The Story of the Holidays, a Biblical fan-fiction

The ancient histories of the Hebrews recount that, during the persecutions of Antiochus IV, a small contingent of the Maccabees retreated into the deserts of Medina to hide from the Syrian army. Not finding any suitable caves, and with night approaching, the rebels looked in vain for shelter. Tiring of his search, one of their number called Jacob produced from his pack a bag of trail mix from the Temple, bearing the seal of the High Priest Yochanan. By chance, or fate, a single seed from the trail mix fell to the ground as he was eating. During the night, the seed grew and grew and grew until by morning the Maccabees found they were sleeping in the shadow of a great cedar of Lebanon. Marveling at this miracle, and at the fact that anyone within miles would see it instantly in the desert, the Maccabees set holy fire to the tree and went on their way. But the tree, which should have burned down in an instant, burned through the night. The Syrian army finally caught up and came to gaze at this marvel, which they did not understand. And it came to pass, that the Maccabees slew the Syrians by attacking from ambush, with a very great slaughter surpassing that of Gideon. After slaying the Syrians till they were consumed, the Maccabees figured amongst themselves that the tree had burned for eight days and nights. This was the second miracle. On the eighth and final day, the burning tree spoke to Jacob. This was the third miracle, and this is what the tree said: "You guys are all too hung up on this worship stuff. Verily, global warming is gonna be a much bigger problem later on than this whole business about not eating pork," said the Lord. "What would you have me do, oh Lord?" asked Jacob. "Wow, you're totally not listening," said the Lord. Whereupon the tree burned in three colors: Red for the struggle of the Maccabees, green for the future, and black for the people of Israel. "Why black for the people of Israel? Aren't we white?" someone said. "Shut up, Scott of Ridley. You know not of these things," sayeth the Lord, "Truly I say to you, that every man is black in his heart, and in my eyes you are all of one tribe. You gotta have unity, and self-determination, and purpose, and faith and a few other things. Just make it up as you go along," sayeth the Lord. And with that the tree flared once more and burnt out. "That was pretty legit," said Muhammad, "But we've still got a war to win. I have heard news of a child born of a virgin, who is said to be the Son of God. Surely with this child in our army, we will be undefeated in our conflict with the Syrians." "Whoa whoa whoa," said Jacob, "Since when is this camel trader offering battlefield advice?" "Since I gave him the rundown," said the Archangel Gabriel, appearing through a part in the clouds. He sat down with the rest of the Maccabees to listen to Muhammad's plan, and to give him a fist-bump. "So, I call it the hajj," said Mohammad. "The what?" said Jacob. "Sorry, I had a seed stuck in my throat. Hajj, haaajj. There, I got it. Anyway, my plan is a great pilgrimage to the Holy Land. There we will see a Star of David that will point us to this holy child. Thence we march on Jerusalem, for the purposes of taking all of their sacred oil." "Dy-no-MITE!" said Maulana Karenga. And so, Muhammad, Jacob, and Maulana Karenga brought gifts to the infant, whose name they learned was Jesus. And the child's first words were, "Do not suppose that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword." And, lo, the Wise Men were freaked out, for they were not expecting such badassery. And so the wrath of the Lord descended upon the foul Syrian king Antiochus IV, and his lands were taken, and his oil, and his women. There was a great feast where everyone enjoyed themselves, and much debauchery, and many regrettable things were done to Antiochus IV, his lands, his oil, and his women. That night, drunk and weary, the Wise Men decided to celebrate their victory over Antiochus with a big feast every year, but they couldn't decide on a name, so they just called it the Holidays.

Movie Review: Grand Budapest Hotel

So, not really a costume drama, but this one struck a chord with me. The other day I had a dream that I was Lobby Boy at the Hotel. A stirring piece, and one that specifically focuses on the use of set design, props, and costumes to overcome the essential dreariness of the 20th century, the essential brutality of man's existence. A decadent cream puff dessert is not something excessive and vacuous; in Wes Anderson's hands it is a weapon against fascism. So too are uniforms with tails, top hats, and expensive colognes. Voltaire's quip that one can do without the necessities of life, if only one has the luxuries is true for nobody as much as Gustave M. After watching Barry Lyndon, I felt no movie I saw that year would equal it. Now I know that I manage to see about one of these decent flicks a year. I really must set my standards higher.

Movie Review: Barry Lyndon

Even though I saw this movie more than a week ago, I still cannot stop humming the Grenadier's March. It really stayed with me, and I found myself watching parts again and again. Essentially, the movie is the epitome of the word "costume drama." We see a variety of costumes come and go, and arranged themselves into pretty tableau, but we never really lay an emotional claim to any of the characters. They remain costumes rather than characters, and one is amazed by the frequent breathtaking beauty of the compositions that Kubrick sets up (many look straight out of Hogarth or Gainsborough). Because I like making costumes so much, I feel like almost nothing could be more engrossing. It is almost as if I have seen it, the best movie I will ever see, and now everything else much necessarily be downhill. One thing that it emphasizes about the 18th century is the alien level of courtesy and civility on display. Even the highwayman goes about his business in a completely courteous way, walking Barry through the whole business of getting robbed. The fatal duels that seem to happen every half-hour are likewise very civilized, stilted affairs. It might seem a miracle that anyone could survive a lifetime of this kind of fussiness about speech and regimented behavior without shutting down emotionally, and indeed, we see Barry Lyndon and Lady Lyndon in particular be almost entirely without affect during the entire movie. Lady Lyndon doesn't *do anything* except that at one point she decides she wants to kill herself because things aren't going her way. I think the best shot in the whole movie might be that right when Barry leaves home for the first time, going to Dublin with 20 guineas in his pocket. The landscape looms large... too large. The clouds are not ominous, and in fact the whole countryside is extremely beautiful. But Barry is rather little more than a speck... and we don't really notice him. A few other times, the camera pans out from the characters to examine the landscape and revel in it's lush 18th century grandeur. That's what Barry Lyndon is, at the end of the day, a celebration not of plot or characterization, but of moments of cinematography, of setting.

