#256

Hm. So I got a bit tired of my own output, as I do, and have been working on slightly different breed of post. Not tossing it all off in one go, even though working long-term on a single post kinda messed me up a little last time I did it, which was already breaking the rules. Just, it was refreshing for awhile to return to the short, immediate blast. But, this is, in the end, an autobiographical blog, and though it does count--matter--qualify--earn points--whatever--to talk about what I have read since the last time I posted about what I read (which, yes, I will be doing in this post), I feel the endeavor also requires the occasional substantial longer-form tale about or around me. 

There'll be more explaining in the post itself. This isn't that post. Worked on that one for a bit but also want to do this. Don't even know what this is yet, though.

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Oh! Of course I have also been very busy, too busy, being the big department boss. Good experience so far. Learning loads.

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Anyway all I really have right now is the stuff I've been reading and watching, and perhaps the odd thought about that. My bandwidth is crunched, and that is simply that, as they say. Maybe I'll come up with something to finish strong on, who knows.

Since I last mentioned the topic--quite some silence ago now, it feels--these are the things I have read, played, and looked at. To unburden myself of any kind of strain at all beyond the minimum, I shall list them in no particular order.

A General History of Quadrupeds, by Thomas Bewick, figures engraved on wood by same, newly introduced by Yann Martel. A book of exquisite interest and beauty. I loved reading it and looking at it so much.

Billy Summers, by Stephen King. The dude still plays for fucking keeps. Amazing book. I'm not saying anything else about it except that perhaps the truth is stranger and more brutal than even the most brilliant and cutting fiction is allowed to or even could be.

Godzilla, by Stephen Molstad, a novelization of the critically shat-upon U.S. film Godzilla, directed by Roland Emmerich and co-written between him and Dean Devlin. I grabbed this at a thrift store in the northern part of the state along with many other books* and reread it eagerly. Or thought I did! The novelization of Godzilla that I read as a kid was actually Godzilla: A Novelization, by H.B Gilmour. Of these three pieces of media I will say that the superior iteration has to be the H.B. Gilmour mid-grade novel, but I very much like all three. Admittedly fraught, mismanaged, and bastardizing of itself, the '98 American foray into the mightiest of kaiju properties is comprised of underrated efforts nevertheless.

Jurassic Park and The Lost World, by Michael Crichton. I have lost track of how many times I have read these scientifically imprecise and technically outdated books, and still to this day I learn from them and am delighted by them on the reread, and am more amazed at their depth, prescience, truthfulness, and philosophical acumen. They are, for me, emblematic of what makes a classic. They are among my personally iconic duos.

Hound of the Far Side, The Far Side Observer, and The Far Side Gallery 2, by Gary Larson. Speaking of classics.

What Makes You Think You're Happy? a "Peanuts Parade Book" by Charles M. Schultz. A slim but lavishly tall and wide printing of a noble run of older Peanuts strips. The classicism appears to be relentless.

Only Yesterday, by Frederick Lewis Allen. An illuminating, incisive little history of the 1920's, written early in the thirties of that same momentously recent century, scoping the United States of America by the stats, the fads, the scandals and the dramas on the global and the individual level. Certainly a lot to think about from a timely little tome. It is the twenties, after all, and the parallels can really make one smirk and wince.  

Probably a few other comics and a book or two I'm missing. But you know, it's very difficult at the moment for me to try and grasp a reality in which that might matter.

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Notable recent watchings of photo film sequences include Lars Von Trier's The House That Jack Built, a work of art I do not feel called upon to comment on at the moment, and perhaps I never shall.

Also watched Pacific Rim. I guess I don't feel too compelled to blather about this movie either, but for very different reasons. It just sounds like a restaurant, you know? It's not a restaurant, though.

Kingsglaive: Final Fantasy XV was quite an achievement in many ways, though fails to grasp that magical touch Advent Children never lets go of. On its own, with no game under consideration, I feel this movie suffers badly from technology that overreaches slightly, taxes patience, and sometimes actively sucks, but ultimately rewards patience, triumphs emotionally, and excites cinematically. The hero's arc and what he has to say for himself are also interesting enough to think about closely, though I didn't believe so till very late in the game. Overall, worth required effort. 

The final installment, for the nonce, of Adventure Time: Distant Lands, Wizard City, was fabulous. 

Wallace and Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit, by the people who made the thing. Nick Park and the Aardman Animations. Steve Box or something. Peter Lord. The British. So good, so funny. Ralph Fiennes was in it. Ralph Fiennes is plus one thousand to everything he appears in.

More stuff, can't bear to think about it any more right now. While on the subject of the Queen's own England, though, might as well state that Ira and I have been absorbing the psyop that is The Great British Baking Show nightly. No defense.

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Played Skyrim a lot. As one does.

Also this new game Eastward I have been very much looking forward to has dropped and I got it and it is undiluted joy. Pure goodness. Ship of the fleet in the lush, surprising, gorgeous "2D" renaissance currently underway. Seriously it is so fucking goddamned orgasmically beautiful and fun. 

To cap it off, Katamari Damancy: Rerolled and Star Wars: Republic Commando and Mario Kart 8 and dipping into whatever random fancy my Switch hides within its depths. The Metroid: Dread drop approaches with extreme swiftness, and that game must be played and beaten. Soon, apparently, I shall be able to play a host of Nintendo 64 games on my machine, much as I already have access to many OG Nintendo and Super Nintendo titles as long as I'm connected to internet. The future past is constantly almost here, and I don't give a fuck if I have to pay for it the rest of my life. I grin and laugh and caper with glee as the Nintendo-logo train speeds me towards my personal oblivion. 

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This blog has been running for over three years now! This is the first post after the first collection cutoff**. The first post of the next three years. The first post of the rest of my life. G'bless, all. Happy to be typing.

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Do no harm, some say. Let me just...breathe.

--JL

*only now do I realize how many books I have acquired without ever writing them down. I suppose at some point it would be perhaps all right to post pictures of the books. Not quite yet. A vastly improved percentage of the books are shelved these days; few piles remain, but it's not quite photographable yet.

**this did not turn out to be applicable; the book became unwieldy well before this point.