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It’s even closer than before. I’m pretty sure the text-to-speech voice isn’t Peter Jones’, the WiFi doesn’t extend past Sprint’s US borders, and there’s no cover with the words “DON’T PANIC” printed in large friendly letters.

(That last one alone would’ve had me sold.)

I thought Kirby’s Captain America collection might be my first-ever trade paperback, but it’s never returned to its low on Amazon after I wishlisted it—surely a subject of future discussion, once I’ve worked out the mechanics—so I impulse-bought the Eternals instead. The King was frighteningly prolific, and without his readers having to accuse him of being on acid. These days, of course, over-achievement mandates drug tests. Chris and I had between us at least issues #1 and #8, the latter featuring the character of the “reject” (the original artist’s depiction here), whose self-loathing super-deviant origin was, it now occurs to me, totally ripped off by Joss Whedon for his Groosalugg in Angel.

老婆’s long burned through all her Chinese-subtitled downloads (however something like Coccidioidomycosis was translated, surely that med student in Shenzen can score a job with fan work like this on her resume), but I left the three seasons we got on sale at Target until the holiday hiatus. I must say, it felt good to have new ‘thon material, my last having been what, Mortal Kombat: Conquest? Last night I wrapped up the “Tritter” arc, which concluded rather disappointingly with our hero saved by poor inventory management, of all things, and saved from the character reformation sure to mean an end to the series.

Wait, lupus = Lupin…? Of course as an avid Conan Doyle reader in my day—when man, was it ever hard plumbing annotations without wikis; reminds me, add The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes to my Wishlist—I live to spot inconsistencies such as Taub & Cutner knowing Joseph Bell but not Irene Adler, but please don’t chart the good doctor’s course so predictably. Maybe it can turn out that Foreman’s the one with the Mycroft-like superior brother, instead of mining the House DNA trail?

No question, I was more pleased that the SmartJoy PS2-to-USB adapter kicked in on the PlayStation 3 than seeing Super Street Fighter II Turbo redrawn in “HD”, because, if the same drivers are used, it stands to reason that the SNES version will allow the original, cross-padded Fighting Commander. A pause, to wipe the tear from my eye, for no adapter before this made it possible for every generation of the game since, and believe me, I’ve tried them all, even ones that required chaining through Saturns and Dreamcasts. Now if only state-of-the-art consoles fired up like the cartridge-based ROM machines of the past.

I took to the back streets this morning, instead of running up to the park, and tallied 3-to-1 McCain signs, and gave up counting all the ones for Prop 8. (I don’t even know what a No-on-8 looks like.) Sorry, 老婆, but I’d rather not have a single-tract suburban home if it’s surrounded by assholes like these. So fucking what if kids are told that men can marry men and women women, it’s not like the subject of interracial marriage ever came up while I was in school in the decade following Loving. I will admit to freaking out, though in a good way, when I first saw that Japanese King Kong movie where the non-Nick Adams guy from Monster Zero ends up holding the luscious blonde. Amazon Wish List, there you go!

But honestly, folks, if I’m not going to let my age be any measure of the seriousness with which I should be taking things, then I ought at least to learn by example from the self-made millionaire who resoles his shoes, rather than all those fools out there who are gonna bee-line to the nearest AT&T store for a $299 Bold instead of voting.

[Update: Relieved from my neighborlessness somewhat by logging into MSN and seeing that one of our clients had changed his screenname to “NO on 8” and reading Larry David.]

It’s not like coming across Hawk the Slayer (which, holy shit, is available on DVD), but I did catch this, from that string of great movies Rutger Hauer made in the 80’s, on TV yesterday, and thought immediately of that fucking cow Sarah Palin gunning down wolves like she was in ‘Nam or something with her decrepit running mate.