I have a handful of delicious posts planned for you to mentally munch on, most of which were meant to be up by now. But we all know how that goes. In the meantime, feast your eyes on Hevlticake.

I have about 11 hours of train ride ahead of me over the next two days, so I expect to get a lot of blogestry done. And you, the consumer, will be the winner! If you ask nicely, I will say hello to Boston for you.

Update: To further my understanding of hubris, the powers that be have decided that our laptop hard drive should fail, taking with it about 2 weeks of data. So, please forgive me for not delivering on my promises. It has been an un-fun week. God must be cracking the hell up at this point.

So, I have a DS Lite, the first portable gaming console I’ve owned since my Game Boy, and I love playing it. It’s a great little system, but that’s a whole other saga. Right now, I’d like to discuss a particular game I picked up a while ago, based almost entirely on the discussions and reviews from these guys. The game is Hotel Dusk: Room 215. And to put it simply, Hotel Dusk fails where Fla-vor-ice pops succeed.

I just heard on NPR about scientists questioning Gore’s documentary An Incovenient Truth that says, basically:

...after the talk, a couple of [the scientists] came up to me and said, you know, “He didn’t exactly get the science right.”

And this is exactly what should happen in a scientifically-oriented, scientifically-conscious society.

As promised, now that I’ve gotten my mitts on a copy of Casino Royale on DVD, here are some screen caps of the title sequence, designed by Framestore CFC.

Sin City is one of the two series that brought me back to comics. After several years’ hiatus, in part a result of the Image Comics-driven collectors’ market spike and crash, I dipped my toe back in the water. I’d heard about Sin City, and I knew that Frank Miller was a name to be reckoned with, but I had no idea what was in store. I’d walked out of the comic shop with the collected trades Sin City and A Dame to Kill For, and I read them both in one sitting. I was blown away. From the story to the script to the art, Sin City was succor for my starved eyes and mind. The hyper-noir tales, drawn in a unique stunning style, opened my eyes to a new world of comics that could compete with the sophistication and satisfaction delivered by films and novels. Along with Alan Moore’s Watchmen, Miller’s tales of desperation, violence, honor, sex, and love set the bar higher for every comic I’ve purchased since.

More posts coming this weekend. I’m recovering from the longest illness I’ve had in probably 7+ years. In the meantime, ponder this: my early birthday present from Alisa this year was old man slippers.

And I dig the hell out of them.

The mind reels.