target to hit each week.

This weekend has certainly helped crush the New Year – we went to watch Labyrinth (the one that features David Bowie’s penis so prominently) in Broadway Cinema‘s Lounge theatre. It’s a great place for a birthday party as it’s just like a big seventies lounge with sofas and bean bags. Lots of people, huge laughter and much drinking. We played the likely well-known Labyrinth Drinking Game: you have to drink whenever someone says “It’s not fair”, and whenever David Bowie changes costume or presents his package to the camera. You can drink quite a lot while playing it…

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WT_xpFZe20A&w=420&h=315]
With the Goblin King’s crown in mind, here’s what’s coming up this week:

This week’s scribbles

Tuesday

Lego Creations: Woodland Whimsy – pictures and jabber about my first reacquaintance with Lego.

Wednesday

Pulp Pirate 14 – The Selachian Damsel Adventure was included in last week’s Flash Pulp podcast.

Thursday

The War Alone: The Beta-Haris, part Two – continuing one man’s story of survival in The War Alone.

Friday

Book Review: Subspace Encounters by E.E. Doc Smith – a dinky short review of a Doc Smith’s last book.

Updates on my thrilling life

Writing

Last week was a good week. I’ve got several short stories that now need to be edited and tidied up. Most will be multi-part tales on the website as I’ve come to the conclusion that 500-800 words at a time is probably a reasonable episode for most folks to read. It also gives me a chance to do some extra editing once the story is live. There’s a new Alex Trepan / Galaxy Team story in the works and a pirate story that needs to be kicked into shape. If I can just nail that morning discipline…

Galley

We are even nearer to completion now. We have doors and tiles and everything. Painting is yet to be done, though I’m sure we’ll manage to prevaricate over that for a good while yet. Ultimately it shall be blue and have even more shelves in it, and a hat stand. My hats currently live on a glass head, and dwarf it with their higgledy-piggledy height. It is lovely to have a neat, pretty kitchen for possibly the first time in our adult lives.

Lego

I am continuing to enjoy scattering Lego about. So too is our delightful cat, who likes that I will sit still for hours cross-leggedly crippling my knees. She seems to consider the noise of the Lego an acceptable cost. Work is in progress on my castle diorama, which features a waterfall and a queer temple. I’m pleased with it and have been happily embellishing the crenellations and adding pretty bits and mini figures. You’ll get to see the woodland diorama tomorrow. Wonderfully a dear friend has offered me her box of Lego bits and bobs including a whole bunch of vine/creeper pieces. I am terribly excited about it and even now planning where to put them.

Improv

I’m finding this year incredibly hard to get into. Even though we only had one week off over Christmas, our enforced seclusion and unsociability has I think left me a bit behind in dealing with others. There are a bunch of shows coming up, and I’ll be going to Fisticuffs to prepare for Martin‘s Unspeakable Acts in early February. That’s going to be wonderful fun. I just need to learn to be with people again…

Last week’s scribbles

Tuesday

The Sacrilegious Adventure – a short pirate tale featuring Captain Pigheart, a mean judge and a saint’s head.

Wednesday

Audio Tales for Ye Ears – a freshly recorded version of The Polar Adventure and a live and rather noisy retelling of The Mermaid’s Tale.

Thursday

The War Alone: The Beta-Haris, part One– the first of a three-part retelling of how The War Alone began, by a survivor (obviously).

Friday

Film Review: The Hobbit – I loved it, and this is why.

Events and Excitement

Improv shows

Thursday 17/01/13      Gorilla Burger: Improv Comedy Carnage – The City Gallery, Nottingham. An open show – available for anyone to take part in. It will be lots of fun.
Friday 25/01/13           MissImp in Action: Improvised Comedy Show – The Glee Club, Nottingham.
Friday 08/02/13           Mission Improbable – Create Theatre, Mansfield.

Pirate stuff

Yet to be confirmed but I think I’m compering at The Bookcafe in Derby again on 16th February, and so shall be reading pirate stories too.

Lego Creations: the Woodland Whimsy

Posted on By Captain Pigheart

Make Do

I’ve been babbling about my love of Lego for a while, and why not. It’s great stuff, teaches you how to make things and cooperate with inanimate objects, to project creativity into three dimensions. It’s wonderful for kids… except they make the wrong things or choke on the bricks, thus entirely wasting them.

I bought a huge box of Lego from eBay a few months ago, ostensibly to build a neat shelving solution for the Lego mini figures my other half and I obsessively collect. We have delightful half hours of frumbling blind packs in Tesco until we get the whole series. Ah, happy relationship times. Anyway, that was basically a lie – I had every intention of playing endlessly with the stuff. I will eventually build some sensible display cases, but not until I’ve had a lot of other fun too.

There was a lot of other crap mixed into the Lego, so I reckon I ended up with about four and a half kilos of the stuff (plus all the other Lego sets I have anyway!) First sort was to sift out the junk, then to sift for colour or shape. I was thrilled to realise I had loads of green and brown and fun foliage pieces, so clearly a woodsy thing was in the offing. I’ve also got a lot of black, grey and sand so castles would naturally follow.

Design Time

I recall being obsessed with symmetry when building with Lego as a child. It was frustrating to never have quite enough pieces to create sleek symmetrical spaceships without marring them with odd misplaced colours. I am no longer beset by such thoughts. I took the same approach to Lego building as I do to my writing and improv – make it up as I go along. As a consequence I have quite a lot of head scratching time, dismantling and rebuilding. It’s incredibly soothing. Now I haven’t really played with Lego for a long time, so this was my first attack on the building blocks of my mind.

Here’s the front view of the finished model:

DSC01280

I wanted to get as much in as possible, so at the front we start with Christmas Yoda outside his little hut (occupied by Little Red Riding Hood), with a nice speeder bike and ewoks nestled amongst elves, fairies, Robin Hood and a steampunk lady at the back.

The darker red/not quite brown bricks are delightful and I’ve found they break up the shapes really pleasingly. I think they’re from some of the newer Star Wars Lego sets.

I hope you enjoy the pictures – let me know! And remember, it’s never too late to get back into Lego.

 

Pulp Pirate 14

Posted on By Captain Pigheart

Flash Cast 76 – Ten Foot Jesus

In the process of getting my act together after Christmas I recorded several new and old stories for my favourite podcast: Flash Pulp! Last week those good folks saw fit to accept my submission of The Selachian Damsel Adventure which goes down the ear tubes well. I also sent in some feedback and enjoyed listening to Opopanax read it in a fine piratical tone! There are the usual entertainments within – pulp film and TV gossip as well as more creepiness in A Spot of Bother, a fine review of The Hobbit (with damn fine Gollumisms) and a review of the splendidly mean and funny card game Cards Against Humanity. I don’t normally get the time to play card or roleplaying games but this one was coincidentally whipped out in the pub at a friend’s birthday party last Saturday, so it deserves special mention. Gigantor can tell you all about it below.

Listen to it now: 

http://flashpulp.com/
http://skinner.libsyn.com/rss
http://itunes.apple.com/podcast/flash-pulp/id367726315

The War Alone: Beta-Hari Part 2

Posted on By Captain Pigheart

War Alone
“We’ll never know how many survived Day One, or even Week One. Doesn’t matter now I suppose. It was dead quiet when I did leave the flat. I felt scared driving it was so quiet, but there was no fucking way I’d be walking around. There must have been other people locked up in their houses like me. But mostly it was just bodies everywhere. Didn’t see anyone living but the few stragglers I picked up. From what they said, it sounded like all the fucking phone jobs wore themselves out fast – like they’d all run a marathons. Just started collapsing. That’s all it took though. A few days.
“We got out though, out to the country first. Well ahead of those fucking Spines. Day Two was later of course. We just drove to the nearest army base in XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX. I’ve never been so glad we pissed all that money away on military spending. Not that they were ready either. Like I said, they’ve all got phones too. They’d lost two thirds of their soldiers already – either as phone jobs or to them. Phone jobs with guns. Thank fuck this isn’t America. Anyway, their chain of command was coming apart fast and they were not pleased to see us, or the others. But they took us in.
“I guess it shows Their contempt for our armies – They never even attacked directly. Not at the start. I mean the phone jobs were everywhere, but that’s not exactly a surgical strike is it? In places like XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX they could contain them. The Spines only showed up in cities and towns. They just didn’t care about these outposts. If you can shoot people through their phones why bother fighting at all.
“So yeah, they took us in, and it started getting joined up again. No one wanted to use phones though, or even walkie talkies. Freaks people out properly when you see someone put a phone to their head. Doesn’t mean ‘call me’ anymore. After a while they started training everyone. I’d never held a gun before, except in games. Paintball, Call of Duty. We were only supposed to be back up, guard duty – it gave us something to do. But once they started going into towns and attracting attention. Well. They used up the real soldiers fast – that’s what they’re for isn’t it? War I mean – to kill off the young. Like a plague for the modern world. But there was time, while the Spines finished off the big cities and move onto the towns. Time to dig out those mothballed army toys.
“We’d get odd reports of drastic measures – Syria managing to wipe out the whole Middle East – they all just went nuts at each other. Even more nuts. The US and Russia nuked their own cities. No one knows what happened to China. No one will tell us anyway. You’ve got to speculate though right? China had even more phones than the rest of the world put together, all packed into their cities. Fuck. Can you imagine what it must have been like when they started ringing? But they’ve got millions of miles of countryside. Sounds like some apocalyptic Kung-Fu film. I’d have watched that. But not now. No. We’ve all seen too much.
To be continued next week.

