Unprayed

I don't go to church to be disappointed in myself but it happens from time to time. Usually it is when I am reminded of the tenets of my faith and missed opportunities to apply them better, and during this past Sunday's service, that is what happened.

Most of the service was as one might expect: scriptures were read, songs were sung, and prayers were delivered. During our service, there is an opportunity to light candles of concern or celebration. Two were lit for congregations in our regions, one was lit for the death of a friend, and another was lit for the birth of a great-grandson. Of course someone lit one for the dead in Tumbler Ridge and that whole community, wishing them swift healing from the trauma their community endured. I thought about going up, but wrestled with the idea for too long and the moment was lost. 

I had first had the notion when we passed the peace at the start of the service, shaking hands with other people in the congregation and asking that the peace of Christ be with them. I shook hands with Madeline, a trans woman who started attending last fall with her partner Diamond. I know people in that community have experienced even more expressions of hatred since it was revealed that the Tumbler Ridge shooter was a trans individual, and I told Madeline I was glad to see them.

Then I shook hands with Nicole and Danielle, the couple who joined us as full members about a year ago through profession of faith, and who now look after the supplies for the post-service-fellowship. They are sweethearts and I am always delighted to see them.

But it got me thinking about the communities of faith where the four of them might not be welcome, and the unspoken prayer began to form.

A little while later we got to our reflection, which was not a sermon per se, but a brief talk by the guest invited by our Outreach Committee: Samuel Juru, the executive director of the Newcomer Centre (which was formerly called the Mennonite Center for Newcomers).

He spoke about his experiences growing up in Zimbabwe and being visited by armed government agents there after questioning those in power in a televised Q&A while a student. About coming to Canada as a political refugee, and how his first job here, despite having a degree in international relations, was unloading trucks on the nightshift.

Despite the fact that many other immigrants and refugees in his circle felt having a decent paying job and an apartment meant he had "made it", he reflected on what he wanted to do with his life, returned to school and started two decades of public service helping those trying to come to Canada to make it a better place.

It was a wonderfully personal and inspirational story, that had less to do with faith (although he related praying to God to give him Samson's strength on his first night of unloading heavy, tube-style televisions) and more to do with values, and maybe that is when it hit me:

How many of my fellow Albertans would have been indignat or even angered by the things that brought me joy that morning?

Shaking hands with a transgender woman? Greeting a lesbian couple? Listening to a black immigrant share his story about not only making a successful life with a family here in Canada but helping others to do the same?

It feels like I am continually reading the amplified grievances of people lamenting the way things "used to be," which, let's face it, were probably a pretty good time for white Christian males...but not a lot of others. 

This seems to be the banner that the Alberta separacists (no, I believe that is spelled correctly) are trying to draw people to, and in that moment of realization, a few things came into sharp focus to me:

1) sometimes, the simple act of being a wholly inclusive community of faith and providing a safe space for people is enough in itself, and

2) that being a welcoming and justice-oriented organization is going to feel threatening to some people, and

3) that impasse will be difficult, if not impossible to bridge in our current environment, and we should ask for help.

As people lined up to ask for prayers of both joy and concern, I recognized that what I should do, what I ought to say, is to go up, and highlight that impasse, and then pray - not for us but for the haters.

Pray that the Divine opens their eyes, or their minds, or their hearts, whatever requires broaching. Ask them to see a world that celebrates differences instead of fearing it, to imagine one that embraces diversity as a source of strength and not dilution. Because as entrenched as our positions might seem to be, we won't be able to move forward effectively without some of those on the other side changing their minds.

And with corporate-owned news media and billionaire-owned social media so intent on keeping us divided and antagonistic for eyes and subscriptions and likes and clicks and advertising dollars , the oligarchs and the rest of them can sit back and watch us divide ourselves, and then roll up to conquer later on.

