Sloth, Maybe?

S usan and I have a ritual of cuddling up on the sofa and watching our favorite adventure shows.  In the past it was SF and fantasy series like Altered Carbon, The Mandalorian, Wandavision and The Witcher.   Our most recent selections are Peacemaker and The Book of Boba Fett. Peacemaker isn’t wrapping up until February 17th, so today I focus on the last chapter of The Book of Boba Fett, “In the Name of Honor.” It’s no secret that the Western genre is a major influence on Star Wars, and with “In the Name of Honor” it shines through. It opens with Boba making his stand at a bombed out speakeasy with his allies Fennec Shand and Din Djarin - The Mandalorian.  Cad Bane, a bounty hunter and an old rival of Boba’s tries to coax him out into the street for a gunfight.   With his helmet on, Boba is unreadable to everyone except his lieutenant Fennec.   She advises Boba to choose the time and place for his final confrontation with Bane.   The two gunslingers disengage. I can’t help but th

J acques Tardi is a celebrated comic book illustrator and writer.  He has collaborated with novelists such as Jean-Patrick Manchette and Randy Lofficier.  Tardi gave shape and identity to the places, times, and characters described in the abstract text of these and many other writers.  He has produced memorable stories and characters of his own, such as the adventuress Adele Blanc-Sec, who contends with such bizarre creatures as living pterosaurs, surgically enhanced man-apes, and paranormal entities like The Eiffel Tower Demon. However, this review will focus on two of Tardi’s earliest works in a two part volume titled The True Story of the Unknown Soldier.   The first story shares the same title as the volume.  The second story, The National Razor, completes the two chapter compilation.  Both stories are inspired by the events of the first two world wars and the cruelty of “the iconic French guillotine.” The True Story of the Unknown Soldier begins with a nameless man - a writer -

I. M. Taskmaster, Attorney at Law Last night, I dreamt that I was in a dark room with some kind of judge or attorney or other authority figure.  It had a computer monitor for a face with some kind of digital code running down its façade.  It said to me, “There is only one way to prove you were not complicit in this crime.  Bring this basket of laundry downstairs.  If a single item in it turns out to be missing, your sentence will not be light.”   How is the burden of proof on the defendant? I took the basket and walked out of the dark room with great trepidation.  Then I noticed small items like socks and wallets were falling out.  I frantically picked them up.  Then I noticed there was a tear in the plastic of the basket.  I realized that no matter how much attention I paid to the contents of the basket, something may fall out without my knowing about it.  I realized the scales of justice were tipped against me.  When I woke up, I realized I had one of my persecution dreams. - JJB B

I was a bit groggy when Susan and I set out to the Manhattan Center Grand Ballroom to see Mystery Science Theater 3000:  The Time Bubble Tour.   When we arrived, the ticket takers and security detail weren't very organized, which put me in a foul (but temporary) mood.  It was a ritual akin to going through airport security:  Metal detectors and plastic trays to put in your wallet, keys, and phone.  A woman ahead of me had to inform the security guard that she had a hip replacement.  Upon hearing that my mood went from foul to (temporarily) grim.  This woman was probably close to my age, and she had had a hip replacement.  Generation X is getting older, frailer, and already in need of spare parts. We boarded a spacious elevator with some of our fellow MSTies.  One woman was with her daughter and a friend discussing how her husband was off to see John Zorn do a live performance elsewhere in the city.  I am well familiar with Zorn's more notorious works, like Spillane, Torture Ga

 

  In high school - in life - there’s that one kid who slips through the cracks.  In some instances, everyone barely notices this kid. In others, the kid draws attention to himself by being a class clown or indulging in some form of carnival geek routine that inspires laughter.  Whether people are laughing with him or at him doesn’t matter to the kid - so long as he’s being noticed. By the end of senior year, that kid’s class cycles out of high school, and disseminates to various colleges or job prospects.  But what about that outlier?  Sometimes he’ll be brought up in conversation.  “Yeah, what about that guy?  What happened to him?” Some people have leads.  Other people can only speculate.  Still others make up stories about the kid that are the stuff of urban legend.  These days, one of the crowd will joke, “He probably became a serial killer / mass murderer / child molester, and we’ll see him on TV.” For Jeffrey Dahmer - the weird outlier who slipped through the cracks - he was no

  I have a peculiar history with this Aztec deity. By Unknown author - Own work using: John Pohl's MESOAMERICA ANCIENT BOOKS: Borgia Group Codices CODEX LAUD, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=103011319 In grade school, my pop was helping me with research for a school report about “The Conqistadors.”   You know, those guys who stopped imperialism and human sacrifice among the Aztecs by presenting their own brand of imperialism and human sacrifice rituals?   Ah, but that was called “conversion by the sword.”   I digress. The history book tailored for grade schoolers about Hernán Cortez said that he was mistaken for a god by the Aztecs.   The details are a little hazy, but it had something to do with their ships, their armor, their boom-sticks, smallpox… okay, I’m going off track again.   My point is, my pop and I started investigating the names of gods that the Aztecs actually worshipped.   The most prominent name was Quetzalcoatl.   My pop misprono