Wait, Who Answers The Phone?

Everyone is dunking on the lady who got called by “Amazon” customer support and ended up putting a shoebox with 50 grand in it in the back seat of a car, and rightly so! But there’s been a spate of “I got scammed and you can too” articles recently, and lots of “you don’t know what might happen to you in the right/wrong situation”.

But here’s the thing, they all start the same way: the person being scammed answered their phone. Not to be indelicate, but who in the fuck does that anymore? No one, and I mean no one does legitimate business over the phone anymore. If someone has a reason to get a hold of you, you’ll get an email, or a text or something. I haven’t answered the phone from a cold call in ages. Let it go to voicemail, read the transcript, maybe call back if it sounds important. Spoiler: it ain’t important.

Look, the fact that the phone system is entirely populated by robots and scammers is the stupidest possible flavor of this cyberpunk dystopia we’re living in, and we, as a society, should probably do something about it?

But for the moment, here’s a flowchart of what to do if the phone rings and it’s not a person you personally know who you were expecting to call:

1. It’s a scam! Don’t answer it!

If it was important, they’d have sent you an email.

One of the running themes on Icecano is “STEM people need more Humanties classes”, but this feels like the opposite? There’s a delightful detail in that article that the caller claimed to be Amazon’s customer service group, and I don’t know how to break this to you, but Amazon doesn’t have anyone who talks on the phone. Not to mention the “government numbers can’t be spoofed” howler, or the “FTC badge number”. It’s like phones have some kind of legitimacy reverse-debt? If nothing else, paying someone to cold-call a customer is expensive. No business is going to do that for anything they won’t have a chance of turning into a sale. Letting you know about fraud? Email at best. They want you to call them. I’m baffled that anyone still picks up when the phone rings.

Rough Loss

Woof, rough loss for my 49ers. The Super Bowl is always more fun when it’s close, but having the game snatched away in overtime—after you already pulled ahead—is absolutely brutal. One of those games where it’s not so much that one team played better than the other, but that one played slightly less worse. Ouch. Ouch, ouch, ouch.

Not customers, partners

Over the weekend, Rusty Foster wrote up how things went migrating Today in Tabs off of substack: Tabs Migration Report.

There’s an observation towards the end that stuck with me all weekend:

All of us who make a living doing creative work on the internet inevitably find ourselves in a partnership with some kind of tech platform.

Whenever a platform starts acting the fool, there’s always a contingent of folks saying this is why you should run your own systems, and so on. And, speaking as someone who has literally run an entire website from a server in a closet, it’s great that option exists. It’s great that the structure of the internet is such that you can run your own webserver, or email system, or mastodon instance. But if you’re putting creative work out on the web shouldn’t have to, any more than writers shouldn’t have to know how to operate a printing press. Part of the web and personal computers “growing up”, is that you don’t have to be an all-in expert to use this stuff anymore.

There’s always a lot of chatter about whether big systems are “platforms” or ‘publishers”; what the responsibilities of those big systems are. In actual grown-up media, it’s understood that say, a writer and a publisher are in a partnership—a partnership with some asymmetry, but a partnership. It’s not a customer-service relationship with upside-down power dynamics.

I know it’s nowhere close to that simple, but maybe we need to start saying “partner” instead of “platform”.

Kirk Drift

I read this years ago, but didn’t save a bookmark or anything, and never managed to turn it up again—until this weekend, when I stumbled across it while procrastinating as hard as I could from doing something else:

Strange Horizons - Freshly Remember'd: Kirk Drift By Erin Horáková:

There is no other way to put this: essentially everything about Popular Consciousness Kirk is bullshit. Kirk, as received through mass culture memory and reflected in its productive imaginary (and subsequent franchise output, including the reboot movies), has little or no basis in Shatner’s performance and the television show as aired. Macho, brash Kirk is a mass hallucination.

I’m going to walk through this because it’s important for ST:TOS’s reception, but more importantly because I believe people often rewatch the text or even watch it afresh and cannot see what they are watching through the haze of bullshit that is the received idea of what they’re seeing. You “know” Star Trek before you ever see Star Trek: a ‘naive’ encounter with such a culturally cathected text is almost impossible, and even if you manage it you probably also have strong ideas about that period of history, era of SF, style of television, etc to contend with. The text is always already interpolated by forces which would derange a genuine reading, dragging such an effort into an ideological cul de sac which neither the text itself nor the viewer necessarily have any vested interest in. These forces work on the memory, extracting unpaid labour without consent. They interpose themselves between the viewer and the material, and they hardly stop at Star Trek.

It’s excellent, and well worth your time.

(Off topic, I posted this to my then-work Slack, and this was the article that caused a coworker to wish that Slack’s link previews came with an estimated reading time. So, ah, get a fresh coffee and go to the bathroom before reading this.)

This is from 2017, and real life has been “yes, and”-ing it ever since. This provides a nice framework to help understand such other modern bafflements as “who are these people saying Star Trek is woke now” and “wait, do they not know that Section 31 are villains?”

And this is different from general cultural context drift, or “reimaginaings”, this is a cultural mis-remembering played back against the source material. And it’s… interesting which way the mis-remembering always goes.

Saturday Stray Thoughts

No one ever looks back at their life and thinks, “I wish I had spent less time petting cats.”

A construction site! We need that good feminine energy: Barbie (2023)

Most of last year’s big movies “finally” hit streaming at the end of the year, so I’ve been working my way though them. Spoilers ahoy, but I promise not to give away any jokes, at least other than the one I used in the title.

There’s an almost infinite number of sentences you can start with “What’s really brilliant about Barbie is…” Here’s mine: What’s really brilliant about Barbie is how smart Barbie, the character, is. She’s not a ditz, or uneducated, or even really naïve—she’s an incredibly smart, accomplished person from a totally alien culture. The challenges she faces in “the real world” aren’t those of Buzz Lightyear grappling with existential crisis, they’re an immigrant realizing that the stories she heard back home are all wrong, and adapting.

There’s a difference between “naïve” and “misinformed”, and this movie starts all of its characters—the Barbies, Kens, business people, and students—solidly in the second category. Amongst the many joys of the film is watching all the characters adapt and learn.

In the center of this, Margot Robbie does one of the most subtle pieces of acting I can remember seeing. At the start of the movie, she looks and moves like a living doll; the way she stands, the way she moves her hands, the way she holds the not-quite-human expressions on her face. But by the end of the movie, she looks like a regular person—a regular person that looks like Margot Robbie, sure, but human. The expressions are natural, her gait has changed, her hands are real hands. But at no point is there a big change; she doesn’t get zapped with a “human ray”, she never shows off the difference by inflating and deflating while Lois Lane is in the other room. She just quietly changes over the course of the movie, subtly so that you never notice the change from scene to scene, but by the end she’s transformed. It’s a remarkable physical performance.

The movie has gotten an… interesting critical reaction.

The modern critical apparatus—pro and “internet”—has a hard time with movies that don’t fit in a comfortable category, and with movies about women. This one was both, and you could tell it really impacted into some weird seams of the structure around how movie reviews even work.

Just about every professional review was postive, some extremely so, and others with a sort of grudging quality where you could tell the writer was grouchy they hadn’t gotten to use the negative review they’d half-finished ahead of time.

Because the cognitive dissonance of “they made a movie about Barbie—Barbie, of all things—and it’s good” was clearly a struggle for many. My favorite way this manifested—and by favorite I mean the sort of laugh to keep you from crying favorite—was when everyone did their top ten best movies of the year lists in December. About half of the ones I read had Barbie on them, the other half not. But every single one that didn’t have Barbie on the list talked about it, pondering if it should have been there, justifying to themselves why it wasn’t. One, which I have lost the tab for and refuse to go digging for, had a long, thoughtful postscript after the end of the top ten list itself about how Barbie had made her cry four different times while watching it, but somehow these other movies were better. She spent more words on Barbie than her ten “best” movies combined. That’s a real calls are coming from inside the house moment, I think, maybe you’re trying to tell yourself something? If nothing else, maybe step back and define your terms: what do you even mean by “best”?

Roger Ebert (hang on, I know he wasn’t around to review this but this is gonna connect, bare with me) has a bit in his 2003 four star Great Movies re-review of The Good, the Bad and the Ugly where he talks about how he reacted to it when he saw it the first time in 1968, and says:

Looking up my old review, I see I described a four-star movie but only gave it three stars, perhaps because it was a "spaghetti Western" and so could not be art.

Barbie feels like a movie that’s going to cause a lot of similar reflections 35 years from now.

That said, my favorite review I read was jwz’s capsule description of watching it with his mother, wherein his mom just can’t engage with the fact that the movie called “Barbie” has the same opinion of Barbies that she does.

On the one hand, you clearly have the set of critics unable to comprehend that a movie based on Barbie could possibly be good, but also it’s hard to have an extended critical discourse about a movie where American Ferrera looks the camera dead in the eye and says the central thesis of the movie out loud.

I was just talking about the modern style to for Tell over Show, and this movie is a perfect example of that done well. We live in an era where subtlety is overrated, sometimes it’s okay to just say what you mean.

And—ha ha ha—everything you’ve read so far I wrote before the Oscar nominations were announced. I don’t have much to add to that particular discourse except to point out that regardless of context, any time a movie gets nominated for Best Picture and not Best Director, something is hinky.

Gerwig and Robbie being snubbed by the Oscars while Gosling was not is, of course, infuriating, but it’s also the new grand champion of “real life comes along after the fact and proves the movie’s point better than the movie ever could. (The previous all-timer was when Debbie Reynolds died the day after Carrie Fisher, so Carrie couldn’t even have her own funeral, which is a fact that should be tacked on to the end of every print of Postcards From The Edge.) The post-credits scene should just be Margot Robbie reading tweets about how Barbie should be grateful for the 8 nominations it got against Oppenheimer’s 12.

One of the other things that makes the movie hard to talk about is that all the movies you want to compare it to are made by and about men, and that feels a little strange.

The movie’s satire and takedown of toxic masculinity is as pointed and full-throated as any I’ve ever seen. It’s a David Fincher movie, but backwards and in high heels. But where Fincher tends to stop at “look at this sad weirdo”, this movie knows the Kens are victims too, and wants things to work out for them too. But, you know, tells a story about toxic men from the perspective of the women, which shouldn’t be rare but there you go.

It’s worth acknowledging that as a straight cis man who didn’t have Barbies as a central feature of his childhood, I probably responded to different things than maybe the intended core audience. (And, by the way, please someone do a metafictional satire of marketing and gender roles with The Transformers. I’m available to pitch.) But on the other hand maybe not? It’s dangerous to try and attribute any part of a work with shared authorship to a specific contributor, but this movie was written by both Greta Gerwig and her husband, Noah Baumbach, and there were definitely parts where I thought I could hear the voice of a fellow Alan. The Kens are a satire of a very particular Kind of Guy, and I can’t stand those guys either. The joke about “The Godfather” felt like it was written for me, personally. Alan trying to sneak out of Barbieland to get away from the Kens was basically my entire High School experience summed up.

There’s so many little, nice touches. The way that the “real world” is portrayed as realistically as possible, but the inside of the Mattel offices is a realm as strange and alien as Barbieland. The way those realms play as having their own internal rules that are totally different from each other. How casual the people in the know are with beings crossing between those realms, and the way they interact with each other. The fact that there’s a ghost, which is treated as being not supernatural at all, until it is. (In some ways, this is the best Planescape movie we’re ever going to get.) The way the Ken dance fight resolves. The choice of song the Kens use as a serenade. There’s a Doctor Who in it!