Book Review: Subspace Encounter

Posted on By Captain Pigheart

Smith-Subspace Encounter

Like most of E.E. Doc Smith‘s books, this is an enthusiastic space opera romp. It’s a weird genre that I’ve always felt he made his own. They have the Edgar Rice Burroughs vibe of continuous adventure and charging off to finder greater villains and greater allies in a lurid and fantastic pseudo-science fiction. This one does it less well than others, partly because it’s a posthumous re-stitching of an unfinished manuscript. That rarely goes well.

The story lurches between two groups of Psiontists (psychic scientists, how can you not love that?) in First and Second Space on either side of Subspace. One bunch are basically us, the other belong to a violent merciless culture. Needless to say they turn out to be pals regardless and gang up on the “red-skinned, hook-nosed” bad guys and remorselessly exterminate them. Oh, did I not mention that E.E. Doc Smith also has some of the most questionable near-racism and sexism laced throughout? If you’re easily offended by what feels to me like a genuine accident rather than deliberate prejudice then you might avoid some of his work… However, the relationships between male and female characters is always between the hulking super-masculine hero and the ballsy and smart chick, who is probably also a heroine. It’s confusing. And sometimes they are smart, courageous and sexy.

There is also classic dialogue, especially when the characters are in dialect:  “I’m hungrier’na bitch whanker with nine cubs, so let’s get to scoffin’ huh?” The story’s not much in this (it’s a sequel to Subspace Explorers which is more fun), but the political system and cultural differences presented in Second Space and gleefully over the top, such as all criminals being “eaglemeat”, and the fantastical engines and machines they have make this enjoyable sci-fi fun.

It’s okay, but if you’re looking for his good stuff, read Skylark.

Pirate Hot Chocolate

Posted on By Captain Pigheart

The snowflakes are turnin’ bloody at me feet. Battle’s found us even here in these icy cliffs. Damn the war-walruses and their tenacity. We’ll gore ’em all eventually. In the meantime I’ve found a moment to nip into the galley and make meself a warming drink.

Hot Chocolate for Arctic Heroes

 

While a traditional sea-toddy’s brimful o’ rum, frankly tis a waste of god’s tears. Especially if ye options include Angostura 1919 (aye, sink ye lips and peepers into that fine bottle) or even the less-fine but still mighty-fine Kraken Black Rum. Since ye be muddying it’s flavour with a mug o’ milk and chocolate may I suggest ye enjoy the remarkably cheap and tasty Sainsbury’s Kentucky Bourbon. Tis light and a mite smokey, and complements ye chocky burn. I’m usin’ the delightful Liquid Chocolate from Hotel Chocolat.

The Art of Blending a Simple Drink

I’ll not insult ye intelligence too far, save to bung a mugful o’ milk in ye pan, mix in five or six teaspoons of molten liquid flakes until tis all brown and creamy (full fat milk’s the only sane approach unless ye have a Guernsey cow to squeeze cream from). I like to pop the marshmallows in the mug first and douse ’em in the whiskey (or good rum if ye be wealthy) before drowning them like enemy soldiers in hot chocolate.

The Remarkable Beverage
Aye, tis a gorgeous sight, and it’ll warm ye hart and the cockles of ye mind. A few sweet sips and you’ll find yourself ready to rejoin the battle.

This week, Monday 21st January 2013

Posted on By Captain Pigheart

The Year is Full of Days

Merly Lego Beast

I’ve spent most of this week anxiously looking out of the window and willing it to snow. I consider this a week well-spent. It would be nice to have more snow though. We’ve had a few inches, which proved sufficient when slushed and refrozen to toss me off my bike and thoroughly smash my wrist up again. Not good. So now I’m having to endure the train for my morning commute instead of the aggressive peace of cycling. If it’s less icy this week I’ll probably go back to cycling… because I’m an idiot.

Most of the best things have happened between leaving work and going to bed this week.

This week’s scribbles

Tuesday Shankaz’eroth: The Dead God of Bitter Verse

Time for a little more bitching and whining in poetical format.

Wednesday The Magical Space Engine

A dinky little flash fiction story of magic and science.

Thursday The War Alone: The Beta-Haris, part Three

The final part of one man’s story of survival in The War Alone. Part 1 and part 2 here.

Friday Film Review: Wreck-It Ralph

A short review of the new Disney film.

Updates on my thrilling life

Writing

Another good week for le scrawl. I’m sticking more or less to my routine (ooh, for a whole two weeks…!) so that feels pretty darn good. I have an idea to write more The War Alone  stuff as super-short tales of death in the early stages of Day One. Y’know, cheery stuff like that. I’ve also been neglecting the good Captain Pigheart as well (this coming week is no exception) and that needs to be addressed. Maybe a new pirate story a week? I don’t know – would that be a good thing? I think perhaps I need some feedback… hint. Anyway, some friends have said some nice things about the current Beta-Hari three-parter for which I’m grateful, and also some gentle pats on the head for still playing with Lego at my age.

Last week’s scribbles

Tuesday Lego Creations: Woodland Whimsy – pictures and jabber about my first reacquaintance with Lego.
Wednesday Pulp Pirate 14 – The Selachian Damsel Adventure was included in last week’s Flash Pulp podcast.
Thursday The War Alone: The Beta-Haris, part Two – continuing one man’s story of survival in The War Alone.
Friday Book Review: Subspace Encounters by E.E. Doc Smith – a dinky short review of a Doc Smith’s last book.
Saturday Pirate Hot Chocolate – a fine, whiskefied way to do hot chocolate, shipshape style.

Lego

Chima much?I hope you enjoyed seeing the Woodland Whimsy last week! I’ve taken some pictures of the Christmas Eve Hoth diorama but I haven’t yet done anything with it. The Pirate Hot Chocolate (with a lot of alcohol in it) was very useful over the weekend in both banishing the cold and assisting in applying finishing touches to the Castle of Hopeless Indulgence (which I might call it). It has many minifigures in it now, but I’m still sure there are further touches required. Have you seen the new Lego Chima stuff?

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bwCGxJFMGOc&w=560&h=315]

Crazy. I may need some of the awesome beast-headed figures even though it’s all very expensive. They remind me of the Fabuland characters from the ’80s. Merly (our beloved feline princess) has taken to playing in the Lego with me. This troubles me, despite the sweetness of it, as she kicks bricks around rather like in a litter tray…

Improv

I am back on my game, which is inordinately satisfying and exciting. Also timely, since I’ve got three shows in the next few weeks. I think what fixed me was going to Fisticuffs (or just “fisting” as it’s known colloquially, much to other folks’ confusion) and rehearsing for Unspeakable Acts. A ludicrously good time was had crafting three new plays out of the shattered ruins of the old. The middle tale is unrepeatable for vileness. I enjoy attempting a Scottish accent, but holding it for thirty seconds, much less thirty minutes is beyond me. I had to feign a stroke to account for its wandering. The last scene we did alternated between Man and Woman (I can’t recall the names of any of the base plays) who were in the middle of a siege and having weird (possibly fake) premonitions, and a frustrated musical director with two performers who could not stick to Les Mis for love nor money. As I said, I enjoyed it!

Gorilla Burger (an anyone can play show last Thursday) needs tightening up badly with a firm hand running it before anyone will really benefit from it. No one got to do more than a handful of scenes in quite a long (and chilly) evening. Fun often requires a degree of control and focus (and organisation) to make it more fun for everyone. However, the scenes I did, especially a nice one with Eddie at a lost property dept and with Marilyn and Lloydie discussing the destruction of Peterborough, were very enjoyable. Oh well, the next one’s on 14th February so we might be off Valentining anyway.

Events and Excitement

Improv shows

Friday 25/01/13           MissImp in Action: Improvised Comedy Show – The Glee Club, Nottingham.
Wednesday 06/02/13 MissImp Presents… Fisticuffs in: Unspeakable Acts – The City Gallery, Nottingham.
Friday 08/02/13           Mission Improbable – Create Theatre, Mansfield.

Pirate stuff

Still few plans. Maybe I need to get some. I will do some recording next weekend in any case and bung some more snippets on Reverbnation.

Shankaz’eroth: The Dead God of Bitter Verse

Posted on By Captain Pigheart

Shankanalia 6Well, hello New Year. As ever the new yule brings with it an identical blend of sunny optimism and bleak defeatism as the previous endless year. Fantastic. I’m cheerfully pinballing between genuine enthusiasm and cut-your-throat frustration. I’m certain that the unreasonable expectation others place on this time of the year drags me under with their incipient despair as they prepare to fail in the banal promises to the universe. I dislike New Year’s Resolutions.

So it’s time for another miniature anthology of @shankanalia Twitter verse. I tap these out whenever I’m getting too angry during the day to actually accomplish anything. It’s looks set to be a productive end of the financial year. Hurray / kill me now.

