Every space junkie knows how fucking sexy Saturn’s rings are. But fuck, I don’t know about you, but I didn’t know this. Saturn’s rings are the remnants of an exploded moon. What? Awesome.

io9:

Saturn’s rings are among the most iconic sights in the solar system, but where did they come from? Long ago, an icy moon was ripped apart by Saturn’s gravity, creating rings once a 100 times bigger than they are now.

100 times bigger? Good lord. how big are they now? I looked that shit up for us, and they’re 275,000 kilometers which is “is a little less than the distance between the Earth and Moon.” Fantastic.  

4.5 billion years ago, as the solar system was still in its primordial stages, Saturn was likely home to a number of large moons. These days, Titan is its only really big moon, as its lost siblings were likely pulled into Saturn by its gravity and destroyed. Most of the moons would have exploded within Saturn’s giant gaseous atmosphere, leaving no trace of their former existence. But the last moon to be pulled apart would have left a remarkable memorial behind: Saturn’s ring system.

[cont.]

But as huge and remarkable as Saturn’s rings are, an explosion of that size would create much, much bigger rings. A Titan-sized moon would probably create a ring system anywhere between 10 and 100 times bigger than what we see today. It’s hard to imagine just how awe-inspiring it would be to look upon Saturn all those billions of years ago with a sight like that waiting for us.

Over the eons, the rings would have steadily shrank, as parts of the ice fell back into Saturn and others drifted out into further orbits, where they would have clumped together and began to form new moons. Saturn’s inner moons all have masses and compositions that fit in with such an explanation very nicely, which is a good boost for the veracity of this new theory.

Goddamn fantastic.

When all is said and done, I enjoyed this season of Dexter. It started off weak as fuck, rallied for a good four or five episodes, and then last night, it ended. However, the more I think about the season, the more I’m not really sure what the fucking point of it was. You can disagree, and tell me there really doesn’t have to be a point, and maybe you’re right. But after twelve episodes, did we really actually go anywhere with Dexter? Take a ride on my disco stick and we’ll talk this one through.

Debbie Deb and the Grand Vigilantism
Last night’s episode asshole-clenching climaxed when Deb stumbled upon Dexter and Lumen as they cleaned up Camp Stab and Rape. I was certain at that moment that one of two things was going to happen. Either Deb was going to have Lumen and Dexter arrested, or she was going to realize it was Lumen and Dexter and let them go. You know, Huey Lewis and the News shit! The power of love! What actually happened? A cop-out that let her appreciate Dexter’s vengeful spirit without actually forcing her to confront him.

The cop copped out! Rimshot!

Also, maybe I’m making mountains out of mole hills, but I didn’t get what Deb at the very end of the episode when she said to Dexter “Yeah man, aren’t you totally relieved now that it’s all over?” Is she hinting that she knows about him? Or is it just a general comment on the whole situation? Or the rudderless season? Maybe Deb finding out about Dexter is the Jim and Pam moment of the show. Once they cross that threshold, it’s all downhill from there. The sociopathic equivalent of the Impossible Couple finally canoodling.

I made the mistake of actually reading criticism of the show before writing this (I usually blather first, read second), and some people are perturbed by how quickly Deb found Camp Rape and Stab. Really? The entire show has been running on magical IMPLAUSIBILITY DUST that powers everything. All the narrative mechanics and storyline happenings have been sprinkled by it for this season. That’s what happens when the showrunner of this Dexter comes from 24. Those screen writers actually pioneered implausibility dust.

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There have been a few unique monster movies in recent years. The Host, Cloverfield, and Gooby come to mind. Now Monsters, an “indie,” comes out of left field. Shot on a meager budget (less than $500,000) on location in Mexico, Costa Rica, and Guatemala, Monsters is a testament to what can be accomplished with limited resources by a determined and creative filmmaker. Dashing Brit Gareth Edwards not only wrote and directed Monsters, he also storyboarded and filmed the entire thing. And when he was done with that, he created all of the impressive special effects using Adobe. The result is a fresh approach to the genre — one light on exploitation and that focuses more on relationships and politics.

In the not too distant future, a NASA probe lands near the U.S.-Mexico border. This spreads alien life throughout the region, forcing a quarantine of half of Mexico, now known as the Infected Zone. The U.S. throws up an enormous wall on the border to keep the aliens inside Mexico and out of America. The U.S. military conducts expensive bombing of areas in hopes of destroying these aliens that may or may not be a threat. Sound familiar, nudge, nudge? A brash, young photojournalist named Andrew is assigned by his wealthy boss to bring his daughter, Samantha, back into the U.S. Their journey back to the States takes them through the Infected Zone by foot, boat, and, finally, by U.S. military transport. It’s a treacherous road the whole way but that does nothing to thwart the blossoming romance between our travelers. Miraculously, the romantic plot manages to avoid cliche in the hands of Edwards.

