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June 28th, 2007

Questions and Sales



Is everyone out there still sick of pirate stories? I've got one, which I actually dig, but if everyone is still saturated with them, I'll sit on it for a year or so and see what happens then. If you're not sick of it, let me know.

In other writing related news, Bill Congreve and Michelle Marquardt have picked up 'The Souls of Dead Soldiers are for Blackbirds, Not Little Boys' for the 2007 edition of The Year's Best Australian Science Fiction and Fantasy. The story was first published in Agog! Ripping Reads, edited by Cat Sparks (catsparx). S'all cool, as they say.

Transformers

When I was a kid, I really dug Transformers. I loved the cartoon show. I owned the toys. I loved the movie. I know such idiotic tidbits such as Orson Welles dying before he finished his part and the fact that most of his lines are taken from early samples and that Leonard Nimoy reportedly added more. Also, in later years, I have spent adult money on ebay tracking down toys I could never afford as a kid. I still do it. With that said, however, my love for the franchise is limited. In Transformer terms, I'm strictly a Generation One (G1) kind of viewer. Beast Wars was okay, but I've never been able to connect with any of the other stuff. In the last year, I have even been enjoying the Transformers comic, which has seen writer Simon Furman take the original characters and fit them nicely into a science fiction, universal war slash espionage storyline. These are some of my favourite comics, currently. I don't expect you all to understand. I don't really need you all to understand. It's my thing, not your thing, and I like it being my thing. It's one of those things, y'know?

I'm telling you this because, quite clearly, I have no critical capacity in regards to Transformers. The toys. The comics. The movies. I don't read the books, but that's a different thing. But the point here is that I'm not to be trusted.

I enjoyed the film.

It went for two and a half hours.

It had explosions. It had big set action scenes. It had a beautiful girl.

It was everything a Michael Bay film is.

With big robots.

Transforming.

Fighting.

And blowing shit up.

The ten year old in me loved it.

The thirty year old has complaints about giant robots hiding in bridges, non-existent characterisation, and the sequel set up, but the ten year old has taken him, beaten him with a bat, and locked him in a basement. His lips have been sown together. His hands broken. He will not be heard on the subject.

Fuck you, says the ten year old. Fuck you all. It was cool. It ruled.