Play it for:
* Old school science fiction atmosphere.
* Unique and memorable gameplay experience.
* The song at the end.
Avoid it for:
* The game only reveals its full majesty in the last couple of chapters - though the ones leading up to that point are thankfully short and sweet.
Saturday, 22 May 2010
Robin Hood 2010 [film]
Watch it for:
* Cate Blanchett.
* To see the French get whooped.
* A film that defies expectations.
Avoid it for:
* Slow.
* Tries to be too clever and takes itself too seriously.
* Cate Blanchett.
* To see the French get whooped.
* A film that defies expectations.
Avoid it for:
* Slow.
* Tries to be too clever and takes itself too seriously.
Monday, 17 May 2010
Not a poet
How am I judged? It's fair but also terse:
I'm not a poet. No. I just write verse.
So even though my metres flow alright,
My rhymes aren't bad, my structure's pretty tight,
But even so, these virtues are my flaws;
And better if I wrote bereft of laws
With verse as free as vultures in the air
And similarly full of grim despair
(Or full of any overwhelming passion -
At least, that seems to me to be the fashion.)
These vultures soar in search of greater beasts,
Which dead they rip asunder for their feasts.
Oh must it render all my verse as nought
Because of clear-communicating thought?
Oh must I write beneath a foggy shroud?
Or else with melodrama brashly loud?
"Well, yes, you silly fool. I think you'll find
That Poetry of the most superior kind
Has multiple mixed meanings to be mined."
This mumbo jumbo makes a lot of sense;
I see the good in having text that's dense.
For as dense weights sink far beneath the sea,
Just so dense texts can plumb humanity.
My lighter wit has quite a different home
And gaily drifts amidst the froth and foam.
Though mocked, one day I'll be that which I hope;
A modern shade of Alexander Pope.
Till then my shallow lines will soothe me too,
If, reading them, you view the world anew.
I'm not a poet. No. I just write verse.
So even though my metres flow alright,
My rhymes aren't bad, my structure's pretty tight,
But even so, these virtues are my flaws;
And better if I wrote bereft of laws
With verse as free as vultures in the air
And similarly full of grim despair
(Or full of any overwhelming passion -
At least, that seems to me to be the fashion.)
These vultures soar in search of greater beasts,
Which dead they rip asunder for their feasts.
Oh must it render all my verse as nought
Because of clear-communicating thought?
Oh must I write beneath a foggy shroud?
Or else with melodrama brashly loud?
"Well, yes, you silly fool. I think you'll find
That Poetry of the most superior kind
Has multiple mixed meanings to be mined."
This mumbo jumbo makes a lot of sense;
I see the good in having text that's dense.
For as dense weights sink far beneath the sea,
Just so dense texts can plumb humanity.
My lighter wit has quite a different home
And gaily drifts amidst the froth and foam.
Though mocked, one day I'll be that which I hope;
A modern shade of Alexander Pope.
Till then my shallow lines will soothe me too,
If, reading them, you view the world anew.
Friday, 14 May 2010
Geese is the word
Fun little poem I knocked up during my lunch break today.
*** WARNING *** Contains strong language. Also, I shouldn't even have to say this, but given what's been read into some of my stuff in the past I'd better: this poem is about geese, and doesn't reflect at all on any of the people I know in Canada at the moment! Anyway, here it is.
The Canadian Goose is a grumpy old thing
Like the codger who lives next door;
So alike in their sense of entitlement
As they seek to impose their law.
Thus the geese grab the crumbs from the poor ickle ducks
And'll snatch 'em from *your* hand too.
Then as if to add insult to injury
They'll cover the path with poo.
As you try to pass by all their sly squidgy shits
With a hoppity tip-toe crawl,
They'll stand in your way and they'll hiss their distaste
That you dare to exist at all.
Oh the Land cannot stand these Napoleoners
For much longer than half a year.
That is why they must fuck off to Canada;
So far - but still too near...