All of this ran through my head as I struggled to pay attention to the other candle-lighters asking for prayers, but when the last one spoke, I was still there, in my seat. Unwilling to stand and make this ridiculous ask that we, as followers of not just the 'brand' but the actual teachings of Jesus, try to find it in ourselves to recognize the intolerant as fellow children of God.

And what has gnawed at my soul since then is not so much the fact that I was unable to do it; the real pain is the lack of regret I feel for not having done it.

Perhaps next Sunday...

You-Know-Who Off the Starboard Bow

I am willing to wager that, in 1985, the nerdiest group at Leduc Composite High School was probably our Star Trek game club.

Sure, we would get together over lunch to play the excellent Star Trek role-playing game FASA produced, similar to the D&D club. But one of the best parts of the deluxe boxed set I had splurged on was that it not only came with all the RPG rules, character sheets and a book of scenarios, oh no. It also came with their Starship Tactical Combat system, a good-sized hex map and a set of counters.

This was my favourite space combat system for years; fast, elegant, and fun to play, with a dizzying array of spaceships to choose from in a great cllection of sourcebooks. 

Best of all though, in addition to allowing players to command individual or groups of ships, it came with a set of helm displays so that each RPG character could control their own bridge station: the captain would give their orders and general plan, the engineer would allocate power to movement, weapons and shields, and three different crew would then execute the orders as best they could, based on energy allotment, dice rolls and enemy action.

Before beginning our campaign in earnest, we thought it a good idea to try a simulator session to familiarize ourselves with the system, a la Kobayashi Maru. The Constitution class was a bit overgunned for the classic Klingon D7, so as the gamemaster I ran a D10 heavy battlecruiser as OpFor and we set the two vessels up facing each other a good ways apart. 

In space games there is not a lot of terrain to contend with, so most engagements start out looking like a game of chicken. As I recall, the turns were broken into segments, and the more energy you had allocated to movement, the more segments you would move on. Once per turn, you could choose to fire any powered-up weapons in the correct firing arc (such as port, forward, aft, etc.).

I did my best not to listen in on their plans, as that would be both unfair and unrealistic - after all, how would the Klingons overhear enemy bridge chatter which was such a key part of the Trek canon? And besides that, I already had a fairly significant advantage.

What? Gawd, no, not any sort of tactical genius (snort) - ask anyone who's played me. No, my advantage was made crystal clear as Capt. Earl asked his crew for tactical input and they made a variety of cases for him to consider. My Klingons, meanwhile, had perfect communication and execution as their entire bridge complement (and everyone else for that matter) were all controlled by a single player - me.

After taking some ineffectual long range shots at one another, the Federation ship (whose name Earl and I believe was the USS Excalibur) and Riska

dh class battlecruiser closed to knife-fighting range. The Excalibur had reduced movement to intensify their forward firepower and shields, while I...had not.

"Helm, bring us straight in. Weapons, hold fire until point blank range," Capt. Earl ordered as he leaned forward in his desk. Each segment, the two warships moved closer and closer to each other. "Almost there..." he murmured - just before the segment arrived for my double-move and I skipped the D10 directly over the Excalibur and into the hex directly behind it.

Now, at that time, in that system, the Constitution class had absolutely no aft-firing weapons.

The D10 did, though. 

Not big ones, just two small disruptor batteries. However, if one had not allocated any real power to the aft shields because they'd reinforced the front, any disruptors at all are bad news, particularly at point blank range.

The Excalibur was rocked with structural and systems damage, but nowhere near out of the fight - a wounded and cornered animal, more than capable of evening the odds.

Frustrated and disappointed but his composure uncracked, Capt. Earl gave his orders: "Damage control parties to all decks. Arm photon torpedoes! Bring us around and let them have both barrels before they can pull out of range and make another pass."

The Excalibur's damaged state did not give them any spare energy to speak of, so movement would need to be slow in order to allow sufficient power to the weapons and forward shields. AS the segments counted down, they finally and painstakingly turned a single hex face, while the D10 had not yet moved. 