Shankaz’eroth: The Dead God of Bitter Verse

Inappropriate Punctuation
I’ve got a 5 bullet plan for improvement
No, not bullet points
They’re bullets, one for each of you
And one for myself

Too Touchy Feely for Meely
If I beat you
To within an inch of your life
Would you hug me
As I pulled out my knife?
If I bled you
Of all of your blood
Would you just die?

It Am An Sale
Incredible
Bumbling pygmies
Fill the streets.
Fat footed,
Stumbling
Over mediocre thrills
And plastic filth.
Leggings stretched into unitards.

Imaginary Deja Vu
Brain funked
and gashed with
Thoughts and memories
Of a time never happened;
Trapped in the
Bite of neuronal flare
and wake
and sleep
and wake confused.
 
Basic Lies
Reassure others about
Their incompetence
By pretending we are as inept
As they
But it’s a lie.
We’re good
You’re just shit.

Trust Exercise
So I delegate
To shift the weight
And share the work.
In my error
I asked you:
A mistake,
I see.
Take it back
Or let you fail,
And who’s to blame?

Happy Places
Fucking hate
Cuntiferous rending
Vile despised anti-human
Spittle-coated bastardy
Viscous cuntmongers.
Gin time.

The Magical Space Engine

Posted on By Captain Pigheart

Magical SpaceMagic, when it was finally all worked out, proved to be at once disappointingly simple, and generally disappointing. The application of imagination and desire was found to be achieved by few and lusted after by millions.

Albert Mackeltonky put the finishing touches to his magical space engine. He had wisely judged his imagination insufficient to maintain a magically created spaceship, as well as make it fly and do all the other splendid things a vessel of the stars would be required to do. The craft was admired by neighbours, friends and the local press: fifteen feet long and lovingly polished oak, studded with brass and glass ornamentation that would gain life and meaning once he bent his will to it.

He would be the first magician to pierce the atmosphere and become a space-wizard, the envy of his peers (those poor few there were). Not one of his cheering companions saw the need to point out any one of many possible difficulties. Such is the allure of magic to the common and jealous man.

Albert sat within its woody embrace and poured into the force of his desires, saturating the ship and fuelling it with the elusive energy of his heart and mind. Sparks, bubbles ad rainbows fountained from Albert’s creation as he concentrated further. He conjured within his imagination the vista of the sun rising about the curve of the planet, the blackness beyond and his beautiful star chariot hanging there in the night. Onlookers gasped as the spaceship shuddered where it lay upon the slabs of his patio and then gasped further as it vanished with the familiar pop of a finger being forcibly extracted from ones own cheek.

Three weeks later Albert’s frozen corpse was discovered inside a large wooden coffin when it nudged a telecommunications satellite out of alignment. Scientists dismissed the death as more “obvious stupidity”, noting that the oft-omitted but vital third component to successful magic is intelligence.

The War Alone: Beta-Hari Part 3

Posted on By Captain Pigheart

Read part one first, then part two.

Part Three

War Alone

“It’s such a weird enemy. No contact. No demands. No nothing. That’s why some people reckon it’s the Chinese – explains the radio silence. Yeah, if it had just been Day One I could maybe have bought that. I mean, they made all the phones right? But no. People didn’t do this. They left everything intact, except the people. Like they didn’t care we still had cars or satellites or power stations, for as long as they kept going on their own. Most of it broke down with being abandoned I suppose. Then by the Spines, as they started to spiral outwards. That’s what they did – the Spines I mean. When they couldn’t find people to pull apart they started tearing down buildings, roads, anything that was ours.

“That was the first time I went up in a jet. You can hear them now. Just listen to that roar. ‘Beta-Haris’. Brilliant planes. Like nothing I’d ever seen. Half fighter plane, half zeppelin or something. Some Euro/US secret design, they just pulled them out of a mountain. Seriously – there was a door on the fucking mountain and it was just full of all this experimental war stuff. Maybe that’s we got to use it – no one else was ever going to. They’d lost so many soldiers going head to head in the towns. So that was where we came in. More meat for the table.

“So they started putting us up in the Beta-Haris. At first it was just to watch, y’know – figure out where they were going, what they were doing. We tracked them, from the sky. You know they’ve got no real sense of ‘up’? It’s fucked up. It’s like they just don’t get it. They’ve got no long range weapons either, so we just stayed high and watched them. Later we’d drop bombs on them, or just anything heavy. There was this idea going round that there was no collateral damage anymore – how many people could there possibly be once the Spines got started? Those fucking things were relentless. So no one cared what happened to the stuff around them. We put a lot of holes in the world.

“That was before Day Three. Stupid names, suggests they’re all consecutive days. Makes no sense, like naming events after the dates they happened on. Americanisms. But Christ, when that started. I don’t know, worse than Day One. We saw it happening, everyone did. So did the radio guys. They said it was like someone had put a call through the whole planet. It scared the shit out of everyone. It was like a backwards mining operation – the millions of dead digging themselves out of the rubble and the streets and dragging themselves to the Spines. Not zombies, but just… crawling.

“Look – I don’t want to talk about this. You know. Someone else can do this bit. I don’t like to think about it. That’s how they made the domes alright. Look, I’m almost out of time. I need to suit up. My Beta-Hari’s waiting. We’re going to burn Birmingham today, scour it of those fucking necro-domes. They used to talk about a purifying fire, well that’s what we’ve got, and if you ever wanted to be buried – tough. We all get cremated now. I just hope there’s something left at the end of it all. If there is an end.

“You want a scary thought? Yeah, another one. Well there’s global warming already obviously – we’re dumping more fire into the atmosphere than ever before, plus the nukes and the power stations breaking down and the fires we didn’t even start. Hey, maybe it’ll help. I heard the tsunami that hit Japan killed everything, and I mean everything. Smashed the Spines to pieces.

“Oh yeah – scary thought: what’s Day Four? Yeah, exactly. Anyway, I’ve got to go. Wish us luck.”

The War Alone will continue… but not next week. Probably.

Film Review: Wreck-It Ralph

Posted on By Captain Pigheart

I like kids films. I’m even starting to enjoy Disney again, which is good since they now own everything I’ve ever loved (Pixar, Marvel, Star Wars). Their animated films are finally getting better – Tangled was a good start and Wreck-It Ralph is delightful. The setup is all there in the trailer – the bad guy from an ‘80s 8-bit arcade game has had enough of being an outcast and quests through other games to win a medal and the respect of his pixelled pals.

Wreck-It Ralph

I very much enjoyed John C Reilly as Ralph – a sad, yet hopeful voice like a dog left outside a supermarket. The film opens with him attending a support group for game villains (including Zangief and Bowser). A zombie has his heart torn out to make a point –my kind of film. The cheery conceit of game characters having their own lives after hours is done so much better than in Tron, plus you can coo over forgotten game characters from your childhood.

Ralph blunders through a Halo-esqe Duty Calls first-person shooter (it looks amazing) and nearly destroys Sugar Rush, the racing game in which he is redeemed and finds friendship and all the stuff you’d expect.

It’s funny (apart from an epically unfunny and dead silent minute when the bullied “glitch” racer gives a string of tiresome duty = doody gags. Not one child laughed: this is because in the UK we often pronounce the letter T and don’t find turd jokes as funny as the writers), there are gun battles (with the female hero of Duty Calls, voiced by Jane Lynch), love and candy car races. Gosh, everything really. It also looks amazing, moving between comic pixellation to gorgeous 3D dreamscapes. Not a bad way to spend a Sunday morning.

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_q6DDm-3urE&w=560&h=315]

If only Cineworld could focus even a single film I’d be able to tell you how good the Paper Man  short was at the beginning. I liked it, but couldn’t really see it. Imbeciles.

 

This week, Monday 28th January 2013

Posted on By Captain Pigheart

Life is a Lot Like A Spreadsheet

Merly Lego Beast2One of the greatest, and most ignored tragedies of human existence is not war, or famine or disease – all of which are terrible yet somehow intrinsic to our species Darwininan blundering – but spreadsheets. I spend hours staring at those imaginary grids of data, verifying, analysing, cursing and burning the wee hours of my life away. Many of us do. It is utterly without value. Even the purported organisation value of the activity is likely to be ultimately worthless as well. I will grudgingly concede that the activity does provide the money that keeps me in a house, Lego, whiskey and books. But still…

In recompense I create. I have my mind returned to me at the end of the day, albeit in a dissolute state of statistical angst and then I can do something with it.

This week’s scribbles

Tuesday The Reluctantly Hospitable Adventure

Ye captain returns in another short piratical jaunt about the relative merits of hiring ye ship out.

Wednesday A Second Cup of Coffee

Poor stupid Percy continues his cafe-based experiences. It gets a bit more serious than choking.

Thursday Lego Creations: The Hoth Christmas Wonderland

I know it’s not Christmas yet/still, but I haven’t had the heart to take this apart yet.

Friday Book Review: Nodal Convergence

A short review of the eBook by Terrence E Zavecz.

