wjrii

The Office (US) could have ended with the proposal in the rain.

It probably should have ended with the wedding in Niagara.

It definitely should have ended when Michael left. Don't give me your Robert California bullshit either. The series was already on fumes and the last two seasons were garbage.

The Marvels is not bad at all. Better than Iron Man 2 or 3, Thor 2 or 4, Ant-Man 3, Black Panther 2, the Ultron movie, or any standalone Hulk movie (not entirely fair, I know), and equivalent to the "good" Ant-Man movies or GotG 2. It's also better than Captain Marvel, and Brie Larson is finally making the character her own. Good chemistry among the leads, the switching dynamic is visually interesting, and the entire cast brought in from Ms. Marvel remains endlessly enjoyable. The "need" to have watched everything is there but dramatically overstated in complaints I've seen.

Now, to be fair, the plot is too episodic and disjointed, and the villain is once again an underdeveloped cipher with tantalizingly nuanced motives that aren't explored, and the movie certainly is more cohesive if you've kept up with your homework. Honestly, though, if you watched Captain Marvel and caught the trailer for Ms. Marvel you'd be fine, though again, you'd be missing one of the more delightful (if still a bit uneven) recent Marvel projects.

Okay, my ten year old loves these two games and has occasionally mentioned people playing them on emulators. She has no complaints (possibly because she's ten), and TBH when watching her play on the living room tv they look... fine? What is so terrible about the way they run natively? Legitimately curious.

Ahh, got it. Never got very deep into Westworld.

Unexpected Shakespeare. Nice.

And yummy.

I just watched The Marvels, and I liked it quite a bit, if I stopped short of loving it (but honestly, who LOVES marvel movies? The entire point is high floor/low ceiling entertainment). The plot meanders and it has a typical Marvel "understandable but underdeveloped" villain, but the leads had good chemistry, the switching dynamic was fun, the entire cast from Ms. Marvel is delightful, and Brie Larson is (finally) getting comfortable in the role. I was kinda surprised at how poorly it did, but also kinda not, because fanboys are proving that they really need to see themselves represented or they suddenly develop extremely high standards and demand only groundbreaking entertainment with perfect execution.

almost every one of these is sort of set dressing and skin deep, and changed drastically in some fundamental way.

I think we're on the same team here, but it would be silly not to view Dune as one inspiration among many. I think Herbert was a being a needlessly salty MFer though. For the second point, I was thinking more the Bene Gesserit than the Fremen, and while "warriors" is maybe stretching things a bit, you wouldn't want to get on the bad side of a reverend mother.

It's only a throwaway reference in the original movie, but ultimately, as is the way with Star Wars, the lore was expanded and it was declared to be a sort of general purpose narcotic, possibly mildly involving telepathy, suitable mostly for inspiring organized crime plotlines. It's pretty different from Herbert's spice.

Before Center could reply, I’m thinking to myself, hey, Dusty 52 has a ground speed indicator in that million-dollar cockpit, so why is he asking Center for a readout? Then I got it, ol’ Dusty here is making sure that every bug smasher from Mount Whitney to the Mojave knows what true speed is. He’s the fastest dude in the valley today, and he just wants everyone to know how much fun he is having in his new Hornet. And the reply, always with that same, calm, voice, with more distinct alliteration than emotion: Dusty 52, Center, we have you at 620 on the ground. And I thought to myself, is this a ripe situation, or what? As my hand instinctively reached for the mic button, I had to remind myself that Walt was in control of the radios. Still, I thought, it must be done – in mere seconds we’ll be out of the sector and the opportunity will be lost. That Hornet must die, and die now. I thought about all of our Sim training and how important it was that we developed well as a crew and knew that to jump in on the radios now would destroy the integrity of all that we had worked toward becoming. I was torn. Somewhere, 13 miles above Arizona, there was a pilot screaming inside his space helmet. Then, I heard it. The click of the mic button from the back seat. That was the very moment that I knew Walter and I had become a crew. Very professionally, and with no emotion, Walter spoke: Los Angeles Center, Aspen 20, can you give us a ground speed check? There was no hesitation, and the replay came as if was an everyday request. Aspen 20, I show you at one thousand eight hundred and forty-two knots, across the ground. I think it was the forty-two knots that I liked the best, so accurate and proud was Center to deliver that information without hesitation, and you just knew he was smiling. But the precise point at which I knew that Walt and I were going to be really good friends for a long time was when he keyed the mic once again to say, in his most fighter-pilot-like voice: Ah, Center, much thanks, We’re showing closer to nineteen hundred on the money. For a moment Walter was a god. And we finally heard a little crack in the armor of the HoustonCentervoice, when L.A.came back with: Roger that Aspen, Your equipment is probably more accurate than ours. You boys have a good one. It all had lasted for just moments, but in that short, memorable sprint across the southwest, the Navy had been flamed, all mortal airplanes on freq were forced to bow before the King of Speed, and more importantly, Walter and I had crossed the threshold of being a crew. A fine day’s work. We never heard another transmission on that frequency all the way to the coast. For just one day, it truly was fun being the fastest guys out there.

