The Heroes of Canton

Over the years I’ve been writing (or failing to regularly update in the case of this past year) this blog, I have mentioned on more than one occasion that I work for a company called Boston Tea Party, a small, independent chain of coffee shops in the south-west (and slightly in the Midlands now too). I have taken the time to explain in one whole blog post my journey into the world of tea. But I’ve never taken the time to talk about where Boston Tea Party gets all of its wonderful teas. Until now.

The range of nineteen loose leaf teas are supplied by Canton Tea Company, based in Long Ashton outside Bristol. When Boston changed tea suppliers in 2012 to Canton...I was giddy with all kinds of joy and excitement. First off, the geeky part of my brain was happy because they’re called Canton and it always makes me think of Firefly and the episode “Jaynestown” (leading often to renditions of the song, “The Hero of Canton”). Secondly, because they are amazing. Admittedly, I didn’t know precisely how when I first heard we were switching to Canton, but the little booklet that my head barista showed me gave me hope. A tea supplier serious about providing great quality, proper loose leaf tea that they can actually tell you about. Where it came from, how best to brew it, how it was made...all the things we missed with our previous tea supplier. Who shall remain nameless.

But the brilliance of Canton Tea doesn’t stop there. Oh no. They hold a very special place in my heart now. Not just because they have provided me with such good tea, but because they are all such lovely, lovely people.

Up until last week (exactly one week ago today in fact) I had only met Edgar and (if my memory serves me correctly and I hope it does because they’ll be reading this I really, really hope) Shelley. It was a training day for all of Boston Tea Party’s head baristas. My head barista dragged me along...well, I say dragged. I pretty much begged to be taken because there was going to be some serious tea stuff at this training day, being held at Extract Coffee Roasters, our wonderful Bristol-based coffee suppliers. At this day we were introduced to Canton’s Chocolate Blend. Yes, dear readers, a tea blended with chocolate. It is AWESOME. Oh and we serve it in all Boston Tea Party stores now. Check out this link for the locations.

Then last week happened. It was Canton’s second internal tea training day. The illustrious Head of Drinks for Boston Tea Party, Simon, asked if I would be interested in going along to learn more about Assam. Now Assam is a tricky one for me. I’ve never liked it. But I wasn’t about to pass up a chance to gain tea knowledge and see if I was being unnecessarily judgemental about it. I very quickly said yes. I am very, very glad I said yes.

So I walk to Long Ashton (yes, walk. I don’t drive and didn’t trust the busses as much as my own legs, plus it was a pretty pleasant walk) and find this cosy little building in the Long Ashton Business Park that serves as Canton’s headquarters. For some reason (probably thanks to my visit to Extract those many Moons ago) I expected something bigger, warehouse-sized. Like a Warehouse 13 for tea. I was pleasantly surprised by the surrounds, but that is not to imply disappointment. When surrounded by people who love tea and can give me more knowledge of tea, one can hardly be disappointed. And since I’ve been babbling about these people, let’s do a little run-down.

First off, I’ll start with Phil. Dubbed their “rare tea hunter”, a title I gather bestowed for his many years in the tea industry and his extensive travels to source the tea Canton sell, not only to trade clients like Boston Tea Party, but also to the general populace through their website. See that link? Click it. Go on. So I can talk about Phil. Click it...

Digression aside, Phil was the lovely chap leading the tea training session. Thanks to his wisdom and knowledge of teas, I have discovered that actually, there are varieties of Assam that I could kick back and enjoy. I was simultaneously astounded and vindicated in my belief that in the right context, I would like Assam. He also brought along some Chai he’d brewed up himself and gave me a cup to try. Served the traditional way, with milk. Again, an eye-opening, potentially converting experience. Traditionally, I do not drink tea with milk. But this one might just change all that. All thanks to Phil.

Next up is Ali. She is the brilliant mind behind the Chocolate Blend. For this I have dubbed her “a legend”. Yes, I may have tipped over the point from mid-twenties into late twenties, but those early twenty-isms aren’t going anywhere yet. Why? Because this delightful lady blended an amazing tea. Seriously. Black tea, diced vanilla pod and cocoa nibs. A beautiful, beautiful tea. I can still recall Edgar telling us about its development at the Extract session, how they were sceptical about adding chocolate to tea. The legendary Ali made this happen in an incredibly beautiful way. Did I mention she’s a legend? Good. Just checking.