A few more segments and then another turn in place...one more turn and the photon torpedoes would have a bead on the Klingon ship! Even if I had reinforced my rear shields, they could not possibly withstand such an onslaught. 

As it happened though, I had not allocated any power to my rear shields at all.

Finally, they used their last remaining movement point to turn the final hex face and point their incredibly dangerous nose towards my Klingon's exposed backside. 

But in that final segment I also got to move, and having remained still for an entire turn, was now permitted to move straight backwards two hexes. Which I did! And which brought my own panoply of now-overcharged weapons directly to bear on the familiar and still unshielded aft facing of the Excalibur.

There was a low moan from several of the crew as I collected all the dice I needed and let fly. With no shields to blunt the disruptors' assailment the Excalibur's systems were demolished and the superstructure was irreparably damaged. 

Crestfallen, the crew looked to Captain Earl, who gave the only orders he still could: "All hands - abandon ship. I say again abandon ship. All crew to the escape pods. Comms, launch a signal buoy with our position and distress beacon..."

After a moment, I said, "well, good thing this was a simulation, right? There is no way you will let me get away with that nonsense next time!"

In fact, as I recall it, there was enough time to get a rematch in during that same lunch period, and the Excalibur's now-seasoned crew made a much better showing.

Still, the look on their faces when I moved backwards to attack them from behind a second time still makes me smile four decades later.

The Revolution *Will* Be Dramatised - One Battle After Another, Reviewed

Prior to the Oscars, our household always tries to scarf down as many films with as many nominees as we can. Sometimes we encounter a delight we might not have come across otherwise, and other times these viewings feel obligatory or perfunctory, even after the fact. When we started watching Paul Thomas Anderson's One Battle After Another tonight I approached it like the latter, but was pleasantly surprised to discover the former.

I knew from the trailer that I was in for something conspiratorial and paranoid, but there is an almost hallucinatory or dreamlike element to much of it as well that reminded me of The Illuminatus Trilogy. The compartmentalized secrecy of the French 75 revolutionary group, while hearkening back to the Weather Underground of the 60s and 70s, felt chronologically displaced among modern autos and cell phones. It was even filmed in 35mm VistaVision for a more period feel.

The majority of the film follows a former revolutionary (Leonardo DiCaprio) and his teenaged daughter (Chase Infiniti) who go on the run after 16 years in hiding when a vengeful Col. Lockjaw (Sean Penn) discovers their whereabouts. This partially follows the plot of Thomas Pynchon's novel Vineland but is only a loose adaptation (with the author's blessing, which is cool).

The writing is tight and the pacing tighter than most of the other Anderson movie's I've watched (I appreciated There Will be Blood but actively disliked Phantom Thread), but like those movies there are some fantastic performances to be had here, running the gamut from broad satire to intensely personal. Benicio Del Toro joins the other two male leads for Oscar nominations and I adored his portrayal of a karate school teacher who maintains an unbreakable coolness despite the plot's impacts on his own, separate, clandestine objectives.

The lack of female nominations strikes me as tragic, given the caliber of performances, but 13 nominations for the film in total is no small achievement.

In terms of impact, it is one thing for a present day movie to echo the sentiments of a more subversive era, with its callbacks to Gil Scott Heron's The Revolution Will Not Be Televised and the film The Battle of Algiers (mandatory viewing for both the Black Panthers and the FBI's Hostage Rescue Unit) while people are weariung present day clothing. It is entirely another to watch Federal agents kitted out in full tactical gear storming a frozen food factory and high school dance as cover for their manhunt, using agents provocateur to escalate street confrontations while similar scenes are playing out IRL in Minneapolis. 

The introduction of an even more secretive faction of rich white racists brings things like the Epstein files to mind as well - all this from a screenplay Anderson says he has been writing for twenty years, and which wrapped shooting a year before the ICE surge descended on Minnesota.

