The Robot Apocalypse Inches Ever Closer, A Gelfling Astride Its Back

I know, I know, not long ago I was raving about the inevitabilities of the pending zombie apocalypse, and now here I am preparing to rave about the robot apocalypse creeping up behind us with its cold, glowing red eye staring at us unblinkingly. So what? I'm covering my bases. It's like the man who bets on both red and black on the same roll at the roulette wheel, except he always breaks even and looks like a jackass, while in this scenario we die or are enslaved. ...Okay, so maybe it's not the most accurate metaphor. Perhaps my abject terror is clouding my judgement.

It's not that there's yet another futuristic prototype finding corporate backing that threatens to bond man to machine in blasphemous parodies of coupling that make the soul blush and, like Adam and Eve, suddenly recognize its own nakedness. Though that's part of it. My larger concern is that our budding robot overlords are beginning to cull from my childhood in the least likely of places, and that I will not stand. Behold, if you dare: the Deux Ex Machina Motorcycle Exeskeleton, first runner-up for most pretentious invention name ever (it just lost out to the "Jesus Excelsior Christ" Crock pot). You really need to watch this thing in (simulated) action to get the full picture.

When it's completely extended, I suppose I can see the Tron reference, though to be honest you're never really gonna sell me on the comparison until the subject is glowing in some hideous shade of neon and is followed by a stream of solid, two dimensional energy. Call me a purist. But honestly, am I the only one who thinks this thing looks like a Landstrider from The Dark Crystal?

Do you know why the driver in the picture is covered head to toe, his reflective visor pulled down to obscure even his eyes? Because it's a Gelfling, thrust unceremoniously into the 21st century and determined to compensate for his weak, puppet physique by augmenting it cybernetically. This is not a pretty picture, my friends. These little bastards could already communicate feelings, thoughts, and impressions telepathically via their dreamfasting ability, and to make matters worse, they can communicate with savage, amorophous beasts like this:
Imagine what will happen when they replace those skewed, felt teeth with razor sharp fangs, or, God help us all, they actually attached a body to this thing. It'd be like having Chewbacca devour you whole, and I'm sorry, but if I'm going to be killed by a wookie, I'll have my arms ripped off for beating him at space chess, thank you very much.

Joss Whedon Strikes Again: This Time, My Heart

So I sometimes have a habit of coming to the party late, so to speak, as I don't know the proper channels on which to scour the interwebs for the latest "buzz." Thus I hope you'll forgive me when I come to you bearing expired gifts you undoubtedly already own, but in case even one of you haven't seen this yet, allow me to brighten your day.


You see, there's this little gem called Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog, a delightful three-act musical comedy about an up-and-coming supervillian who's trying to gain membership in an evil fraternity and win the heart of a girl he semi-stalks at the laundromat. Neil Patrick Harris (NPH) plays the good doctor, Felicia Day is his love-to-be, and Nathan Fillion (aka Captain Mal Reynolds, aka Han Solo before Lucas went back and made Greedo shoot first) is Horrible's nemesis, Captain Hammer. As the last member of that trifecta might suggest, Joss Whedon--and from the credits, most of his extended family, too--is behind this. It is, in a word, delightful.

Still, I feel a bit like the guy running into church on Easter morning shouting "Hey, have you guys heard about this dude Jesus? He's awesome!" so I won't go on much longer. The link above will let you watch the whole thing in its entirety, fo' free, so that's not a bad thing. If you're dubious, though, and too lazy to click the link, I've posted perhaps my favorite song from the piece below. Bon appetit.

For the Elderly Cosmonaut

With Christmas just around the corner, are you worried about finding the perfect gift for the octogenarian NASA enthusiast in your household? You know, the foreign national whose tenuous grasp on the English language may horribly mutilate his speech, but never his fiery enthusiasm? Well, look no further, my dear reader. Your prayers, and my own, have clearly been answered:

Alternate Endings Cannot Save Season 2's Mediocrity

So it's no surprise that I'm a fairly big fan of the show Heroes, and for those of you who watch it, it's also no surprise that the second season wasn't necessarily their best yet, though the addition of Kristen Bell (aka Veronica Mars) to anything is always a good idea. I'm willing to bet that if they dropped her onto Beijing from 10,000 feet she would cleanse the very air of China as she plummeted to her doom, but as our nation is unwilling to squander such a valuable natural resource, we have remained content to let the world's Olympians blacken their lungs. But I digress.

Since some of you may not have watched this show up to its current point yet--or at all--I won't go into any details, save to say that Season 2 contains the worst fake Irish accents in the history of sound. While that kind of stuff is a deal-breaker for me, it passes under sane people's radar, so I'll let it be. Anyway, said season is out on DVD now, and already some of its extras are popping up on the Interwebs. I've linked a page here that has three such tidbits: 1) an alternate ending where what they were trying to stop wasn't stopped and got out (you know, when I write it like that, it sounds pretty damn cliche, doesn't it?); 2) the revelation of Kaito Nakamura's (Hiro's father, aka Mr. Sulu) ability/power; and 3) a scene with Nathan yelling at his wife and kids, which I think is a lovely segue from my last post. None of these are particularly earth-shattering, but of course if they were, they probably wouldn't have been cut. Still, enjoy.