윤

Joseph Lin was still the boss at work, and I sought his permission to borrow the truck parked in the warehouse to get home, though I thought it might not be worth the trouble, having to bring it back in the morning. His complexion was worse than I remember, and he wiped away the sweat or secretions while he explained to me that Patrick Stewart was retiring not only from his career in film and television, but his honorary position at the company. (Reminds me of the celebrity endorsement Apex purchased from Terry Bradshaw.) My earlier scenario found me free from my usual state of transportation-disabled, collecting my things after a class, fitting one backpack into another so that I’d only have two to carry. The girl that had sat beside me, who had curly brown hair like the actress who played Elaine’s counterpart on Jerry’s failed pilot, told me her father was picking her up, but that he was fussy about her sitting in his car, even the way she handled its door. I told her I’d take her home instead and not complain, “I’ll even open it for you,” I offered—the conversation felt real, I recall our exchange clearly; she asked me for my name, which despite a certain extent of intimacy we somehow hadn’t gotten to sharing, to which she replied, “The Jay?” “I guess I am,” I flustered, and our relationship having withstood my reputation, bravely requested her number. She smiled and nodded, and as I fumbled for a writing instrument in one of the nylon pockets, I would learn she was Marissa.

I’m certain I’ve never written about this place, since I only first stepped into our location this year. (There’s been some competition from the Panini Kabob Grill around the corner.) Last week I upped my “lines” of their 130K Scoville red sauce on my platter to six, and it cost me most of the following day.

Which got me thinking again about my three pillars of taste, and how the human flowchart will eventually force me to give them up, only one at a time, if I’m lucky. Jin compared them to Ultima’s Principles of Truth, Love and Courage (which of course combine to form the Eight Virtues, because they needed more than just three cities and dungeons) and gave me the idea for a comic where I’d meet their personifications, possibly represented by Geri Halliwell
, Gene Wilder and who else but that fucking nightmare from Star Trek. They’d have to emerge from within me, since I’ve already used the cosmic pantheon for my Lance Reddick one—I’ve really got to get to work to drop them all someday like a Netflix season.

Scuttlebutt is that Apple TV+’s “Monsterverse” series is being filmed in their new Vision Pro-compatible format, which got me imagining, aside from the possibilities like experiencing scale within the peripheral, about how they might (not) expand the franchise with characters other than the two main attractions from their last outing. Why not a more humanoid giant, maybe with a different origin since we’ve already dispensed with Mechagodzilla, even an extraterrestrial one like the 特撮 heroes they were originally trying to emulate?

Reason I dug Jet Jaguar as a kid was that grin of his resembled the one on Marvel’s short-lived Scarecrow in another artifact from my past, who would leap out of existence and bother impressionable minds without today’s resources.

Update: Fuck, this is a rehash of a 20-year-old entry (plus more future-proof links). AI writing assistants can’t come soon enough, and not the striking kind.

The product announced today has me tempted to capture one of my 全力坂 runs before it’s too late, even if it may already be, ironically, for my own vision.

Update: I don’t think it’s particularly creepy or Black Mirror-dystopian to record with one of these on, any more so than using a giant phone or iPad camera, but I did wake up screaming at a swarm of bugs hovering above us last night, only to realize that it just might have been the kind of nightmare AR will make possible.