What would be the quickest way to my heart? Delicious confectionary? A shared affinity for brewed leaf? Writing? Quite possibly all three are contending factors, so put them into one person and you get the lovely Louise. For Canton’s tea training day was also their Cake Day. It was a pleasant surprise to discover, especially when Louise produced a box of Rice Krispie Squares. As I had observed to a friend two days before, I observed again: “It is dangerous to put snackables in front of a D&D player. They don’t tend to survive long”. I restrained myself, but at the same time indulged. This was the first big tick in the “Louise is Awesome” Column (right next to the awesomeness columns for everyone else, all receiving big ticks). The second (or possibly zeroth, because it would have to come before the first as a given) factor is the obvious appreciation of tea. Then writing. Well, when someone turns to a currently unpublished writer who decided when he was fifteen that it was what he wanted to do in life and asks if he wants to guest write the blog entry...it’s kind of an unfair of advantage, but...she gave me a writing opportunity. She kind of might have to be my favourite...

Oh yes and I totally did guest write the blog entry and you can read it here.

There is a neat twist, at least I’ll call it a twist, next up. Sophie, who was my point of contact for directions to Long Ashton and the precise temporal mechanics of the day, is one of ours. Or at least, was one of ours. By ours I mean Boston Tea Party. I can dimly recall crossing paths with her in 2011, when I first did a shift at Boston’s headquarters in Park Street. She was pretty cool then and no less cool when she opened the door to Canton Tea and beckoned me in last week.

I met another lovely lady that day by the name of Kate. Alas (and I do feel ashamed of this), I did not learn much of her awesomeness on the fateful Assam Training Day. With any good fortune (and providing they actually like what I’m saying right now) I will be invited to go back to Canton to gain more tea knowledge and get to know these lovely people even better. What I can say now is that she works for Canton, which is instant awesomeness. And that I sense much awesomeness potential.

Finally, I round off my unending ability to ramble with the brains behind the entire operation – Jennifer and Edgar. The latter I have met a couple of times before and I did manage to mildly impress him at the Extract session by knowing that all tea comes from the Camellia sinensis plant and anything that doesn’t come from that plant is an infusion, not a tea. Yeah. I know stuff. Anyway, Edgar has proved his awesomeness before and as the first person I knew was associated with Canton, he became the immediate standard of awesome to judge all Canton awesomeness in future. But Edgar isn’t the only brain behind Canton. Reading the About Us section of their website, it tells the reader that Jennifer is true mastermind behind the company. She was quite surprised when I told her that I had walked to Long Ashton from Bristol Temple Meads and insisted I take another Rice Krispie Square before I left Canton for the walk back to Bristol.

Phew. So there we are. Hopefully they approve of the ramblings I have made about them. These wonderful, delightful people of supreme tea wisdom. The Heroes of Canton, the people they call Edgar, Jennifer, Phil, Ali, Louise, Kate and Sophie (plus others I haven’t met yet or spent any extended time chatting to).

So Say We All

I’m breaking with the title traditions of SC 2.0 to go back to 1.0’s quotation titles for today. For today, I reflect upon my favourite television show, Battlestar Galactica, in light of the sad passing of the show’s original creator, Glen A. Larson.

A retrospective on what Galactica means to me has been something I’ve been contemplating doing for a long time. Dribs and drabs of information have been coming through for a while now – a couple of weeks ago I talked about the show’s score and Bear McCreary’s unrelenting musical genius. At the start of this year, my retrospective on 2013 featured photographic evidence of my Galactica-related tattoo and the vague origins of why it came to be. But I haven’t gone into a lot of depth of my history with the show.

It all starts with the BBC and the original 1979 Battlestar Galactica. BBC2, to be as precise as my dim recollection of those childhood days will allow. I was in my extremely early teens and every now and again, I would catch this random show on BBC2. It had evil robots, gallant fighter pilots, wise commanders but most importantly, it had big frakkin’ spaceships! I’d say I was hooked, but back then the only show I was religiously hooked on was The Simpsons. It would be a couple of years before I would start getting into things properly (such as Farscape, again BBC2 coming to the rescue there) and by then Galactica only appeared occasionally.

Now my family never owned Sky and the friends that did lived too far away, so in 2003 when the re-imagined Galactica mini-series hit the screens, I was only vaguely aware of what was going on. In 2004, when the full series came around, I was more aware from catching sight of it in the TV guide and thinking “Hey, that show” but thought little more of it. It would 2010 before Galactica truly came back into my life.

