Blade Runner 2049 Digital Release (12/26/17)

"I didn't even know the movie came out.  Is it still out?"

My friend had no idea about 2017's Blade Runner 2049.  I admit that I intended on supporting it as it initially came out in theaters and heard the infamous 'mixed reviews'.  I paused where I shouldn't have.  The original Blade Runner (1982) was an imprimatur for me, having not seen it in theaters 35 years ago, but instead on the VHS release in 1983 and as a laser-disc rental in 1987.

In stark contrast to the hopeful, lighthearted space opera of Star Wars and its deviations, one could have described it as 'hard' sci-fi.  For me, the term held a place in a world, if you could get it, of Omni magazine, Heavy Metal short stories (or the movie, which was extremely hard to find as a child), Star Trek short stories, Twilight Zone, etc.

1982 Blade was lacked hope for most of it.  It was destructive.  It was as gritty as a Raymond Chandler novel.  I felt most affinity to Blade from Chandler, especially coming across his novella Red Wind (1938).  Dystopian.  Bleak.  Litter-filled to the point you felt like you were gagging on it.

As it came to Denis Villeneuve's interpretation, under the eye of Ridley Scott, with writers Hampton Fancher and Michael Green - this is a sequel, let there be no doubt, of 1982 Blade.

Even as Villeneuve struggles with the lackluster performance of the film, it still is making an imprint with critics.  If there is any solace, keep in mind it has been one of the worst years in some time for the box office generally.  Villeneuve shouldn't overthink it based on this - this is a much larger, systemic problem at work here.  It needs to be solved at the studio, marketing and theater level.  To strike a tangent, I think studios have made it to easy to wait.  I know I say to myself, in making a decision to go to the theater, that I could just as simply wait a few weeks and it'll be out on digital.  Which is what I did.  By pushing that expectation out - I'm sure I wouldn't have had to wait.  [It released yesterday, 12/26/17.]

And, in the end, it is an engaging film.  There could be a lot to speak to - it is not as tangible as the first film.  Practical effects and focus on faces and not bleak landscapes is a note to take to mind.  1982 Blade was about character.  When we shift too much attention to the wars, their outcome, the current state, we could get lost.

Where the movie shines is in having a replicant be the protagonist.  This is weird at first, and there are questions all the way to the end, but it resolves itself in a way that is true to all the characters.

I wonder if, in the boardrooms of the world, where someone has to speak strongly about 'scale'.  "It needs to have scale.  It needs to breath.  We need to go..."  Scale doesn't fix anything.  It's already there if your story has a solid foundation.  In 2049 the protagonist goes from LA to San Diego to Las Vegas and back again.  The spaces in between those take up enough time to be noticeable.  Plus, I don't feel we got anything by going there.  We are just seeing more of the same dystopia.

In the end, I still recommend a rental.  It is definitely worth it.  Where I have these gripes, I only shy away from its strengths as they would spoil some of the threads.

What shines is the 'love' interest of the protagonist replicant, 'K' (Ryan Gosling) and a tailored AI partner, Joi (Ana de Armas).  Their relationship, when you think deeply of the future and what it surely holds, is eerie.  It will happen.  Replicants in love with AI.  Humans loving replicants.  'Real' is so blurred, it holds almost no purport in questioning.  Deckard (Harrison Ford) even throws the question of 'real' back in the face of K, as if to say 'what does it matter - the world is f*cked as it is'.

Ana de Armas as Joi

The momentum of the movie also has you question the relationship of conception and the future.  There is one scene in particular that calls me back (where 1982 Blade had a half a dozen), is K questioning a doctor (Carla Juri) about implanting memories.  There is emotion and gravity to the scene, and, without it, I don't think the movie would be as strong.

I purchased it immediately yesterday off of Vudu.  They typically bundle their products with some extras - in this case about a dozen behind-the-scene vignettes.  Nothing too deep - and perhaps what may be missing and corrected in a director's cut.

To full edwardianjackal site.

NaNoWriMo - Let Slip the Dogs of War

Getting prepped for this year's National November Writing Month.  (Last year's was cut short as I grieved with my family over our beloved cousin's tragic death...it took much time, and we love her sorely, and time moves on...there isn't a day that goes by that one of us here thinks or talks about her...she was such a light.)

This year I am departing from my usual novel fodder and shifting to science fiction.  I've had more than a few short stories, but I have used my commute time to come up with a full three novel arch for a character that I've loved for some time - the 'huntress'.  There has been little depth to a character that I first envisioned back in college (with a video short called 'Hunter's Silhouette').  This time around, she is fully fleshed out with a back-drop of a universe that's been quelling inside.

I thank you for visiting my site and I'll be updating this month a lot of other efforts - video, podcast and artwork.  Keep coming back each week for something new!

hear:Sonder 'Too Fast'

poem:"Impossible"

on DeviantArt...

Fate never allowed
It only teased the potential, the heady glimmer of what could have been
It knew a passing reflection for a narcissist would be enough
Fate allowed enough
The declarative was all that's left

Summed in a glance and the warmth of a breath

Can't say the word gone
As there was nothing before or since, time never the factor
Does an idea hold time?

As the adage may sway when playing with it, an idea,
It, and of itself, is all naught
An empty hand

Here you were, all,
And all to me

I would have fought worlds, conquered stars
Cheated death, amassed armies, tore asunder all the world's foundations and built Parnassus anew
Had that chance been given

Fleeting as the shadow of a bird on the periphery

Quiet and unkempt
Lost in the other shadows

Past

and

nothing.

spinning:"change"

Building...and building...

snippet:prayer for the dreadful...

LOUI JOVER

“Then, brothers, it came. Oh, bliss, bliss and heaven. I lay all nagoy to the ceiling, my gulliver on my rookers on the pillow, glazzies closed, rot open in bliss, slooshying the sluice of lovely sounds. Oh, it was gorgeousness and gorgeosity made flesh.” 
― Anthony Burgess, A Clockwork Orange

“Great Music, it said, and Great Poetry would like quieten Modern Youth down and make Modern Youth more Civilized. Civilized my syphilised yarbles.”
― Anthony Burgess, A Clockwork Orange

"...Ravenous longitudes
of desire and sin did we walk upon
and the delight ran dry
decay decay
and hue drawn in grey
crayon..."
- 1936

at least try "Brief Encounter"...

