ed_rex

Where he's been, what he's been up to, what he's thinking now ...

My how she's changed! An infant no more, Baobao takes a step into the future on January 1, 2021.

Well, I paid for another year of this Dreamwidth account (and LJ will be coming due soon: Will I pay for that again as well?), so I damned well better use it, right?

I know that attempting to fully catch-up would be a horrible fool's errand, so I'll suggest you check out PapaZesser.ca if you want to know (some of) what I've been up to, and to see lots of pictures of a very cute baby's remarkable progress.

Also, my publishing company, though there isn't nearly as much that's new there (there are, of course, two really good books available there, though they've barely been selling. Publishing is hard.) I am also in the process of bringing my original website back to life, but it's a slow hobby.

Anyway.

I just checked and see that my last post talked about an apparent offer for child modelling. I did, in fact, reply to the initial message, only to get a generic message in return. Since then, we've had another nibble, but Mama Raven checked out the company and told me it had a lot of negative reviews, so I ignored it.

So much for monetizing my daughter's (undeniable) cuteness.

Onwards. How about some genuine Rexian random gloats?

• Star Trek: Discovery is a terrible, terrible teevee program; Disco makes Star Trek (let's spend the first five episodes doing what your average heist movie does in the first 15 minutes): Picard look like Shakespeare. I dunno if I'll ever write up a proper critique of the thing, but sooner or later I'll post my notes at the very least. It's not Torchwood: Miracle Day bad, but it's bad.


• One of the (many, many!) good things about The Expanse is that it never makes death look cool. Even when millions of lives are lost, it strives to make sure we understand that those deaths matter, that the dead are individual people, not just numbers, and certainly not a first-person shooter's body count.


• Speaking of The Expanse, as a peripheral member of cancel culture, I find it both disturbing and interesting (and maybe, instructive?) that I am more uncomfortable watching scenes that include include Alex Kamal, as portrayed by Canada's own Cas Anvar, who has been accused of sexual harassment and sexual assault by a lot of women (and who, I've now learned, won't be returning for season six), than I am that the show is produced by Amazon and was saved from cancellation by Jeff Bezos himself, a man who has far more blood of far more workers on his hands than women Anvar could ever hope to assault.
  
  
  Jeff Bezos feasts, just as we all always knew he would.
  
  Whatever it says about me, that I won't buy anything by Orson Scott Card anymore, but that I haven't boycotted Amazon, I'm not sure, but it can't be flattering;


• Being a house-husband is the hardest job I've ever had, without any question at all. I threw my back out (not too badly, but bad enough that I spent New Year's Day on prescription muscle relaxants and codeine, and today taking it very cautiously (but drug-free), and I feel as if I am about to return from 10 days in Cuba;


• Being a dad is the best job I've ever had, without question. She bugs me sometimes, but I was made for this shit;


• I know Nalo Hopkinson personally (not that well, but we've socialized), and I am happy that she has been made an SFWA grand-master, but the truth is, I don't think she written enough to warrant the honour.


• I was one of the (relatively few) lucky ones. The year of Covid-19 was a good one for me. I was laid off in March, and so was blessed with the chance to become my daughter's primary care-giver.


• Yesterday's Doctor Who special was all right. Not great (has there ever been a Doctor Who special that was actually, y'know, good? Please let me know in the comments), but it was entertaining.
  
  I won't miss Ryan or Graham much, to tell you the truth, but I'm glad that Yas is sticking around. It's sad how the execrable years with Moffat at the helm make the new regime seem quite a bit more than mediocre.

And maybe that's as good a place to stop as any.

For now.

I've paid my damned money. Let's see if I can make use of it this year!

My daughter is not punching me in the mouth, she is offering me her "empty" sleeve, so that I can blow in it, and so, "rescue" her "missing" hand from its depths.

As the Canucks among you will know, Canada is in the midst of a federal election, one in which the ruling Facists Conservatives have taken off the gloves and are using blatant lies (did you know that marijuana is "infinitely worse" than tobacco? Well, now you do! If a Prime Minister asserts it, it must be true, right?) and out-right racism (anti-Muslim xenophobia dressed up in women's rights lipstick) to divide and conquer. With two weeks to go until election day, the fear-mongering and hate-stirring seems to have moved the necessary 10% or so of voters so that Harper's thugs can taste victory. In a first-past-the-post system, 35% of the vote might be enough to secure a majority in Parliament.

All of which is to say, rage and despair are the primary emotions I'm feeling when I look at the world around me; and that's just in Canada.

Worse (or better?), I still haven't managed to finish that fucking long-promised review of last year's be-damned Doctor Who Christmas Special. That despite having watched the stupid thing at least four times by this point, maybe more. And it's already three episodes into the new series and I have yet to watch a single one of them. And I realized the other day that I'm not missing the show at all.