An imaginative and chilling movie that has genuine affection for the characters that it subjects to such harsh trials, and yet still finds moments of gallows humour and absurdity, I suggest open-minded film fans seek out One Battle After Another on Crave here in Canada. Heck, if you watch Sinners on the same service, that's 29 nominations you've covered for the Oscars...

Shoresy: A True and Vulgar Heart

The opening scene of the hockey comedy Shoresy (just wrapping up its fifth season on Crave and starting it stateside on Hulu in February) is an imaginary sports panel podcast that does a seamless job summing up both the titular character and the show itself:

1) Shoresy himself (Jared Keeso, co-creator and writer), who plays AA hockey in Sudbury, is a likely candidate for the dirtiest player in all of hockey, both on and off the ice, and

2) he also has a big, sentimental heart (exemplified by his crying every time he hears the national anthem), and visibly choking up on a few key moments even in the first season.

Having really enjoyed Keeso's breakout project Letterkenny, I don't rightly know why I slept so long on Shoresy. We got three months worth of Crave in January so we could watch season two of The Pitt and Knight of Seven Kingdoms, but when I was laid up after my molar extraction, it seemed a perfect opportunity to watch a show Glory had already seen and was confident I would like.

Two days later I had watched three of the five available seasons.

I am not surprised that I like it so much; it has the same rough, swear-y exterior and genuine warmth underneath that Letterkenny does, but exploring longer stories among a great supporting cast of colourful characters makes it even better, in my opinion. And while it isn't always funny, the smartness of the dialogue and laugh density is just tremendous.

What did surprise me was how much Audrey and Fenya enjoyed it, as I thought the rapid-fire, slang and expletive-filled dialogue would be too much for them. And Shoresy himself is by no means a 'good' guy - for most of the first couple seasons he is actually more like an anti-hero, a loose cannon you are happy to see directed at worse people or achieving collective good incidentally.

And yet, when Keeso brilliantly portrays Shoresy's resistance to genuine emotion in the first season finale, Fenya observed, "it is just ridiculous to me that an episode that opened with a crude sexual reference and literal poop humor can contain such genuine sentiment - how?!"

Regardless of how, we are all now die-hard fans of the show and the Sudbury Blueberry Bulldogs - enough so that three of us and Glory's bestie went to see the Shoresy Classic on Friday night.

Since everyone who skates on the show has real hockey experience (including a 7th overall draft pick and one with three Stanley Cup rings), they've started challenging NHL alumni teams to short games with part of the proceeds going to charity. Getting to see Goody, Hitch, Dolo, the Jims and the rest lace them up against the likes of Ales Hemsky, Georges Laraques, Fernando Pisani et al was a real treat, as was watching Keeso referee an Atoms game of 6-8 year-olds during the intermission.

It isn't great video but I had to share the beauty hotdog goal scored by Jacob "Fish" Smith in the shootout that began the second period.

The Bulldogs haven't won any of these games yet (they tied the Bruins 14 all), but despite losing 13-11 in Edmonton, they put 12,000 bums in seats (3.5K more than Cowtown!), raised $46,000 for the Oilers Community Foundation, and, as promised, skated a hard lap with their tarps off "for the broads."

After the game, Jonathan Ismael Diaby (Dolo) announced an after-party at Beercade on Whyte Ave (a venue choice that another fan described as "on-brand") that Glory and Fenya ended up going to, and where Glory ended up getting gifted a shot from Dolo himself, which was pretty cool.

To be clear, Shoresy is not a show for the easily offended, or maybe even one tier up from that, whatever you might call it. But behind the rude language and occasional objectification there is a sincere show with a lot of heart that has a lot to say about teamwork and perseverance sure, but also about community and personal growth. Maybe sacrifice too, since the handsome male lead had a tooth surgically removed to legitimize his hockey smile. It also shares Letterkenny's great knack for fast, smart dialogue and intriguing characters. 