And, I don’t want to give anything away, but the thing Barbie says after being scolded by a student? When she’s crying on that bench? That’s the hardest I’ve laughed at a movie in I don’t know how long.

Mostly, though, what I like is how kind this movie is. It’s rare to see a satire that’s actually funny and loves both all of its characters and the thing that its satirizing—in fact, I’m not sure I can think of another one. Galaxy Quest, maybe?

This is a movie that wants everyone in it to do well. It’s a little disappointed in some of them; but no one really gets “a comeuppance” or “punished”, or really even a Second Chance; instead everyone gets an opportunity to do better, and they all take it.

There’s a saying that inside every cynic is a disappointed idealist; and this is a movie made by some very disappointed people. But it’s a movie that spends as much time showing a way forward, as it does attacking the problem.

The resolution manages to simultaneously hit “Immigrant assimilating while still being true to themselves”, “Pinocchio”, and “the end of 2001”, and do it with a joke. Brilliant.

Absolutely the best movie I saw last year.

40 years of…

Just about 40 years ago, my Dad brought something home that literally changed my life. It was a computer—a home computer, which was still on the edge of being science fiction—but more than that, it was a portal. It was magic, a box of endless possibilities. It’s not even remotely hyperbole to say that bringing that computer home, which had just been released into the world, utterly changed the entire trajectory of my life.

I am, of course, talking about the Tandy 1000.

That’s not how you expected that sentence to end, was it? Because this year is also the 40th anniversary of the Mac. But I want to spend a beat talking about the other revolutionary, trend-setting computer from 1984, before we talk about the ancestor of the computer I’m writing this on now.

I’ve been enjoying everyone’s lyrical memories of the original Mac very much, but most have a slightly revisionist take that the once that original Mac landed in ’84 that it was obviously the future. Well, it was obviously a future. It’s hard to remember now how unsettled the computer world was in the mid-80s. The Tandy 1000, IBM AT, and Mac landed all in ’84. The first Amiga would come out the next year. The Apple IIgs and original Nintendo the year after that. There were an absurd number of other platforms; Commodore 64s were selling like hotcakes, Atari was still making computers, heck, look at the number of platforms Infocom released their games for. I mean, the Apple ][ family still outsold the Mac for a long time.

What was this Tandy you speak of, then?

Radio Shack started life as a company to supply amateur radio parts to mostly ham radio operators, and expanded into things like hi-fi audio components in the 50s. In one of the greatest “bet it all on the big win” moves I can think of, the small chain was bought by—of all people—the Tandy Leather Company in the early 60s. They made leather goods for hobbyists and crafters, and wanted to expand into other hobby markets. Seeing no meaningful difference between leather craft hobbyists and electronics ones, Charles Tandy bought the chain, and reworked and expanded the stores, re-envisioning them as, basically, craft stores for electronics.

I want to hang on that for a second. Craft stores, but for amateur electronics engineers.

It’s hard to express now, in this decayed age, how magical a place Radio Shack was. It seems ridiculous to even type now. If you were the kind of kid who were in any way into electronics, or phones in the old POTS Ma Bell sense, or computery stuff, RadioShack was the place. There was one two blocks from my house, and I loved it.

When home computers started to become a thing, they came up through the hobbyist world; Radio Shack was already making their own parts and gizmos, it was a short distance to making their own computers. Their first couple of swings, the TRS-80 and friends, were not huge hits, but not exactly failures either. Apple came out of this same hobbyist world, then IBM got involved because they were already making “big iron”, could they also make “little iron”?

For reasons that seem deeply, deeply strange four decades later, when IBM built their first PC, instead of writing their own operating system, they chose to license one from a little company outside of Seattle called Microsoft—maybe you’ve heard of them—with terms that let Gates and friends sell their new OS to other manufacturers. Meanwhile, for other reasons, equally strange, the only part of the IBM PC actually exclusive to IBM was the BIOS, the rest was free to be copied. So this whole little market formed where someone could build a computer that was “IBM Compatible”—again, maybe you’ve heard of this—buy the OS from that outfit up in Redmond, and take advantage of the software and hardware that was already out there. The basic idea that software should work on more than one kind of computer was starting to form.

One of the first companies to take a serious swing at this was Tandy, with the Tandy 2000. In addition to stretching the definition of “compatible” to the breaking point, it was one of the very few computers to ever use the Intel 80186, and was bought by almost no one, except, though a series of events no one has ever been able to adequately explain to me, my grandmother. (I feel I have to stress this isn’t a joke, Grandma wrote a sermon a week on that beast well into the late 90s. Continuing her track record for picking technology, she was also the only person I knew with a computer that ran Windows Me.)

As much as the original IBM PC was a “home computer”, it was really a small office computer, so IBM tried to make a cut down, cheaper version of the PC for home use, for real this time. I am, of course, talking about infamous flop the IBM PCjr, also 40 years old this year, and deserving its total lack of retrospective articles.

Tandy, meanwhile, had scrambled a “better PCjr” to market, the Tandy 1000. When the PCjr flopped, Tandy pivoted, and found they had the only DOS-running computer on the market with all the positives of the PCjr, but with a keyboard that worked.

Among these positives, the Tandy 1000 had dramatically better graphics and sound than anything IBM was selling. “Tandy Graphics” was a step up from CGA but not quite to EGA, and the “Tandy Sound” could play three notes at once! Meanwhile, the Tandy also came with something called DeskMate, an app suite / operating environment that included a text editor, spreadsheet, calendar, basic database with a text-character-based GUI.

So they found themselves in a strange new market: a computer that could do “business software”, both with what was built-in and what was already out there, but could also do, what are those called? Oh yeah, games.

The legend goes that IBM commissioned the nacent Sierra On-Line to write the first King’s Quest to show off the PCjr; when that flopped Sierra realized that Tandy was selling the only computer that could run their best game, and Tandy realized there was a hit game out there that could only run on their rigs. So they both leaned all the way in.

But of course, even the Tandy couldn’t match “arcade games”, so the capabilities and limits helped define what a “PC game” was. Adventure games, flight sims, RPGs. And, it must be said, both the words “operating” and “system” in MS-DOS were highly asperational. But what it lacked in features it made up for in being easy to sweep to the side and access the hardware directly, which is exactly what you want if you’re trying to coax game-quality performance out of the stone knives and bearskins of 80s home computers. Even when the NES cemented the “home console” market that Atari had sketched in a couple years later, “PC games” had already developed their own identity vs “console games”.

Radio Shacks got a whole corner, or more, turned over to their new computers. They had models out running programs you could play with, peripherals you could try, and most critically, a whole selection of software. I can distinctly remember the Radio Shack by my house with a set of bookstore-like shelves with what was at the time every game yet made by Sierra, Infocom, and everyone else at the time. Probably close to every DOS game out there. I have such clear memories of poring over the box to Starflight, or pulling Hitch-hiker’s Guide off the shelf, or playing Lode Runner on the demo computer.

A home computer with better graphics and sound than its contemporaries, pre-loaded with most of what you need to get going, and supported by its very own retail store? Does that sound familiar?

I’m cheating the timeline a little here, the Tandy 1000 didn’t release until November, and we didn’t get ours until early ’85. I asked my Dad once why he picked the one he did, of all the choices available, and he said something to the effect of he asked the “computer guy” at work which one he should get, and that guy indicated that he’d get the Tandy, since it would let you do the most different kinds of things.

Like I said at the top, it was magic. We’re so used to them now that it’s hard to remember, but I was so amazed that here was this thing, and it would do different things based on what you told it to do! I was utterly, utterly fascinated.

One of the apps Dad bought with computer was that first King's Quest, I was absolutely transfixed that you could drive this little guy around on the screen. I’d played arcade games—I’d probably already sunk a small fortune into Spy Hunter—but this was different. You could do things. Type what you thought of! Pushing the rock aside to find a hole underneath was one of those “the universe was never the same again” moments for me. I could barely spell, and certainly couldn’t type, but I was hooked. Somewhere, and this still exists, my Mom wrote a list of words on a sheet of paper for me to reference how to spell: look, take, shove.

And I wasn’t the only one, both of my parents were as fascinated as I was. My mom sucked down every game Infocom and Sierra ever put out. The Bard's Tale) landed a year later, and my parent’s played that obsessively.

It was a family obsession, this weird clunky beige box in the kitchen. Portals to other worlds, the centerpiece of our family spending time together. Four decades on, my parents still come over for dinner once a week, and we play video games together. (Currently, we’re still working on Tears of the Kingdon, because we’re slow.)

Everyone has something they lock onto between about 6 and 12 that’s their thing from that point on. Mine was computers. I’ve said many, many times how fortunate I feel that I lived at just the right time for my thing to turn into a pretty good paying career by the time I was an adult. What would I be doing to pay this mortgage if Dad hadn’t brought that Tandy box into the house 40 years ago? I literally have no idea.

Time marched on.

Through a series of tremendous own-goals, Radio Shack and Tandy failed to stay on top of, or even competitive in, the PC market they helped create, until as the Onion said: Even CEO Can't Figure Out How RadioShack Still In Business.

Meanwhile, through a series of maneuvers that, it has to be said, were not entirely legal, Microsoft steadily absorbed most of the market, with the unsettled market of the 80s really coalescing into the Microsoft-Intel “IBM Compatible” platform with the release of Windows 95.

Of all the players I mentioned way back at the start, the Mac was the only other one that remained, even the Apple ][, originally synonymous with home computers, had faded away. Apple had carved out a niche for the Mac for things that could really take advantage of the UI, mainly desktop publishing, graphic design, and your one friend’s Dad.

Over the years, I’d look over at the Mac side of the house with something approaching jealousy. Anyone who was “a computer person” in the 90s ended up “bilingual”, more-or-less comfortable on both Windows and Mac Classic. I took classes in graphic design, so I got pretty comfortable with illustrator or Aldus Pagemaker in the Mac.

I was always envious of the hardware of the old Mac laptops, which developed into open lust when those colored iBooks came out. The one I wanted the most, though, was that iMac G4 - Wikipedia with the “pixar lamp” design.

But the thing is, they didn’t do what I was mostly using a computer for. I played games, and lots of them, and for a whole list of reasons, none of those games came out for the Mac.

If ’84 saw the release of both the first Mac, and one of the major foundation stones of the modern Windows PC platform, and I just spent all that time singing the praises of my much missed Tandy 1000, why am I typing this blog post on a MacBook Pro? What happened?

Let me spin you my framework for understanding the home computer market. Invoking the Planescape Rule-of-Threes, there are basically three demographics of people who buy computers:

1. Hobbyists. Tinkerers. People who are using computers as a source of self-actualization. Hackers, in the classical sense, not the Angelina Jolie sense.
2. People who look at the computer market and thought, “I bet I make a lot of money off of this”.
3. People who had something else to do, and thought, “I wonder if I could use a computer to help me do that?”

As the PC market got off the ground, it was just that first group, but then the other two followed along. And, of course, the people in the second group quickly realized that the real bucks were to be made selling stuff to that first group.

As the 80s wound on, the first and second group clustered on computers running Microsoft, and the third group bought Macs. Once we get into the late 90s the hobbyist group gets split between Microsoft and Linux.