During their journey, we see glimpses of the monsters and hear them moaning woefully in the night. Yeah, they sound sad. You’d be bummed too if you just wanted to coexist but people where flinging missiles at you all the time. There is, in fact, a strong vibe of melancholy throughout the entire film. From the beautiful shots of the landscape to the dialogue between Andrew and Samantha. Even when they get to spend a night partying in Mexico it’s like being in the doldrums. No one is happy with their situation: not Andrew, not Samantha, and certainly not the monsters.

One thing to be happy about is the design of the monsters. They’re pulled right out of the pages of Lovecraft with squid-like attributes nodding towards Cthulhu. They disperse a toxic gas when killed, hence the popular use of gas masks. Godzilla, Mothra, and that Coverfield thingy may be bigger and more ferocious than the beasts in Monsters, but these guys have more personality. They’re like jaded hipster monsters.

It’s Edward’s low-key approach to the genre that holds your attention throughout the film. It’s not necessarily suspense that grips us — we know there are monsters in the jungle, but we never really feel threatened by them — it’s the film’s unconventional way at looking at the human condition and relationships. Did that sound corny and cliche? My bad. But if you’re looking for something different and seriously original, check out Monsters.

[caution: the following post is a narrative analysis of BLACK SWAN. as such, it’s filled with spoilers, half-baked jib-jab, and words that even a thesaurus shouldn’t contain. proceed at your own risk]

Walking out of Black Swan, I knew that I was impressed. The one hundred and three minutes of celluloid that had just flashed before me were not only visually appealing (and I’ll be goddamned if you don’t think it’s eye-candy) but bursting at the thematic seams.

It’s a layered work – an adaptation of Swan Lake in which a ballet company reimagines Swan Lake. Yes, that’s right. There’s sexual tension, the tug-and-pull between repression and reckless liberation. Body image issues arise, as self-mutilation and bulimia make both subtle and palpable appearances. And for good measure, a heaping of parental expectation is thrown in, reminding the audience that even the most brilliant of feats can lose their shimmer when serving as vicarious fulfillment.

It’s all in Black Swan. All that and more, in fact. But what struck me as most compelling about Aronofsky’s fifth feature is that it serves as a warning to those in pursuit of a goal. No, I don’t think Black Swan is telling the audience to relish in apathy, aspiring for nothing and thereby achieving everything desired. But I do think that the movie is pursing its lips next to the ear of the aspirant individual, whispering, “Look at yourself — is this what you want?”

Because without even knowing it, even the purest of feather can become sullied and despoiled.

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Well then! The trailers for the sequels to my favorite franchises of this generation get revealed tonight. First Mass Effect, and now this. Fucking Uncharted 3. They announced the official date: November 1, 2011 and then dropped this trailer on us. Do you know how hard it is to type with a purple-headed priapism and the jitters? Uncharted 3 looks fucking retarded. Retardedly amazing. Sweet God, let me live through 2011 to see these games. Just let me.

Hit the jump for the Uncharted 3 reveal trailer. You’re welcome for the pants-poppin’.

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OH FUCK YEAH, the Spike VGAs just officially became relevant to me. Fucking Mass Effect 3 fucking trailer was dropped. Holy shit and a bag of hard tits. Shepard   has to save Earth. We knew that yesterday. But still. Someone has to save my pants. I’m flooding them with piss and splooge and goop. I’m dehydrated but loving life.

Hit the jump for the fucking trailer.

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[images & words is the comic book pick-of-the-week at OL. equal parts review and diatribe, the post highlights the most memorable/infuriating/entertaining book released that wednesday]

How does it feel to be abandoned by those once thought of as family? What life can be led when the shadow of death looms overhead? Is losing all purpose liberating, allowing an individual to take chances otherwise thought foolish? Just how much would it suck to be an old dude in a Viking village?

These are the questions raised in Northlanders: The Girl in the Ice.

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Marvel finally released the Thor trailer. I think it’s fucking awesome. Epic viking and fantasy shit! Stupendous. I’m hoping that this movie can bring the wonder back to superhero flicks. At the very least, the trailer wins my loins’ approval. It’s two minutes of a sexy bearded dude swinging a hammer, fighting gods, and cuddling up to gorgeous Natalie Portman.