Through geekiness I shared with one of my university lecturers (who, through her wisdom in introducing me to Galactica has received the call sign “Athena”), I was lent the 2003 mini-series. A hostage-exchange of sorts, given that I had loaned Athena one of the seven seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Almost immediately I fell in love with the show. In the time that it was in my possession, I watched it over and over. When it came time to arrange the handover of prisoners, I received season one and proceeded to blitz through it. Then season two. Unable to contain myself, I bought seasons three and the final season (erroneously believing that it was both halves of season four. Upon realising my error, I ordered season four) and powering through them. On 25th August 2010, the day I went to see Scott Pilgrim vs. The World for the first time, I also watched the final episodes of Battlestar Galactica. I won’t lie, I got a little choked up. I didn’t want it to end. And there’s something the Tigh and Adama discuss in an episode just before the grand finale that REALLY got me choked up.

The show’s legacy in my life is something that I know baffles and sometimes irritates people (especially my colleagues at work because they have to listen to it all the frakkin’ time). I have incorporated the term “frak” into my everyday vocabulary. There’s the tattoo and my tradition of assigning my friends ranks and call signs. It may utterly baffle, confound and irritate people with how deeply Galactica has been integrated into my life, but it is simply my favourite TV show ever. Once a crown claimed by Firefly, I had to pass it on. While I love Firefly, it’s not the best to me. Sure, it has spaceships, but it doesn’t have space battles. Or Bear McCreary’s score. Or the cast of Galactica, who are downright amazing. I want to give special kudos hear to one of the United Kingdom’s own, James Callis. His portrayal of Doctor Gaius “The Spineless” Baltar (“The Spineless” is a moniker I apply personally) is outstanding. Baltar’s character has a depth and complexity that make him incredibly compelling to watch. And this is just one of the many characters I love (or love to hate, in the case of Gaius frakkin’ Baltar).

I could go on and on, but I don’t think the point needs too much hammering home. Maybe just one final reflection. Given that this post was inspired by tragic passing of Galactica’s creator, it should be noted that without Glen A. Larson, none of this would have happened. Ronald D. Moore and David Eick wouldn’t have had  a series to re-imagine, I wouldn’t have fallen madly in love with it. I wouldn’t have had one of my earliest sci-fi influences. So here’s to you, Glen A. Larson. Thank you for having the idea and realising it. You will be missed.

Sanguine. Hopeful. Plus, point of interest, it also means bloody

So I decided against reusing Rupert Giles's awesome line about tea and went with the wit and wisdom of one Zoe Washburne, because today it is time to ramble about the results of Test 2: 1xCaffeinated Beverage, 1xNon-Sleep Deprived Achilleus. Given that I don't have a huge amount of context to go into, I may use the rest of this post to talk about my feelings on The Wire, which me and my housemate finally finished watching. But first of all, the results of Test 2.

Which are pretty much the same results as last week. No significant change in behaviour. Slightly more alert and buzzy, but that's to be expected from drinking coffee. In order to preserve some semblance of scientific process I had yet another flat white using our medium roast coffee. No incidences of caffeination hysteria, thus seeming to prove that the Tiredness Equilibrium Theory is invalid. Or maybe invalid is too harsh. It's not entirely improbable that Tiredness Equilibrium is a factor, but since there was no tiredness to equalise today, it appears my caffeine tolerance is increasing. Final decision on that to made upon the completion of testing.

There it is then, folks. Test 2 completed. Test 3 to follow in at least a week I should think. Hmmmm...pre-meditated sleep deprivation. This could prove interesting...

Anyway, as I like my blog posts to contain more substance than just a couple of random paragraphs, it's time to babble about my experience with one of HBO's most fabulous (though now off the air) shows, The Wire.

Set in the city of Baltimore, Maryland (once home to none other than Edgar Allan Poe), The Wire focuses on a group of police officers and the drug organisation that they target with a series of wiretaps (hence the title). The show isn't a straight-up police procedural by any stretch of the imagination. It deals with the office politics of both the Baltimore Police Department and the office politics (or so much as one has an office) of the drug trade. Each series of The Wire focuses on a different case, but many of the characters stay the same and invariably it all comes back to drugs and Baltimore's seemingly futile war on the drug trade.

The Wire is populated by some truly incredible characters on both sides of the war, as well as those hapless people caught in the middle, with some of the most fantastic and entertaining dialogue I've heard from a TV show in a LONG time. To the point where, one day, I will go back through The Wire in a "quote-watch", which likely require either one page per season or a page for each character (though given that even incidental characters have fantastic lines, a page - or two - per season will be the most logical option).