So Dark Horizons (http://www.darkhorizons.com/study-millennials-dont-like-pre-1970s-films/) said that Millennials don't like pre-1970s movies...as there would be a 40+ year difference, that would be akin to me not liking pre-1930s movies: although the difference would not stand.  There are technical limitations with the comparison, as many of the silent era movies are a bit harder to grasp.  So understandably with Millenials, black and white would be harder to grasp.

Attune yourself to constrasts and light is my response.  Black and white to anyone is jarring, as it would have been to anyone for the first time...however you adjust.  You see nuances you don't see in color.  Textures.  Facial expressions are not hidden behind garish hues - but open.  Emoting is straightforward, subtle.

As a case in point to pre-70s movies that will change your perspective on cinema (if not life), try David Lean's 1945 drama, Brief Encounter.

If you want a solid stay-home date movie, you'll find no better.  Celia Johnson and Trevor Howard offer the best performances on film, all guided under the expert of subtle gravitas, Sir David Lean.  The music is incredible, using motifs from Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto No 2.  It lingers with you after, forever.

There may be free versions on-line, but that's simply not our style, spend a few dollars and enjoy: https://www.amazon.com/Brief-Encounter-David-Lean/dp/B001OAZC4Y.  If it is a date night, enjoy a vodka+soda with salt and pepper popcorn.  If you're lucky to make a meal for your date, I would go for beef medallions in a red wine reduction with peas and lightly toasted focaccia.

Langston Hughes: "Dinner Guest: Me" (1967)

in Harlem by Robery W. Kelley/LIFE

Dinner Guest: Me (attrib. 1967)
I know I am
The Negro Problem
Being winded and dined,

Lucian Freud Reflection 1967

Answering the usual questions
That come to white mind
Which seeks demurely
To probe in polite way
The why and wherewithal
Of darkens U.S.A. -
Wondering how things got this way
In current democratic night,
Murmuring gently
Over fraises du bois,
"I'm so ashamed of being white."
...
To be a Problem on
Park Avenue at eight
Is not so bad.
Solutions to the Problem,
Of course, wait.

- From The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes

poem: ode to a tangled sheet (19aug17)

submit to me

an admonition
now the act is done
and we lay here in our own thoughts
intimate more with the moment
as we've pulled away from one
another's skin
and breathing softens
the sheets cool
and we can hear
the sound of the freeway
in the distance

is our agreement to mend
because all I'm looking for is the safety
of anonymous motion
the cover of
long soft red hair
if a second of peace is all I'll receive
then so be it

give me that
give me that
who knows what is tomorrow
but fire

and I'll offer you the same

I'll sign it in sweat
and motion
in all I have right now
and it is admittedly poor
but you may have it

an occasional smile, my time
the light conversation
about the eclipse
your completion first
and hide a tear that may
come as I try to work this out

that is all
tonight

- assortment 19aug17

Carrie Fisher, a Focus on Princess Leia Before SLO (Slave Leia Outfit)

There was a moment in time, before the unfortunate slave Leia outfit of Return of the Jedi (ROTJ), where we had a Princess Leia that wasn't part of a mind-boggling creative break that extended from two of the most arguably best pop sci fi films of all times -  not only in ROTJ does she [albeit unwillingly] don a metal bikini to satisfy the whims of Jabba the Hutt, but, after they free Han Solo, she takes a back seat of all the tactical machinations of the Rebels.  Instead, she tags along with General Solo, who doesn't seem to understand strategy in the Battle of Endor.  Only Ewoks should get statues here.

[I would have much rather seen ROTJ with a Commander Leia directing the Rebellion wings (and the Falcon), against Death Star II - perhaps even commanding control over the timing of forces on the ground of the Forest Moon of Endor.]

[I digress.]  So, before ROTJ, there was this heady period of time where we got a Princess that not only took command of situations, as she did with her escape from the Death Star, but also straight up commanded flight wings and ground troops in the Escape from Hoth.  This is the period that we should think on Princess Leia.  We luckily get a glimpse of her again in The Force Awakens, as she leads her forces as the fighting arm of the New Republic, called the Resistance.

It is within this character framework that we see Leia.  Vulnerable, but constantly thinking.  It's these images that I remember Leia, my Leia.  The one I had from 1977 until 1983.  I'll always carry a candle for Carrie Fisher, since she was definitely my first crush.  A strong, decisive woman of glimmering eyes and a perfect smile.
...

Reverse ENG: McDonald's Szechuan Teriyaki Dipping Sauce Literal Recipe (ao 23JUL17)

10 oz Batch of Literal Szechuan Teriyaki Dipping Sauce ~ equivalent to x10 McNugget packets:

- Brown Sugar 3 Tbsp (in lieu of corn sugar)
- Corn Syrup 2.5 Tbsp
- Distilled Water 2.5 Tbsp
- Tomato Paste 2.5 Tbsp
- Apple Juice 2.5 Tbsp (in lieu of 'natural' flavors)
- Granulated Sugar 1.65 Tbsp (additional to lack of corn sugar)
- Red Wine Vinegar 1.25 Tbsp (in lieu of grape vinegar)
- Distilled Vinegar 1.25 Tbsp
- Soy Sauce 1.25 Tbsp
- Dried Chili Powder 1.25 Tbsp
- Salt  .80 Tbsp
- Corn Starch .80 Tbsp (in lieu of food starch)
- Pepper .4 Tbsp (spices - as for szechuan)
- Ginger .4 Tbsp (spices - as for teriyaki)
- Canola Oil .4 Tbsp (in lieu of soybean oil)
- Liquid Smoke (Hickory) 7 drops
- Gelatin (flavorless) 1/2 tsp (in lieu of xantham gum)
- Garlic Powder 1/2 tsp
- Cream of Tartar 1/2 tsp (in lieu of tartaric acid)
- Onion Powder 1/2 tsp
- Lemon Juice 1/2 tsp

Mix vigorously for 10 minutes, reduce while on medium heat (do not let boil) about 7 minutes.  Remove from heat, allow to cool before serving.  Consistency should be viscous and not too runny.  Will appear and taste as a McDonald's McNugget sauce would.

UPDATE: as said in the video, I would not have used normal ginger had I found an alternate, now looking back, I would go with the same amount with ground ginger (like McCormick).

Full website at http://www.edwardianjackal.com/.

....today at #D23...14jul17

Google Photos - a few dozen raw photos from today's #D23 Expo (links out).

...today's haul: comics 09jul17...

Today's haul from Pop Comics in Anaheim:

- Paper Girls 15 - series by Brian K. Vaughan is a mix tape of 80s, Stand by Me and War of the Worlds.