I’m sold. Hit the jump, watch the trailer, and then leave your impressions in the comments box.

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The plot for Mass Effect 3 leaked today. Maybe. Probably. There’s a good chance it’s legit. It comes from the listing of Mass Effect 3 on the EA online store. Want to hear it? Well, it’s why you’re here, isn’t it?

Earth is burning. Striking from beyond known space, a race of terrifying machines have begun their destruction of the human race. As Commander Shepard, an Alliance Marine, your only hope for saving mankind is to rally the civilizations of the galaxy and launch one final mission to take back the Earth

Fucking rad. It’s about time that they finally let us motherfucking cosmos-hoppers return to where we all began. It makes sense to pin the final chapter of the first Mass Effect trilogy squarely to the one, most important planet they haven’t let us see yet.

I need this game. I need it now.

Via.

I am but a mortal man this morning. Typically, before conjuring the demons through the phalanges, I take a ritualistic trip. To my favorite distributor of caffeine: the 7-Eleven. My car in the shop, surely being fucked by   mechanical gurus, I am stuck at home. Without the energy drink. I am marooned. The voices are not speaking to me. The eyes of God obscured. Nonetheless, this is Press Start! The gaming column where I recount the five things that caught my eyes this week. The list isn’t indicative of importance, and I encourage you to share in the comments box.

Sharing is caring.

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#1: EA Boss: Single-Player Only Games Are Finished.
Look at the image above. Gaze deep into the abyss behind the eyes. His name is Frank Gibeau. And according to your perspective, he may be either the devil, or simply the man willing to speak the truth. Sounding off in an article over at IGN, Gibeua made the proclamation, “I firmly believe that the way the products we have are going they, need to be connected online. Multiplayer is one form of that.” Translation: stop complaining about us shoehorning multiplayer into your beloved games. ‘Cause it isn’t going anywhere, you griping pig fuckers.

I’m still trying to figure out if hes the devil, or simple astute.

I fucking hate how everything is getting a multiplayer stapled onto it. The latest casualty is Mass Effect 3, which is going to see multiplayer shoved into it. Unwelcome penetration. It makes sense though, since BioWare is owned by EA. Everything is connected!

It makes too much business sense to not throw multiplayer into everything. If you share my sentimnent, you’re out of luck. The unwashed masses are clamoring for it. They beg for the ability to shoot people in any setting. With this knowledge in hand, the talking heads will see fit that games like Dead Space and Mass Effect will get stuffed down the gullet with multiplayer.

He is an astute devil.

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#2: You Can Buy A Nintendo Guitar. Excessive Nerdosity.
Oh hell yeah! Would there be a better way to complete the heavy metal dork tribute to Dimebag than to drop some Sandblasted Skin across the frets of a guitar built from an original Nintendo? The mind boggles. It’s well accepted that the Dorks and Heavy Metal Meat Heads (I am both, so don’t complain) ovals overlap big time on a venn diagram. Now it’s time to just take it one step closer towards being official. The chaps at GetLoFi will sell you one of these beasts for $150 Imperial credits.

Go on, buy it. Can you really put a price on your dorky awesomeness?

Speaking of awesome constructs: Kinect hack brings self-aware flying machine. Fucking righteous.

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#:3 Japanese Virtual Sex Club Lets You Buy Porn Stars, Dildos, Spatulas.
I am constantly amazed at the lengths to which people will go to rocket an orgasm throughout their synapses. People are ridiculous. This musing usually comes as I have an elastic band around my testicles, hanging from the hooks connected from my back to the ceiling. But still. We have to have some standards, right?

Gaming developer DMM.com has revealed the game, “Virtual Sex Club”, and isn’t that a hell of a title? You pay a monthly fee, which affords you 30,000 gold. With this gold, you can go about buying various things. Porn stars, sex toys, even sexual positions. Your gold runs out really fucking fast, which is obvious because you can spend it on everything, up to minutiae like the color of your virtual fuck’s nails.

There’s sexual objectification, and then there’s this. Sweaty hands clicking across mouses, manipulating cursors. Perfecting their virtual fuck.

Now, the moment we can vat grow mindless male and female automatons that are built to our specifications for our fuckery, wake me up. They’ll last a specified amount of time, before evaporating into a cloud, their vat-flesh only a temporary construct. But sadly my future has not arrived yet, and I’m stuck to buying spatulas and banana-shaped dildos instead.

If this Japanese amazement isn’t your speed, you can also buy the game where you slap bugs off your date’s tits to “protect her”.

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