(As an absolutely massive aside, this is the root of the weird cultural differences between “Apple people” and “Linux people”. The kind of people who buy Apples do so specifically so they don’t have to tinker, and the kinds of people who build Linux boxes do so specifically so that they can. If you derive a sense of self from being able to make computers do things, Apples are nanny-state locked-down morally suspect appliances, and if you just want to do some work and get home on time and do something else, Linux boxes are massively unreliable Rube Goldberg toys for people who aren’t actually serious.)

As for me? What happened was, I moved from being in the first group to the third. No, that’s a lie. What actually happened was I had a kid, and realized I had always been in the third group. I loved computers, but not for their own sake, I loved them for the other things I could with them. Play games, write text, make art, build things; they were tools, the means to my ends, not an end to themselves. I was always a little askew from most of the other “computer guys” I was hanging out with; I didn’t want to spend my evening recompiling sound drivers, I wanted to do somethat that required the computer to play sound, and I always slightly resented it when the machine required me to finish making the sausage myself. But, that’s just how it was, the price of doing business. Want to play Wing Commander with sound? You better learn how Himem works.

As time passed, and we rolled into the 21st century, and the Mac moved to the BSD-based OS X, and then again to Intel processors, I kept raising my eyebrows. The Mac platform was slowly converging into something that might do what I wanted it to do?

The last Windows PC I built for myself unceremoniously gave up the ghost sometime in 2008 or 9, I can’t remember. I needed a new rig, but our first kid was on the way, and I realized my “game playing” time had already shrunk to essentially nil. And, by this time I had an iPhone, and trying to make that work with my WindowsXP machine was… trying. So, I said, what the hell, and bought a refurbed 2009 polycarb MacBook). And I never looked back.

I couldn’t believe how easy it was to use. Stuff just worked! The built-in apps all did what they were supposed to do! Closing the laptop actually put the computer to sleep! It still had that sleep light that looked like breathing. The UI conventions were different from what I was used to on Windows for sure, but unlike what I was used to, they were internally consistent, and had an actual conceptual design behind them. You could actually learn how “the Mac” worked, instead of having to memorize a zillion snowflakes like Windows. And the software! Was just nice. There’s a huge difference in culture of software design, and it was like I could finally relax once I changed teams. It wasn’t life-changing quite the way that original Tandy was, but it was a fundamental recalibration in my relationship with computers. To paraphrase all those infomercials, it turns out there really was a better way.

So, happy birthday, to both of my most influential computers of the last forty years. Here’s to the next forty.

But see if you can pick up some actual games this time.

Monday Snarkblog

I spent the weekend at home with a back injury letting articles about AI irritate me, and I’m slowly realizing how useful Satan is as a societal construct. (Hang on, this isn’t just the painkillers talking). Because, my goodness, I’m already sick of talking about why AI is bad, and we’re barely at the start of this thing. I cannot tell you how badly I want to just point at ChatGPT and say “look, Satan made that. It's evil! Don't touch it!”

Here’s some more open tabs that are irritating me, and I’ve given myself a maximum budget of “three tweets” each to snark on them:

Pluralistic: American education has all the downsides of standardization, none of the upsides (16 Jan 2024)

Wherein Cory does a great job laying out the problems with common core and how we got here, and then blows a fuse and goes Full Galaxy Brain, freestyling a solution where computers spit out new tests via some kind of standards-based electronic mad libs. Ha ha, fuck you man, did you hear what you just said? That’s the exact opposite of a solution, and I’m only pointing it out because this is the exact crap he’s usually railing against. Computers don’t need to be all “hammer lfg new nails” about every problem. Turn the robots off and let the experts do their jobs.

I abandoned OpenLiteSpeed and went back to good ol’ Nginx | Ars Technica

So wait, this guy had a fully working stack, and then was all “lol yolo” and replaced everything with no metrics or testing—twice??

I don’t know what the opposite of tech debt is called, but this is it. There’s a difference between “continuous improvement” and “the winchester mystery house” and boy oh boy are were on the wrong side of the looking glass.

The part of this one that got me wasn’t where he sat on his laptop in the hotel on his 21st wedding anniversary trip fixing things, it was the thing where he had already decided to bring his laptop on the trip before anything broke.

Things can just be done, guys. Quit tinkering to tinker and spend time with your family away from screens. Professionalism means making the exact opposite choices as this guy.

X-Wing Linkblog Friday

The Aftermath continues to be one of the few bright spots in the cursed wasteland of the digital media. And yes, I realize Icecano is slowly devolving into just a set of links to the aftermath that I gesture enthusiastically towards.

Today’s case in point: X-Wing Is Video Gaming's Greek Fire

And, oh man, Yes, And.

This gist here is that not only were the X-Wing games the peak of the genre in terms of mechanics, and not only has no one been able to reproduce them, no one has really even tried. It’s wild to me that space fighter “sims” were a big deal for the whole of the nineties, and then… nope, we don’t do that anymore. Like he says, it’s remarkable that in the current era of “let’s clone a game from the old days with a new name”, no one has touched the X-Wings. Even Star Wars: Squadrons, which was a much better Wing Commander than it was an X-Wing, didn’t quite get there.

And yeah! You boot up TIE Fighter today, and it still genuinely plays better than anything newer in the genre. It’s insane to me that the whole genre just… doesn’t exist any more? It feels like the indy scene should be full of X-Wing-alikes. Instead we got Strike Suit Zero, the two Rebel Galaxys and thats it? Yes I know, you want to at-me and say No Man’s Sky or Elite and buddy, those could not be less what I’m talking about. That goes double for whatever the heck is going on down at Star Citizen.

(Although, speaking of recapturing old gameplay mechanics, I am going to take this opportunity to remind everyone that Descent 4 came out, it was just called Overload.)

A while back my kid asked me what video game I’d turn onto a movie, and without missing a beat and not as a joke, I answered “TIE Fighter.”

“Dad!!” he yelled. “That already has a movie!”

And, obviously, but the Star War I keep wishing someone would make is the X-Wing pilot show; Top Gun or Flight of the Intruder, but with R2 units. I don’t understand why you spend a quarter billion dollars to set some kid up to fail with his bad Harrison Ford impression before you do this.

So, he said as an artful segue, in other X-Wing news, remember Star Wars fan films?

There was a whole fan film bubble around the turn of the century, during the iMac DV era. The bubble didn’t pop exactly, but now that energy mostly gets channeled into 3 hour Lore Breakdown Videos on youtube that explain how the next 200 million dollar blockbuster is going to fail because it isn’t consistent with the worst book you read 20 years ago. ( *Puts finger to earpiece* I’m sorry, I’ve just been informed that The Crystal Star was, in fact, thirty years ago. We regret the error.)

But! People are still out there making their indie Star Wars epics, and so I’d like to call to your attention to: Wingman - An X-Wing Story | Star Wars Fan Film | 2023 - YouTube

(Attention conservation notice: it’s nearly an hour long, but all the really good ideas are in the first 15 minutes, and in classic fan film fashion it just kinda keeps… going…)

It’s the fan-filmsiest possible version of the X-Wing movie idea. It’s about 20 guys filming an X-Wing movie in their basement for something like 4 grand. They only have one set: the cockpit, and some really nice replica helmets. They use the sound effects from the cockpit controls in the X-Wing games! The group that this this are all in Germany, so the squadron looks like it’s made up entirely of the backup keyboard players from Kraftwork. It’s an interesting limit case in “how can we tell a story when the characters can’t even stand up or be on screen at the same time.”

I was going to put some more snark here, but you know what? It’s a hell of an impressive thing, considering. I’d never show this to someone who wasn’t already completely bought in at “surprisingly good X-Wing fan film”, but I think it demonstrates that the basic premise is sound?

This feels like the ceiling for how good a fan film should get. Could it be better? Sure. But if you put any more effort into an indie movie than this, you need to pivot and go make Clerks or El Mariachi or A Fistful of Fingers or something. The only person who got a ticket into Hollywood from a fan film was the guy who made Troops, and even he never got to direct a big-boy movie.

So, okay, what have we learned from today’s program:

1. Someone needs to make an X-Wing-alike.
2. If you’re about to spend a second thousand dollars on your X-Wing cockpit, maybe try and make an indie festival film instead?

3. Now that Patty Jenkins' Rogue Squadron movie is cancelled, someone pitch a fighter pilot show to Disney+.

   I should probably have another paragraph here where I tie things up? But it’s Friday, don’t worry about it.

Rebel Moon (2023)

This is as close to a review-proof movie as has ever been made: at this point, everyone on earth knows what to expect from “Zack Snyder does a sci-fi remake of Seven Samurai” and if they’re in the target audience. And yeah, it’s exactly the movie you imagined when you read that sentence.

At this point, Snyder’s ticks and interests as a filmmaker are well established. They shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone, and there’s a shot right towards the start where the main character is planting seeds and the seeds flying though the air go into slow motion, so it’s not like they’re a surprise to him either. This is solidly playing to the part of the crowd that’s already bought in.

There’s guns that shoot blobs of molten lead. There’s a prison robot that looks like one of the statues from Beetlejuice. There’s another robot that looks like Daft Punk’s forgotten third brother that’s voiced by Anthony Hopkins of all people. I’m pretty sure if this had come out when I was fourteen, I’d have loved it. Everyone seems like they’re having a good time, and I think the number people in this movie who also worked on Justice League says a lot.

It’s not a good movie, but it’s a hard movie to genuinely dislike. I feel like this is where I should work up some irritation that something this banal got this much money, but you know what? I just can’t summon the energy. Are there things to complain about? Sure. But criticizing it feels like walking into a Mexican restaurant and complaining that they won’t sell you a hamburger; the correct response is to ask “what part of the sign out front was confusing?” It’s exactly the movie it said it was going to be, it you watched it and didn’t like it, well, your media illiteracy is not the movie’s problem. If I was in charge of spending Netflix’s money, would I have bought this movie? Probably not. But in a world where Netflix also keeps throwing money at the Dave Chapelle transphobia carnival, it hardly seems worth being irked by.

So, a few stray observations:

Before the movie came out, Star Wars was always cited as the big influence, but I suspect the movie owes a much bigger debt to Warhammer 40k. The whole design style and look of the thing screams Games Workshop. Like Event Horizon this feels like this could cleanly slot in as an unofficial prequel. (Warhammer 15k?)

Speaking of Star Wars, Luke Skywalker's first outing is the mother of all “making hard things look easy” movies. Lucas does some very subtle, tricky things with tone, and pacing, and exposition (more about that in a second,) and at first glance it looks like anyone could do the same thing. A lot better filmmakers than Snyder have stepped on the rake of “well, how hard could it be to make a Star War?” to the point where there’s almost no shame in it. Hell, Lucas himself only has about a 50% hit rate for “like star wars, and good.”

Right after I saw it, my initial zinger was “So you know, if *I* was going to remake seven samurai in the style of star wars, I'd try to make I understood how at least one of those movies worked.” Mostly what I was talking about was the different approaches to exposition.

For a long time, one of the established rules for telling stories in a visual medium was Show Don’t Tell. But, this was always more of a rule than a guideline. Author & extensive sex-scandal-haver Warren Ellis has a great riff on this: Show Don’t Tell Is A Tool Not A Rule.