Sigh ...

On the up-side, I have fully-recovered from the torn hamstring I suffered last spring (that's the ugly pic above and to the right) and in fact finished my latest "season" with the bloody well-organized Ottawa Footy-Sevens yesterday, with a double-header. I'll guestimate that I spend close to an hour-and-a-half of the tours hours on the field — which, I hasten to add, isn't why we lost both games.

But fun was had, and (as I've said before) the fact that I even can more or less hold my own with people who probably average 20 or 25 years younger than I am still thrills me all to all.

That said, soccer does not come without its costs. And in my case, the hamstring aside, the primary payees have been my feet. Specifically, my big toes. In the past few years I've lost four or five tonails, and two more will soon follow.

For reasons I don't fully understand, I feel compelled to show them to you.

But for reasons I do understand (the pictures are gross!; and so are my feet, as I discovered yesterday when I looked at the photos Raven took before I set out for my games), I'm placing them behind a cut so that you will see them only if you actually want to.

You're welcome!

And now I must be off to the day-job. exeunt

Throwing out the Doctor with the Dark Water

"Dark Water," the 11th entry in a 12 episode series, trundles along with a certain amount of professional competence, but is very far from being good drama.

The episode bears almost all the flaws we have come to expect from Steven Moffat's latter oeuvre. A story with the density of rotten sea-ice that groans along at a glacial pace and tedious swaths of explanations that don't, actually, explain much at all.

The upside includes excellent performances by Peter Capaldi and Jenna Coleman and, especially, from Michelle Gomez as the mysterious Missy.

Want more? Throwing out the Doctor with the dark water includes spoilers as per usual, including a couple of Big Reveals; click at your own risk if you haven't seen it yet.

Flatline falls short

I did it again. Made the mistake of watching a recent episode of Doctor Who a second time.

I really enjoyed "Flatline" the first time around. I barked delighted laughter and might even have gasped in surprise a time or two. I found Rigsy charming and Clara on her own a small revelation.

But when I queued up the story for a second go-through, things were not so good. Not terrible, but too obvious by half and derivative without improving on the inspiration.

My full review, as always, includes spoilers along with my keen analysis (or so I like to believe) and charming nervous exhaustion. This time, there's also a poll! Click here for the full story.

Abort the moon!

If Steven Moffat isn't trying to abort the program he has had under his control since 2010, at the very least it's clear that he doesn't care what happens to it once it grows up and moves out of his house.

"Kill the Moon" could be watched as a personal drama about the Doctor and Clara Oswald; it might be viewed as a girls' own adventure, with trouble-maker Courtney Woods finally given her chance to shine; or seen as a feminist fable, with three women — maiden, teacher, crone — deciding the fate of all humankind. Could. Might.

Other interpretations will no doubt be constructed; there are among Doctor Who's fandom those as creative as they are forgiving.

I am not part of that wing. I don't want to "fix" the program with fanfic nor weave intricately-constructed academic analyses to fill in plot-holes and justify self-contradictions of character and story. All I want are stories that don't insult my intelligence.

Is that really so much to ask?

Apparently so. "Kill the Moon" offers as the basis of its plot a "physics" whose idiocy would have appalled Newton — or even Douglas Adams. To add insult to insult, "Kill the Moon" is an unsubtle morality tale pushing a political agenda that adds a kiloton of fuel to the idea that Steven Moffat is not exactly, shall we say, a feminist-friendly thinker.

In other words, Won't somebody think of the embryo?!? Angry words and spoilers — they all live behind the cut.

Feels like a contractual obligation

No real rant, certainly no rave.

I had a busy weekend, back at soccer on Sunday and entertaining (and being entertained by) an old friend come to town after far too long.

Still managed to check in on the latest episode of Doctor Who, but I almost wish I hadn't. I know I'm sorry I watched the episode a second time.

But I've made a commitment and I'm not breaking it. I live-tweeted the episode on Sunday morning and have added a few thoughts now. For the record, and probably for Geoffrey Dow completists only (dare I dream such folk exist?), click here for Time Waste.

Listen (to me!)

I feel unesay.

Not because posting my inchoate, exhausted and half-drunk reactions to my first-watch of "Listen" makes me feel like an obsessive fan desperate to share his thoughts with all and sundry — although, clearly, that's what I am — but because I distrust the first reactions I so desperately want to share.

Yet here I am. Sharing my feelings instead of my thoughts, my knee's jerks rather than my practiced dance steps.

Steven Moffat has written an episode of Doctor Who that, on first viewing, I enjoyed quite a lot. I liked it. But — or should that be and so ...? — I feel uneasy. I am afraid of what judgement sober second thought may call down upon my first reactions.

So for now and for the record, those who care to read can find those first reactions here.