- Rick &Morty Pocket Like You Stole It #1 - if you haven't tried Rick & Morty comics you are missing out, all of the same great funny from the series but in your hand...your HAND!  Also, this is an extension of the popular Pocket Mortys game on mobile.

- Star Wars #16 (2015) - Stormtroopers in binders?  The Rebels and Imperials both want the prisoners, but who will win out?

- Amazing Fantasy Reprint - this is where Spidey began, beautiful reprint with vivid colors.

The full edwardianjackal.com website.

...

...America...Walt Whitman...

Norman Rockwell "Spirit of America", Rockwell Museum Stockbridge MA

"America"

BY WALT WHITMAN

Centre of equal daughters, equal sons,
All, all alike endear’d, grown, ungrown, young or old,
Strong, ample, fair, enduring, capable, rich,
Perennial with the Earth, with Freedom, Law and Love,
A grand, sane, towering, seated Mother,
Chair’d in the adamant of Time.
                                                     - 1890

https://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2016/12/why-walt-whitman-called-the-america-the-greatest-poem/510932/

"Huntress: Maps (2)" (03JUL17)

...last was here...

She left the bar with a buzz she hadn't been able to enjoy in three standard months.  Focused on Gamon's case - alternating an inner dialogue of 'I need this' and 'I really need this'.  The pay would help her even out Kharma - the ship needing a good two weeks in dry dock.  Air it out.  Overhaul the sub-light engines.  CO2 scrubber leak.  Her AI, Flask, needed the latest soft upgrades.  A right bath.

She wobbled out into the S'G'en hallway, ticking off the myriad lists rolling in her head.  She had the money now so the list rolled off her brain like a dumpling on a tongue.

"---?"  She paused at her name being said in such an official tone.  Her blood instantly chilled because, in her experience, that typically was not a positive sign.  She had to focus to see the four figures in front of her.  Possibly two behind her.  *Station security?

"Don't understand you."  She took in a deep breath and instinctively squared up.  She saw two of the figures square up as well.  There was a good half-second of actual effort in thinking she could take them on.  'No way stupid.'  She put her arms out slightly from her body, but stopped short of making it look like she was guilty.  Not that she was, at least what they thought she may have been guilty of.

"May we please relieve you of your weapon?"  *Definitely S'G'en security.  Very proper.

"You may not relieve me of my weapon unless you can dignify the request with the...the..."  The Hausenfleur came up in a small pop.  "...appropriate and legal..."  The one figure, very dignified, stood forward.

"---, we have the Sartorial Minister of the Fersion here that has offered evidence that you have a crime of material omission against crimes not only in the Fersion Sector but minor crimes in the Verse.  It is because of this..."  He went on.  She weighed options.  Too many guards.  A S'G'En station.  A right proper Chief.  All not in her favor.

"Ok. Ok.  I hear you."  She slowly raised her hands above her hand and landed the tips of her thumbs together.  Imperceptibly, she tapped a small button hidden underneath the flap of her fingerless gloves.  *Please let the AI know to call Toddy.  "You may take my weapon, but you are doing it only based upon your evidence and I do this NOT to qualify your charges but upon my free will.  I ask that the S'G'En further recognize this is not an admission of guilt."

"We do.  Thank you for your compliance."  The Security Chief stood back and allowed the two guards behind her to remove the weapon.  They brought out binders, but the Chief waved them off to the dismay of the Fersion Minister.

"Now I ask that we go discuss this discretely - as an esteemed member of the Brueger Freepilots, I ask that we do this with dignity and respect."  She could hear the Fersion Minister scoff, its tentacles clutching together to the sound of little flaps.  The Chief looked down on the sign of disrespect and smiled warmly to her.  "Of course.  I assure we only want to get to the bottom of the matter."

"I would like a witness."

The Chief nodded and one of the four strode forward.  "I am not an unclothed citizen of the S'G'En asked to help witness the matter.  I am Farthou."

"Farthou - please witness my compliance and that I am willfully inebriated."

"I witness."

"Witness to that I would like to make a call before we proceed with any questioning as is my right."

Farthou looked over at the Chief, the latter nodding.  Their blue skin dry as a bone.  *Well, they aren't outwardly lying.

As they walked the Fersion couldn't speak to her, Starports would not allow for it.  It instead spoke to the Chief.  "May we please ask her who she was in contact with?  Time is of the evidence."  The Chief did not acknowledge him and they strode on.
...
It had her name there, on his primary screen.  Shaun scowled at it.  He crossed his arms and leaned against the kitchen cabinets cursing the day he met her.  *What's this now?

'She's in trouble.  That's the only reason.  And why should I care?  She's not done one bloody thing for me...ever.  She's only given ME trouble.'  The intrigue is what calls him.  Almost a standard year and she doesn't even send a status - his heart was broken, then the anger, then the resolve, then the dull reasoning required to get over it.  Then, all over again.  He knew the ultimate question, he's done this four...five times now?  The question, "Is it worth it for her to be in trouble when I can do something?'  He resented the question more than anything else.

He begrudgingly qualified his jacking into the net, 'The last f-cking time.  The last f-cking time.'

...

poem:"....Watch the slow door" (15jun17)

Christina Rossetti's Echo is a rhapsodic memory of past love and the rekindling of what was lost, and ne'er to return.

"Come back in tears...love of finished years." [5]

Although in a dream, she pines for death where she can be in Paradise with him.  Where, perhaps not described this way before is that of Heaven as a 'slow door', "That opening, letting in, lets out no more." [12]

The idea of the slow door is telling, it shows Rossetti's comparative discord in the poem, in one point the terribly quickness of the dream where she recalls her lover, and the agonizingly slow door of Heaven.  The placid pace of time and what was lost, the immeasurable time of 'finished' years.

She grasps at him in the last, and urges him to "speak low, lean low" [17], as he did before.  Rossetti was an English poetess and fairly popular in her lifetime, she died of cancer in 1894.

ECHO, 1854
Come to me in the silence of the night;
   Come in the speaking silence of a dream;
Come with soft rounded cheeks and eyes as bright
   As sunlight on a stream;
      Come back in tears,
O memory, hope, love of finished years.

Oh dream how sweet, too sweet, too bitter sweet,
   Whose wakening should have been in Paradise,
Where souls brimfull of love abide and meet;
   Where thirsting longing eyes
      Watch the slow door
That opening, letting in, lets out no more.