That said, the style over the last decade or two has swung the other way. To pick one example at semi-random, author & divorced-but-no-sex-scandals-as-far-as-we-know-haver Neil Gaiman basically built an entire career out of Tell Don’t Show. The 21st century Doctor Who has been a heavy Tell Don’t Show work (although that as much working around the budget as anything,)

What’s funny about this is that the two major sources for Rebel Moon, The Seven Samurai and Star Wars are as Show Don’t Tell as it gets. Kurosawa, especially in his historical samurai movies, would make movies that just dropped the audience into a fully operational world and let them catch up. Lucas, heavily inspired by Kurosawa, turned around and applied the same technique to fictional settings. In both cases, all the characters know how the world works, they talk casually and in slang, there’s no character whose job is to ask questions. Supposedly, Lucas wanted to be a documentarian originally, and he shot his science fantasty movies like it. Star Wars especially I describe as having a “vibes-over-lore” approach to worldbuilding; you learn how things work by how the characters react to them, not what they say about them.

Flashing forward fifty years, Rebel Moon is all the way on the other end of the spectrum. Everywhere Kurosawa would have cut to a wide shot and let the wind howl a little, or Lucas would have pointed the camera at the sunset and let John Williams take over for a little bit, here a character looks directly into the camera and dictates another entry for the Lore Wiki. It’s not actually that strange for a genre movie here in the early Twenties, but the contract between this and the style of the direct source material is vast.

I feel a little bad doing this in a review, but the best illustration of the difference is the Auralnaut’s Zack Snyder's STAR WARS: Part 1 - A New Hope which reworks the original Star Wars to work like Rebel Moon does.

Like Zack, I’m gonna save the wrapup and resolution for the second part.

Books I Read In ’23: Part 5—Planescape & Friends

The Story So Far

Planescape was…

Hang on, let me back up a bit. Okay, maybe a little further.

Dungeons & Dragons has this concept called Alignment. On the surface it’s a simplified way to describe how a character acts, filtered through a very Gygax-style overly-complex solution. You have two spectrums: Good vs Evil, and Lawful vs Chaotic, with a Neutral step in between for each, making a 9-space 3-by-3 grid. So you get things like Chaotic Neutral, Lawful Good, Neutral Evil. Like a lot of concepts from the original flavors of Dungeons & Dragons, it’s both overly-complex and overly-limiting. You’re supposed to pick one for your character that informs and limits how they act. Everyone picks “Chaotic Good”, the adventurer alignment: “I’m helpful but don’t tell me what to do”. But it sort of seeps into the cracks of the rest of the game. Monsters have alignments. Spells work with them. There used to be secret languages for each alignment.

And then, at the back of the First Edition Advanced Dungeons & Dragons Player’s Handbook, there’s two absolutely madcap pages labeled “Appendix IV: The Known Planes of Existence.” In this, Gygax outlines the cosmology out beyond where the game world normally takes place. The “real world” exists on something called the “Prime Material Plane”, which is surrounded by both the Outer and Inner Planes.

A Plane is something like the nine realms from norse myth, or an alternate dimension, but governed by different rules. The Inner Planes are primal forces: positive and negative energy, the elements. The Outer Planes, however, build outward from the alignment chart. 15 “Planes” extend outward from the Prime Material, one for each of the alignments (other than Neutral-Neutral), with a half-step between each. These are the outer dimensions where supernatural and god-like beings live, each tied to an Alignment. You can squint and see what real world mythology they’re each tied to—there’s Valhalla, there’s Dante’s Inferno, Limbo, Olympus, Christian Heaven, Hades, and so on. It’s a perfect distillation of the D&D ethos—all mythologies are included and equal, there’s a complicated chart, and you can fight them.

To round out the cosmology, the Inner Planes were connected to the Prime Material by the Etherial Plane, and the Outer Planes were connected by the Astral Plane. There’s an implication that there are more than one Material Plane, representing… parallel universes? All this was illustrated with a diagram out of an alchemist’s rantings, or a two-dimensional version of that orrery from The Dark Crystal.

Then, a couple of years later Jeff Grubb turned this into an entire book called The Manual of the Planes. This blew those two pages out into something approaching an actual setting. Each plane, outer and inner, got a full description, and there were monsters, encounters, rules for how spells worked. As a key detail for later, this book added a 16th “true neutral” plane, the Plane of Concordant Opposition, which acted as the center of The Great Wheel of the planes, with the other planes extending out from it, which also had an impossibly tall unclimbable spire at the center. (The axel of the wheel?)

What was all this for? The Planes solved, basically, three problems in D&D:

1. Mostly, this described where the deities that clerics got their spells from physically lived. It was a universal explanation for where supernatural or paranormal entities came from. Gods, Demons, angels, elementals, ghosts: they come from a plane. And, it did this in a way that didn’t elevate one particular mythology or religion over the others. All real-world religions and supernatural creatures had a place to go, which you could use or ignore as you liked.
2. It was where high level characters went when they needed a new challenge. Too powerful to clear out yet one more keep on a borderland? Travel to the Outer Planes and treat Dante’s political satire as an endgame dungeon.
3. It provided a way to move between campaign settings. Want to use your Grayhawk characters in a Mystara game? Lemme tell you the good news about astral portals.

Maybe most critically, this was also the blanket answer for where demons (chaotic evil) and devils (lawful evil), came from. (The Abyss and The Nine Hells, respectively). Because of course, this was the height of the Satanic Panic in the mid-80s, and having a place in the game that was specifically where Satan lived was a bad look. When the 2nd edition of AD&D arrived in 1989, all this got swept under the rug.

While this kept all the weird mythology stuff out of the sight of the Mrs. Lovejoys of the world, this left the game without a place for high-powered characters to loot, or a way to travel between settings. The solution to this was the original Spelljammer. Spelljammer replaced the mythological outer realms with a science-fantasy “boats in space” approach. The different campaign settings were now planets, each in their own solar systems. Each solar system was enclosed in a “Crystal Sphere”, each of which in turn was floating in an infinite sea of “Phlogiston”. “Spelljammers” were magic-powered ships that could travel between the spheres. Implicitly, this was all taking place inside the old Prime Material Plane, leaving the old cosmology unmentioned but still usable.

By the mid-90s, the “satanic panic” was down to more of an “impish concern”, and Spelljammer hadn’t sold super-well. There was a desire to “bring back” the old planes cosmology. Rather than do this as a standalone esoteric sourcebook, the decision was made to promote the planes to a “real” campaign setting.

But also, AD&D’s simulationist, rules-heavy, combat oriented approach had fallen out of style. It wasn’t “The Game” anymore, not the way it had been a decade earlier, and there were a mounting number of games that weren’t just looting castles one ten-foot square at a time. There was a cambrian-style explosion of new games at the start of the decade—Over the Edge, Ars Magica, Feng Shui, to name some examples—built around figuring out the minimum viable number of rules for a game like this, and refocusing on the “role playing” part of RPG.

But the big one was Vampire: The Masquerade. Less rules, more roleplaying, dark urban fantasy. And, relevant to our current purposes, each character chose a “clan”, each of which was based on a Vampiric archetype (the dracula ones, the nosferatu ones, the anne rice ones, the lost boys, and so on). The clan wasn’t a character class so much as a set of hooks for roleplaying, an archetype for what your character acted like, not what they could do. It was that alignment chart, all grown up.

And this all dovetailed with everything else that was going on in nerd subcultures in the 90s, by which I really mean the goth scene was on the rise and The Sandman was huge.

And so, the mission: put D&D back at the forefront of RPG design, reboot the Planes as a gameplay location, with characters joining Vampire-style thematic groups while journeying across landscapes that looked like Sandman cover art.

The result: Planescape.

It immediately had a distinct feel as soon as you looked at it. The art was unlike anything on any other RPG product, a sketchy near-cartoony surrealist look that was immediately evocative; something between a goth Dr Seuss and Brian Froud’s concept art for Labyrinth. The logo had a weird spiky lady in it that looked like a mythological character from a mythos you’d never heard of. Even the fonts and page layouts were distinctive. The message was clear—this wasn’t a D&D book, this was a Planescape book.

The distinctivness continued once you flipped it open. (Or rather, slid open the box set). One of the signature features inside was “The Chant”, a set of slang and dialect that planar natives used; it only sounded strange to you on account your being a clueless berk, but don’t worry, you’ll be a savvy cutter no time. Unlike the house standard voice in other products, Planescape was written in a casual tone, the voice of an experienced adventurer welcoming you out of the prime and into the big leagues of the planes.

All the Planes got new names. These were their real names, you understand, the names back in the old Appendix IV were what the uneducated primes called them. As such, the “Plane of Concordant Opposition” became “The Outlands”, and the top of the infinite spire we now find Sigil, the City of Doors, a city built on the inside of a giant stone torus; which was also called the Cage because the only way in or out is via a planar portal or gateway. Sigil acts as the player’s home base, the place you bang around between adventures.

The city is ruled? controlled? by the enigmatic Lady of Pain—the spiky face in the logo. But she’s more of an absentee landlord than micromanager, so the city is run by The Factions. There are fifteen of them, roughly corresponding to the fifteen Outer Planes. But, they also all have a distinct philosophy. Like the vampire clans, it doesn’t take a lot of work to map the factions to their real-world counterparts—there’s the socialists, the fascists, the atheists, the libertarians, the discordians. (It was the 90s. Vampire had those guys too.)

Like in Vampire, every player had to pick a faction, and like vampire they were written so that everyone reading immediately had a favorite, but everyone had a different favorite. There weren’t “good ones” or “bad ones”, just a spectrum of stuff different people thought was cool. (Vampire is always cited as the direct inspiration, but I suspect the Factions also owed as much to the Houses and Clans from Battletech.)

This foregrounding of philosophy extended outward through the game: the rules posited that while the Prime Material Plane was governed by physics, the “physics” of the Outer Planes was philosophy, that belief and ideas were what underpinned those realities. The lead developer, David "Zeb" Cook, described the setting as “Philosophers with Clubs”.

It was fun, and different, and expansive without being overwhelming. While a lot of D&D specifically can feel like a copy of a copy of a copy of either Tolkien or Howard, this was something else, something absolutely unique, something D&D had that nothing else did.

The usual complaint from people that didn’t like it was that it was a better read than it was a game; which was occasionally fair: there are NPCs who communicate entirely through rebuses, which is great to read about but really, really hard to roleplay. (“It, uhhhh, puts up a rebus that, ah, can you roll, okay it means ‘you need to keep moving, citizen.’”). But if it was your jam, it was your jam.

It also served as the setting for one of the best-regarded D&D computer games, Planescape:Torment. Torment tended to be a lot of people’s first encounter with the setting, especially after the setting went out of print but the game stayed around in places like Steam or GoG. (That’s a gun I just hung over the mantle, by the way.)

It was glorious. In case this isn’t coming though from the fact that I’m over seventeen-hundred words in and haven’t talked about the new book yet, the Planes are my absolute favorite thing in D&D, and I think Planescape is the single best thing the old TSR ever published.

When 3rd edition came along at the turn of the century, Planescape, along with all the other boxed-set campaign settings got put in the attic. Both 3rd and 4th edition did anemic Manuals of the Planes that gestured at planar adventuring, but mostly left Sigil and Planesape as an easter egg or sidebar. The 5th Edition PHB has four pages at the back labeled “Appendix C: The Planes of Existence”, which is a surprisingly comprehensive summary of the built up material to date, but like the old original Appendix IV, was more teaser than gameplay resource.

As the fifth edition game trundled on, “new Planescape” was a persistant rumor. Which bring us to today, one the last new products released for “Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition (2014)” before “Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition (2024)” is released: the long rumored New Planescape.