Now I don't want to go into too much detail about the plot, as it is quite extensive and is so much better when watching it. But I will do some special mentions of some of my favourite characters. So, all ye reading this, be thou warned - there be spoilers ahead. Potentially.

First up, on the side of the "angels" (or as angelic as these cops can be with their vices), we have Baltimore's finest detectives and none come finer than Lester Freamon (Clarke Peters). Introduced as a quiet, seeming "hump" detective chosen by Baltimore PD higher-ups in order to stymie a case they had been forced to pursue by a politically connected judge, Lester emerges as one of the best and brightest detectives on the detail. Although perceived as an old-timer past his prime and relegated to BPD's Pawn Shop Unit, it turns out he is what you call "natural police", someone who just has that near otherworldly knack for the work. As the seasons go on, Lester is often intrinsic in make the logical leaps that help break the cases the detail finds themselves assigned to. He possesses a fearsome intelligence and one hell of a knack for running circles around his superiors.

At one point in the show, Lester is teamed up with another fine, upstanding (at least when he's sober), Homicide detective, William "Bunk" Moreland (Wendell Pierce). Bunk is never officially part of the detail, though his murder cases oft overlap with the details and he is a constant presence in the series, chomping on a cigar as he surveys yet another dead body in a city that is full of them. A serial womaniser, he and his original partner, Detective Jimmy McNulty (Dominic West), are often teaming up in bars to help the other seduce an attractive lady. In spite of both of them being married. Definitely not their most redeeming qualities. But in a strange way, you don't watch them because they're redeeming characters. You watch them because they're broken, frail humans. With a sarcastic wit and an enduring dedication to his work, Bunk may not be a shining example of what a police officer should be, but he is damn fun to watch.

On the other side of Baltimore's drug war, you have occasional police ally and all-round badass, Omar Little (Michael Kenneth Williams). Regarded by many - including incumbent US President Barack Obama - as the finest character on the show, Omar is a stick-up man. Not part of the drug trade per se, he tracks the drug dealers, finds the source of their drugs ("the stash"/"stash house"), then steals the drugs from them by holding them at the end of his trademark shotgun. Whistling all the while. No hero by any stretch of the imagination, Omar is nonetheless an incredibly charismatic character that you are compelled to root for. Credit goes not just to the fantastic writing of Omar's character, but Michael Kenneth Williams' utterly sterling performance. Every second of his screen time is an absolute delight.

I'm going to round things off soon, but it would hardly do to mention just one of The Wire's other side characters after mentioning two cops. To that end, the other compelling character from the wrong side of Baltimore's war on drugs is the oft tragic character of Bubbles (Andre Royo). A heroin addict and occasional police informant, Bubbles (or "Bubs") is not a man having the best time of life, but he soldiers on regardless. At first just chasing the next hit, either being paid by the police for information or scavenging copper pipes (and other useful materials) and selling them on to (mostly) construction sites, Bubbles eventually strives to kick the habit, falling off the wagon a couple of times. Andre Royo brings incredible depth to Bubbles, taking him from a cheeky-chappy addict to a truly tormented soul on a long, painful path to recovery.

This is where I leave it, as I could probably write an entire dissertation on The Wire, how awesome it is and how fantastic the characters are. I realise the "D" would previously mentioned might be a bit sore and a delicate subject for some at this time of year but...well, yeah, whatever really.

So there it is. The results of Test 2 and just some of my feelings on the amazing series that was The Wire. Go forth and watch it. Seriously. You will not find yourself regretting it.

Time...Doctor Freeman? Is it really that...time again?

Custom dictates that I spend the first paragraph after a lengthy silence explaining what exactly has caused said silence. Well. It's been more than a little bit of a lengthy silence. In fact, I haven't babbled at anyone about anything since the end of September. Which is really where this all begins. But first of all, I wish to attribute the quotation title - the magnificent G-Man from the Half-Life series of games. This quotation specifically from Half-Life 2. Though I suspect a great number of you already figured that part out by now. So, without much further ado, time to explain where I've been the last few months. Just to warn you, it's not terribly exciting...

Anyway...

I think the most dramatic way to phrase it would be to say that I've been immersed in The Writerverse. Immersed...I like that word. Don't use it often enough. Ahem. Moving swiftly on. Okay, so a long, long time ago, in a blog post far, far away I talked about the notion of The Writerverse. I babbled quite a bit about my journey through The Writerverse, where I was going, how I was getting there. That was June 2012. An awful lot has happened since then.