Yet come to me in dreams, that I may live
   My very life again tho’ cold in death:
Come back to me in dreams, that I may give
   Pulse for pulse, breath for breath:
      Speak low, lean low,
As long ago, my love, how long ago.


...
SONG, 1848
When I am dead, my dearest,
         Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
         Nor shady cypress tree:
Be the green grass above me
         With showers and dewdrops wet:
And if thou wilt, remember,
         And if thou wilt, forget.

I shall not see the shadows,
         I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
         Sing on as if in pain:
And dreaming through the twilight
         That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
         And haply may forget.

...

musing:Kerouac haiku

Reading collected poems of Kerouac, musing over haikus:

"The cow, taking a big
     dreamy crap, turning
To look at me"

"Train tunnel, too dark
    for me to write: that
'Men are ignorant'" [562]

Jack with the long, dull stare.  The blankness belies the deep understanding of movement.  The facts of a scene.  "This is what is happening.  Unencumbered."

Realness that has been degregated today.  Real is overly subjective, with currents, and politics, and emotions, and narcissism.  Real as not what is, but it means in who I want to show the fake me to be.

Jack looking out from the bus window.  Enmeshed in the slatted bench on the dry wood porches of the general store.  Hazily awake through lace curtains and hand crafted glass.

"Run after that
     body - run after
A raging fire"  [527]

"Mild spring night -
     a teenage girl said
'Good evening' in the dark" [560]

Hungry poets, looking for truth in moments.  Unencumbered by sights, smells or touch.  Emblazoned in your mind with words instead.  Hungry for feeling.  Rawness.  Newness.  Sensualness.  A deep faith.

"Jack Kerouac...was a Catholic poet - his cross was not a plain cross, not a Protestant cross, stripped of the body of the sacrificed man-God....his own heart that bled like an iron rose, a Rose-En-Fer....the depths of infinite thoughts." [xxi]

"To be a poet's poet is to hurt.  To hurt singularly, to hurt incomprehensibloy, to suffer a wound that never heals..." [xxix]

Jack, awash in an abandoned supermarket parking lot, finding meaning in purple flowers.  A needy cat at home that interrupted his reading of Zen koans.  A poet who wrote in spurts, three words and done.  Then tracts and tracts on rolls and reams.  Eternity of nothingness, then of God, then of the Devil, then of cows dreamily staring at him with their empty orbs as they shit in a hot Missouri field.

[Reading "Jack Kerouac: Collected Poems" edited by Marilene Phipps-Kettlewell, Library of America, 2012.]

data:STvSW (Trek Novel Count vs Wars)

I've always salivated on the raw number of genre books whilst losing myself in the local Waldenbooks, a B.Dalton, Borders or Crown.  I'm no spring chicken, so I can tell you how fantasy, for example, which popularly started with Tolkien, ramped up from two shelves with no label (falling, generically, under 'fiction') to taking up two entire bookshelves, then onto an entire row.  Star Trek (ST) and Star Wars (SW) novels are no exception to the rapid expansion across store shelves.  As ST preceded SW by a decade (the first ST novel was January of '67), it obviates that those novels were readily available.  By the time I was a little lad, they were in easy rotation at the used bookstores (Book Baron, Anaheim, was a favorite and a weekly habit).  SW would first come out in advance of the movie in 1976 (SW the movie would come out in May of the next year).

The first marked difference though is that ST novels first came out as compendiums, or a combination of short stories.  This was the fashion of the time, culling the works of several authors per consolidated novella.  The very first of these were meant for young readers - equating, again at the time, for readers 'of age' (maybe as early as 10 but up to 17).

SW novels, contrarily, started as straight novelizations of the movies: populist for the most part.  However, quickly shifting with extensions of its universe by 1978 with Splinter of the Mind's Eye.  From there, demand exploded with subsequent extensions of the universe, including the exploits of smuggler extraordinaire Han Solo and he ..at Star's End.  It was of these popular novels that the affinity for Solo appeared to strengthen above the Skywalkers.

Now for the raw numbers...I was reveling in the picture I took at Barnes & Noble last weekend, and simply wondering how many books have come out for SW (and then ST)...from there I used GoodReads as the foundation for the count:

There are 251 Star Trek novelizations overall.
There are 376 Star Wars novelizations overall.

That's a whopping 125 book difference, despite the decade lead on SW.

Yes - I acknowledge the differences of each respective zeitgeist.  I would also make an argument in the quality of those novels.  I have found, over many a year reading them, that ST is much more cerebral than SW.  It's more 'hard' science fiction (if there is such a thing, knowing it is a loaded definition), then the populist trappings of what could be assumed as fantasy more than science with SW.

Out of either series, I personally recommend the first 12 of the ST novels, probably avoiding number one and going straight into any other number.  For SW, I am enjoying the latest canon books by James Luceno (Catalyst, Darth Plagueis).

Also pitching to support your local bookstore, so I'm throwing in links for Anaheim:

BOOKTOWN: https://www.yelp.com/biz/booktown-usa-anaheim 
POP COMICS: https://www.yelp.com/biz/pop-comics-and-culture-emporium-anaheim
PHAT COLLECTIBLES: https://www.yelp.com/biz/phat-collectibles-anaheim-2


PS - for Shlitz and giggles, I had to look up the most prolific series and came up quickly with the Perry Rhodan series - Wikipedia states, As of April 2017, more than 2900 booklet novels of the original series plus 850 spinoff novels of the sister series;plus over 400 paperbacks and 200 hardcovers have been published, totalling over 300,000 pages. Having sold approximately two billion copies worldwide alone, (including over one billion in Germany), it is the most successful science fiction book series ever written. The first billion of worldwide sales was celebrated in 1986."

Wowzers - never heard of Rhodan.

"Huntress: Maps" (16apr17)

..last was here...

Concourse 9570TAE typified the gleaming sensibilities of the S'G'en sector.

No one could conclusively state an exact timeline: if the 9000 Concourse design came before the Cambridge sector, or, if two hundred and seventy standard years before it was a response *to* the Cambridge Concourses.  The latter were well derided across the lightways for dozens of years.  They were compared to the strip malls that cropped up all over the United States right before the 21st century.  The intersection of convenience and lack of aspiration. The affluent yacht jockeys would burn more fuel than step foot in a Cambridge.