There were a lot of things we couldn’t do in an SR-71, but we were the fastest guys on the block and loved reminding our fellow aviators of this fact. People often asked us if, because of this fact, it was fun to fly the jet. Fun would not be the first word I would use to describe flying this plane. Intense, maybe. Even cerebral. But there was one day in our Sled experience when we would have to say that it was pure fun to be the fastest guys out there, at least for a moment. It occurred when Walt and I were flying our final training sortie. We needed 100 hours in the jet to complete our training and attain Mission Ready status. Somewhere over Colorado we had passed the century mark. We had made the turn in Arizona and the jet was performing flawlessly. My gauges were wired in the front seat and we were starting to feel pretty good about ourselves, not only because we would soon be flying real missions but because we had gained a great deal of confidence in the plane in the past ten months. Ripping across the barren deserts 80,000 feet below us, I could already see the coast of California from the Arizona border. I was, finally, after many humbling months of simulators and study, ahead of the jet. I was beginning to feel a bit sorry for Walter in the back seat. There he was, with no really good view of the incredible sights before us, tasked with monitoring four different radios. This was good practice for him for when we began flying real missions, when a priority transmission from headquarters could be vital. It had been difficult, too, for me to relinquish control of the radios, as during my entire flying career I had controlled my own transmissions. But it was part of the division of duties in this plane and I had adjusted to it. I still insisted on talking on the radio while we were on the ground, however. Walt was so good at many things, but he couldn’t match my expertise at sounding smooth on the radios, a skill that had been honed sharply with years in fighter squadrons where the slightest radio miscue was grounds for beheading. He understood that and allowed me that luxury. Just to get a sense of what Walt had to contend with, I pulled the radio toggle switches and monitored the frequencies along with him. The predominant radio chatter was from Los Angeles Center, far below us, controlling daily traffic in their sector. While they had us on their scope (albeit briefly), we were in uncontrolled airspace and normally would not talk to them unless we needed to descend into their airspace. We listened as the shaky voice of a lone Cessna pilot asked Center for a readout of his ground speed. Center replied: November Charlie 175, I’m showing you at ninety knots on the ground. Now the thing to understand about Center controllers, was that whether they were talking to a rookie pilot in a Cessna, or to Air Force One, they always spoke in the exact same, calm, deep, professional, tone that made one feel important. I referred to it as the “ HoustonCentervoice.” I have always felt that after years of seeing documentaries on this country’s space program and listening to the calm and distinct voice of the Houstoncontrollers, that all other controllers since then wanted to sound like that… and that they basically did. And it didn’t matter what sector of the country we would be flying in, it always seemed like the same guy was talking. Over the years that tone of voice had become somewhat of a comforting sound to pilots everywhere. Conversely, over the years, pilots always wanted to ensure that, when transmitting, they sounded like Chuck Yeager, or at least like John Wayne. Better to die than sound bad on the radios. Just moments after the Cessna’s inquiry, a Twin Beech piped up on frequency, in a rather superior tone, asking for his groundspeed. Twin Beach, I have you at one hundred and twenty-five knots of ground speed. Boy, I thought, the Beechcraft really must think he is dazzling his Cessna brethren. Then out of the blue, a navy F-18 pilot out of NAS Lemoore came up on frequency. You knew right away it was a Navy jock because he sounded very cool on the radios. Center, Dusty 52 ground speed check...

• Galaxy spanning empire with unseen emperor.
• Spice as a valuable commodity
• Desert planet to include skeleton of wormlike creature and suited inhabitants
• Secretive sect of religious warriors with magical powers
• Chosen one narrative with a dead dad

Now that said, almost every one of these is sort of set dressing and skin deep, and changed drastically in some fundamental way. Lucas was also not exploring remotely the same thematic ground as Herbert. He owes some of the world building to ideas lifted from Dune, without a doubt, but also to Lensman and Flash Gordon and John Carter of Mars. He owes plot and structure to Kurosawa ad Sergio Leone, and themes to Joseph Campbell and three thousand years of adventure tales, fairy tales, and coming of age stories. the only thing "original" about Star Wars is the integration of so many disparate influences into a coherent whole. You could argue that Dune was exploring more sophisticated themes and had a more actionable morality, but Herbert was flattering himself that Star Wars was a "ripoff." The influences were obvious, but they were just one hopper of grist for the Lucas mill.