One of the most important things I talked about in that blog post was the sense of...fundamentally interconnected community there is in The Writerverse. There is a great community of writers I know from my days at university, but I have also met some in the course of my current paid vocation. That being a front of house dancing monkey/jack of several obscure responsibilities at Boston Tea Party Bath. In the course of my work, I met an awful lot of interesting, bizarre, wonderful people. Oft it is said that my job is a brilliant job for a writer, all those characters. I can't help but have horrible flashbacks to Daisy Steiner in Spaced*...

(*Author's Disclaimer: I really, really love Spaced. It's awesome).

Anyway, getting on with it...

Over the many years I've slaved away at Boston Tea Party, there have been a gaggle of steadfast regulars. Some have gone to my lament, leaving me with no one to write nerdy quotations on the side of their cup for. Some have remained throughout the years and it is one of these men I speak. He is a gentleman by the name of David J. Rodger, a fellow science-fiction author, though he beats me on account of being published. I'm still pining for the fjords on that one. Anyway. One fateful day, 24th September I suspect, which is funny to me for various reasons, I'm chatting with Mr Rodger as he sips at his dark side coffee, talking about his rush of writing/re-writing short stories (for further info, check out his website, look up his page David J Rodger on Facebook. Including a link to that but not sure it'll work, but you all get the gist). In the course of discussions over his recent flurry of activity, I mention my months and months of inactivity. I mention potentially going back over short stories I'd written a long time ago, wanting to rip apart the ones I did in my teens and put them back together again with the skills I have now. I say all this in that off-hand, "Yeah, maybe one day" kind of voice. I am promptly informed that I should get frakkin' to it (no one but me says frakkin' though, alas) and near ominously, Mr Rodger informs me that he is now officially on my case.

I cannot tell you how important and motivating that was. The next day, I come to work armed with a short story I wrote at the beginning of 2012 and many told me I should expand into a novel. I showed it to David, he skimmed it, came back to me and told me I could easily cut the 8,000 word story down to 2,000 words. We agreed upon a deadline of next week to regroup with a finished, 2,000 word short story. When I finished work that afternoon, I returned home, sat down and using David's suggestions on how to condense the story, blitzed through 2,000 words. Upon its completion I sat back, let out one of those "Holy crap, I just did that!" sighs (might be embellishing slightly here) and realised to my complete and utter surprise, I had just written the chapter one I had been wanting to write for so long. Not contended to just sit back and write that, I launched into chapter two, completing 1,000 words before I succumbed to the need for sleep. I printed off the triumphant chapter one and reported to David the next day. Suffice it to say, my improvements met with his approval.

Over the next couple of months, whenever David drifted into work for his dark side coffee, I would report my progress and if there was an lack of progress, an explanation of why and what the frak I was planning to do about it. Finally, on the night of Sunday, 29th December 2013, it all came to a head. 109,894 words later, the first draft of the novel was finished.

While it might somewhat go without saying, (a funny turn of phrase, since it is always proceeded by that which allegedly doesn't need to be said) I owe a rather huge debt of gratitude to David J Rodger for giving me the push in the right direction I so sorely needed. Undoubtedly, should my book ever be published, much kudos will go to him in the acknowledgements at least. Fun fact though, I appear in the acknowledgements of his book The Social Club, as do several of my Boston Tea Party colleagues for our coffee fuelling services.

So there you have it. For the last three months, I have forbidden myself from writing anything but the first draft of my novel. I'm taking a brief break, then conning people into proofreading it before moving on to the massive editing process. And while I await feedback, I intend to be working on some short story notions I have brewing, as well as work peripheral to the novel.

Now in my three month silence, many things have happen, TV shows and movies watched, etcetera, but for me the biggest thing, the thing that I must note because it is so frakkin' worthy of it, is the tenth anniversary of the re-imagined Battlestar Galactica.

I marked the occasion with a rather nerdy status. I used the words "So Say We All", which I can barely do with a straight face. A fact that became so much worse when I discovered a parody video of Katy Perry's song "Fireworks" on YouTube, entitled "Cylon". It's incredibly catchy, really rather awesome from the perspective of a Galactica-obsessive. Also sung by a beautiful redhead, who evidently loves Galactica and is also British. Knowing my frakkin' luck or lack thereof, she's on the other side of the country with a boyfriend who possesses ten-megaton biceps the size of Belgium with which to crush my puny mortal frame. Still the biggest Galactica nerd in Bath, just not the country it seems.

Oops, think I digressed from the point there.

