윤

Trying to get (a) home but the parking lot was full of RV’s, packed together more like it was a dealership, and on the other side of the fence 媽 was preparing some meat for dinner. I handed her a pork chop I was carrying and she poked it to determine that it was acceptable. A crowd there was focused on something behind me, which I turned to see was a tunnel carved into the mountain revealing an alien base. A booming voice announced their existence to mankind, and a menacing fireball shot forth from within… but it doesn’t seem they were intent on wreaking global destruction in the usual manner: instead, their representative appeared and offered us a new television series, all the episodes at once, like Netflix. Occurred to me later in the shower that fanciful conquerors might in fact do this, set up their own production companies, hire away the best talent and take over the world on our terms. Their movies and shows could very well be better. All the more reason to welcome them, I say.

Liquid-cooling should assuage my fears of another crashed laptop (assuming it wasn’t the SSD), but I’m finding little motivation to return to GW2 nowadays. Sure, there’s content galore and my new 24″ Asus with the new card makes it look all the more glorious, but the creeping progression game is unwelcome to on-and-off players like myself. Then again, at least there will always be a crowd at Jormag; I should check in on DCUO for some perspective.

So you’ll understand why I find solace in nerdglaze. (Loathsome, isn’t it, to resort to pop language; not that the term is even applicable, but a search for the 윤 family-familiar “thon” turned up only a relevant link in its oldest result.)Really, I got no other excuse for sitting through all 13 hours of this. Don’t tell me showing Laura Prepon’s breasts in the first minute of them wasn’t deliberate.

Was always curious why this Davison finale had received the accolades it does, so I gave it a go instead of looking for the Stargate SG-1 episode that followed up the one I watched on 5.3 earlier in the evening (seems Netflix took them all down, anyway; they’re unpredictable like that). And I still get nothing out of his era, with or without Tegan. This serial in particular struck me as poorly made: laughably bad villains, including the head of a corporation, a Phantom and a guy in a monster suit, I’m not sure which was worst; set design and special effects that really stand out as examples of budget casualties where they already didn’t need any more; and painful scenes, of mercenaries who can’t hit their fleeing target with automatic weapons from a few yards away, much less the whole tawdry premise that the Doctor and his companion are doomed from the beginning by toxic illness, the lone legacy of this being Peri’s cleavage.This compares to “Pyramids of Mars” and “The Talons of Weng-Chiang” how?

Dreading the prospect of returning to my regularly scheduled programming, I continue exploring later seasons of Mission: Impossible—though I swear, when Willy’s hair gets too long, I’m definitely stopping and digging out my Police Squad! DVD—and watched the episode they liked enough to remake as the opener of the Eighties revival, where the IMF must fool a hitman with the challenging MO of rolling dice to make his decisions “random”. (The latter I would find on YouTube, and yeah, it wasn’t a major studio production like the original, but at least they tried to correct the glaring mistake of faking the hotel address.) So, a cross between Two-Face and the Joker? Robert Conrad aced the role with that same James West confidence, and Lesley Ann Warren was a 70’s hottie.

Somewhere on the Garbage Island of time is a cassette tape with the theme song I recorded “over the air”, as it were (before I discovered and amassed quite a collection of audio cables and mini-plug adapters), when the show returned to syndication on one of the local UHF networks. The music alone was positively thrilling, with an energy that distinguished it from the soundtracks of spy-king James Bond, and went nicely alongside the end credits to Space: 1999, which Chris will tell you I ruined by humming to. Martin Landau and Barbara Bain were in it, too, but we’d move away only a few weeks into the first season.
It’d be years later when cable afforded me the opportunity to revisit the series, and agree with the opinion that Steven Hill was the better frontman than Peter Graves. I watch Phelps now and it doesn’t even feel like the Sixties anymore, though “The Mind of Stephan Miklos” will always be one of my favorite episodes. There are fewer of Rollin’s ridiculous masks in that brilliant opening year than I remember, but Barney still does most of the work, ninja or otherwise, and the Rogosh one makes me wish the IMF had been charged with breaking No. 6.