Updates on my thrilling life

Writing

Quite good – mainly fixing and tidying up stuff that I’ve scribbled in my “challenging” handwriting. That already appalling hand is not aided by having my right writing hand in a splint, or rather my modified rollerblading glove from back when I could face that much exercise. Yes… I continued to cycle this week. But I didn’t fall off in the ice. The wrist is still bad on its own. I now have a radiology appointment (which always sounds awesome, even though I know it’s “just” for an x-ray) after which they’ll probably tell me to splint it, like I have done. So that’s a probable win.

I’m pleased that the The War Alone has been popular with some of my friends. I shall definitely visit it further. The two short stories for this week were both written in the last fortnight. I’ve wanted to get back to Percy for a while, and find some purpose for him. That appears to be evolving as we read.

This week I’m going to type up some of the longer stories I have been toying with. I also need to get to grips with typing stories directly into the electroverse. I often struggle with this, I think it’s because I see an immediate opportunity to tinker and edit which I don’t feel I have when handwriting. Discipline required. Balls.

Last week’s scribbles

Tuesday Shankaz’eroth: The Dead God of Bitter Verse A little more bitching and whining in poetical format.

Wednesday The Magical Space Engine A dinky little flash fiction story of magic and science.

Thursday The War Alone: The Beta-Haris, part Three The final part of one man’s story of survival in The War Alone. Part 1 and part 2 here.

Friday Film Review: Wreck-It Ralph A short review of the new Disney film.

Lego

Fresh LegoA relatively quiet Lego week – mostly because I haven’t been at home much. On Monday I finished the course of counselling I’ve been going through, which has wiped out a good many Mondays in an alcoholic blur of self-indulgent introversion. I’m pleased, partly because I get Monday nights back (ooh rah, cinemah!) and partly because I think I’m better. I have new Lego though! From a dear friend who is making space for another dear friend to move in with her I have received a number of loverly bundles of new Lego to play with. Step one: disassemble. There’s some lovely stuff in there, including vines and Ewoks. Some of it may require an expansion / rebuild of The Woodland Whimsy. Excellent news. We also acquired a couple more mini figure cases to contain more of my other half’s obsession with Lego mini figures.

Improv

A splendid week of improv; this being a show week it has taken its toll physically and mentally. Tuesday continues to be Fisticuffs night, and this time I persuaded my other half to join us, to great comic effect and satisfaction for us both. We’re still practicing the Unspeakable Acts format which Martin has devised. We begin with a play (or screenplay) and use it to give the scenes a solid grounding and context, then abandon it after maybe a page and create it for ourselves. We did three different sets; the first using The Empire Strikes Back – I played a Tauntaun concerned that Luke didn’t know my gender, or my name. That lack of awareness of difference and cultural sensitivity carried through much of the scene, with tonnes of fannish nonsense thrown in. It was definitely harder making something new out of what we already knew so well, but the play we performed was certainly not Star Wars: “Tatooine, desert planet, spice…” Then we re-created The Godfather (a film I find too tedious to endure) in Yorkshire with a lasagna cabal. Lots of fun, much playing with metaphors. I can’t remember the third one… I’ve recorded them somewhere.

A fun jam on Thursday preceded an outstanding show at The Glee Club on Friday. It probably helped that the team had also all played together on Tuesday at Fisticuffs (Lloydie, Martin, Ben, Marilyn, Parky and myself). We had a wonderfully large and noisy audience and some really funny and peculiar scenes for them. We’ve slightly shortened the show’s running time and it works better. We ended with the popular Party Quirks and seriously made Ben suffer to guess Kurt Cobain (he’s only young), but managed to get Hetty Wainthrop and the sandworms of Arrakis fairly quickly. A fine night that concluded in a huge snowstorm! Awesome.

We got up painfully early the next day to get some quality workshop time with Alan Starzinski from the Upright Citizen’s Brigade theatre in New York. We’ve spent good time with several folks from UCB and Alan was no exception. There were only six of us, so we got a lot done and I found Alan’s manner and attitude very productive. I like his use of film and video games as metaphors for improv. He introduced us to ‘flashing’ for inspiration, and trying to use all of that which inspires us, and also to two forms: the Eventae (maybe just with an acute French accent, but I like the latinish ring to this) and Tracers. We had a few cracks at the former where you present a set up scene – some major event for all players, then bounce through a series of scenes leading up to it exploring each character in more depth. The finale is returning to that original scene with all that extra information and re-creating it. Tricky, but worth playing with further. Tracers may appeal to some of our elements even more as it obeys the traditional unities of time and place allowing only scenes that take place in the same five minute (for example) slot.

A busy week. No wonder we slept until one o’clock today!

Events and Excitement

Improv shows

Wednesday 06/02/13 MissImp Presents… Fisticuffs in: Unspeakable Acts – The City Gallery, Nottingham.
Friday 08/02/13           Mission Improbable – Create Theatre, Mansfield.
Friday 22/02/13           MissImp in Action: Improvised Comedy Show – The Glee Club, Nottingham.

The Reluctantly Hospitable Adventure

Posted on By Captain Pigheart

Bantams Spank“Turn ye face away, I’ve no wish to endure the dim-witted gaze of ye mooncalf features.” Under me fierce scowls the thick-cheeked passenger sulkily turned his face back to the sea. Very soon he’d be filling the belly of one of the excitable sea beasts which presently cavorted in the bloody lumps that used to be his companions. Wesley was his name, Wesley of Oingham, a lord of minor repute with acres of land – a  worthless commodity to the ocean and its folk. Within an hour of boarding he was exhibiting all the traits of one born with silver forks up his arse by chundering copiously about the decks and demanding the feathers of a baby swan to swab his sticky chin. Ye will likely sympathise with me immediate instinct to set the fellow a-fire. “Zero tolerance for boorish landlubbers”: that’s me newest motto and we’d be executing the notion, and the lord, at ten bells.

Ye see, after a difficult few months while we lingered in the economic doldrums (for piracy and even honest tax fraud may be challenged when no one’s got gold for thieving), No Hands Mick had proposed that we draw in ye tourist shillings by offering passage on The Grim Bastard, or rather on The Bantam’s Spank as we’d renamed her so as to appeal to the soft-witted and gentrified land algae. By the second Thursday of offerin’ a boating service we’d ferried endless elderly matrons across the river and filled our books with those keen for seaborne adventure and the thrill of seeing a fishy in its proper place.

Coddling’s not the way to deal with pirates, for they takes every inch ye offer and are then reluctant to cling to the mast in a storm. However, we found that the lard-swaddled lord and lady had different expectations of their “cruise”. The shit-seats at the stern disturbed ’em and they were noisily resentful about bunking with the mates in the Stenchhole. Don’t get me wrong, tis a vile and villainous deck on which I’d not set me foot without first dousing it (the deck, not me foot) with alcohol and fire, but this Wesley lad was furious and bellowed fit to affright an amorous walrus. Even his lady-wife expressed alarmed by the shade of scarlet his cheeks achieved. For the sake of peace from his wobble-chinned rage we emptied out the little cupboard by the powder room, kicked a bed into it and rammed the pair into their executive suite. Gimpy, the powder monkey was a mite put out but since he could fit neatly into a drawer beneath the galley’s clam drainer, everyone was equally unhappy.

Half a week later in the middle of a fine dessert of neck custard and knee biscuit, in spite of our sightings of a dead dolphin, a killer squid and just two minor sea battles, the ham-faced lord slammed down his fist in protest. In doing so he propelled a knife across the table and into the remaining eye of poor Gimpy (t’other was lost to a fuse error) who stood by the table, bearing a lamp so as to light our meal. Justly, for cutlery belongs to the table not the face, Gimpy ran off screaming. Knives in the eyes will do that to a young lad. We were plunged into darkness and surprise. Uncommon laughter spilled out of Lord Wesley’s mouth and he slapped his breeches with glee. Less than a second later he was flat on his back with Mick’s cutting hand pressed to his throbbing throat. No Hands Mick’s a touch protective of the young ones: he mourns them all, crab-eaten, gull-snatched, accidentally made into yoghurt – they all have his prayers.

Now I must confess myself torn: I likes a spot of slapstick and the be-flung blade had the hallmarks of the circus. And yet but our passengers had been naught but grief since they’d boarded, and they had just blinded me powder lad. Of course he might have some use yet as bait, or decoy. Me mind was made up when planking and caulk fell upon us from all directions and a vast boom rocked The Bantam’s Spank. Poor Gimpy had fled to his old comforting nook but in his blindness had bumbled into the powder room with his lantern a-dangle.

Quelling the Lord’s moans with me fist and a light touch of peg to rib, I stomped off to assess the damage. Twas not good. We debated our options, in accordance with honest piratical practice. Realising that we’d already taken Lord Wesley’s payment was a moment o’ brilliant revelation for me. So in short order we tossed his servants overboard and perched him on the diving board and jammed his wife in the jacuzzi for later ransom (we’d made a number of alterations for cruise comfort). That’ll teach him for being rude about me ship. Oh and the eyeball thing. And the explosion. Bloody passengers.