S'G'en had, for thousands of years, been religious techvangelists.  Their walls without a single seam, meeting each other in a curvature with a molecular degree of angle that was legendarily machined.  The lengths of the starport were calculated to a degree that took several different supercomputers to compile the variances.  All were designed to maintain airflow like a planet.  The air felt fresh and not recycled.  The tech would eventually convert toward personal use, helping those with respiratory issues that could not be resolved otherwise.  The angles perfected to maximize the gravitational uniqueness of the structure.

She strode the gleaming white halls like a black shock on a blank papyrus.  Stares followed her along the thoroughfare, she brought her obnoxious blaster.  The laws around the Verse may vary, but the ability to protect oneself at a port were immutable.  Factions counted in the thousands.  One had to protect themselves.  There were constraints: the blaster could not fire projectiles, lest the station suffer.  Only energy weapons that ranged in a certain spectrum [even then those could be spoofed].

Gamon wanted a neutral station.  Not to protect himself from her - she was a Hunter not a Merc - it was from his prey that Gamon knew there was no safety outside the confines of the peaceful S'G'en.

She stood off when she spotted him.  Gauging.  *Was he alone?  Was this a trap?  Were there anyone else watching them?*  After an hour of focus, she determined that they were, indeed, alone.

He pulled into himself when she walked into the bar.  A roboserver strode up immediately, without a word.  "Hausenfleur.  Ice."  It strode off, only a momentary nod indicated it took her order.  The bartender was keeping an eye on them, not obviously, as it would be a sign of disrespect for a S'G'en.  As they were open people, it was nude, it's blue skin shimmering in the glow of the bar.

"How're you?"  She threw at his nervousness.  *He hasn't been sleeping.*  Perspiration beaded under the three primary eyes.  The other dozen were half-closed.  An Asripian cannot hide it.  That information saved her life once.

"Do you have what I need to clear my name?"  He wiped moisture from his face.  Her dark hair fell forward, and, learned through years of necessary parlor tricks, she left two metal plates in front of him to study.

"Is this...?"

"It's what you paid me for."  Gamon shifted forward and put three-fingered hands around it like castle walls.  His gills shivered.  She gently pressed the back of his hand, it was clammy.

"But.  Let's be clear, I have the information that shows you were definitely not in the arena that night.  You didn't steal what they said.  *But* they have this information too.  And by knowing, they could use it against you, especially if they knew you had it."

His hands dropped in failure.  *He's weak.*  "What do I do?"

"Get to a Laohshian bank and have this uploaded immediately.  Notarize it with a S'G'en acolyte, as I assume you wanted to meet here for that purpose.  Get a Verse lawyer.  In that order.  File a motion before they have a chance to respond.  You have hours, not days."

He shivered and shook, "You're pay?"  She nodded, "I took the liberty of taking it from your account.  I don't like doing it, but it's part of my line of work."  She passed him her pad.  "Enter your number while I look away."  He did so.

"Now go."  He stood up and left without a word.  The bartender's posture shifted as he watched him go in the mirror.  *He's being watched.  Interesting.*

The Hausenfleur came, the honey-colored liquid shone with a deep shimmer of light.  It smelled of bees in the summer on a Terran Alpine slope.  Grass.  Melted snow as it runs over granite.  She sipped it for a while and decided that Gamon owed her a little bit more on the advice.  She charged the drink and asked for the bottle.  It took three weeks of intense work to get Gamon that information, she figured he would owe her just a little bit more.

She pressed the pad.  Gamon made her day without knowing it.  If the Hausenfleur kicked in before she left the station, he may make it one more time.

...next is here...
...

poem:"you will hear me" (10apr17)

static still in a moment of horror
the world explodes
unwillingly and complete
cacophony of screams
and abrupt stillness
and fragility
exploited
on black top
in pews
in prayer
in moments

if one asks you what death's cause
look not to its instruments
but in its narcissism
ego raw, dripping of the
insipidness
not to be explored

seeing the world
as nothing more
than blots of shadow
and never lights of triumph
of our collective will
for a moment of peace

emptiness aching in
madness of the one
the ticking incessant
and we pay the price
for a crusade
in
one
head

Eric Lacombe .

"Beth" (a snippet)...26mar17...

San Marino.  The Huntington Library is alive in the late winter.  Especially as Pasadena, at the foot of the San Gabriel Mountains, warms to a pleasant 80 degrees.  The tens of thousands of roses are not adorning their plants yet, but leaves are sprouting from thick straight stalks.  The branches are dark, a type of green that one has to closely inspect to believe it has any color at all.

Where the roses and lily pads are still dormant, the camellias are in full bloom.  The Huntington has colors I had yet to see otherwise, including a camellia with pink and white strips, almost as if the Queen of Hearts had not yet finished with her chores.

rikioscamera flickr

And, where one may miss the smell of roses, they are easily forgotten by the smells of a hundred other variety of flowers that sit across the property.  Wisteria hangs heavy from the trees, draping over the water, it's light purple majestic and appropriate with the Mountains not far away as a backdrop.  The swimming stone sculptures of limestone towered up into the clean, blue sky.

Beth sat with her leg crossed, a serious look upon her face.  Her hair was pulled back, the dark brown and chestnut highlights were accentuated by the sun.  The straight lines and her matronly demeanor drew her pensive look into deeper focus.  Her eyes never lost their luster, they still glowed with an intensity - a shadowed topaz, that didn't lighten despite the sun sometimes alighting her face.

I had to catch myself constantly, as if the past didn't exist - and, for me, I didn't feel it.  It had been eight years.  We were in our later twenties then and full of fire.  We stayed up all night wordlessly making love, in a time when we didn't know sleep as intimately as we do now.

I loved lightly brushing back the strands of hair from her temples and staring into her eyes.  She stared back with an equal intensity.  If it hadn't been for her job, and mine, we would have stayed together.  At least that's what I tell myself.

The truth is that it was better this way.  Better to have that distance where we didn't have foresight.  It made us better.  She was married, no kids, and I got close to both, but my career ruined a string of chances.  And, equally honest to myself, none of them held a candle to Beth.

She had that mysterious allure that held my respect.  The classic touches on her face, the ever present shadow in her hair, her eyes and even in the earthen color of her skin - a mixture of Vietnamese and Polish descent.

"Where's the doctor at today?"  I smirked slightly, awaiting her to turn to me.  She didn't.  This was odd.  We sat at the Chinese Garden House.  We had stewed pork belly in coconut sauce and a few odds and ends.  I sat with a Buddha Beer.  His exaggerated smile looking into me.  He got the joke.