And oh man, whatever the opposite of toxic masculinity is, as exemplified in this promo for the most recent season:

Plus solid and organic indigenous representation, strong female characters and plenty of references just for us noth of 49ers. Shoresy is great CanCon and a full season of six 20+ minute episodes is about the same time commitment as a movie; check it out if you get an opportunity.

The More Things Change, et cetera

I try to be consistent with my blogging. I would rather babble about something unimportant than either miss my self-imposed weekly deadline or post something brief when more time or space is required.

For these brief posts I will often look for cues or prompts within recent photos, often triggering a memory of something incidental I have forgotten. When I looked today, I found a picture I took in near darkness while walking Canéla in the morning last week, where she demonstrated the accumulated snowfall by walking into a driveway from the back alley, up a snow bank and up onto the hood of a car. Given how popular a topic snow removal is in Edmonton at this time, it certainly seemed topical.

But my photo page also displayed a slideshow of Januaries from previous years, including this one from 2016:

January 11, 2016

And I was struck by just how much has changed in the decade since.

First of all, some context; this was taken during my late mother's holiday visit from Osoyoos for the Christmas of 2015. This is the same trip where she fell in our back alley while walking her dog, Willow(damned ice again!), and broke her arm really badly. But she kept her spirits up, stayed for the remainder of her trip, and played a few games with us like Ticket to Ride here before flying home.

Obviously the biggest change is Mum's absence, as she died in December of 2019, and we all miss her dearly.

But seeing the girls at the table with her reminds me how blessed I am to have them (and Audrey!) in my life today.

10 years ago, Fenya was preparing to graduate high school. One year ago, she was married and living in Toronto before that came to an end and she was able to return home for a bit. She convinced her employers to create a new job position she can help them with and who knows where that might lead?

A decade back, Glory was only in junior high, still competing in Irish Dance. Now she is a Registered Nurse working in a palliative ward and pursuing the elusive full-time line in Alberta health care. And still dancing, when she can!

Friday night the four of us went to church to get a family photo taken for our directory (replacing the 2013 edition!). Afterwards, the two of them decided it was two early on a Friday night to just head home with their parents and asked us to drop them off at Gracie Jane's, a boutique gallery bar just down the street from St. Albert United. They sang karaoke and even bumped into someone else from church there.

There are so many differences between the people they were then and the young ladies they have become, and yet, they are still fundamentally the same: kind, funny, smart, compassionate and hard-working individuals, prone to fits of both insight and whimsy.

Having two adult daughters at home who not only get along so fabulously is truly a blessing. The fact that they have time (or make time) for hanging out with their folks to play games or watch shows is truly icing on the cake.

Moving out feels a lot tougher now, financially, than it did when Audrey and I got married, but I know they will soon want their own space, and that's great - it is how it should be.

But in the meantime, I am greedily sopping up moments like the one pictured above like a sponge. I'm pretty sure that would've made Mum smile too.

Like I said, photos are great prompts and memory triggers, so I am going to put Canela's picture here anyhow - this snow can't last forever, right?

Like Pullin' Teeth

Last July, I experienced a fractured molar while on vacation, and had it removed by a local dentist in Burns Lake BC. I wouldn't call it a particularly pleasant or well-timed procedure, but worse still, I also experienced what is called a "dry socket", which was incredibly uncomfortable. Thankfully my own dental clinic was able to sort me out with some sutures, antibiotics and painkillers.

But when I returned to have my teeth cleaned in the fall, Dr. D noticed a bump on my gums and gave me an antiseptic rinse. A week later it was still there, so he threaded a tiny tracer filament into the space around my root canal and took an x-ray.

Suspecting a potential infection in the root canal site, he sent me to an endodontist, a dentist specializing in tooth interiors. It was nearly seven weeks before I could get in to see him but in mid-December I did, and his amazing 3D scan of the problematic area and his own experience confirmed what Dr. D had suspected: a fracture in my tooth's roots, below the gumline, which would require yet another extraction.