Slightly Broken: New Year; New Me

Posted on By Captain Pigheart

It’s been quite a long time since my last post. I am still alive, in case you were wondering. Before Christmas I felt that I had reached some critical point in my counselling and understanding of myself in relation both to the abuse that I was the victim of and the convolutions of emotional distress that resulted from it. It was like turning a page to the next chapter in a book, the lightening of the sky at dawn, the opening of a box of chocolates… I don’t know. Similes fail me. I felt different, untroubled by the past, or at least untroubled by this specific aspect of the past. I knew that I’d be having a three week break from counselling. So that was a test of sorts, while my sleeping tablet prescription ran out I had two weeks of holiday over Christmas, in which I’d be with the Lady M and really very few other people. An excellent test of whether the stress of my past had simply been overtaken and displaced by the various stresses of work (fucking crazy leading up to Christmas) and whether it would resurrect itself in my mind, some hideous Lazarus monster reawakened and wreaking havoc.
Perhaps inevitably I slept very strangely over Christmas – lacking both the routine (hey, it’s Christmas) and the reassurance of drugs. That was okay though; I was prepared for that, and mostly it really didn’t matter. I can deal without sleep, I just forget that I can. I was delighted / didn’t really notice that my mind was mostly clear. I wasn’t troubled with thoughts of Ric and all that shit. On the rare occasions that something drifted up to the surface I found it easy to bob along to other matters. I don’t really know why. I put myself through a lot before Christmas. I suppose I was ready to do so, and I knew what I wanted to force myself to do. It seems to have worked.
My mind is… different. I feel like a different person; one unbound by the past. I can conceive of the future – I don’t know what is in it, or what I’m supposed to do with it, but it doesn’t feel impossible. I could be in it. I have to decide how. I’m already looking forwards to shows, and writing and activities. It doesn’t fill me with horror to fill a date in my diary.
I was supposed to see my counsellor on the fourteenth of January, but it was delayed a week by the snow. That was a slightly tense week as I waited for the awfulness to rise once more, and worse still as I anticipated the session: I feared that having to talk about abuse and things would bring back the feelings. My hope was for one session, maybe two to assure myself that I was on the right path and that Christmas was alright and so might the future be. We met on the twenty-first and it was fine. I had been fine. There was no reason that I ought not continue to be fine. So that was our last session.
I can go back if I want to, if I need to, if that submarine terror rises again. I don’t know whether it will or not. I hope it doesn’t. But if it does I know that I have all the material I need to make it go away again. The experience of counselling has been fascinating; as my counsellor pointed out – I have painstakingly retained all of the items (diaries, letters, photographs) I could need to revisit, relearn and comprehend what my mind had misplaced, forgotten and misunderstood. I don’t know what I would have done without that ghastly archive. I was looking after myself all along by retaining them, wrapping them and hiding them from my prying, forgetful eye. Our minds care for themselves? I’m not sure.
Whatever sorting and sifting I needed to do has been done. Now I just have the ordinary worries and concerns; I suspect I am still shielding myself from some of them. I have not fully grasped the concept of future. I feel the tension of work, and of working and socialising with people I don’t trust or like in a different way. They aren’t cloaked in the shadow of abuse; that’s not my overriding paradigm anymore. I don’t know how to deal with those problems, but as I said and felt with my counsellor, those aren’t the problems that I needed help to resolve – those are ordinary, standard problems; sexual abuse and the destruction of self are rather different. So I’ve freed my counsellor – an excellent and wonderful person – to go and help someone else, someone who needs what I needed. I’m free.

A Second Cup of Coffee

Posted on By Captain Pigheart

Click.

“Total Removals. You say where, we say when.”

“Where.”

“What?”

“You said ‘you say where, we say when’.”

“So?”

“So I said ‘where’.”

“You trying to be funny?”

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself. I’m just a bit nervous.”

“That’s quite all right sir, there’s no need to worry. We’ll take care of everything.”

Percy’s face sagged with relief and he gave a quick thumbs up to the barista. Killing the man in the cafe had not been part of the plan. Not much had been; the plan was sparse at best: meet the man, take the briefcase, leave. It sounded good. Simple, uncomplicated. It sounded like a good plan to someone who didn’t do planning well. The clarity had especially appealed to Percy, for whom planning was alien.

He had arrived at the cafe on time and remembered not to have a coffee – it tended to get caught in his throat when he was tense. Instead he got a large muffin, loaded with raisins. The barista stabbed a fork into it and sulked off into the backroom. He hated staying late for these people. Percy managed not to notice and sat at the sole illuminated table in the coffee shop.

He didn’t have to wait long. A tall man, carrying a case, slid through a narrow opening of the door, like a cat between legs. The miserable barista squeezed a few meagre drops of coffee into a mug and slouched off again. Percy beamed with anxiety and sweating good cheer. He pushed out a chair and gestured violently towards it. The man looked confused. Percy patted the seat encouragingly. The man looked at him as if Percy were an idiot (an apt summation). However, since the rest of the coffee shop was filled with shadows and Percy’s was the only table with a light above it, he sighed and dragged another chair over and sat down. He placed his coffee as far from Percy as the tiny table would allow and turned to face the window.

Percy grinned wildly as the gentleman placed his case on the floor. Percy nodded knowingly and reached for the briefcase. As his damp fist closed over the handle the man grabbed for it defensively.

“No no, it’s okay. I know what I’m doing,” said Percy with a reassuring wink. The other man gave him the idiot look again, seized the case and pulled hard. Percy pulled even  harder, hauling the perplexed and angry man across the table. Percy wrested it off him and fell backwards in his chair, the case clutched to his chest. The man fell forwards and let out a surprised “oof”, then lay on the table. Percy sighed in relief; he really hadn’t wanted to screw this up. He climbed back on to his feet and set the chair upright again. The man still lay, still, across the table.

“Up we get, all sorted now,” Percy said jovially, delighted with how easily the plan had played out – a full two thirds of the plan had been accomplished already. He nudged the man. No response. Anxiety filled Percy’s face and it crumpled like a dam under the flood of perspiration. He shoved the man harder. The man rolled off the table and on to his back on the floor. Percy’s muffin stood proudly upright in the man’s chest, quivering on the end of his fork. Blood soaked the front of the once-white shirt.

Percy’s high-pitched wail of distress brought the barista back out. He took one look at the body on the floor, sighed, and withdrew a business card from under the till. “Call this number,” he said. Percy commenced babbling. “Just call the number you…” his words were lost to Percy’s panicked ears as he retreated into whatever hole grumpy service staff lurk in.

Percy’s hands shook as he dialled in the number. He tried not to look at the body, but didn’t want to turn his back on it in case it came back to life.

“Total Removals. You say where we say when.” Percy got through the initial awkwardness, gave the address and was firmly instructed to exit the premises but leave the back door unlocked. Percy rang the bell on the counter for attention and received a scowl in return.

“Apparently we need to leave now,” he evaded the deepening scowl, “sorry about all this.”

“Why did you kill the guy?”

“It was an accident. I just wanted a muffin. And the case. I was only supposed to take the briefcase,” he shook the trophy he’d won in the tug of war.

“It’s not much of a briefcase is it? More like a satchel really.”

Percy looked more closely at the bag he was holding. The door to the coffee shop swung open. A tall man stood in the doorway, smartly suited with a briefcase under his arm. He took in the obviously dead body lying, as if in a tableau in the pool of light, then the sweaty sight of Percy clutching the bag and the indifferent barista standing in the gloom; he hastily fled. The door closed in his wake.

“Now that,” the barista commented, “that was a nice briefcase.”

Lego Creations: The Hoth Christmas Wonderland

Posted on By Captain Pigheart

A Winter Wonderland

We had no snow last Christmas, though the last couple of weeks have partially made up for that criminal absence. The first few days of  Christmas were occupied almost solely in resurrecting our kitchen after having it gutted and refitted painfully close to Christmas itself. I barely got to wrapping presents until Christmas Eve. Once I was finished with that and there was a series of programmes about Ronnie Barker to watch I got me Lego out.

What to make, what to make?

We had been enjoying the Lego Star Wars Advent Calendar all through December and the final sets were these fantastic snow R2 unit and a Santa Maul. They were irresistibly destined to be used somewhere, in something. I just love the use of carrots and coal for the R2 droid. Overall the calendar was not as good as last year’s. The vehicles tended to be from Episodes 1-3, which just aren’t as interesting as proper Star Wars.

I’d used up most of the greens and browns to make The Woodland Whimsy (I have more now!) and had already separated out all the white and grey pieces. I had quite a bit, though no large baseplate to build on. Some kind of Christmas scene was called for, and what is more Christmassy than Hoth? I always think of Hoth whenever I think of snow, so combining it all was fun.

As I said, I had quite a bit of white, but no large structural pieces, so the base of the diorama is clumsily pegged together. However, I do like the uneven levels and surfaces it creates.

So here’s the whole thing, from the front. It is much smaller than The Woodland Whimsy owing to time and parts.

I wanted to create a series of min-dioramas in one, so right at the front we have the most Christmassy part with the 5N0W droid and Maul. Immediately behind them we have the Rebel troops on the left (including the fantastic facial expression on the dude in khaki), shooting up the Imperials on the right. The cannons they have here are adapted from those included in the advent calendar. I like to re-use.

Behind them (and sort of between them) is the Lego AT-AT (my single favourite model from the advent calendar) attacking the Rebel base defended by the snowspeeder. I found I had to add blue and the occasional off-white brick to stop the whole landscape blurring weirdly when I looked at it. In retrospect it works well.

