Walked into the comic book store yesterday, and saw the first issue of Halo: Bloodline- a new mini-series based on Bungie's Halo videogames.  On the cover?  Iona, an AI who is a black woman.

The basic premise sets the story before the Halo trilogy- humanity is on the losing side of a galactic war, their colonies being wiped out, one after another by the alien Covenant.  Iona is in charge of a secret mission to strike deep behind enemy lines, using their best elite forces- the Spartans - soldiers upgraded through cybernetics, genetic manipulation and power armor.  Naturally something goes horribly wrong, and they find themselves trapped on an alien world neither human nor Covenant, with it's own mysteries and dangers.

Granted this is the first issue, but some interesting things:  First, two of the four Spartans are identifiably people of color! (Yay when United Earth Governments don't look like all white folks).  Second, Iona is the most "human" of the bunch- it's seen through her eyes and she's surprised at how much the specialized training makes the Spartans act so much unlike normal people, without it being problematic.

Though the Halo games generally have done a better job of multiethnic casting of their characters, there was definite problematic points in Halo 2 & 3 with "New Mombasa" as a major city that seemed completely devoid of black people, or even locals in the defense units...  So this series is already off to a good start.

For deep Halo geeks, we can assume that Iona's personality is a copy of a human brain, but it hasn't been revealed if she is the copy of a dead brain or a flash cloned brain with a living person, and/or who that person might be.

ok i am shocked no one else has posted this yet so merry xmas all and to all pacing kittehs all night long.

http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/section?category=ANSWERMAN

Last question on the page.

"Hay, wers dis santy fella wif my prezints?"

( Has Jack been naughty or nice? )"

He's sleeping right now. Such a cute kitty!

Dear Santa,

For Xmas could you get the Feds to tell me something?

Thank you,

The Girl With The References.


Logically I know it's a holiday week and I probably wouldn't start until the new year anyway so next week is plenty of notice. Illogically I'd like to know right now. Because that would be good. They've checked my references for at least 2 of the 4 positions (I did my best to give good interview) so presumably they want me for one of them. But I haven't gotten a phone call or a letter, so I'm twitchy. Of course I also haven't gotten the "We have selected someone else" email so I guess I should should just be patient right? Right. Except...I'm very bad at patient. On the upside I have all day today to spend writing since p_dilla is at work and my kids are transfixed by all the holiday cartoons. One quick trip to the store later (after they've salted and the sun has melted some of the ice) and I'm in business for the rest of the week. You?

Bootsy Collins picspam to celebrate P-Funk science fiction, and the best bass player ever to walk this Earth. This post is dedicated to all true-hearted minions of Dr Funkenstein.



The inimitable Bootsy Collins.

( Follow the star.... )

http://www.cartoonlabs.com/comics/index.php?date=2009-12-24&show=sinfest

Sinfest
Tatsuya Ishida

Dear readers, I am waiting for it to become midnight so I can send off my Christmas story to those excellent people who requested it, and I am impatient!

So impatient, in fact, that I will finally tell the story of that time I threw up on my shoes in Atlanta airport.

In 2008, disaster hit feminist SFF convention WisCon. Disaster took the form of STOMACH DEATH FLU, prostrating many of the attendees and making the rest eye the Con Suite delectables with more than the usual caution. People told terrible tales of evacuating both ends in the nice WisCon bathrooms, and I'm sure the hotel staff were just so thrilled at all the sick geeks weakly tottering about.

I was fine.

That was good! Because I was going to visit my delightful agent Barry in NYC and stay with him for a while there, in the company of my best friend, revena. Because of flight shenanigans, however, she was flying direct from Wisconsin, and I was connecting in Atlanta.

My connection, naturally, was delayed.

I sighed, read some book, listened to some music, ate a ham sandwich, read some more book, walked into the toilet past the long queue, walked out of the toilet, grabbed a man who was standing by an empty airport wheelchair, and said, "Is someone using that?"

I don't know if he replied, because at that point I fainted into the chair.

I came to with someone kneeling by my faithful chair - a fellow traveller, who was a doctor - asking me significant questions, like was I pregnant. "Why is he bothering me with all this?" I thought, and then I leaned over and very neatly threw up all over my shoes. And the chair footrest. And quite a lot of the floor.

Under normal circumstances, dear readers, putting anyone to any trouble makes me cringe with anxiety. I regularly apologise for bumping into inanimate objects. But here I had pushed into the front of a queue, stolen someone's wheelchair, and exported the contents of my stomach onto airport property and I did not care. I was too sick to care! Here I was, and other people would just have to deal with me.

Some time later, when the helpful doctor had satisfied himself that I wasn't going to die and run to catch his flight and a helpful lady had given me a stain removal pen for the parts of my skirt that had caught vomit backsplash and various people were making uninformed but kindly-intended speculations on what was wrong with me, the airport paramedics arrived. They had taken a while, because their kit had liquids in it, and security had held them up.

No comment.

By this point an airport cleaner was mopping up my lunch, and I had recovered myself enough to apologise to her. She assured me that it was no trouble, goodness me, I couldn't help it! Up to this point, in fact, no one had been anything but nice to me, as befits the treatment of sick people far from home.

Then a paramedic - a man paid to treat sick people far from home - sneered, raised an eyebrow, and snottily inquired, "Do you make this much mess everywhere you go?"

Dear readers, I summoned all the dignity I could while I was standing on one foot in a pool of my own spew. It turned out to be quite a lot. "Of course not," I said. "My mother taught me manners."

And that's the vomit story. Merry Christmas Eve, y'all!

http://www.onemanga.com/Yotsubato/63/

Sorry, I'm terrible at announcing stuff so like... be happy or something.

OH AND HAPPY HOLIDAYS / MERRY CHRISTMAS PEOPLES.

Oh, FAMILY.

My mother is a teacher. My father was a teacher before he retired. Neither of them can approach anything I write without scrutinising it for errors.

My father is currently reading the ARC of Guardian of the Dead.

Dad: *bursting through door* "Page 57! You are never EVER "in a marae"! You are always ON a marae.
Me: "Thank you, Dad; I wish someone had caught that-"
Dad: *indignant* "Someone just did!"
Me: "-but the last copy-edits were sent over a month ago."

TWO MINUTES LATER, NO LIE:

Dad: "I don't like being critical-"
Me: "THEN STOP."
Dad: "No, no, look! 'Soliders'!'"

I swear, he is going to remain astonished at my churlish reactions to his triumphant red-penning right up until the point my teeth meet in his throat.

ETA:

Dad: "There's a question mark missing here. 'Oh. You've still got the Bible.' Should have a question mark after Bible."
Me: "No, that's a statement."
Dad: "No, it's a question."
Me: "It's a statement. She knows that he's got the Bible! She's stating that he still has it! I WROTE THE BOOK!"

Oh, FAMILY.

HEY. Have.. 26 icons of Todd Mcfarlane's Haunt + Call of Duty Modern Warfare 2: Ghost + Batman, amongst many others.



( Yeah. )

Man, how many videos gonna use the view from the Bridge? :P