"Why didn't we stay together?"  Great.  A hard question first.  My mind bounded to keep this day light, I felt like a boxer trying to keep the fight going, at least in the best way possible.  I shouldn't answer lightly though...

"I can assure you it wasn't for lack of thinking it over."  It was true: we both tried to make it work, each on their own, but returned to the same point and the same decision.  She still didn't look at me.  Try harder dummy, I spoke to myself, the sweat starting to come.  "But here we are...now.  At this moment."  I shifted the food away.  "The Tao would say this is where we needed to be.  Together.  I don't think you've noticed, but I'm holding in an elation that I've had for two weeks."  I didn't want to reach out, but I've wanted to hold her hand the moment we walked unto the grounds.

We left the food behind and walked back toward the Japanese Garden.  Along the footpath, the camellia fell low.  The shafts of sunlight dappling our path.  I know what she was thinking.  There were too many variables for her.  She was a doctor and of high analytical mind.  There was too much baggage.

"It's unfair to think that our past could command what could be."  She still hadn't made eye contact.  The sweat came down.  I'm not going to lie, I wanted this to go right and exactly what I thought could not is happening.  Having been a known quantity killed the chances for spontaneity.  "It was a life time ago, before all of this."

"And you could so easily take me back?  You don't know what I've done..."  We walked up a trail that was cooled by bamboo, right next to the traditional Japanese House.  I couldn't take anymore, I swung her around and looked confidently into her eyes, "I don't care."  As I held her by her arms to turn her toward me, her eyes relaxed and I could feel her body soften.  She put her hand on my face and searched my eyes.  I fought every urge to say something - but I knew it would fall apart.  She said nothing as well.

She turned and sunk her body into mine as we walked past the House.  All the walls were open today and you could see from one end to the other.  It must have been that way in the dead of summer, allowing any breeze to flow through.

On the other side of the House there was a zig zag of bridge that cut through twenty-foot-high bamboo.  She deftly moved our bodies in that direction.  Her hips and her side felt impeccably right against me.  My chi had filled, embarrassingly so...but there was little I could do to control it.

Beth moved me, as if I was led like a dancer, against the railing and pushed against me.  Her eyes were wrought with abandon.  I didn't know what it meant for tomorrow, just as I thought that she wanted, I wanted assurances for me as well.  I couldn't stand to lose her again.  She pulled her lips up to mine and we kissed until the warmth of the afternoon fell and the sting of the cold evening brought us back to reality.

work in progress:"Filipino Cookbook"

He crossed the thinnest point of a rivulet and back to the shore where he first awoke.  The glade afforded better cover here.  The thick green of the elephant ears larger.  It would surely hide him from any eyes that happened upon him again.

A trickle of water, collected high above him in the towering mangroves, ran down the its trunk and near him.  He drank deeply of the clean water and cleared his nose and ears of sand.  Once clean, he felt a lull of ease, but shook himself to watch the waters, hoping for any signs of his brother.

After a time, it began to rain. He ducked out from under the shelter, pulling loose vines that dropped from the mangrove.  He used these to tie the elephant ear together.  A little roof.  He wanted to rest, but hunger got the best of him.  He knew there had to be mani near by, as this glade was downstream by the looks of the water collecting from above the cliff.  Peanuts always found a way - where convenience made animals or humans passed them.

After some time, he did find the familiar soft stems of the plant in a clump below the cliff, on hard packed soil.  They were wilted in the growing rain.  He pulled a handful out and took them back to under the shelter of his little roof.  They were not ripe, but it did not matter.  He was ravenous - sucking the shells of the bean and then eating their seed last.

He took turns between the cliff's edge and the river.  The edge of peril wore away in time.  Escober went some other way.  My brother came up some other river.  The rain may have slowed their coming, or stopped their trucks.  They would be coming.  This time it would not be back to prison, but to hang from the nearest tree.

The patter of the drops, collected above, fell like the clap of a hand on the leaves of the elephant ear.  He put his back to the tree, and arranged the leaves above him, he was dry enough.  With his stomach turning, but with sustenance, he fell asleep, the rain assuring him safety for a time.  In his light dreaming, and the peanuts' taste in his mouth, he remarked to himself how different they were when roasted and salted.  He thought about his uncle's oxtail soup.

Uncle's Kare Kare
Kare kare is a deliciously, full-bodied soup that is tangy, oily.  The cross of fragrant meat with the base of peanuts satisfied any one that were lucky enough to have it prepared right:

Three to five pounds of oxtail, five tablespoons of cooking oil, five cloves of garlic (crushed), one medium onion (sliced), a quarter of a cup achuete water, a banana heart (sliced crosswise), two bundles of Chinese long bean, or, sitaw, (cut into two inch pieces), sliced eggplants as desired, a third of a cup rice, toasted brown in a pan first and then ground into a powder, a half-cup of buttered peanut and salt and pepper to taste.

Cut oxtail into bite sized pieces.  Boil once and discard the water.  Boil again until tender.  Saute garlic and onion in the oil.  Slowly add in the achuete water, sauteed garlic and onion to the meat and bring to a boil.  Add all vegetables and enough water to make a fine sauce.  Add the powdered rice and peanut butter dissolved in a third cup water into the meat.  Season with salt and pepper.  Serve alone or with rice.

Leon slept dreaming of the soup.  He slept dreaming of the harana.

abstract:"are these not reveries?"

I do
Prescendone
The blue pill with the orange strip
I can see the mottled skin when I hold it to the florescent light
It tastes like nothing
I settle it in the saliva on the side of mouth and allow the jacket to melt away and the white powder to settle across the gulley of my gum
It does its trick
And I float upwards

I dream in these reveries
Because the doctor's lead me here
Dr. Fansem, Nurse Siffa, Therapist 1, Investigator Unknown
And I believe in them, why shouldn't I
"Dream.  It's healthy."
Then, "Take the pills.  Don't forget."
And I don't.  I am a good boy.
I take them and they are most important to me and my mental state and general health and for the good of the therapy.