Movie Review: Shaun of the Dead

Watched midnight screening of Shaun of the Dead Friday night with Kate at AFI. The movie is about a loser who finds meaning, courage, and purpose during a zombie apocalypse in which most of his loved ones die. It's a comedy. Seeing it for the second time, so the only thing that really stuck out was the pitch perfect mother, who's only real reaction to the apocalypse is "I'll make some sandwiches." She gets bitten and mentions she didn't say anything earlier cause she "didn't want to be a bother" as she slips away. Ah, mothers. But yes, the whole point of the movie is that the balance of power has been stood on its head: the loser is now the leader. His intimidating, successful rival, Dylan Moran, is now a simpering whiner. And the filthy man-child he rooms with becomes his trusty lieutenant. A power fantasy: the dog has his day, and wins the girl.

Of course, now is the point at which I comment on the parlous state of the updates to this thing. I was still a virgin the last time I updated. The "SO" from the previous post has since told me that it all meant nothing. I've since told him to stay away from me. I've also found many, many much better and more suitable partners. Likewise, I'm pretty sure I was unemployed last time I posted. Now I've gone through a few different jobs (None that have really interested me though).

The financial situation at home has gone from stable to almost impossibly bleak, but on the other hand I did pick up a really decent hobby: sewing. I just made a rather smashing vest for a friend. D&D, about which I posted before, is on its way to 5th edition.

Who knows what the next few years will bring?

It is my plan to use this space to recount a Condottieri D&D campaign set in the Moonsea region of Forgotten Realms. The PCs will be in charge of a Companie de Ventura.

I Hunger

So I saw Black Swan the other day with SO.

Great date movie, lots of sexy, scary, and weepy here. If you're by yourself, then laugh at the cheese, the dopplebraunschweiger, and the double helping of cliche. Portman is left alone in front of a camera a few times and the results are bold and satisfying, like a fresh hummus. Why don't directors do this more often? I haven't had breakfast.

Looking for brain food? You're better off with Helen Mirren, whose brain, the zombies tell me, is finely grained but hard to swallow, like a delicate caviar.

Speaking of zombies, check out this cover of Jacko's "Beat it" by a man called Richard "Dick" Cheese. He helps me live a better you. I guarantee it.

You say Necromancy like it's a bad thing...

Arise, blog from the pit! Arise and look upon this day, nearly a year since I required your services last. Today I have a new task for you. You will dazzle my enemies, entertain my friends, and hear my secrets. All my secrets but one: my name. A cohort of mine has informed me that dudes get their asses thrown in jail for shit they done bloggity-blog. So you must accept the cover of my nom de plume, Capitan Poco, at least for now. You will find that I am a goodly Capitan, though somewhat lacking in stature, and will steer you into the calmer waters of the seas of Intertube.

Avast me hearties, and what have we here? A siren from the deeps we've dredged, who tells us strange and terrible things about doodling in math class. Of course, we've all doodled in math class. But did you ever know that you were doing it wrong? Ye heard it here first me matey, that a true blood doodles in math class.... about math!

Shiver me timbers! The... timbers be shivering! We've run aground on an island! Well, the ship's done for, best be planning to stay here for a while. And it's a good thing too, because if that Dutchman's charts are worth their salt, we've landed in the Minecraft archipelago. But best not be worrying! I was marooned here for a full week last September, and let me tell thee, it was quite a time. The isle hath within it all the necessities of life, and then some but be sure to look at Old Man Wiki's advice on survival. With him by yer side, ye can't go wrong. Unless a zombie eats you.

Well, I've half a mind to join you, my lad, but urgent matters call me to the mainland. Bon chance! We shall meet again when the wind is right.

D&D 4e: Long Combats

Lengthy combats are generally regarded as the scourge of 4e games. Defense values and HP totals are high across the board, and the chance that any encounter can be over in less than an hour are slim. Most players and DMs see this as a "bug" and it remains one of the most commonly discussed issues on forum boards. That said, I believe long combat is what makes 4e the best D&D ruleset to date. It lets both players and DMs relax, and focus on whats important: shooting the breeze with your friends.

Combat lets DMs relax. Overland exploration, roleplaying confrontations, and urban adventures require the DM to improvise contant almost by default. And improvisation, creating content for players at the drop of a hat, is hard work. It is among the most demanding skills required of DMs, and the hardest to master. Combat, on the other hand, requires comparatively little improv. The possible interactions of player and environment are naturally limited to whatever the DM has decided to include in a particular encounter. Improv is still required to a degree, but not nearly as much as, say, "in character" conversation demands. In fact, if the DM plans it right, the only thing he needs to keep track of during play is declining HP totals.

Players have an easier time of it as well, as long as the game is locked in combat. Nobody is forcing them to talk with a funny accent, consider their character's motivations, or even have a decent interest in tactics. 4e characters are so shockingly durable that little short of suicidal behavior has any chance of getting you killed. This creates a safety net. Players can relax and just chat. Which is why people play D&D in the first place, isn't it?

People don't come for the thrilling story, dastardly villains, or even the treasure. They can get all that playing WoW or reading fantasy lit. They certainly don't come for the monsters, or the overwrought lore. 4e combat is long and uneventful because good conversation doesn't happen when everyone is gazing intently at to-hit bonuses and die rolls all night. It happens when you're stuck killing 5 goblins over the course of an hour and have nothing better to do than shoot the breeze with your fellow geeks.