I liked it; what did you think? And do you think you're opinion will change when (if) you watch it again?

The good, the bad and the Doctor

I feel dirty, like I awoke alone after a night of passion to realize my inamorata's clever words were lies, that her body had stained my sheets and her gentle caresses had left indelible, greasy streaks all over my body. Though I cannot deny the passions I had felt in the dark, with morning's light comes the fear that my wallet, and even my closet, may be empty.

I liked "Into the Dalek" when I watched it the first time. I really did. Even enjoyed it when I watched it a second time. Yet, when I began writing about it, started to think about what it was that had entertained me, the flaws shone ever brighter, like stars appearing one by one after the sun has slipped below the horizon.

"Into the Dalek" is the kind of episode that seduces with surface charms, then laughs at our pleasures, mocks our innocent hopes. Slick enough to entertain in the moment, the story shrivels under the the light of critical consideration.

Sorry, folks. I really thought this would be a positive review for a change. I was only when I began to write, and to really think about what I had watched, that I realized I had been fooled again. After all, The only good dalek ...

Nobody suggested that I do the fandom meme, but I took note of it on (guess who!) Sabotabby's Livejournal some time ago and thought it might be fun. And maybe, again, a way to kickstart this blog. (And nobody wants to hear about how I-can't-power-off-my-mobile-and-I-think-it's-broken-and-I-haven't-even-finished-paying-for-it-yet do they?)

So fandoms.

Shit. First of all, I deny that I even have a fandom (singular), let alone more than one. Sure, I tend to write about Doctor Who a little more than most people, but I'm engaging in a critical dialogue with pop culture itself, damn it!

Or maybe not. Onwards.

( To meme or not to meme? Your click will kill the cat - or not )

Your favourite film watched this year?

( Short version: I hardly watched any full-length movies in 2013, and none of them were really good. )

Your favourite book read this year?

( Think you can't be shocked? Think again! )

Your favourite album or song to listen to this year?

( Old white guy and young Oriental woman, oh yeah! )

Your favourite TV show of the year?

( The good, the bad and Jane Austen's revenge. )

Your biggest fandom disappointment of the year?

( Do you really have to ask? )

Your TV boyfriend of the year?

It's kind of cheating, but I'm going with Troy and Abed from Community, even if I have to reach back to 2012 for examples of their awesomeness.

Your TV girlfriend of the year?

Last Tango's Nicola Walker as Caroline. Who knew I'd fall in love with a sheep farmer?

Your biggest squee moment of the year?

Cheating again. The best Doctor Who multi-doctor Episode of all time. Seriously. And it's in Spanish. (And I"m done, so I'll leave you with them.

Flawed redemption still a happy anniversary

It was 1978 or 1979. I was in grade 8 and quite liked my home-room teacher. Mr. Pritchard also liked me, the bright, nerdly kid who had made the school's "newspaper" his own, contributing articles, editorials, cartoons — and (yes) even reviews.

One afternoon after class, as I watched over the Gestetner machine chunking out its blue mimeo pages and Mr. Pritchard watched over me, I mentioned I was looking forward to Saturday, when another episode of Doctor Who, this British television program I'd recently discovered, was going to be broadcast, right before the hockey game.

Mr. Pritchard looked up and laughed, his moustache bristling his delight. "Really!" he said, "Is that still on the air? I used to watch it when I was your age!" He was probably about 30 then, meaning I had barely been born when he was my age!

Learning of that long continuity delighted me as much as — and maybe more than — it did Mr. Pritchard. And now that 15 years of the program's history has become 50, and my personal continuity with it is twice what my teacher's was, the fact that Doctor Who is still on the air delights me even more.

All of which makes me doubly-pleased that the program's 50th anniversary episode, "The Day of the Doctor", exceeded my (admittedly, low) expectations by a wide margin. While not without some significant flaws, Steven Moffat's long-awaited 2013 series finale (of sorts; the upcoming Christmas special will probably mark the real series end, as well as the transition to the next) was a well-crafted entertainment, that balanced humour, drama and nostalgia and, even, pathos, without getting bogged down by the Enormous Anniversariness of it all.

Though some nonsensical elements demonstrated yet again Moffat's tendency to confuse plot with story and maguffin with plot, structurally, "The Day of the Doctor" was a happy anniversary present for this jaded and weary viewer.

Certainly it was the most entertaining multi-Doctor special to come down the pike since, well, forever. I really did laugh and I really did cry, on both first and second viewings — and it's been quite a while since a Moffat-scripted episode of Doctor Who hit me like that.

As usual, my full review is liberal with spoilers. And yes, I spend quite a lot of time exploring those "significant flaws". If you don't want your pleasure challenged, I recommend staying away; if you want in read on click here for The Day of the Doctor: The Bad, the Good, and the Meta.