There is a tree outstretching his branches under the warm sun of the spring
And light breezes on long grass
And I am not really there but floating through it
Where am I I should ask I don't
Never
It's enough to feel the sun and the breeze and there is nothing ill, nothing dark

And I wake and I don't care, because sleep will come again
Soon enough

I have enough pills
And time
And the sun is always there to greet me
In time

Where do they make them
In happy factories?
Glory be I say to myself and no one else
Because it's my little corner
Of this side of the world.

poem:"teh reals"

It is within the dregs
The grey mottle of shadow
Nothing stirs

Breath suspends

Not in anticipation
But resignation

It is here on clouded floor
Under undecisive grey light

It hangs above

Like an unanswered question
Unfulfilled quest
The promise lost

Five years
Written in salinity
in ink in time

the candle

ne'er lit

It's fine
It's fine

It is it is

over now.

love:"of literacy" #magicofstorytelling

The outcome of caring people who care about
kids, literacy and the future!

Giving a child a love of reading will hardwire them to think critically, love more deeply, and see life as the precious gift that it is.  Literacy inspires us to reach beyond to think further than the bubble of our day to day.  At its best it connects us and allows us to share things in a way that the sheen of other media falls short.

If you see an uptick on this message its because of http://www.abcbeinspired.com/magic-of-storytelling/ - where adding the hashtag #magicofstorytelling will assure a new book gets to a child and inspire them to reach beyond.

My son and I are blessed to have helped set up 49,300 books last Friday as part of First Book and Disney at the Lafayette Rec Center in LA.  It was a grueling 3 hours, but with dozens of VoluntEARS, we were able to offload 27 palettes of new books.  The idea is for the kids to create their own personal libraries.

No matter who you are or what stage of life, inspire others to read around you.  If you can, consider charities that strengthen the love of literacy to others.

There's nothing like a book.

abstract:"The Tumbled Sapphire"

Straight mattered little anymore.  As a child, much time spent in keeping the horizon horizontal.  Now, lines blurred, shifted in weight, were smooth, hyperbolic.  I found, after decades of dealing with it, that allowing real life to spin, at its own course was more desirable.  Nausea melted away over time and I got used to spinning in my own grey-lighted space.

The only thing that would soothe me from this was when the fall carnival would come.  The sheen of rides, reflecting the lights.  The lights.  The steady cacophony of light would stir me and calm me.  I waited until sundown and sat and was allowed to.  No one came to look after me then, they knew where I was like they knew where the same steady statue of Barnaby Closet stood each day in the middle of the town square.

It was in my fifteenth year, at the festival, that I would meet Charlie.  She came to talk to me.  I don't remember even having a 'hey' at festivals before.  She sat right down and I felt at ease where I normally would have had the urge to sweat and run.  And run until I could no longer and the sweat would cool.  I would lay on wet long grass, near the highway.  Creepies loved the salt from the sweat and come from all over.  Especially the small black slugs.  They were faster than you could imagine, I bet.

http://sorenpihlmann.com/Abstract-Sketches

Charlie has sandy blond hair and dark green eyes.  She if very friendly with me, but she says little when others are around.

We talked for the week and her, and the festival, disappeared through Thanksgiving.

I would do well for a spell.  Then it would all return.  The black, the grey.  Like giant orbs, they would sneak like the sun over the forest and find me.  And it would take me a time of laying down in my room for a few days to allow it fulfill itself.

No more pills I told myself, but I kept the phial within eyesight.  If the man would return.  The shadow man.  He had stayed away, but I don't know how long now.  He felt the furthest away when Charlie was around.  I longed for her.  I imagined her sitting next to me and I would feel better.  She had dark green eyes.

I stayed out late one night.  A night where I had lost myself in a horror comic book at Jacie's.  It had skulls and blood.  I put the comic page so close to my eye I could see the little red and pink dots that made up the spill of death.

Kelsey was getting tired of me, I know.  He just shot me dark looks when I made eye contact with him.  "You're not right, Park.  Go home."

The night felt like a netting coming down upon me.  The streetlights gave me comfort, but of course, only for a little while.  There was as stretch of two miles that had no lights.  Only the sky, of the darkest blue, had light.  The darkness choked me.

Then, in the shadow ahead, I saw him blocking me.  The shadow man.  He melted in and out, but his shape was there.  I know that if I were to fight him, he would win.  So I sat.  I sat on the highway and coldness came, along with the overnight dew.

I braved another glance ahead.  The shadow man was there, but, in the mash of dark, a light figure appeared.  She had grey jeans and white tennies.  A white, thickly woven sweater.  Charlie.  She came and pulled me from the asphalt.  She walked with me and didn't say a word.  She only looked straight ahead.  I had left the light on from this morning.  It was still on when I came home.

anniversary:"Pride and Prejudice" 28JAN1813

Wikipedia has Pride and Prejudice published upon two dates, but the common appears to be 28JAN in 1813 (where the printing date for the hardcover was the day prior).  And, for poor Ms. Austen, she was not given proper credit on the book, instead given "By the author of Sense and Sensibility" (and for that book, By a Lady).  Ugh.  Perhaps it is a modern sensibility that would think otherwise, but, perhaps there is respect in calling her a lady, in the least.

And, though difficult to calculate with accuracy (or so I have been told by Mr. Internet), the 140 pounds that Ms. Austen received was about the equivalent of $103,000.00 of today's dollars.  A tidy sum to be sure, and one that was able to give her a modicum of independence in her life.  (It was later, with Mansfield Park where she would make more than all of her prior novels combined.)  She lived modestly, committing herself to reading and writing, with only interludes of a romantic life.

It was the first Hollywood production of Pride, with Sir Laurence Olivier, that projected a romantic imprint upon the cinema.  From there, her novel has spawned dozens of imitations, many popular adaptations.  If it is said that there hasn't been a portrayal of strong women, I think it a disservice to Austen and Bronte - who brought a modern blush of womenhood in their novels.  Smart, winning and sure - unlike some of the pop depictions we must endure today.  Sigh.

short:"Daddy Don't You Walk So Fast" excerpt

...probably a few chapters in from my NaNoWriMo in November...

This is where I could go into an exposition of the details of the travel plans, but I am not that guy.  If I were the type of guy to keep both eyes open for the inevitability of a quirky event, I would at least touch on one of those to move the story along, meanwhile letting you know that we simply didn't launch forward on a tugboat from sunny San Pedro.

My father said his peace: 'I'll make it so you wouldn't want for anything'.

"Fine.  How should we pack for clothes?"

"You'll not want for anything."

"A map?  My pills?  A burner phone from CVS with international SIM card capability?"  Justin, the second youngest was a card.  He was incisive and abrasive, we got on best.  At one point he threatened to have an Excel grid with 100 items that anyone would need to take on a voyage around the world.  I never saw it, and didn't need to.  I'm sure he had it all in that fat head of his.  My brothers were as equally difficult.