Back on track now that I have publically sealed my own doom, suffice it all to say, I want to make a big deal of Battlestar Galactica's tenth anniversary. On the tenth anniversary of season one's first broadcast, I may even have my own little Colonial Day. Oh and Quantum Mechanix are so on my wavelength (or I on theirs, depending on existential perspective), because they are releasing a tenth anniversary print in celebration, much as they did for Firefly. Honestly, I squealed like a giddy school child when I saw it. I will be obtaining it, framing it (octagonally) and putting it up right next to my framed Firefly print. Must also get my Map of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol octagonally framed too.

Anyway, with some level of mercy, we have reached the end of today's babble. As it is the 31st December 2013 when I write this, I wish everyone a Happy New Year. A 2013 retrospective will appear soon, as will a review of Iron Council once I've blitzed my way through the last thirty-odd pages. Been resisting that too because I knew I'd want to blog about it straight away.

Right then.

Ladies and menfolk, Cylons and Colonials, Happy New Year. May 2014 bring us all good fortunate, be it in a clever disguise or glaringly obvious.

So say we all.

(Almost had a completely straight face that time...)

You don't actually think they spend $20,000 on a hammer, $30,000 on a toilet seat do you?

As today is Independence Day in the United States, it seems only fitting that the quotation title of this entry is a quotation from the 1996 film named after this peculiar occasion. It also seems only fitting to choose today to talk about said film, but more importantly...the dubious nature of this rather awesome film getting a FRAKKING SEQUEL twenty years later.

Now for the traditional context portion.

Independence Day is one of my favourite films ever. It's kind of a classic from my teenage years and a film I shared in common with one of my best friends from school. In fact, it was part of our bonding process, along with our shared fascination with UFOs and aliens. In fact, this lady is the reason I received the nickname "Alien Dave". So yeah, Independence Day is an absolute classic for me and my friend. We would quote it and a couple of other choice films that we shared a love for. I even got her hooked on Firefly and Serenity. But I digress, so back on track.

Roland Emmerich...once I thought he was brilliant. He gave us Stargate, he made Independence Day. But in more recent years, his credentials have become ever more dubious. Now, he's making a sequel to Independence Day (without Will Smith but still keeping Jeff Goldblum and Bill Pullman) and talking about going back to Stargate (which he originally conceived as a trilogy of films). I want to frakkin' scream.

A while back I talked about my scepticism of remakes. I was proven wrong with Total Recall and I still want to scream at them for what they're going to do to RoboCop. And now Hollywood are making angry about sequels. They're not bad as a general concept. Some movies are fantastic as trilogies, some would have been better if you'd left things well enough alone. Perhaps a top ten list with some pretty pictures will illustrate my feelings on this one day, but not now. No, for now I want to make this point. All these sequels that work well as trilogies and the ones that don't...they were made within a couple of years of each other. Admittedly, we've been waiting some six years for the final part of Edgar Wright's Blood and Ice Cream trilogy, but it hasn't taken them twenty years.

If it takes you twenty years...I think there's a subtle message in there.

Don't frakkin' do it.

Now I could be entirely wrong. Come 2015, I could be back on this blog admitting to everyone that I was wrong to nay-say and that Independence Day 2 is amazing or at very least a passably enjoyable movie. And perhaps, somewhere, there's historical precedent for a sequel being made twenty odd years after the original being absolutely fantastic. But I can't help but think of the Die Hard movies and George Lucas' reprehensible treatment of Star Wars and seriously contemplate weeping. The historical precedent does not look good, Roland Emmerich. Oh no.

I'm now going to digress entirely into a new topic, since I don't think there's much more I can say about my hesitance regarding the Independence Day sequel. Intriguingly enough, I've just realised it could be construed as somewhat tying in to the subject. Although I'm not going to chat about sequels, I'm going to be talking about a particular reboot. A reboot known...as Man of Steel.

For all my geekdom, I'm not actually a big reader of comic books. In fact, I don't really have any. I have some graphic novels, but as for comic books...no. None. Alas. So when it comes to the Marvel and DC comic book superhero movies, I have to ask my friends about the source material for more information. Or look it up online. So many glorious hours of procrastination...

So, Man of Steel. Bottom line, I enjoyed it. But it seems to me that it's an incredibly divisive film. Once upon a many Moon ago, I talked about the Marmite Principle. I think it applies here. You either love Man of Steel or hate it. Or you can go completely middle of the road. But still. I've spoken to people who love it, people who hate it. And one of the most interesting things I've come to learn about this movie and what divides people, is the nature of the source material. Superman is the perfect superhero. He's invincible, he has pretty much every superpower crammed into one human being. Oh wait, sorry, crammed into Kryptonian being. Ahem. Anyway, as I've been told, in the comics he's the square-jawed perfect hero. He always saves the day and he's always a jovial, lovely chap.