Right at the back is the best scene in Empire (contentious, even with myself), Luke suspended in the Wampa cave waiting to be torn to pieces. I had particular fun making the ice cave itself. The horn/bone pieces are good for icicles, and again I enjoyed the irregular structures you can make. The beast is not a Wampa, because I don’t have that set. He’s from the Orient Expedition Yeti’s Hideout set. He’s on a revolving base and has the head of a Gungan. I couldn’t find my actual Jar-Jar but I figured any racial stereotype would do. Luke’s lightsaber is tantalisingly close, and can be wiggled. I was pleased to find I had a couple of skeletons knocking about as well.

Here are a few shots from different angles, so please have a look and I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed making it.

Book Review: Nodal Convergence

Posted on By Captain Pigheart

Nodal Convergence cover

This is a genuinely interesting novel. The set up is delightful science fiction: a rich entrepreneur figures out you can dive into Jupiter’s Eye to travel back in time. It’s something to do with cosmic strings. Awesomely they aren’t going back into the past to see dinosaurs, they want to determine if the so-called universal constants of gravity and the speed of light are genuinely constant, or if their having changed over time accounts for problems in the maths of physics and why they can’t get their faster than light ships to work .
The dinosaurs they encounter are a mere distraction for a handful of researchers to deal with. An awesome distraction. These are cool, feathered dinosaurs (proto-feathers), with intelligence and personality – not just mighty killing machines. There are very enjoyable action sequences with dinosaur battles; they shoot a lot of them in the head (it’s okay, time is like a river) and receive relatively few serious injuries which is a little surprising.
It’s a very science heavy book; the author has a broad spread of interests through physics and paeleontology which gives some vivid insights into cosmic science and fringe theory. I loved that. Each chapter ends with a brief discussion of the theories used and a list of links for further reading and reference. But the science dominates the dialogue for pages at a time instead of allowing for character development – there’s the tough one, the science lady, the weird kid who runs off to live with the dinosaurs (I like him) and some even tougher military men.
The science is fascinating, and it’s worth getting through the dialogue to the next brilliant description of dinosaur behaviour. If you like dinosaurs, you’ll enjoy this as much as I did. I downloaded the sequel today.

Get Nodal Convergence at Amazon.co.uk

Short Film: Punchline and Pirate Haiku

Posted on By Captain Pigheart

Preamble Blurbling

This short film and collection of poetry may not appear to be related, but bear with me.

Many years ago (it feels like it) I studied Philosophy at Nottingham University (I was and remain a dreadful student of any subject) which was certainly interesting if not remotely useful. A very nice chap was also in many of my lectures, and happens to now live in the same town near Nottingham that I do. We’ve bumped into each other in Sainsbury’s now and then. My other half (Marilyn) wandered along to the meeting of Nottingham Shooting People and lo – the world was smaller once again. Short story made long, Steve remembered himself to me via Marilyn and just after Christmas was kind enough to get in touch through MissImp and send me a cool book. What a nice man. This is a very late thank you! The least I can do is share one of his films with you:

Punchline by Steve Deery

Steve Deery‘s a busy fellow and member of the Shooting People network. He’s a writer/producer/director/odd job man of numerous short films. This Punchline .

Find out more about Steve and his films and Shooting People here: https://shootingpeople.org/cards/SteveDeery

Pirate Haiku by Michael P Spradlin

This is a lovely little book (I like square and odd-format books) which is filled with charming little poems, which are allegedly the work of a real life pirate. They’re very funny and typically sharp.

I’m amusing myself by picking the book up every now and then and scoring me a few hits of pirate poetry. Brilliant.

You can read more about the author here: http://piratehaiku.com/book/

And buy it here…

The lad’s got a fine piratey voice on him too:

This week, Monday 4th February 2013

Posted on By Captain Pigheart

Brain Anaesthesia

RaaarghThe year of exhausting weeks continues… Last week was an endurance feat for me: five days of receiving training in preparation for training others in a system that doesn’t do what it’s supposed to and wasn’t the version we’ll get. I have no wish to go into IT-babble here, suffice to say that there is potential cluster-fuckery in the offing. I just can’t focus on what other people are saying for that long, let alone sit still for more than twenty minutes. I got through quite a lot of medicinal whiskey last week.

But that’s over, as is having to get up extra-early for the week. Hurray! By extra-early I only mean 7am, which I realise is much later than most real adults. I find it appalling. It was very much like having an alien weevil boring into my brain, or syphilis. I think I can survive this. On the plus side it drove me to read the next Harry Dresden book in a night. This next week will be equally exhausting, in strictly fun ways.

This week’s scribbles

Tuesday Fairground Misadventure

A short sci-fi-ish story that emerged in an early morning mind fit.

Wednesday Pulp Pirate 15

Another edition of the marvellous Flash Cast with a Franklyn de Gashe tale by yours truly.

Thursday Alex Trepan: A Cyborg Calls

Alex and Galaxy Team are back! I think this is going to be a three-parter. No promises.

Friday Film Review: Ray Harryhausen: Special Effects Titan (and Jason and the Argonauts)

A short review of the new documentary on the legendary film-maker and his most legendary film.

Updates on my thrilling life

Writing

The getting up early pretty much shot me in the head for getting anything done in the mornings. I did stare at my writing book though so it’s not like I did nothing at all… The new Alex has been mostly typed up and I’ll be posting it up in serial form again over the next few weeks. I find that to be exceptionally motivating for getting it edited and finished properly. It’s not as action oriented as some of the others, but hopefully it offers some interesting character insights for both Alex and the villains/heroes of Galaxy Team. I feel quite pleased with it.

Last week’s scribbles

Tuesday The Reluctantly Hospitable Adventure Ye captain returns in another short piratical jaunt about the relative merits of hiring ye ship out.

Wednesday  A Second Cup of Coffee   Poor stupid Percy continues his cafe-ased experiences. It gets a bit more serious than choking.

Thursday  Lego Creations: The Hoth Christmas Wonderland   I know it’s not Christmas yet/still, but I haven’t had the heart to take this apart yet.

Friday  Book Review: Nodal Convergence  A short review of the eBook by Terrence E Zavecz.

Saturday Short Film: Punchline and Pirate Haiku Two gifts from an old friend.

Lego

As I mentioned, I have barely managed to speak this week let alone root about in my Lego drawers. I am currently engaged in constructing in miniature. The recent Lego mini-figure series have included such fantastic figures as the guy in the Godzilla and gorilla costumes and a number of awesome robots. It would be remiss of me not to build a mini-city for them to destroy. I’m still toying with building scale um buildings, and have a tendency to make them too big. More playtime to follow!

Improv Comedy

Woof. This week is the one to look forwards to! Last week was alright. The Fisticuffing on Tuesday was a bit strained as we had someone along who isn’t really in sync with the rest of the team. That chemistry and sense of unity feels like one of the most important aspects of improvisation for me at present. The Fisting team are performing this Wednesday for realz instead of rehearsal and it’s going to be a lot of fun.

Thinking about it, much of last week was rather soured by the return of a seemingly endless debate about the value of preparation for improv. I can’t be bothered to rehash it here, since it’s only one person who just doesn’t get it- but the general issue is easily paraphrased: “if you fail to prepare, prepare to fail”. I’ve found that to be a steady constant in almost every area of life. A good show or rehearsal is preceded by preparing for the show itself (logistics and format) and preparing to perform in the show. That means we have to get five or more players on the same page mentally and energetically after and in spite of whatever else they’ve been doing that day or in life. All I can note for those who reject this principle is that they are almost always dreadful as a consequence of not warming up.

Thursday’s jam was a fun example of a warm up working. It was a fairly large group (16 I think), some of whom had rushed there, others had been out in the cold for a while. We warmed up. Thoroughly. Then played a bunch of focus exercises aimed at setting up a scene and using that initial flash of inspiration (thanks Alan Starzinski!) to set scenes up fast and hard. It paid off, delightfully. Most people had paid attention to the warm up, that ritualised meditative process which lets us all ditch the day and focus on each other. As a result the strictly two minute scenes we played for the rest of the jam were great! We started with a round of two player entirely open scenes (no restrictions or theatre sports games) and then built up through 3 and 4 player games to 5s. The last set started to get quite messy, but the 3 and 4 player scenes were splendid examples of cooperation and applied listening. Good work MissImp humans.

Media Intake

Books

Despite the busy and mind-numbing week I should mention that I’m back into the collected Hellboy – volume 3 had some fantastic short stories in it. I really enjoy Mike Mignola’s combinations of folk tales and ghost stories, plus each gorgeously drawn frame is a joy in itself. I also finished The Jonah Kit by Ian Watson. I mainly remembered his name from the Warhammer 40K novels I used to read in my teens. This is a very different book! It’s a rather bleak lament on astrophysics and whale sentience, especially mankind’s interference in both. I think I enjoyed it. I definitely enjoyed, and inhaled within a day the tenth in Jim Butcher’s Dresden Files, Small Favor (it pains me to spell it without the ‘u’). It’s a very reliable series of weary wit, magical action and monsters and book 10 is no exception; I enjoyed it even more than the last couple. I enjoy his treatment of fairies and the relationships they have with humans.