Planescape 5e

The new Planescape follows the same format as last year’s Spelljammer: a slipcased set of three books: a setting overview, a monster manual, and an adventure. It solves one of new Spelljammer’s biggest shortcomings, in that the adventure and setting book are now 96 pages instead of 64, so the combined page count is the same as one of 5e’s larger standalone books, meaning it’s not cramped the way Spelljammer was. Also, they make the very savvy call to focus entirely on Sigil and the Outlands, leaving the rest of the planes alone.

So here we are! 45 pages detailing the insides of Sigil! Write-ups on the factions! A two-page spread for each gate down in the Outlands! A two-sided poster map! Modrons on the cover art! Finally, right?

I’ve got really mixed feelings about it.

Let’s start with this: The berks put the chant in the dead book. The “pirate talk / thieves cant” slang was one of the signature features of the original, solidly establishing that this took place somewhere else. There was always a vocal minority of people that didn’t like it, but those people didn’t like anything else about it either. And it’s just… not here. The text of the books is written in the same neutral house style as all the other 5e books. There’s no glossary of “planar slang” at the end. In the adventure, the first NPC you meet on the streets of Sigil uses essentially the entire slang dictionary in one sentence, and then someone else shoos them away with with an apology for the crazy person, and from that point on everyone else sounds just like every other D&D NPC, which is to say, just like Jack Kirby’s Thor. Reading it, there’s an immediate chill, as you realize that the setting whose signature feature was being different from everything else has been brought back, but lost something along the way..

The same thing applies to the art. Planescape used to have a distinct, stylized art style—there was no mistaking a Planescape book for something else. And here, everything is done in the same house style as the rest of 5e. It’s good art. It’s really good art. But there’s the Lady of Pain on the cover, looking like every other piece of 5th edition cover art. Seeing characters or locations from the old game rendered in the modern, standard art style was strange, like seeing someone you went to high school with after years and years and discovering they’d had some ill-advised plastic surgery. “They looked fine before, why did they do that to themselves?”

The distinctive fonts are gone, the text and layouts looking just like every other 5th edition book. Even the old logo is gone, replaced by an unadorned “PLANESCAPE” in big capital letters in the same brand font.

But okay, so the detailing is gone, what about the core content?

Let’s talk about the Factions. There’s only twelve of them now, some old ones, some revised, weirdly decoupling them from the outer planes. And they’re optional. There’s one new Character Background which is basically “belongs to a Faction” with a list of what skill gets a bonus based on what Faction you pick. There’s even a sidebar on how to make your own faction, which is cool, I guess, but broadly misses the point. The faction writeups clearly think of them as groups the players will interact with, but not join. Some of them are clearly bad guys now. You’re not really expected to pick a favorite. (And my old favorite isn’t there anymore, which is the real lemon juice squeezed into this papercut.)

And then there’s the included adventure, “Turn of Fortune’s Wheel.” There’s a mystery that takes the players on a tour of the Gate Towns along the edge of the Outlands, which is a great structure to get a buffet-style sampler plate of the planes without having to leave the Outlands. There’s a multi-planar casino! The central mystery is actually interesting. It even serves as a stealth sequel to the 1997 module The Great Modron March.

But yeah, this is where I start a paragraph with the word “but.”

Because the title of the box set is not “Planescape”, it’s “Planescape: Adventures in the Multiverse”, and “multiverse” means a different thing in 2023 than it did in 1997. So for the adventure you roll up three versions of your characters—the versions played by Tobey Maguire, Andrew Garfield, and Tom Holland, if you will—and your character “glitches” between them. It’s not a terrible mechanic, and kind of a cool premise, but that’s not the kind of multiverse we were talking about?

And, this is where I sort of chuckle and shake my head, the adventure has the exact same beginning as Torment. And I mean, exactly the same: you wake up on a slab in The Mortuary with amnesia, and there’s Morte the talking skull giving you a hard time. The central spine of the plot is to find out who you were, and why you keep coming back to life when you die. It’s the same set of ideas as Torment, just less interesting.

And I get it. I get it. Here in the twenties, if someone under 40 has played Planescape, they played Torment. And more importantly, they played the first 20 minutes of Torment, because a slightly buggy crunchy AD&D CRPG from the late 90s is basically unplayable today. Not technically, DosBox has you covered, but too much time has passed for those mechanics. So all most people know about Planescape is that there’s a weird morgue with a talking skull in it. So, yeah, you put that in. Sure you do.

So we end up with the “go anywhere do anything” setting going the same places doing—literally—the same things. It’s got that big franchise relaunch style where it spends a bunch of time covering old ground, gesturing at things going “hey, remember this?” Even when it drops the occasional deep cut, like an oblique reference to the original Planescape finale, Dead Gods, it manages to feel more patronizing than anything. The title of the second chapter of the adventure is “Philosophers with Clubs”, although the content of that chapter contains neither, but hey, ‘member when Zeb Cook said that?

And I haven’t even mentioned the walking castle thats blatantly just “Howl’s Moving Castle.”

Its’s high quality, well done. I found it all genuinely upsetting.

To be clear, theres nothing in here that's actually bad. It is, to coin a phrase, "perfectly cromulent", a solid-if-uninspiring update of an out-of-print setting to current corporate standards. The game my kid is in at jr high dropped everything they were doing and moved to this the second it came out. Walking though portals to fight new kinds of monsters is still cool when you're twelve, no matter what the art looks like. And, believe me, I understand there's a difference between "biggest release of the year for the most successful product line from a multi-billion dollar company" and "crazy swing for the fences from a nitche company that's going out of business."

But, I don’t understand the point of doing a new Planescape if you’re going to make it the same house style as everything else. Why not just do a new Manual of the Planes? The mechanics were never the point, what little of them there were. It was all about style and vibes, and all the style and vibes are gone.

And you know what? That’s my whole review. They took the most distinct, unique setting they ever had and sandblasted it until it was the same as everything else. Why bother? Why bring it back if this is what you were going to do?

Maybe this is just old guy grousing, and kids who find this for the first time in their teens will spend the next two decades dreaming about Sigil like I did. I hope so?

(This is where I casually mention inside some parentheses that DriveThroughPRG will do you a print-on-demand copy of the original for thirty bucks.)

However, Hasbro’s new Planescape isn’t the only game in town for extra-planar adventures in D&D…

Path of the Planebreaker by Bruce R. Cordell, Monte Cook, Sean K. Reynolds

Monte Cook was on the original Planescape team, then was one of the co-designers for D&D 3rd edition. He’s been running his own company for most of the 21st century, these days mostly knocking out new games based on the system he designed for his signature game, Numenera.

However, he also has an almost supernatural ability to release a product for D&D right before Hasbro does a version of the same thing, so last year just before the new Planescape was announced he did his own “Planescape for 5e”: Path of the Planebreaker.

A cursed moon—The Planebreaker—crashes from plane to plane, traversing the whole of the multiverse. The trail it leaves behind can be used as a road to travel the planes, assuming you have the right key.

The book outlines dozens of planes that the Planebreaker has crashed through, and in keeping with Monte Cook’s style, they’re all weird as hell. The Planebreaker itself, and the city of Timeborne on it, is a very cool “home base” location. It’s a very Monte Cook product: weird places? Check. Mysterious plot hooks-a-plenty? Check? Cool magic? Check. More than anything, this really fills the niche the planes used to have of “weird places high level characters can go and loot”. It’s the ideal sort of product to click into an existing game to blow out the horizons. The Planebreaker appears in the sky, shenanigans ensue.

You can tell everyone working on this knows how the D&D Great Wheel cosmology works, and while this doesn’t interact with it, it doesn’t contradict it either. These are the weirder planes further out from the ones near Sigil.

Great stuff, I really enjoyed it.

The Book of Ebon Tides by Wolfgang Baur & Celeste Conowitch

Meanwhile, Wolfgang Baur, who was also on the original Planescape team, also started his own company, Kobold Press (after writing the single best book for 3rd edition D&D, The Book of Roguish Luck, for Monte Cook’s old company). Legend has it that he pitched a Plane of Shadow book for the original Planescape back in the 90s which went nowhere. Two decades on, he finally wrote it: Book of Ebon Tides. And look, that’s pretty much the whole review: “Wolfgang Baur finally wrote his Shadow book.”

It’s pretty amazing. Here, the Plane of Shadow is reimagined as a dark counterpart of the real world filled with fay courts and shadow creatures; it’s Midsummer Nights Dream set in the dark world from A Link to the Past. Weird forests. Shadow goblins. Shadow magic. And you can play an anthropomorphic bear. This is the kind of book where every single page has something on it where you go “wow, that’s cool.” There’s a whole flock of character options, new races, new spells, every characer class gets a new shadow-themed subclass. The Book of Roguish Luck had this very cool “shadow thief” class for 3rd edition, and I was really hoping this would have an updated version. Oh yeah, that’s in here. And then some.

It’s full of hooks for Kobold’s home setting of “Midgard”, but that stuff is easy to strip out or sand down, and this also could click incredibly easy into any other campaign. I tend to buy books like this so I can loot them for other games, and I am going to be looting this one for years. It’s the kind of book that makes you want to scrap the game you’re currently running, drop it on the table, and tell your players, “so, we’re doing this now.”

Young Adventurer’s Collection: Places & Portals

The Young Adventurer’s Collection is a series of books Hasbro has been putting out aimed at younger readers that introduce the concepts of D&D without any of those pesky rules getting in the way. They’re perfect if you’re say, a mid-40s RPG nerd with a tween-aged kid whose really into this whole D&D thing but needs a softer onramp than the PHB. Places & Portals is the latest, covering, like it says, other places you can go. It hits the high points of the planes as a concept, but mostly I bring this up because it also has a chapter on Spelljammer. When the Spelljammer box came out last year, there was some debate about whether the “Doomspace” in the included adventures was really supposed to be Dark Sun in disguise? Well, Places & Portals came out first, and has has the same map of the Astral Plane as the Spelljammer box, except the solar system labeled “Doomspace” in Spelljammer is called “Athasspace” here. As a long time fan of that setting, I love that they collapsed the dark sun and dropped Athas into a black hole. Perfect ending, no notes.

Journeys through the Radiant Citadel

But lets loop back around. Before the new Planescape, before the new Spelljammer, Hasbro put out a book called Journeys through the Radiant Citadel. This was one of the adventure anthologies they do every other year or so, and has thirteen short adventures, most of which could work as a one shot. The signature feature of this book, though, was that it was entirely done by people of color.

The Radiant Citadel is an ancient magical city floating out in the Etherial plane (positioning this as both an anti-Spelljammer and anti-Planescape), and each adventure takes place in one of the locations the Citadel has a portal to. Are these locations other planes, other worlds in the prime material, somewhere else? The book is ambiguous about this, to its benefit. There’s no overarching cosmology here beyond “the universe is vast and wondrous.”

These locations and adventures all draw from world mythologies and traditions other than the warmed over Tolkien/Howard we were talking about. But they’re not just “the asian one” or “the indian one”, they’re all riffs and combinations of ideas, pulling from a far wider pool than D&D traditionally has. They all feel new. Each adventure is a tiny gem, sketching out a world outside the confines of the few pages they have. And these aren’t just dungeon crawls with a different skin, there are puzzles, negotiations, diplomacy. Most of the adventures center around arriving in a new place, figuring out how that world works, and then using that knowlede to solve a problem or help somebody. It’s probably the best book Hasbro put out for 5th edition. Yes, it's better than the new Ravenloft.