Last Tuesday after work I went in to have the tooth pulled, mostly because it was the first date they offered, but also because my compressed schedule gave me the following day off. I didn't settle into my dental chair until nearly 30 mins into my appointment, but in my experience, that is part and parcel for scheduling such things at the end of an undoubtedly busy day.

I will spare you the gory details, but Dr. D described it as a "complex extraction." The tooth required sectioning, same as the last one, but there were also breaks when removing the larger pieces, which required multiple x-rays to confirm so shards left behind (bless his thoroughness!), and one more trip below my gumline than he had even anticipated.

In the end it required 2 hrs 45 min in the chair and 4-5 shots of freezing to get the job done. I was given clear instructions from the dentist, hygienist and reception staff on how to avoid another dry socket or other complications (no straws, smoking, seeds, nuts, or hard foods like chips) as well as prescriptions for antibiotics and two painkillers, including T3s.

The trouble is, by the time I got to the closest pharmacy, they had closed 20 mins earlier. Google implied the one at Safeway was open til 10 pm, but this turned out to be untrue. I needed groceries and to stock up on softer foods anyways, so I loaded my cart before leaving. When I checked out, I felt pretty miserable though as a) the freezing had worn off and b) I hadn't eaten since lunch. 

I chugged probably a cup-and-a-half of protein smoothie right there in the parking lot, and once home, my incredibly supportive family sorted out the unpacking while I got my first round of meds arranged.

My discomfort was pronounced enough to keep me way from work Thursday as well, as I filled my time with icing my upper jaw, eating smooth peanut butter sandwiches on white bread and watching the first three seasons of Shoresy, which will likely get its own post shortly.

By Friday I was still out of sorts but able to get to work and even sort out a few nerdy obligations that evening (character creation for an RPG, finalizing a list for a skirmish game, and a bit of painting). I was well enough on the weekend to replace the downstairs toilet line as well as the deadbolts on the front and back doors.

In a week or so, the implant clinic should call me to book a consultation. Though expensive, an implant is probably the best means of plugging the new hole in my head, as it does not require maintenance the way a denture appliance will, or necessitate the shaving of my neighbouring teeth to accommodate a bridge across. With two extractions within 6 months, my chiclets are feeling increasingly fragile and valuable to me.

In all honestly though, I am willing to do whatever it takes to avoid another week like this past one! I will be much happier if my future Extractions are limited to Chris Hemsworth movies.

Gundam! That's a Cool Model

I return to work tomorrow for the first time since December 16, and I am not ready for the Christmas experience to be over yet. Let me dwell on the holiday a bit longer by reflecting on a gift I received.

Fenya was invited to be a bridesmaid at a classmate's wedding in Japan last summer, and ended up spending around three weeks there, having a number of amazing experiences. Before she left, she asked me if there was anything I would like her to bring back, and I said, "A Gundam - just kidding though" as I knew she had limited luggage space.

When I opened my gift from her on Christmas morning, I was astonished to see a spectacular-looking giant robot model from the Gundam range. This particular one was designed to recreate the life-sized statue that appeared outside one of the pavillions at the Osaka Expo 2025 (World's Fair).

Now, despite having watched only the barest handful of the many Gundam movies and series out there, I have always loved giant robits like it (mecha) going back to the Shogun Warrior comics I encountered as a kid. Mobile Suit Gundam pretty much started the 'real robot' genre in 1979, which has been replicated many times since in media like Robotech and wargames like Battletech. 

Unlike many humanoid robots that appeared before, Gundam brought engineering sensibility and military purpose to what had been essentially humans in costumes. A cockpit space in the chest, clear depiction of joints and actuators, and a clean, NASA-like aesthetic with water channels and removable panels to give a distinct style. I was looking forward to building one for the first time!

And one night over Christmas, while Audrey and Glory worked on a gingerbread house at the same table, I opened the box:

Good heavens, what have I committed to here? Seven frames of teeny-tiny parts, and seven pages of instructions, as well two of the tiniest decal sheets ever.