Films

An odd trio of films this week (plus more Dexter of course).

First up: Django Unchained. I’m badly torn on whether I like Tarantino’s films. About half of them are okay (Reservoir Dogs, Kill Bill Vol.1), and the rest leave me cold (Jackie Brown, Kill Bill Vol.2, Inglorious Bastards) so I wasn’t desperate to see Django. I’m glad I did, it was funny, excessively bloody, slightly too long (should have ended ten minutes early) with some really fine performances from Christoph Waltz (always brilliant) and Jamie Foxx (usually irritating) and the increasingly excellent Leonardo DiCaprio – getting older and uglier has made him a better actor.

Zero Dark Thirty is a strange film. I liked the main CIA investigator, obsessed with tracking down Osama Bin Laden. A lot of people die during her quest. The film skips forward through significant terrorist events, detainee torture and the final storming of the bleak little stronghold where he dies. There are some shocking moments but mainly it was the progress of the central character that I liked watching. Good film!

In a very different line, Monsters Inc. is also fabulous. I adored it when it came out originally (my god – 2001!), especially the wonderful short film that precedes it For The Birds. This is a reissue in 3D. I don’t care about 3D, I’ve yet to be impressed by its addition to a film and this was no exception. It’s still great and the wisecracking relationship between Sully and Mike, and their acceptance of Boo remains charming, funny and touching. Pixar at their height.

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aHUgdwyxTF0&w=560&h=315]

Events and Excitement

Improv shows

Wednesday 06/02/13 MissImp Presents… Fisticuffs in: Unspeakable Acts – The City Gallery, Nottingham.
Friday 08/02/13           Mission Improbable – Create Theatre, Mansfield.
Friday 22/02/13           MissImp in Action: Improvised Comedy Show – The Glee Club, Nottingham.

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An Essay of Little Merit

Posted on By Captain Pigheart

John Gould print image of Ornithorhynchus anat...

octopus3

In an animal election, with only two candidates – would Evil vote for a misogynistic duck-billed platypus or a homophobic octopus?

The provocative enquiry begs a number of questions, probably more than can be fully dealt with in the scope of this essay. Nonetheless, two are key to a full contextual grasp of the deeper mechanics of the question. First, and perhaps most challenging: why are there are only two candidates in this animal election? Second, and perhaps less likely to be answered: who, or what is “Evil” and how did he get onto the Electoral Roll? These two elements are the twin brands of our bulb of inquiry which, when appropriately inflamed will shed light upon the overall question of the voting nature of Evil.
So then to our first subject. The animal kingdom is a vast family of diverse speciation occupying land, air and sea (never mind those Extremophiles, whom we can safely dismiss for their obscurity; there is little chance that the average voting sloth has ever inspected the deep sea vents in search of democratic representation – (C.L.Bibbons, The Political Whimsy of South American Fauna ch.3-5). A sensible commentator divides those kingdoms elementally; only two are well-regarded in their grasp of economics and foreign policy. The dominion of the birds is widely regarded as flighty and incapable of meaningful biomedical ethical debate (see Erickson and Wolff’s 1941 text, The History of Abortion on The Wing: a Gnomic Analysis of Kicking Eggs off Cliffs and Why do Ducks Rape?, Chucklethorpe and Mayberry 1876) as well as being held (arguably unfairly) in contempt for the lightness of their bones. Bats are frequently misrepresented as birds, but given their block voting in favour of any mammal standing we shall include them for the purposes of this discussion as land creatures. It is clear that no avian species could attain the heights of public office, not after the Pelican Fiasco or the purges of the Prussian Boobies (Fuck Me, That’s No Sparrer ch.2,5,9-13, Cockenheim 1976) and so the only sane candidates remaining are the denizens of land and sea.
Historically, seaborne politicians have been incoherent in policy, prone to scandal and are generally loathed by their electorate. The best example of this is found during the premiership of “He Whistles in the Dark”, the basking shark who miraculously achieved 76% of the vote and secured a majority for the Cetacean Party. They were elected on a promise of equal krill for those with legs and without. Due to a misunderstanding that krill might be a metaphor for basic animal rights, the realisation that this was not the case lead directly to the Second Whaling Crusade and set the Cetacean Party back a generation. (The Tuna Memorandum, or, How One Fish Killed a Bigger Fish by Armand Barraclough 2001). Fish are resolutely racist and their policies espouse nothing but a broad spectrum of hatred (The Marine Census 1992, Q3: Of the following creatures and species, whom do you most despise? 98% of respondents ticked all available boxes and the remaining 2% added further categories). Other sea-dwellers, crustaceans, bivalves and coral are politically inert, providing little but the butt of jokes (see most issues 1872-1996 of The Seabeast’s Gazette). By far the most astute political commentators have been drawn from the cephalopod families; there has been a cuttlefish in the cabinet continuously since 1845, excepting the cruel years of 1897-1901 (The Budgie Paradox: When Joey Nine-Hues met Tweety – A Memoir, Dan 1905). Octopuses and squid have always been strong contenders, despite the former’s striking homophobia. The morality of homosexuality in the octopus mindset has long perplexed onlookers and those hopeful for social reform and acceptance. The only conclusion that merits inclusion is that their homophobia is an aspect of intense sexual repression as evidenced by their frequent changes of colour and habitual forming of shapes that distinctly resemble skirts and cleavage (Rooster and Munthaggis, That Puss is a Nancy, p.45-78). Thus their vile beliefs have little impact on voters who merely dismiss them as egg bandits. Given their strong Home Office policies and otherwise progressive social agenda they remain favourite with liberals and leftists.
The arena of land provides a complex and fertile ground for political debate and dispute. It is widely asserted that “them (sic) cold blooded fucknuts couldn’t get elected if they ate their own babies, which they do” (Mammal Party Political Broadcast 1965-1989, restated in a different form 1992-95 “those cold blooded, scaly wankers…”) and the mammals have long ensured that any hopes they have in the early stages of electioneering are thoroughly dashed before the voters get anywhere near them (a single account of a Gila-Monster becoming the mayor of a small town is amusingly recounted in Charles Mendacity’s And Then He Ate My Gran, a Tale of Reptilian Woe, 1954). In recent years however, the vigour of the mammals’ slanderous (Tooth vs Claw 2004) statements and penchant for rabid advertising has quite had them hoist by their own petard when King Dong (gorilla candidate 2006) was caught on camera masturbating wildly before killing an out of favour mate and eating their two newborns. Since then there has been little credible policy or candidature from the land.
Given their ordinarily outcast and marginalised status, it has been encouraging to see a resurgence of the once-popular marsupial party candidate. After receiving a savage defeat in the early nineteen-eighties it was doubtful that they could regain their credibility. However, three years as a successful minor partner in the otherwise disastrous Jellyfish/Mink/Axolotl/Kangaroo government of 1994 endeared them to an otherwise contemptuous and disinterested people (“Politicians? I wouldn’t vomit into their children’s mouths” – popular internet meme 1999-2001). Monotremes have arisen as a dominant force in southern-hemisphere parliaments, where their generous diversity policies have granted rights to swathes of previously unrecognised and under-represented minorities (the battle for jerboa rights and the entangled freedoms of the short and long-nosed potoroos is memorably documented in the television series I May Look Like A Mouse, Or A Rat, Perhaps A Gerbil – In the Wrong Light, Yet I Am Neither Sir).
This has been received positively by the numerous, in fact majority of minorities in the sea and air kingdoms. This is doubtless due to some confusion as to the precise nature of their principal representative, the Duck-Billed Platypus. Enigmatic, freakish, “it’s a bird, right?”, poisonous are all common descriptions (I Can’t Believe It’s Not a Kitten: A Fond Guide to Deformities of Nature and Those Hated by God, Rev. P.Rugburn, ch.3 “Southern Monsters I have Eaten” 1890). The species is dominated by the males, who reputedly regard their womenfolk with contempt for abandoning their young in eggs rather than allowing an immature foetus to crawl out of their wombs and securely clamp itself with  teeth and claws to a lactating patch like any other self-respecting marsupial (Half Bird, Half Fish, All Twat by E. Jaculie and J.Mannerism, 2003). Since no one else appears to understand how they breed, or believe that they lay eggs, the platypuses’ misogyny has become a charming eccentricity, brought out at parties to amuse the youth.
Given the political precursors and the unavailability of “the usual suspects” for the reasons given above it seems almost inevitable, nay predetermined that two pusses should take centre stage at last after generations of ambivalence and dissent. Quite which of the two candidates will prove victorious will depend, as always upon the amount of pressure that each can apply to their opponent’s supporters. It must be said that neither has a distinct advantage, although they technically share a similar core group of supporters. Violence seems inevitable at the polling station, with much snapping of beaks likely in debate.
Evil has long been considered the opposite of Good, but this is a trite comparison as espoused by religious groups and those “too dim-witted to look inside themselves” (You’re a Despicable Bastard, And That’s Okay: Five Ways To Be An Honest Despicable Bastard, K.L.West, 1987). A more reasonable analysis would examine a spectrum with good and evil as relative sliding scales upon it (Turngoose and Shatwind, vol.1-4). Such a design enables us to accurately assess the relative moral harms and implications of any given act. One needs merely to establish a baseline act from which to describe the spectrum, for example jizzing in the face of a stranger, or being punched in the face (Prestwich et Parkhouse, L’Experiments Sociale, 2012). The revealing results of such an exercise place all moral acts and decisions within a wholly whimsical and ostentatious framework of self-deception and personal benefit.
Once such an approach is taken it becomes near-impossible to assert another’s evil without calling into doubt one’s own goodness (Shrugs and Other Non-Committal Gestures in Justice, Pants Chocolate Home Secretary 1999-2002). In conclusion, the question presupposes that we will judge ourselves evil at the moment of voting when in truth we are neither good nor evil except in the eyes of others.
On election day itself whether homophobic octopus or misogynistic platypus takes office will depend upon who has crossed us the previous day. Evil lies with Good in our hearts always.
In an attempt at explanation… a friend who works in a university was lamenting the more stupid of their students’ protests that they had only had since November to write a 1500 word essay. This essay question was subsequently set when I boasted I’d happily write 1500 words on any subject, like a fool (I’d do it again). This was written in 90 minutes, obviously. Lazy little buggers.
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Fairground Misadventure