Forget the editorial failures of the new Spelljammer or the sandblasted new Planescape: this is what D&D should look like in the twenties. This. This is what I wanted from Planescape, this is what attracted me to the old Planescape as a teenager. A glorious mashup of world cultures and mythologies, evocative art, neat ideas, adventurers going to weird places and doing cool stuff.

In conclusion, the new Planescape is fantastic: it’s called Journeys through the Radiant Citadel. Strongest possible recommendation.

Books I Read In ’23: Part 4—RPGs

Paranoia (2023)

Everyone knows (at least) one of those people that are not themselves funny, but love something funny a little too much, which they can–and do—quote at length. In my age cohort, this was always Monty Python, or The Princess Bride, or Ghostbusters. People who’ve replaced having an actual sense of humor with memorizing the Dead Parrot Sketch or something, and as you listen to them shouting “Spam, Spam, Eggs, and Spam” for the umpteenth time, you think to yourself, wait, was this ever funny? Because they don’t really know what made it funny, and so they can’t themselves replicate it, and drained of the performance, there’s nothing really there.

The new edition of Paranoia is like that. The authors love Paranoia—LOVE IT—but can’t seem to actually convey whats so great about it. It’s page after page of the authors directly saying “this is the funniest thing ever wowee” without actually getting to anything, you know, funny?

Making this worse, they seem vaguely aware that “satire” is a thing, but don’t know what that means or how to do it. Mostly this is because they don’t have a take, they aren’t satirizing anything specific, just sort of vaguely gesturing that dystopias are bad? The back cover blurb ends with: “And here it is, a brand-new edition for the modern world. Surely there is nothing happening these days worthy of satire, right?” But… there’s nothing in here that does that? There’s plenty of targets from the current era, but the game sticks to enervated versions of the stuff that was there back in the early 80s. Even the core joke, that Friend Computer was so determined to fend off Communism that it built a perfect communist society, seems to have blown past them.

The result is a zombie, Paranoia-shaped game that just leans into the slapstick, “it’s funny when the players kill each other” parts. And yes it is, but that’s not the whole game, guys.

Of course, the memory cheats, so I dug out my copy of the original first edition Paranoia, and yep, that still slaps. That’s written by people with a Take, a solidly anti-Reagan/Thatcher satire with things to say. Friend Computer says to keep playing the original, citizen. Maybe it’s okay for some art to stay in its time, and not get a “brand-new edition”.

Kitty Noir

My kids aged out of Magical Kitties Save the Day basically the exact moment it was released, which was a bummer, because it’s a really neat younger-kids focused RPG. I happily backed the kickstarter for Kitty Noir, their film noir/golden age science fiction setting, hoping it would give me a way to age up the material a little. Spoiler: not so much.

Like all Magical Kitties books, it has the format of a kid’s picture book, with gorgeous art and great layout and design. The contents are a fun pastiche of film noir tropes while keeping them safe for an under-ten crowd. My one complaint is that its a little thin content-wise, there isn’t much here that you couldn’t freestyle after binging Double Indemnity and The Big Sleep, just to pick two random movies I can see from where I’m sitting.

Still, it’s a fun expansion to a fun game.

If I Were A Litch, Man by Lucian Kahn

It’s a box with three Jewish-themed RPGs. In the first—“If I Were A Litch, Man—you play a group of litches arguing about best way to defend the community from rampaging paladins. The second—“Same Bat Time, Same Bat Mitzva“—takes place at a Bat Mitzva party where one of the guests is turning into a vampire. The third—“Grandma’s Drinking Song”—is a singing game about a family of bootleggers during prohibition. They’re all amazing.

That said, there’s this new generation of extremely rules-light narrative/improv-heavy games that I really, really like, but do not know how to play. I don’t mean that in some kind of facetious “needs moar maths!” way, I mean I read the book and go “wow, that’s the coolest damn thing, but I genuinely don’t know what to do here.” Not a bad thing, to be clear! I’m glad the drama kids found our hobby and rescued us from the applied maths dorks, I just have a lot to unlearn. Back when I was in junior high, the cutting edge of RPG design was THAC0. I’m riven with jealousy that the kids today instead get things like this.

I Have The High Ground by Jess Levine

Few things have made me feel more old than the fact that this game is called “I have the high ground”, and not “I am not left-handed.”

It describes itself as “a collaborative two-player dueling game of banter, posturing, and capes” and so it is. But it’s not a fencing game—this covers the banter and drama before things get physical. Each match ends with weapons being drawn and the “real fight” starting. While the title obviously invokes Episode III, the Star War it most closely matches is the duel at the end of Return of the Jedi; if you’re playing this game right, every session ends with two lightsabers igniting and slamming into each other while the Emperor cackles.

The mechanics are, well, they’re rock-paper-scissors, but they’re used to shape the insults, baits, goads, and reparte as the two players score, basically, “making the other player mad” points. It’s only barely a “game” from a classic TTRPG sense, but it’s an absolutely amazing improv drama set of prompts. You probably couldn’t convince the other kids in the jr high Magic: the Gathering club to play this, but you probably could get the drama club to play this every week. Really fun.

Books I Read In ’23: Part 3

Redshirts: A Novel With Three Codas by John Scalzi

Redshirts caused quite a stir when it came out originally, and rightly so! It’s brilliant. The premise is straightforward: the junior officers of the Universal Union starship Intrepid start to notice that whoever goes down to the planet with the captain and other senior officers always dies while those senior officers always live, and they decide to do something about it. It was, and probably still is, Scalzi’s best book. The extended riffs on Trek tropes are fun, and then manages to move into a place thats both more meta and more interesting. I recall the length of the codas getting some criticism at the time, but like the Scouring of the Shire, they’re the whole point.

I could have sworn I read this back when it came out, but my copy has vanished over the years, so I impulse bought a new one. I remembered the front half very clearly, but the back half not so much, which implies a variety of funny things.

I have to admit, though, this plays very different in a world with Lower Decks. When this came out in ’13, Star Trek was pretty much dead as an ongoing concern, so metafictional deconstructions had a lot of space to breathe. Now, in a world where the two best Trek shows of all time are currently in production (LD and SNW, for the record,) one of which is covering much of the same ground of digging into the long-running tropes of the franchise, Redshirts stops feeling quite so cutting edge and starts feeling a little behind.vvI’ve not seen Redshirts cited as a specific inspiration for Lower Decks, but I’d be stunned if it wasn’t in the mix. As it is, I spent a lot of time (re?)reading this book thinking, “Boimler and Mariner landed this joke better.”

Still! Great read, and the codas are what make it work. Great, great ending. (When the time comes, I hope LD has one as satisfying.)

Starter Villain by John Scalzi

Scalzi’s latest operates much in the same zippy, light-weight “beach read” gear as last year’s Kaiju Preservation Society. The main character unexpectedly inherits his estranged uncle’s super-villain business, hijinks ensue. It’s not his best work, but still a thoroughly entertaining potboiler.

As he’s been very open about, he was clobbered by COVID halfway though the book, and as he put it got “brain scrambled” afterwards, and as such he turned the manuscript in very, very late. It’s dangerous to try and map too much of an author’s private life onto their work, but I feel like you can spot the exact page where he shakes off the Long Covid stupor and says “shit, I have to finish this.” I do not believe for one second that the resolution at the end of the book is what he had in mind while writing the first half, it’s sloppy in a “genius in a panic” sort of way, but it’s still fun.

(And man, I could have sworn I wrote this review already, but damned if I could find it.)

Midnight pals vols 1-3 by Bitter Karella

The print form of the @midnight_pals twitter feed, we find a collection of horror authors (King, Lovecraft, Barker, Poe, Koontz) sitting around a campfire telling stories, with guest appearances by… basically every other author you’ve ever heard of? It’s hilarious when you know who the guest authors are, and utterly inscrutable when you don’t. I loved it. As an aside, more people from the old twitter should just sell a print copy of their tweets?

Complete Calvin & Hobbes by Bill Watterson

Inspired by the next entry, I started reading Calvin & Hobbes with the kids. Turns out: just as good as you remember.

The Mysteries by Bill Watterson

Oh wait, I already wrote about this: The Mysteries

Dracula Daily by Bram Stoker and the internet

Hang on, I already wrote about this one too: Saturday Linkblog, books-from-the-internet edition

TARDIS Eruditorum Volume 8 by Elizabeth Sandifer

I am a huge, huge fan of Elizabeth Sandifer’s TARDIS Eruditorum, “An Unofficial Critical History of Doctor Who”. Essentially, a history of British culture told through the format of “in-depth literary analysis of all of Doctor Who”. Primarily a blog, she’s been updating and repackaging the material into book form. This is a format I wish more bloggers would use; there’s quite a few bloggers I wouldn’t mind picking up a print essay collection from every few years.

This is Volume 8, which covers the period from the disastrous TV movie in ’96 to the first season of the revived show in ’05, with all the deeply weird spin-off material from between those. There’s two threads to this one: what had to happen for the show to finally come back, and why didn’t any of the various previous swings work? (Spoiler: an actually good writer finally got ahold of it.) She’s much kinder to most of this material than I am; none of this stuff was very good, but there’s a lot to talk about, and she always has an interesting take. Due to the scale of the undertaking, there are very few critical works that cover all of Doctor Who. Of those, the Eruditorum is my favorite.

As an aside, she’s just kicked off her coverage of the Whittaker years on the website, having gotten a preview on the patreon, it’s gonna be a banger.

Books I Read In ’23: Part 2

House of X/Powers of X By Johnathan Hickman and others

The X-Men are a weird superhero book, even by american super hero standards. One of the strange things about them is their inability to be mediocre—the X-men are either “as good as superheroes get” or “unreadable trash” with no ground in-between. Compare that to, say, Spider-man, whose spent most of the last 60 years being “yeah, that was pretty good I guess,” with occasional outbreaks of brilliance or clones. This doesn't just apply to the books either: the movies, shows, what-have-you are all either one side of the scale or the other. To put that another way: no one has ever left an X-Men movie without having a strong opinion about what they just saw.

There’s a couple reasons for this, I think? There’s a weird mix of elements: they’re teachers, but also a commando team? In a world full of “regular” super heros, no one likes them? Also, a soap opera? And they’re a metaphor for the dealer’s choice of minority groups. And, the X-Men suffer more than most from the “fighting for the status quo” problem most superheroes have. The upshot is that to make them work, you have to actually have a take, it can’t just be “well, I guess Magneto is up to something again”.

The result is that the’re on this roughly 20 year cycle of someone coming in, having a new take that works, and then Marvel spends the next 10–15 years bleeding out everything from that burst of ideas. Lee & Kirby in the early 60s, Claremont & Byrne in the late 70s, Morrison at the turn of the century.

We’re due for a new spin, and Hickman wipes the deck clear and delivers. He kicked his run off with two linked books, pronounced House of “Ex” and Powers of “Ten”. (All good X-Men runs seem to center around using X to mean 10 in unexpected places.) The core metaphor and premise is pretty straightforward: we’re doing the formation of the State of Israel, but for mutants. (And with the Shi’ar Empire standing in for the United States as the not-so-subtle equipment supplier). This is coupled with a take that basically boils down to: “you know, if all these guys would just work together they’d be unstoppable.”