*** WARNING *** Contains strong language. Also, I shouldn't even have to say this, but given what's been read into some of my stuff in the past I'd better: this poem is about geese, and doesn't reflect at all on any of the people I know in Canada at the moment! Anyway, here it is.
The Canadian Goose is a grumpy old thing
Like the codger who lives next door;
So alike in their sense of entitlement
As they seek to impose their law.
Thus the geese grab the crumbs from the poor ickle ducks
And'll snatch 'em from *your* hand too.
Then as if to add insult to injury
They'll cover the path with poo.
As you try to pass by all their sly squidgy shits
With a hoppity tip-toe crawl,
They'll stand in your way and they'll hiss their distaste
That you dare to exist at all.
Oh the Land cannot stand these Napoleoners
For much longer than half a year.
That is why they must fuck off to Canada;
So far - but still too near...
Monday, 10 May 2010
Super Mario Galaxy [wii]
Play it for:
* pure AWESOME, pure FUN.
* amazingly creative level design.
* wonderful controls.
Avoid it for:
* voice acting, though thankfully sparse, is awful.
* pure AWESOME, pure FUN.
* amazingly creative level design.
* wonderful controls.
Avoid it for:
* voice acting, though thankfully sparse, is awful.
Wednesday, 14 April 2010
300?
Way back in the Fifth Century
B.C. not Anno Domini
The Greek and Persian armies clashed
In battle at Thermopylae.
King Xerxes started all the fuss
By aping daddy Darius,
Who many years before had tried
To beat the Greeks; their win, his loss.
His army, scores of thousands strong,
Amassed, and made the journey –long!–
Through Persia, Thrace, then Macedon.
Who'd fling their lives at such a throng?
The disp'rate Greeks allayed their hates.
They kinda sussed that all their fates
Were intertwined. They duly formed
An army from their city-states.
The Spartan men should take the lead
(The toughest dudes, they all agreed).
But yikes! It was Carneia-time.
The ephors had to intercede...
Now blessed, the Spartans marched their men,
Some say in thirty groups of ten.
The Oracle forewarned their king
He'd never see his home again.
But adamant Leonidas
Was up for kicking Persian ass!
With fifty foes to face each friend,
He slyly chose a narrow pass.
Three days they held Thermopylae
Till Ephialtes' treachery.
Surrounded, skewered, severed, slain;
They won a hollow victory.
I'm privileged to comprehend
How many really met their end.
Each word commemorates a soul;
You'll calculate 200, friend.
B.C. not Anno Domini
The Greek and Persian armies clashed
In battle at Thermopylae.
King Xerxes started all the fuss
By aping daddy Darius,
Who many years before had tried
To beat the Greeks; their win, his loss.
His army, scores of thousands strong,
Amassed, and made the journey –long!–
Through Persia, Thrace, then Macedon.
Who'd fling their lives at such a throng?
The disp'rate Greeks allayed their hates.
They kinda sussed that all their fates
Were intertwined. They duly formed
An army from their city-states.
The Spartan men should take the lead
(The toughest dudes, they all agreed).
But yikes! It was Carneia-time.
The ephors had to intercede...
Now blessed, the Spartans marched their men,
Some say in thirty groups of ten.
The Oracle forewarned their king
He'd never see his home again.
But adamant Leonidas
Was up for kicking Persian ass!
With fifty foes to face each friend,
He slyly chose a narrow pass.
Three days they held Thermopylae
Till Ephialtes' treachery.
Surrounded, skewered, severed, slain;
They won a hollow victory.
I'm privileged to comprehend
How many really met their end.
Each word commemorates a soul;
You'll calculate 200, friend.
Saturday, 10 April 2010
Spring Ditty
The playful cheeriness of Spring
Has once more conquered Winter's grim
Resolve. (Such a tenacious clutch -
But gone now, thank you very much!)
Has once more conquered Winter's grim
Resolve. (Such a tenacious clutch -
But gone now, thank you very much!)
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