Posted on By Captain Pigheart

fairground misadventureAlastair Hayley’s face exploded into a Catherine wheel of fleshy spattering sparks. Belatedy, I called out a warning…

“Come along,” he’d said, excitedly chuntering about the fellow he had an appointment with, “it will be fun – and educational.”
Doubtful, I’d thought at the time; more so now. Even as the reptilian figure raised his weapon once more I was running away. For my part I am an excellent runner, adept at swerving, tripping and recovery, and taking sliding corners in a sliding spray of gravel. Good thing really, because our lizard chum was a very good shot – popcorn stands, coconuts and stuffed toys ignited and jetted their freshly liquefied guts into the air.

Hearts pounding (I like to assume he was also exerted) I made for the nearest building that offered something more than mere canvas for walls. I leaped through the doors and my heart, once so swift in its race, almost stopped as I collided with a twisted monster. Jealously I revised my initial description, for it was but myself, distorted in a glass. Knowingly or not I had led us into Charlie Burrows’ Mirror Madness. Lest the scaly fiend gun me down in the entrance I ducked into the maze.

My hands shook as I stalked past gross warpings of myself, illuminated with eye-blink flashes of light. Near the entrance I heard a hiss and taloned claws tapped onto the scuffed wooden floor. On my hands and knees I sought an exit, bumping against the mirrors, convinced that one would be a cunningly disguised door.

Presumably the presence of the murderous pursuer explained why Alastair’s friend had not shown up, or was not to be found. Quite how my old friend had become so embroiled in the world of insane conspiracies I’d never now know; and nor would I know what he had known that had drawn us both here tonight. Running on a tip from “a man on the inside” (of what he had not said) he had dragged to me to this innocuous meeting place in the old abandoned fairground. Suffice to say: it had not gone well, though the events had at least validated some aspects of his paranoid delusions. Perhaps he was briefly pleased, before being pleased became beyond him. There was indeed a lizard man trying to kill me and for all I knew his kind did rule the world.

Using my wit and the learning I’d accrued from many films I stood up suddenly, and lunged towards the reptilian assassin. Very likely, one of the problems with using films as reference material is the artistic licence employed throughout. When the lizard man fired at my reflection (a-ha!) it blasted the glass into a billion molten fragments. The expectations I’d had of it being a laser gun were not met and I realised that it was only wishful thinking and the influence of cultural memes which might have seen the killer cut down by his own scaly hand.

You’ll understand that I tried to run again, but to no avail. And so I find myself here. It is comfortable, granted, yet I lack the essential freedoms I am due. Zoos are for animals, not for people which is something I have so far failed to convey to our lizard overlords. Actually, this might just be a people pet shop from the looks of the reptile faces peering into the cage. I very much regret visiting the fairground that fateful night; I have ever been susceptible to peer pressure and now I see why we were so warned against it at school.

Pulp Pirate 15

Posted on By Captain Pigheart

Flash Cast 77 – Para Doxie

Life without Flash Pulp would be all but pointless. It’s my many-times-a-week injection of pulp fiction fun followed by a chatty jabbercast of pulp-related information about film, games and more. Sometimes it feels like my only contact with the world I want to be in. And sometimes, I can be in it too! This episode includes another worrying Spot of Bother and my own Frankly de Gashe short story The Primeval Entertainment. Seriously, give it a listen, then subscribe to the whole feed. That reminds me, I need to send them another tale!

Listen to it now: 

FC77

http://flashpulp.com/
http://skinner.libsyn.com/rss
http://itunes.apple.com/podcast/flash-pulp/id367726315

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A Cyborg Calls – Part 1

Posted on By Captain Pigheart

Part One – An Unkind Awakening

A Cyborg Calls
For the first time in weeks Alex had achieved the underwhelming goal of being in bed before midnight. Sleep wouldn’t necessarily come anytime soon, but Alex wallowed in a rare well of psychic peace. Next door’s screaming harpies had flown away for a few days of relaxing shrieking at each other on a beach- the normal pitch of their rows and the slamming doors disturbed half the street. With luck they would both drown on holiday, or be eaten by some Brit-loving leviathan. The yapping dog on the other side had finally shut up; Alex assumed its master had finally come home and fed the poor thing, hopefully with himself. The grisly reassurance of these thoughts filled Alex with happy sunbeams and he stretched out in a few moments of contentment. To his great surprise, Alex slumped heavily after he turned the light off and without even knowing it (because that’s how it works), he was soon asleep.

Competing dreams tugged Alex back and forth like a rutting pushmi-pullu. He endured a bleakly-decorated office where two ladies of dubious acquaintance made him watch news clips of himself walking down a road, which led into a charity shop where he found a wallets he’d had stolen or lost over the years before glancing at a television and finding himself back in the office again. The circularity ground into him, as did the suspicion that he’d never lost any wallets and they were simply being stolen from him by the two women. Paranoia welled up in the dream and all the characters turned to look at him, and so did he, looking inward and seeing the stolen wallet for the metaphor it truly was. Alex felt he was on the verge of total comprehension when he was horribly, blinkingly awoken by the violent illumination of his bedroom. The dream broke off with a bleeding stump; his purpose vanished leaving only anxiety and frustration.

At first Alex suspected the harpies’ anti-socially sensitive security light of stabbing him in the eyes. Its real talent was in alerting everyone to the prowling intrusion of cats and magpies, and had notably failed to blind the darkly-clad man who made off with their X-Box. Alex had been amused. But even the fur and feathers detector wasn’t this bright – it was like a baby sun was burning through his day-repelling curtains. The duvet Alex hid beneath did nothing to reduce the glare. Oddly, neither did grumbling about his inconsiderate neighbours.

Then the sound of shearing metal violated Alex’ sleep-softened ears and forced him out of bed. “For fuck’s sake,” he muttered, kicking his feet into the wrong foot slippers and stamping downstairs, “fucking kids.” Alex wrongly assumed it was the “fucking kids” from round the corner attempting to break into his garage again. There had been nothing of value in there the first time; it was unlikely he would have filled it with gold and Blu-Ray players to enhance their nocturnal sport. The continued screeching perfected the sensory horror of being awake and the shearing tore deep into whatever it is that makes us shudder.

Alex successfully navigated the stairs, kicked off the slippers and sought them out again with his toes and he fumbled for the kitchen light switch. That was just reflex: the light was flooding through every window and hole in the back of the house. He snatched up the decorative ice axe from its nestling spot between other people’s umbrellas behind the fridge and strode boldly towards the back door, a string of mocking taunts dancing on his tongue.

Naturally Alex had left the keys in the backdoor, and had failed to lock it. The swift banging of key and grinding of lock gave him a moment to check that his pajamas were suitably unrevealing. He had no desire to be arrested for indecent exposure – the prospect of being arrested for smacking one of the little sods was fine and might even justify being woken up. The recently conscious mind being what it is, Alex had not yet evaluated the likelihood of burglars using floodlights for their surreptitious thievery. Despite the undoubted convenience of well-lit swag, the shroud of night would be somewhat ruined. So when he opened the back door and stepped into the yard his expectations were proven hollow and the witty barbs crawled back up his tongue and jabbed into his throat.

The source of the light was obvious now, as was the cause of the awful tearing sound. Far from being robbed, the garage had been crushed, ensuring that its worthless contents were securely sealed in a huge aluminium pie tin. It now served as a mat for the gleaming, insectile craft that steamed in its place. It glittered and shone like a cost-no-object Christmas tree that was intended to be launched at Uranus. Fins and vents and ostentatious art-nouveau swirling reflected the blazing lights mounted in elegant carriage lamps. It was like all the awesome spaceships from Flash Gordon (Buster Crabbe) to Firefly mashed together Alex decided. He stood gaping at it for a few moments, ice axe dangling from his fist. This was bad.

 

Is Alex doomed? Is it just his Mum? Will his bits pop out of his pajamas?

Find out next week in Part Two of: A Cyborg Calls

Read more Galaxy Team adventures

Read more Alex Trepan stories