It’s about as good as the X-Men have ever been, and finally shake off the whole “fighting to protect the ones that hate them” angle: they have their own island now, and you can enter as much anti-mutant legislation as you like. Hickman has a great time riffing on this: Mutants have diplomatic immunity, Magneto is the Ambassador to the US, there are trade agreements. Plus, continuing on the “formation of Israel” angle, the fact that the mutants keep getting genocided gets treated with more seriousness than it ever has.

The layout is also fascinating, mixing traditional comic layouts with infographics, with a design sense that manages to look cutting-edge and and mid-60s at the same time. (Swiss design, coming through.)

The result is genuinely great, but great in the way that you know all the interesting material is going to be drained out of this over the next decade, and all the changes or new concepts are going to be retconned out and we’ll be back to the median-value room-temperature X-Men before too long; there’s a vague itch the whole time reading it thinking “there’s no way they’re going to actually keep any of this.” Which means that they’ve set themselves up for a “Destruction of Israel” story in a bit here, which I’m sure won’t delight all the wrong people.

But, you can’t grade a piece of art down based on what you know other people are going to do with it. As it stands, Hickman has knocked out 400-something pages of as good an X-Men story as there’s ever been. It’s worth enjoying in it’s own right, if for no other reason that he served up my favorite new idea in years: Cyclops, Jean Gray, and Wolverine are just a throuple now. Perfect. See you in another couple of decades, X-Men.

X-Men Epic Collections: Fate of the Phoenix & I, Magneto by Claremont, Byrne, and others

Speaking of those wacky mutants, my son is “exactly the right age to enjoy X-men” years old, so we’ve been picking up the reprints of the greatest hits here and there. And back when I was a kid, this was the Biggest Thing Ever: Dark Phoenix! Jean Grey Dies! Drama! Action! To quote the former galactic President: “Excitement, adventure, and really wild things!”

I hadn’t read any of this in probably 30 years, so I was pleased to see that it mostly holds up? It’s a superhero drama designed to be the most epic thing imaginable to tweens, and it still is.

One thing definitely stood out in hindsight, though. There was a fair amount of behind-the-scenes drama about killing off Jean Grey—the short, short version is that Claremont didn’t want to kill the character, but the editors insisted that she “pay for her actions.” Not to re-litigate 40-year old controversy, but in retrospect it’s so obvious that Jean “had to die” because she was a woman, and they didn’t want any of the female characters to be that powerful. What’s funny is reading this all later you can tell Claremont knows this, so he replaces Jean Grey with the nearly-powerless Kitty Pryde, and then makes sure Storm screws up or gets sucker-punched often enough to keep anyone from noticing how powerful she is too.

42: the wildly improbable ideas of Douglas Adams edited by Kevin Jon Davies

Kevin Jon Davies got started as part of the team doing the Guide animations for the BBC TV version of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, and turned that both into a friendship with Douglas Adams and a career making documentaries.

After Douglas Adams died, his collected papers ended up at Cambridge, where they mostly sat in file boxes. This book is a greatest hits collection of what Davies found when he went through them. Like a lot of posthumous collections, it’s equal parts fascinating and frustrating. As an example: there was a long standing rumor that Adams had written an entire first episode to the unmade second season of the Hitchhiker TV show, it turns out that’s true! And this book includes… only the first page. Then, the second half of the book is page after page of unrealized, unfinished projects. Fascinated, but frustrating. More than ever, this book makes me wish he’d had a business partner that could wrangle these projects over the finish line. Or, you know, make sure he got his heart checked out.

Books I Read In ’23: Part 1

1177 BC: The Year Civilization Collapsed by Eric H. Cline

The Late Bronze Age Collapse is one of those fascinating historical mysteries: about 3000 years ago, essentially every city in the near and middle east burned to the ground, most never to be repopulated. Greece entered the Greek Dark Ages, the New Kingdom period in Egypt ended entering one of their “intermediate periods”. It’s Mad Max, but with sandals and bronze spear heads. So, what happened? Famine, earthquakes, attacks by the mysterious “Sea Peoples?”

To orient this historically, this is after everything we think of as being “ancient Egypt”, but before “ancient Greece.” Whatever historical events inspired Exodus have already happened, and we’re roughly at the same time as whatever really happened at Troy. (And, of course, both “The Bronze Age” and “The Bronze Age Collapse” are both strictly Mediterranean-world concerns, the civilizations in Asia, the Americas, Africa, and indeed even north-western Europe would be surprised to hear there was a collapse.)

Cline does an amazing job sketching out the world of the Mediterranean at the end of the bronze age. Unlike some other places and times in history which can feel like transmissions from an alien planet, the ancient near east is familiar—cosmopolitan, connected, deeply interlinked trade, people have jobs, to the extent that there are art fads, and grecian artisans sail to all points on the Mediterranean shore because Greek-style frescoes are “so hot right now”. And then, it all burns to the ground, and no one really knows why.

After sketching out what the pre-collapse Mediterranean world was like, Cline starts to offer various suggestions about what might have happened, and right about the point you think to yourself, “oh, I get it, this was the cause,” Cline basically yells “you’d like to think that, wouldn’t you!” and whips out some new piece of evidence that disproves the theory.

Fascinating and entertaining, despite not having as clear an answer as anyone—including the author—would like. The ultimate conclusion is that it wasn’t any one thing, it was everything—a century or so filled with earthquakes, climate change–fueled famine, social unrest, attacks by displaced migrants and refugees, and, and, and… with the final result being that the entire sophisticated international order ceased to be. Chilling. In a lot of ways, it’s a real-world historical version of Gibon’s “Jackpot”. Makes me glad I don’t live in a time like that. Now, let me take a big sip of coffee and check the news…

The Sunken Land Begins To Rise Again By M. John Harrison

A strange and unsettling book that’s hard to describe. I picked this up mostly because William Gibson was enthusing about it on the former twitter. I confess, it took me months to read the first half, and then I read the last third practically in one sitting.

The best description I can give is that it’s like a book starring the characters who live next door to a Stephen King novel. Strange and disturbing things are happening just out of sight, and the main characters are a little too wrapped up in themselves to notice. As it proceeds, the book moves into a space more akin to Lovecraft (but without the racism) where these things that are happening are too alien for the characters, or the reader, to perceive correctly.

The end was almost unspeakably unsettling. I’m glad I read it. Strongly recommended.

Fast Times In Comic Book Editing By Shelly Bond and a bunch of artists

Shelly Bond was the assistant editor for DC’s Vertigo line in the 90s, and was the last person out the door when DC finally turned the lights off a few decades later. She worked on—basically—everything, and was one of those under-recognized figures, instrumental in Vertigo being Vertigo.

She kickstarted a graphic novel memoir, telling stories about both being in her early 20s in manhattan while also being at the ground floor of an artistic movement. Not every kickstarter turns out to have been worth it, but this one absolutely was.

Snow Glass Apples By Colleen Doran And Neil Gaiman

Snow, Glass, Apples started life as a relatively minor Gaiman short story, later adapted to graphic novel form by Doran. The plot is slender, even by Gaiman standards: what if there was something we didn't know about the story of Snow White, and what if the so-called “Evil Queen” knew something we didn’t? What if the story we know is because the victor gets to write history? (Spoiler: Snow White is a vampire). The plot isn’t the attraction, if you’ve read more than about three other stories you can correctly guess exactly how things are going to go by the end of the first page. The attraction is Doran’s absolutely gorgeous art, turning a fun-if-simplistic “fractured fairytale” into a visual masterpiece. I really, really enjoyed it.

Bea Wolf by Zach Weinersmith and Boulet

Hey, Wait!

Bea Wolf is a surprisingly-accurate retelling of the first third of Beowulf—for kids. Treeheart—the suburban treehouse that all the kids in the neighborhood hang out in is under attack by their nefarious neighbor, Mister Grindle, who can’t stand the sounds of merry-making. Fortunately, a group of kids from the suburb upriver ride their inner-tubes down the sliding-sea to help, led by the steadfast Bea Wolf.

The art is outstanding, but the standout here is the writing: Zack Weinersmith (mostly of Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal fame) does an absolutely incredible job writing a modern, kid-friendly version of the story that keeps the rhythms, alliterations, digressions, and kennings all intact. This is, without question, the most fun I have ever had reading a book out loud to my kids.

Reader, if you’ve got kids in your life and haven’t picked this up yet, go order a copy right now, trust me.

AI Pins And Society’s Immune Responses

Apparently “AI Pins” are a thing now? Before I could come up with anything new rude to say after the last one, the Aftermath beat me to it: Why Would I Buy This Useless, Evil Thing?

I resent the imposition, the idea that since LLMs exist, it follows that they should exist in every facet in my life. And that’s why, on principle, I really hate the rabbit r1.

It’s as if the cultural immune response to AI is finally kicking in. To belabor the metaphor, maybe the social benefit of blockchain is going to turn out to have been to act as a societal inoculation against this kind of tech bro trash fire.

The increasing blowback makes me hopeful, as I keep saying.

Speaking of, I need to share with you this truly excellent quote lifted from jwz: The Bullshit Fountain:

I confess myself a bit baffled by people who act like "how to interact with ChatGPT" is a useful classroom skill. It's not a word processor or a spreadsheet; it doesn't have documented, well-defined, reproducible behaviors. No, it's not remotely analogous to a calculator. Calculators are built to be *right*, not to sound convincing. It's a bullshit fountain. Stop acting like you're a waterbender making emotive shapes by expressing your will in the medium of liquid bullshit. The lesson one needs about a bullshit fountain is *not to swim in it*.

Handicapping future Doctor Who Blu-Ray releases

With the announcement of Doctor Who Season 15 on Blu-Ray, that means we’re a little over halfway done with the blu-ray re-release of the old show, and of 27 possible sets, there are 12 remaining. Part of the “fun”, for certain values of “fun”, is that they release them out of order, and never annouce more than one ahead.

The DVD releases worked the same way, and back then I used to try and reverse-engineer the release scheme. I enjoy this sort of corporate kremlinology, so lets see if we can guess which ones are coming next.

First, some prelimiaries!

I’ll leave these two links here for anyone who wants to play the home game:

List of Doctor Who episodes (1963–1989) )

List of Doctor Who home video releases

The out-of-order releases are for a couple of reasons. First, Tom Baker Fourth Doctor sells the best, followed by Jon Pertwee’s Third, and the color seasons sell better than the black-and-white ones, so they like to spread the better selling ones out. Second, some of these seasons are “harder” to put together than others. All of the first six seasons sill has episodes that are missing. The BBC has been re-creating these with animation, but they’re not done. As a side effect of what state formerly-missing episodes were recovered in, every season up through (at least) 11 has at least one show that needs some heavy-duty restoration.

Looking back at the blu-ray releases so far, they do 2 or 3 releases a year, and like to spread out the “hard” ones. They kinda seem to alternate between 2 and 3 in alternate years, pandemic non-withstanding?

With all that said, which seasons are left, and what problems do they all have?