So for this reboot, they make him all dark and brooding.

Now I didn't necessarily have a problem with this, given that I don't have an attachment to the source material and know very little about it. But apparently, this is not a good thing. Superman is not dark, he does not brood or seethe with repressed issues. He glides through existence with an almost child-like fascination at the actions of humanity and continues to save them all the while. And this leads me to an interesting point that one of my colleagues made...

...if you do not want spoilers, do not read on.

In the finale of the movie, Superman and General Zod are having themselves a fine old brawl. While they are beating the ever-loving crap out of each other, they are simultaneously laying waste to Metropolis. Seriously. The amount of damage they perpetrate is quite astonishing. I didn't think too much about it at first. But then my colleague made the point that, as Superman is the perfect square-jawed superhero, he would have been trying to save everyone. Or, at the very least, the director could have allowed for a couple of brief scenes showing people escaping from the carnage and devastation that Superman and his nemesis were causing. I found this to be...well, quite a compelling point.

However...

An interest counterpoint was presented to me - while it is inevitably true that Superman caused untold carnage that is uncharacteristic for him, it could be part of the backstory for the sequel (there's that word again...) and its potential villain, the one and only Lex Luthor. The devastation wrought upon Metropolis would give Luthor an opportunity to step in, rebuild the city and use the events of Man of Steel to poison the people against Superman. As a premise, it's very intriguing and I can see it working out. So we'll just have to wait and see I guess.

On that note, I wrap up today's babbling with the final thought - Independence Day 2, I really hope you don't suck but I won't hold my breath and Man of Steel, you were a really rather enjoyable movie, even if you do have some plot falls here and there.

I'm here to save the world, who will save Supergirl?

Today's title is a little bit abstract of sorts. And instead of being a television or movie quotation, it's a line from a song. Music is funny thing with me. I tend to go through phases, listening to one album/particular set of albums at any one time. Currently, I'm in a phase where I'm near constantly listening to one of my (recently discovered) favourite bands, Halestorm. Specifically, their album "The Strange Case Of..." and this particular lyric is from the song "Hate It When You See Me Cry".

So I've established the context of the title. Now I have to explain how it has earned the label of "abstract of sorts". You see, today I have decided that I shall do a top ten list, as I haven't done one in a good long while. And in the spirit of vengeance that I have been possessed by as of a late. Before I go into the list, a tiny bit more context in terms of spirit of vengeance.

It involves one of the people dearest to my heart, as it often does when my spirit of vengeance is invoked. The Rhaegar Targaryen to my Lyanna Stark, the one known as Thief. To briefly surmise, someone is being evil to her. This person is known as The Harpy, The Garbage Scow or The Monumental Bitch (pardon my language). It is this person who has awoken my spirit of vengeance. And for this reason, it's time for my top ten fictional weapons. Useful for personal defence and exacting vengeance upon silly, useless Garbage Scows.

10: The Scythe (Buffy the Vampire Slayer)

Not only featuring a neat little stake at the bottom, the Scythe as one hell of a blade which is excellent for slicing, dicing and making julienne preacher. As you can see, it has a rather pretty colour scheme and is capable of slicing Nathan Fillion into two halves. Just to repeat one salient piece of information...slices...Nathan...Fillion. Into two halves. For that it deserves a place in the top ten, but for the crime of splitting Captain Tightpants in two, it remains at number 10.

9: Ebony Warhammer (The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim)

So I've mentioned Skyrim a few times now. As of this moment, I'm at level fifty-two and thus far, only really at the point of using Ebony weapons, even though Daedric weapons are cropping up here and there, while Dragonbone weapons still elude my reach for now. As a result, I have discovered what could be considered a slight streak of House Baratheon mixed in with my House Stark-ness. And that is the use of warhammers as my favoured mêlée weapon. It's rather worryingly satisfying to beat down a horde of enemies with this particular weapon.

8: The Tesla (Warehouse 13)

Not a weapon for killing, but very, very satisfying for electrocuting/stunning them into submission. Invented by every self-respecting geek's favourite underdog scientist, Nikola Tesla. Wielded by many agents of the Warehouse and knacked (thank you, China Miéville for this usage of the term) handily by the brilliant Claudia Donovan into the Tesla grenade, it is a simple weapon. A civilised weapon, given that it doesn't kill. And it wipes short-term memory just a little. Handy if you're caught doing something you shouldn't really be doing...

