Fred was certain that everything’d gone according to plan.
Sure, it was only the third time he’d been called upon to complete the procedure. But why should he worry? It was the first thing they’d taught him at the Neural Corps Academy, a matter of routine that even those struggling with the coursework could exact if necessary. And he wasn’t no goddamn wash-out, he was quick to remind himself while taking a deep whiff of the checkered material.
He was Fred DeCoup. First, a child prodigy. Then, the star student-cum-valedictorian. And at twenty-two, the youngest cadet awarded the position of Reprogrammer General .
Needless to say, Fred was more than a bit startled when the subject woke up screaming. Typically, subjects’ reentries into consciousness are marked by outward expressions of tranquility, sometimes even gratitude. But when XT-203 came to, he was writhing with hatred and spitting vitriol.
“You piece of shit! You raped me! I remember everything! Release these clamps so I can tear out your throat!”
Fred DeCoup dropped XT-203’s boxer shorts from under his nose. He froze. He knew that everything hadn’t gone according to plan, that he’d made an error of the most egregious sort.
In his perverted ecstasy, Fred had forgotten the most important rule: always run a mind-wipe.
Welcome to the Monday Morning Commute! This is the weekly call-to-arms for all aboard Spaceship OL — crew and passengers alike — to discuss the various ways we’ll combat the Boredom Bastards! Rumor has that a few of these fun-suckers’ve been spotted in the very sector we’re headed towards this week, so we need to make sure that everyone’s armed and ready to face `em!
Murder your familial responsibility with movies. Crush your manager’s halitosis with comics. Piledrive your self-doubt with pizza.
I’ll get us started, but you hafta join me in the comments section.
Let’s do this!
When Warren Ellis unexpectedly severed ties with his publisher, I shat. I shat gooey shit-shat all over the inside of my jeans, shorts, dress pants. The scathing went on for days. For, I wondered, what the fuck was going to happen to his digital crime novella? Dead Pig Collector? Sure I heard it was picked up by another house, but when would it drop?
Well, it appears I can stop making caca.
“Oh snap! He just kicked off Grandpa’s fuckin’ head! Didja see that shit! Grandpa ain’t got no fuckin’ head anymore!”
Yeah, I guess you can say it was an eventful Fourth of July weekend at Casa de Los Brothers Omega.
But today is Monday, and as such we must embark upon the Monday Morning Commute! This is the spot where I show you all of the entertainment-junk I’ll crammin’ down my mind-mandible during the next few days. Then, you hit up the comments section and tell everyone what you’ll be feastin’ upon to get to the end of the workweek. Yes, it’s a bit like show-and-tell.
Except instead of kindy-gardners, the participants are the depraved Internet pirates clingin’ to the deck of Spaceship OL.
Okay, let’s do this!
Baz Luhrmann’s adaptation of The Great Gatsby‘s been in theaters for a couple weeks, and it is a truly divisive talking-point amongst moviegoers. While some appreciate the sleek visuals and pervading splendor, others believe that the film isn’t grounded enough to give a fair representation of the novel. No matter which camp you find yourself in, chances’re good that if you’ve read the book or seen the movie you’ve spent some time slinging ideas about.
Such is my situation.
Allow me to be forthright – I believe that The Great Gatsby is an absolutely perfect novel. I’ve spent countless hours reading, discussing, and writing about Fitzgerald’s magnum opus, and yet I still find myself stumbling into new terrain. Of course, whenever I think I’ve find a rock worth turning over, I make a point to shout at anyone who’ll listen.
A couple years ago I posted Nick Carra-Gay?, an exploration of the possibility that the novel’s narrator is gay. Whether or not you go for the theory, it generated some great conversation.
In the hopes of generating similar discussions, I’ve taken a grad school paper I’ve just completed and rearranged it for the OL audience. Give it a read and then hit up the comments section to share your thoughts. I’m not sure if my argument’s got legs to stand on, but at the very least it’s evocative.
After all, the idea at hand is that Jay Gatsby is actually a black guy.
I now present – The Great Blacksby – The Literary Hero You Never Noticed.
Warren Ellis is dropping an ebook on June 15 called Dead Pig Collector. Ben Templesmith is providing cover art for this son of a bitch, and it is gorgeous.
Warren Ellis has announced Dead Pig Collector, a long short story (wut?) that is only dropping as an E-book this June. As much as I am tits hardened about this news, I’m also stressed about how Ellis fans without tablet-reader-things will be able to partake in this jazz. Namely Rendar. I suppose such is the unforgiving wave crash of the future.
Back in 1953, they clearly didn’t know what we do now about abestos. And I’m glad that’s so. Sure, it is all poisonous and everything. Sure, sure. However, it also can do cool things, like prevent copies of Fahrenheit 451 from burning. That’s some high concept shit! Let me get a copy. I’ll huff it. Gain Bradbury powers. Or cancer. Probably cancer.
I already own a copy (copies?) of 1984, but Penguin’s new cover may have me double (triple?) dipping.
Not trying to be insipid about this, but as I recollect the past year in my life, 2012 wasn’t very earth-shattering for me. It more or less amounted to another 366 days with some minor flourishes thrown in to keep it interesting (leap years are always cool, though). Several non-decisions on my part, no doubt, contributed to this, since I didn’t go out of my way to change it up too much, but things mainly worked out in a rather predicable fashion regardless. This subtle development, of course, has its own positives and negatives, neither of which is worth complaining about to any great extent because things were OK to begin with. And, similarly, since life is all about taking the good with the bad, when neither of which occurs to any major degree, the only thing to do is to take it as a slight lull in life’s symphony, artfully set to enhance its ambience when needed (as it will). I am sure, as time goes on and I keep on keepin’ on, moments from this past year will swell back up from the background and take on more significance until these mere moments become momentous. So seen this way, my new year isn’t merely about completing what’s left unfinished, but discovering what I didn’t even know was there—as I obviously don’t right now—because I couldn’t see that these moments will indeed be integral once they fit in perfectly with my forthcoming experiences. And that, my friends, is what I hope 2013 has in store for me: not simply making the future vibrant, but making the past more memorable when my dotted life connects. We shall see how it works out. Time, as it can only do, will tell.
I had ill (or perhaps marginal) words for my savior Warren Ellis’ newest novel Gun Machine over in Rendar’s Year’s Best. Despite that, I still bought it on Tuesday. Reading through it a second time, I’m enjoying it much more. I think it has to do with me coming to grips with it being decidedly different from usual Ellis affairs. I still find it incredibly rushed, with a panoply of interesting ideas left half-sprung. What ist here is interesting, and worth reading. Especially if you’re an Ellis fanatic. None the less, decide for yourself. Here is a trailer for the novel, featuring narration by Wil Wheaton and artwork by Ben Templesmith.