Has anyone else heard of Final Cut with Robin Williams and Mira Sorvino? Well, somehow I'd missed it entirely, which is odd, because I hear about almost everything, but there it was on the shelf at the DVD place, an unknown to me. And turns out it's really a pretty good film, the sort of sf film that would seem more at home in 1975 than 2005 (Gataca was another of those). A very timely comment on privacy in the age of omnipresent video surveilance and people willingly abandoning ideas of privacy to the lure of Blogger and LJ. Check it out. Williams does a good job.
Also, we picked up Doom 3, because my black mood had grown to the point where it was threatening to become a sort of emotional singularity and I really, really, really needed to kill things, even if they were only pretend things. I've never understood the lure of Doom, and, since it's always been PC (hasn't it?), I never checked it out. I played for two or three very tense hours last night. It could have used a better story (think made-for-SCi-Fi tv-movie), and the voice acting is actually so atrocious that it's occasionally funny. And you have to play some musclebound lunkhead Marine-type. I mean, the designers could have at least given me the choice of playing a musclebound female lunkhead Marine-type. Are there no women on Mars? Anyway, those are the downsides, and they truly don't matter, because this game is really just about killing mutant zombie things and demon alien spawn and confused soldiers who shoot at you. It's about wondering lost and freaked out in the half-dark among Gigeresque machineries waiting for the next monstrosity to jump out at you. Basically, The Chronicles of Riddick: Escape from Butcher's Bay was Doom 3 with a brain, but that's okay, because it was hitting all the buttons that I needed hit upon last night. Hell, I don't even know if my avatar has a name; as a person, he's that irrelevant to gameplay.
I finally got a copy of the trade paperback second edition of Shadows Over Baker Street yesterday, the Sherlock Holmes meets Lovecraftian weirdness antho which includes my story, "The Drowned Geologist." I am pleased to be able to say that it appears that the original text of my story was restored, after the mauling it took at the hands of some Del Rey copyeditor for the hardcover edition. Moron. Anyway, you should have a look at the anthology. "The Drowned Geologist" will not be included in To Charles Fort, With Love. Speaking of which, please feel free to plaster this ad banner anywhere and everywhere. I would appreciate it mightily. Thank you.