There I go, making it quirky with a silly little aside.  It was all too true.  And, with two months to go, I sat with my father for lunch at Newport, restaurant name withheld, but one of many that offer pull up yacht parking.  I was asked to wrap sanity around the arrangements once and for all.

My father chewed through his Firepot Swordfish with amazing ease.  I gave him credit for eating something so spicy.

"Well, I'll pay for it later."  The couple next to us sat upright, visible through my periphery.  Aghast!  I can't say I liked the place for the clientele.  We didn't grow up where we could park our yacht on the landing dock outside and show up for lunch in a breezy Louis Vitton windbreaker.  This was the only place I could get my father to meet me now.  He was agreeable because he knew how much I loathed it.

"Your boys are no longer agreeable if they can at least bring something for the trip..." I paused because it sounded funny on the verge of my lips, "...around the world."  I explained the need for outside contact, the concerns of disengagement from the world, aid kits, satellite phone, special clothing and the whole boring lot.

My father, fully reticent, looked through the dark paneling and at the bright light upon the harbor.  It reflected twice in his glasses.  He quietly, but not slowly, ate his food and drank his IPA.  He was enjoying it.  He found comfort in his age, where he stopped caring what others thought.  I was still marred by it, even in mid-age.

"So, perhaps I should impart upon all of you that this trip, and my impending death..." More stiff backs around us and a slightly dropped salad fork off in the distance, "...that I want to assure you all that I have you taken care of.  There may have been thoughts in the past that I have been distant, aloof, uncaring...this trip is a way for me to make it up to all of you.  Be it known that I watched you, bathed you, read you stories before bed, changed diapers, fed you and the like.  That wicked woman that said otherwise has been nothing but misguided and unfair.

"Son, for you, I have packed a small carry-on for our first journey, as we head to the Galapagos then to Tahiti.  It has a toiletry package right from the Macy's counter, all from Harry's and better than anything you deem usable today.  You'll have a tweed travel suit, slacks, socks - all are designed for outdoor and turned inside out for dining in the evening.  Orvis shoes.  You'll each have a smart watch to track our journey, an appropriately appointed all-purpose DSLR, a Moleskine, swimsuit, pajamas, socks, underwear.  A book.  'Final Fridays' by John Barth.

"At various stops along the way you'll gain access to clothes for that trip.  If we have three nights in Udaipur, then there will be an adequately appropriated wardrobe and other items.  If we are snorkeling in the Maldives, then expect some fins and a snorkel.  I have been planning this trip for the better part of a year, and I am no stranger to travel, or to you."

I felt horrendous.  The combination of Dad's thoroughness and my lack of comfort in this restaurant and I didn't touch it.  I had them box it and gave it to my dad for dinner.  We said little after that as I drove him home.

Latter on Skype.  "Well?"

"He's got us covered, fellas.  Just show up."

And we did.  I may not have all the quirky details, but Dad sure did.

...

poem:"Exemplary"

there's no better signet
pulling star light from night
a precious sparkle in the dark
taking it tenderly
and placing it upon warm skin
allowing its warmth
slip along
and around
leaving nothing untouched

the color violet
upon your wrist
empowers you
as you are
beauty unspent.

read:"CES 2017 Impressions"

CES celebrated 50 years last week.  Where there didn’t seem to be a clear buzz around any one product leading into the show, what became clearer, as buzz generated on day one, became increasingly intriguing.  To help build visuals, please visit my Twitter page for photos.

Cars definitely won a lot of the floor chatter and the queues to the driver seat.  Every big vendor (not only auto manufacturers) had a car at its booth to show how its ecosystem worked in tandem.  Linking Toyota’s Concept ‘I’ and not saying a word, because nothing will say it better than watching this in motion.  Impressive.  BMW showed off its HoloActive Touch system, and equally impressive interior for autonomous vehicles.  All manufacturers announced AI and autonomous cars.

     For media in cars, Ericsson pitched 5G-enable seamless experiences.  If you are listening to music or a podcast at home, your phone will sync with your car and pick-up where you left off.  Kids will have seamless experience as their profiles extend to their seats.  Ericsson also pitched the benefits of 5G for enterprise services and speed to market.

Amazon’s Alexa was next as another ‘best in show’.  Amazon has made their service ubiquitous across 17 different devices.  Ford announced adding Alexa to their fleet, for example.  At the Aria’s C Space of the convention, Amazon rented out an entire space pitching Amazon Marketing – they are leveraging the success of Alexa and Echo to create marketing opportunities for clients.

     Here’s a mouthful, but, “machine learning, highly connected, analytics” were the buzzwords from folks like Adstream, Video Amp and Ericsson.  They were all offering products to increase the knowledge of the consumer.  Ericsson was offering analytics-as-a-service, showing off its engagement with NASCAR.  Adstream offered seamless commercial delivery, oversight and analytics (apparently they already worked on Mick-E).  Videoamp offers optimization and analytics tools in a single interface.

Televisions and displays still naturally draw attention.  Sony finally embraced OLED technology with their Bravia.  But LG got most of the chatter, since they introduced the 2.57mm Signature 4K W (‘w’ for wallpaper).  Why it won several ‘best in show’ categories is it not only being only a few coins in width, but how they achieved this: by putting its ‘guts’ in the sound bar.  All this and the LG had visual improvement upon its predecessors to boot.

     Outside of what would be deemed ‘traditional’ sets, we are seeing bezels drift away, monitor walls seamlessly working in parity, and even transparent monitors.  When a screen is not in use, it goes clear (you guessed it, LG) – so no longer will your sets be an intrusive part of a space.  Razer’s project Ariana integrates a television with projector and ambient lights to immerse the room in you are in, where VR seems to be losing steam.

     Integrated services within the television or through stream boxes have become ubiquitous, so there were no surprises.  However, Sling TV’s AirTV, where over-the-air signals are integrated alongside your Sling service finally bridges OTA through one box.  (Side note, DVR usage has been in decline as more of these stream boxes disperse through the market.)  Disney licensed to a company called Snakebyte, putting together a $99 kid-friendly stream box that will provide video and games.  It’s based on Android and comes with an optional Bluetooth controller.

     For CES after hours - I put in some photos of the night 'life' - which was hard to come by.  Am I the only one that can stay up until 4 in the morning?  https://www.instagram.com/edwardianjackal/

     For the full edwardianjackal experience, please check out the website page.