On the other hand though, the coloured plastic meant my Gundam would require no painting, and the push-fit construction meant no glue was needed either. With side-cutters, tweezers and x-acto blade at the ready, I donned my magnifier and got stuck in.

Unlike the majority of wargaming models I've built, the Gundam is fully articulated and posable. This does mean that you are essentially building a skeletal system with joints prior to adorning it with the shell and assorted doodads. 

The pictorial instructions are pretty clear, and I was usually able to find the optimal fit with only a bit of fiddling. On those rare occasions where a piece was assembled incorrectly, the lack of glue meant I could wedge my x-acto blade into the gap and separate them with very little difficulty. 

After a page-and-a-half of assembly, I had a decent looking torso, two arms and a head to show for my efforts. The instructions for applying stickers are given along the way, not at the very end like I was used to (although the 'marking' decals were left until after assembly). Since some of these shiny foil decals are approximately dandruff-sized, not having to handle the entire model while positioning them makes good sense.

I managed to get the base model (the classic RX-78 Gundam) completed before bedtime, perhaps 3-4 hours of work. Crisp, clean and eminently posable, it only represnted the mid-point of my construction!

The multi-coloured plastic in this kit looks absolutely marvelous, and I cannot say enough good things about Bandai's sprue design and production - phenomenally detailed, clearly labelled and even pieces from different frames (and three different types of material) fit together like a foot going into a shoe. At times, it really felt like I was putting together an immesnely detailed toy from a massive Kinder Egg; this model scratches the puzzle-building itch a little bit as well.

But the first thing I needed to do the following day was to remove the existing shoulder pads and waist-plates, so they could be upgraded to the beefier, shinier RX-78F00/E version!

Before any of the many clear blue plastic panels could be assembled, one of the 40+ shiny foil stickers had to be affixed to the space underneath. This was probably as tedious as you imagine it to be, but soon I found a sort of zen calm in my sticker placement.

And to be clear, the stickers are a very worthwhile endeavour, increasing the reflectivity underneath the translucent panels, and making it almost appear like they are generating their own light.

I also appreciated the additional rocket thrusters on the leg pieces.

After this it was on to the final, immense accessory - the wings.

"But Stephen," I hear you cry, "even if physical wings were capable of lifting an 18m tall mecha, surely there is no need for them in the airless void of space?"

And you are probably correct, but even if the G.L.R.S.S. Feather system was designed for mobility and not solar power collection for long range, low-support, deep-space operations, I would still love it just because it looks so Gundam cool. Tragically, this incredibly sensible application has a far less plausible acronym (Gundam Leaping Recursive Spangle Swarm), but there you go.

The backpack that supports the wings also contains even more rocket thrusters with venturi-style nozzles, as well as a pair of very smart and highly flexible manipulator arms, with clamping jaws that open and shut. Ostensibly this is to assemble the modular feather unit itself. Perhaps the pieces all fit into the long tail-like extension that also props the model up very effectively.

Once the feather unit is stickered and assembled, then attached to the back pack, the pack mounts onto the back of the Gundam and you're done!

Well, I mean, as done as you want to be. There are tons of options and accessories, including multiple hands (one of which emulates the gesture of the Osaka Expo statue), an energy rifle and an enormous shield. I kept all of them, and the original shoulder pads and such in the incredibly unlikely ocurrence that I should need a 'stock' RX-78 for some reason or another.

I photographed the box as they crammed a lot of info into the side panels and I will keep the instruction sheet for similar reasons (or if, God help me, I should drop it and need to rebuild). By the end of it, I was using my wearable magnifier just to read the instruction sheets...

This was a fairly intense 7-8 hour build, although I think my next Gundam would go more quickly, should that happen. But I am in no hurry - despite having scratched an itch that has persisted since, what, my late teens maybe? I do not feel compelled to seek out another kit, nore to add paint for 'more accurate coloration' to this one.

But heaven help me if I should come across Bandai's new Gundam miniatures game project...