7: RC-P120 (Perfect Dark)

One of only two projectile weapons to make it onto the list, the RC-P120 has the distinction of being the only automatic weapon on the list. With a clip capacity of (funnily enough) one hundred and twenty bullets, it is perfect for tearing into a crowd of enemies. It also has a neat secondary function (as all Perfect Dark weapons do) of having a cloaking device. There are two drawbacks - one, the device feeds off the P120's ammunition at a phenomenal rate and two, as soon as you pull the trigger, the cloak disengages. I favour the approach of jamming down on the trigger and taking down my enemies. It's rather effective I find.

6: Particle Magnum (Stargate: Atlantis)

Modelled here by its main user, the ruggedly handsome Jason Momoa (in character as Satedan native Ronon Dex), the particle magnum is...just...well...neat. A powerful handgun that fires red particle blasts, well...in a slightly disconcerting way, it's an awfully pretty gun. But mainly it packs a neat wallop and hands down defeats the SGC's choice of the FN P90 as their default weapon. Plus, it's Jason Momoa's gun. That gives an instant cool rating.

5: Mjölnir (Thor)
 


Again modelled by a ruggedly handsome fellow, we delve into that awkward line between mythology and fantasy with the fabled weapon of the God of Thunder. Yes, it's the return of the mêlée weapons with Mjölnir. Now unfortunately, I have not read the comics. Well, except for a brief flirtation with the Secret Invasion story arc of the Marvel Universe. Back to the point, my experience with Mjölnir is mainly confined to Thor and I dare say, Chris Hemsworth does a lot of fun things with Mjölnir. Not only can it bash the ever-loving crap out of things, but it also helps Thor to fly. That's right. He can use the hammer to FLY. That's cool. Undeniably.

4: Honjo Masamune (Warehouse 13)

Warehouse 13 slips into the top ten once again, this time with a mêlée weapon - the ancient Japanese artefact, the Honjo Masamune. According to the wonderful Artie Nielsen, the Honjo Masamune is a katana so perfectly aligned that it can SPLIT LIGHT AROUND IT. And by doing so, it renders the user INVISIBLE. It's a katana that turns you invisible. This is quite possibly one of the most perfect vengeance weapons. Not quite the number one weapon, alas, but it's...well...it turns you frakkin' invisible. How cool is that?

3: Dark Energy-Infused Gravity Gun (Half-Life 2)

This one has, quite possibly, the most interesting definition of "weapon". It doesn't really fire things. It just...picks them up. Like a ball of dark energy, as illustrated above. The ball is then fired, which then disintegrates people. And in the final phases of Half-Life 2, the Gravity Gun becomes infused with dark energy, supercharging it. Not only does it pick up balls of dark energy, it picks up PEOPLE. Well, evil Combine soldiers. And from there, you can fire them into streams of dark energy. Which disintegrates them. It's awesome. Hence, it's in the top three.

 
2: Purple Flaming Katana of Self-Respect (Scott Pilgrim vs. The World)

We're closing in on the top spot and at number two, we have another katana. No official title as such, so I made one up. As featured in the movie Scott Pilgrim vs. The World, it is a purple flaming katana, pulled out of Scott's chest when he earns the power of self-respect. It's at number two for the simple reason that it's on fire. Purple fire. End of.

1: Moses Brothers Frontier Model B (Firefly/Serenity)

Shock horror, it's Firefly coming in at the top spot. Like all things in this corner of the Whedonverse, it's just a tiny bit pretty. I even have a replica of it in my room. There's something just so...simple about this weapon. It's a pistol. Nothing fancy, no great little secondary functions, just a simple handgun. It fires bullets. It gets Mal either in to, or out of, various hijinks. And let's not forget, "Every well-bred petty crook knows that the small conceable weapons go to the far left of the place setting". I just love that line. It has no real relevance, but oh well.

So there we have it. Potentially showcasing a worrying side of my psyche that finds weapons aesthetically pleasing, but, well...The Harpy shouldn't be making Thief's life difficult for her. It makes me vengeful. She won't like me when I'm vengeful. I'm a Stark of Winterfell. And no matter what she does, Winter is Coming. Plus, she's pissing off a Targaryen. Historically, not a good idea.

Now that's enough babble for one day. I'm hyper on tea and wondering if all of this was a good idea. Oh well. Should find out in the morning. Reminds of a good quotation from The Princess Bride:

"Good night, Westley, good work today. Most likely kill you in the morning."

(Song of the Mind: Hate It When You See Me Cry - Halestorm)