• 1—William Hartnell’s First Doctor, black and white, one unanimated missing story, and some weird rights issues around the first story, “An Unearthly Child.”
• 3—First Doctor, black and white, four unanimated missing stories including one really big and complicated one.
• 4—Mostly Patrick Troughton’s Second Doctor with a pair of Hartnell stories at the start of the year before the handover, black and white, two unanimated missing stories, although one of these is strongly rumored to be in production as I type this.
• 5—Second Doctor, black and white, one unanimated missing story, plus this season contains the one officially missing story that’s known for a fact to exist in private hands.
• 6—Second Doctor, black and white, one unanimated missing story.
• 7—Jon Pertwee’s Third Doctor, originally made in color but three of the four stories were only preserved in black and white; the color has been restored at various levels of success, and clearly would need more restoration work for a blu-ray release.
• 11—Third Doctor, originally made in color, but a single half-hour episode only survived in black-and-white, which is also the same story full of terrible dinosaur special effects, which if you’re already throwing a bunch of money at fixing the color why not also do new dinosaurs?
• 13—Tom Baker’s Fourth Doctor, color, no issues I know of, but back in the DVD days there was a long-standing rumor that the first story in this season, “Terror of the Zygons”, was going to be the last one released on DVD, and it essentially was.
• 16—Fourth Doctor, color, no issues as far as I know.
• 21—Peter Davison’s Fifth Doctor, color, no issues as far as I know.
• 25—Sylvester McCoy’s Seventh Doctor, color, there was a American PBS behind-the-scenes documentary made for one of the stories this season which they would absolutely want to include and I could see having some complex rights issues to sort out.
• The 1996 TV Movie, plus “the wilderness years”—Paul McGann’s Eighth Doctor, color, there’s some strong rumors that they’re going to wrap the terrible FOX movie in a set covering all the weird stuff that happened between 1989 and 2005, there’s actually quite a bit of stuff you could put on such a set, rights allowing. (Curse of Fatal Death, Scream of the Shalka, the web version of Shada with McGann, the material made for the 1999 “Doctor Who Night”, the FMV from “Destiny of the Doctors”?)

Assuming 2 or 3 a year, that’s 5 more years. Let’s try to guess a release plan.

The two best-selling Doctors, Tom Baker and Pertwee, have five seasons left between them (including the just announced season 15.). Assume one of those a year, alternating. We also have five B&Ws left, so we can assume one of those a year. That leaves seasons 21, 25, and whatever they do with the TV movie as the three “floaters” to make up a third release. And, just for fun, let’s assume “Terror of the Zygons” is last this time too.

We can also kick season 1 to the end, to leave more time for the AUC rights situation to shake out. It’s hard to guess what the gameplan will be for unanimated episodes? The season 2 release has one incomplete show on it, so they’re willing to ship blu-rays with gaps.

Since the last two years have been two-release years, we can guess we’re due for a triple-release year this year, then alternating after.

So, putting some bets down, that all looks like:

• 2024

  • 15—always start a list with something you can check off at once.
  • 6—there’s no universe where they’re going to animate “The Space Pirates”, so this is pretty much ready to go?
  • 25—they did a Davison last year, so this is the other remaining 80s season.

• 2025

  • 11—this has got to be less work that 7, even if they do try and replace those dinosaurs.
  • 4—they’ll probably also blow off animating “The Highlanders?”

• 2026

  • Wilderness Years—for 30th anniversary of the TV movie.
  • 16—It’s the Key to Time, so that oughta sell pretty well.
  • 3—I can’t believe they’d release a blu-ray without animating “The Dalek’s Masterplan”, but it’s also five and a half hours long, so who knows.

• 2027

  • 7—it feels like you wait until the last possible second in hopes the prices go down for the compute time needed to fix the color here.
  • 5—The missing one in this season has the Cybermen, so they’re absolutely going to animate it eventually .

• 2028

  • 1—the checks should have cleared by now.
  • 21—one last Davison set.
  • 13—Zygons, shutting off the lights.

That kinda hangs together? Except 2027, thats gonna sell terribly and is definitely wrong. On the other hand, that’s how the cards dealt out. We’ll see, I guess!

Doctor Who Season 15 on Blu-Ray

They’ve announced the next Classic Doctor Who Blu-Ray season set, and as such there’s an absurdly overly elaborate trailer:

Leela vs the Time War | The Collection: Season 15 Announcement Trailer | Doctor Who - YouTube

Over the last few years, they’ve been re-releasing the old show on Blu-Ray in season sets (whereas before they released it on DVD a single story at a time). They’ve become the gold standard for an archive TV release: fully restored and cleaned-up picture and sound, upscaled to HD despite having been shot in extremely not-HD, making-of documentaries for every story, historical interviews, new interviews deleted scenes, any other thing they can find that’s relevant in the BBC vaults.

The DVDs were mostly released before the show came back, so they had a sort of, not apologist attitude, exactly, but certainly defensive. Lots of interviews on the theme of “it’s not as bad as it looks, you wouldn’t believe how little money we had,” and so on. The Blu-Rays, made in a world where the new show is occasionally the biggest thing on the BCC, are much more relaxed. Much more willing to lean back and just say “yeah, this one was trash, but the next week, that one was pretty good.” That, mixed with a sense that this is their final swing at this, so there’s an impressive amount of attention to getting the details right, cleaning up things that were skipped on the DVDs, digging up any potential bonus material. It helps that physical media has gone back to being a niche thing, so it’s understood that these are a deluxe product for mega-fans, not a low-price item that someone is going to impulse by at Fry’s Electronics. (RIP)

One of the goofy new special features they do for the Blu-Rays are these announcement trailers, which have grown in complexity into being, essentially, bite-sized episodes of the old show. They get back a variety of the old actors, build sets, put credits on them.

Mostly they’ve fallen into a pattern of “let’s see what happened to the companion from this season after they left the show,” which isn’t a terrible impulse, but the answer is never interesting. The downside is that there’s a certain subset of fans who want everything to be moar epic, which is not the register in which Doctor Who operates the best. But that’s how we end up here, where poor Lousie Jamison is acting as hard as she can against a bluescreen that’s going to have Daleks added on later, because the answer to “what happened to Leela” is “she fought in the Time War”, which… okay? So what? (This also feels like someone was ticking a box, and since Leela was never in a Dalek episode, she got one here.). And it ends with a big speech about how great the (off-screen) Doctor is, and then she gets to escape while everyone else on Galifrey burns? The ethics there are a little questionable, but this was witten and directed by the same guy who wrote the episode where Space Amazon were the good guys and the workers looking for labor protection were the bad guys, so no surprise there. And this is as close as something with only one female character can get to failing the Bechtel test.

That’s the best idea you have for a mini-sequel trailer thing? Leela monologues at some Daleks and then beams away? And they’re all like that, zeroing in on some weird fan lore point with Big Speeches. The limit case for this was the Season 17 trailer, Davros Rises! which was an overwrought fan-fiction elaborating on a moment in the deeply terrible Dalek episode they did that year, which is utterly bizarre since that’s the same season where Douglas Adams wrote the single best episode of the old show with seven (authentic) Mona Lisas. (“Where are you going?” “I’m going to go see a middle aged Italian. Well, late middle-age, early renaissance.”). Which tells you a lot about who they think the target audience for these are.

Personally, if I had gotten this kind of budget to do a mini-sequel to an episode from season 15, I’d do a fake episode of In Search Of about the mysterious deaths in the 1920s at the lighthouse on Fang Rock, and have one of the locals be Leela, now mysteriously living in retirement in the mid-1970s. Put a glimpse of a Time Lord robe in her closet. K9 is in the shed.

But grousing aside, it’s all in good fun, and what a joy that my favorite TV show gets this kind of treatment.

Pascal

Niklaus Wirth has passed away! A true giant of the field, he’s already missed. I don’t have much to add to the other obituaries and remembrances out there, but: perhaps an anecdote.

Like a lot of Gen-X programmers, Pascal was the first “real” programming language I learned in school. (I’m probably one of the youngest people out there to have gotten all three “classic” educational programming languages in school: Pascal, Logo, and BASIC). This was at the tail end of Pascal’s reign as a learning language, and past the point where it was considered a legitimate language for real work. (I missed the heyday of Turbo Pascal and the Mac Classic.). Mostly, we looked forward to learning C.

Flash forward a bit. Early in my career, I got a job as a Delphi programmer. Delphi was the pokeman-style final evolution of Borland’s Turbo Pascal, incorporating the Object Pascal Wirth worked out with Apple for the early Mac, along with Borland’s UI design tools. But under the object-oriented extensions and forms, it was “just” Pascal.

The job in question was actually half-and-half Delphi and C. The product had two parts: a Windows desktop app, and an attached device that ran the C programs on an embedded microcontroller.

For years, whenever this job came up in interviews or what have you, I always focused on the C part of the work. Mostly this was practical—focus on the language thats still a going concern, move past the dead one with a joke without dwelling on it. But also, I had a couple of solid interview stories based on the wacky behavior of C with semi-custom compilers on highly-constrained embedded hardware.

I don’t have any good stories about the Delphi part of the job. Because it was easy.

I probably wrote as much code in Delphi as C in that job, and in all honesty, the Delphi code was doing harder, more complex stuff. But the C parts were hard; I probably spent three times as much time to write the same number of lines of code.

Delphi, on the other hand, was probably the nicest programming environment I’ve ever used. It was a joy to use everyday, and no matter how goofy a feature I was trying to add, the language always made it possible. Some of that was Borland’s special sauce, but mostly that was Wirth’s Pascal, getting the job done.

These days, I’m not sure you could convince me to go back to C, but I’d go back to Delphi in a hot second. Thanks, Professor Wirth. You made younger me’s life much easier, and I appreciate it.

Metrics, Accountability

The new year bringing no respite, Layoff season continues.

Lots of CEOs with sad faces, but who all still have jobs? There’s the usual “we take full responsibility”, “changing conditions”, “need to meet market challenges”, without ever, you know, saying what any of that means.

Meanwhile, let’s check in on sports!

Haas: Guenther Steiner leaves as team principal after 10 years - BBC Sport

NFL: Seattle Seahawks and Peter Carroll 'amicably agree' for head coach to become team advisor - BBC Sport

Bill Belichick: Legendary New England Patriots coach's exit confirmed after 24 years - BBC Sport

(It amuses me to read news about American Football from the BBC.)

Pro sports has a ruthlessness that fascinates me. Doesn’t matter if you won more Super Bowls that any other coach—a couple of bad seasons later, and you get to spend more time with your family. In the tech world, huge successes a decade ago is enough to basically get you tenure, and as long as you don’t literally break the law on camera, you’re good to go.

What’s the difference? Clear Metrics.

We spend a lot of time talking about metrics—what to measure, how to measure, what it means, how to change it, trends, velocity. “You get what you measure!” Interpretations, footnotes, “well, that’s somewhat subjective.”

Meanwhile, over in sports-land there’s exactly one metric: how many games did you win this year. It’s completely objective, unambiguous, obvious to everyone. And the culture is clear: we have one number that matters. If that number goes down, the leader loses their job. And thats clear going in. Everyone, and I mean everyone knows how their job connects to that number, how what they do does or doesn’t support that number going up. One Number. “Work Harder, It’ll Be Worth It.”

As a thought experiment, I think that’s interesting. Pick a tech company: yours, someone else’s, a friends, Apple. What’s the One Number? What’s the point where the leader needs a new job? It’s temping to say stock price, but that’s too many dominos away from the “real work”. Sales? Revenue? Percent of market? Presumably there’s a point where revenue could collapse enough to lose Tim Apple his job, but there’s a real big subjective space on top of that. If you’re Apple, or Twitch, or Discord, what’s the equivalent to “haven’t won the Super Bowl since 2018”?

The frame challenge here, of course, is not to think up the number, but to then spend the time thinking about how your job connects to it. Can you influence that number? Why or why not?