"...a close personal friend: the M41A pulse rifle"

When Jeff gave me a box of parts that he told me could be assembled into a 1:1 model of one of the most iconic make-believe firearms in cinematic science-fiction history, I was both elated and intimidated (and grateful!). In the end though, I ended up with a very neat conversation piece.

I was elated because in 1986, I must have seen James Cameron's Aliens 8-10 times in the theatre. There wer at least four Tuesdays in succession where, having discovered someone who hadn't seen it, demanded they accompany me to the Paramount Theatre on Jasper Ave (sigh) to see it on the cheap.

My friend Rob and I cobbled together our own director's cut using the deleted footage included in the tv broadcast, and stitched it together with a cinematic VHS version using three daisy-chained VCRs and a pencil and paper list of pause points.

And yeah, science-fiction has a lot of great, neat weapons, but somehow the pulse-rifle manages to stand out. Partly it is the realism and industrial blandness of the design, partly it is how ubiquitous it becomes through some of the most brilliant action pieces of its time. One of the major reasons though is how they draw back the curtain on it when Lance Corporal Duane Hicks (Michael Biehn) outlines its capabilities and operation to the film's heroine Ellen Ripley (Sigourney Weaver).

This combined with Lt. Gorman's detached recitation of the amunition type ("10mm exploding tip caseless, standard light armour-piercing - why?") both demystifies the pulse rifle whch makes it plausible to have it tear alien monsters apart, but also explains why it might deflect off more armoured foes.

The ammo counter, practical magazine, muzzle flash and distinctive sound have carried on a long ways from the cinematic release and through many a video game as well. So obviously, I wanted to make the most of the opportunity and do it justice, which is where the trepidation crept in. 

There was also a very real risk that the parts would languish in a box as many other projects have, collecting dust until some idyllic future point w

here I would have the time to lavish all the time on it that it might require.  But luckily, I figured out a short cut that let me assemble and paint it in less than a week.

I found a can of flat (ultra-flat, in fact!) olive-drab green spray paint at Michaels and purchased it with one of the ubiquitous coupons. After gluing the various half-pieces together with either two-part epoxy or superglue, and heeding Jeff's caution that a specific order of assembly would be required,  I sprayed all the "body" or housing pieces this colour, masking the bit of gun barrel and shroud protruding from the one end.

I then reversed the masking and sprayed all the "metal" parts black, and hoestly, that covered about 80% of the painting.

The receiver and ejector port (wait, isn't this ammo caseless? well, moving on...) well black bits on mostly green real estate, but it was a simple matter to carefully hand-paint those elements. First basic black, then a bit of zinc acrylic (leftover from another Aliens project, lol) on the exposed metal bits, as well as the loading port on the under-barrel grenade launcher.

Next up was painting all the recessed screws, which, though not the easiest to reach, really contributes to the verisimillitude of the whole thing, and did not take all that long. Lastly, the LED ammo counter in blacks and reds.

I had found a suitable descriptive plaque online that Jeff graciously printed out for me, and one that was painted, I was done - I had escaped the curse of the dusty box (for once)!

Now came the rub: how to display it? At two feet in length, there weren't many places I could put it, and didn't really want it on the walls of the Batcave downstairs at any rate. Luckily there was a suitable space in the unfinished part of the basement, on the way to the laundry area and deep freeze - out of the way but not hidden.

But how to hang it? I didn't trust the superglue to hold the weight of the model is suspended by the nadle, and no 3M Command Hooks were long enough to safely secure its width. 

Luckily enough, the 'decorative hooks' section of Home Depot turned up these brilliant wide, flat hooks that are not only flat black and the perfect size, but they fold up out of the way to boot!

Four screws later, the M41A was safely racked in its new home.

But this weekend, Glory graciously agreed to don her jacket full of USCM patches and let me photograph her with it for scale.

Sadly, there was no time to search out a better backdrop than the plain white wall of our garage (never a steam tunnel or well-lit modern industrial plant around when you need one!), but once again we refused to sacrifice the good on the altar of the perfect.

It also underscored how non-cosplay friendly my build was; simply changing poses was enough to break off the shoulder stock, but what the glue taketh away, it also giveth back, so we were back in business in short order. 

I wonder what might have worked better in terms of adhesive; I thought hot glue would be too thick for how flush some of the pieces were meant to sit, and found the epoxy a little difficult to work with. Maybe someday they will make some kind of polystyrene filament for 3D printing so you can use model cement on it?

Regardless, until I can justify getting an Airsoft version or something else more fun to play with, or hit the lotto and can buy a more prop-like replica, I am happy to have a piece of make-believe firepower on my basement wall.

Split D&Decision

The first Thursday of each month, a group of us play Dungeons & Dragons at Polyrhythm Brewing. A couple weeks back, my four players found themselves in the center of a ring of ghostly frost giant chieftains on their stone thrones, fighting a giant skeleton summoned up by the ancient king, Reggaryarva. 

The fighter, monk, bard and druid squared off against the undead creature, who, though not fast, packed a significant wallop. In fact, a natural 20 took the gnomish druid out on the very first turn (and on that poor player's first opportunity to play in months, to boot).

No idea why I didn't snap a pic of the actual fight...

The remaining adventurers managed to eventually drop the frost giant skeleton, but were then assailed by an invisible stalker, and before too long, all the party members save one were laying unconscious. Worse still, their mummified companion Sahnar had been tragically destroyed by the stalker! 

At least the sole member on his feet was able to stabilize his living comrades and drag them to safety, as the spectral king dismissed his summoned monster with a wave while wiping mirthful tears from his eyes.

The next morning, the debate revolved around whether the Ice Pack (as they are sometimes known) should have another go at the gauntlet, or move on to sooething a little less challenging.

The monk argued that the challenge was proof that something valuable was at stake, if they could just prove their worth. The fighter challenged this, saying they had followed a rumour lacking in details far out on the tundra away from Ten Towns. The druid mused that there might be further challenges after the stalker, while the bard lamented that a rematch would not include Sahnar, one of their heaviest hitters.

As a Dungeon Master, it is great to sit back and watch your players interact in a way that requires little to no input from yourself. I did throw in the occasional tidbit like, "yeah tough to beat an invisible foe without something like faerie fire to even the field," prompting the druid's player to reply, "hmm, I actually have that spell..."

The debate went back and forth, with the monk being most insistent on trying again, since the ghostly council supposedly only appeared under the light of the full moon. The other players were more hesitant, arguing there were other rumours to explore, but also hating the idea of relinquishing potential loot.

Watching the monk player emphatically trying to make his case, I jokingly said, "Roll Persuasion!" He dutifully picked up a d20 and let fly, ended up with an imprssive result of 19.

"That isn't binding, is it?" asked the fighter player.

"No," I confirmed, "Player characters have agency, they get to make up their own minds."

The bard player finished his current beer and said, "Well, I'm convinced."

I blinked. "What? Really?"

"Not totally," he replied. "I, the player, think this is dumb idea that will likely result in some or all of us getting killed." Looking the monk player square in the eye, he continued with a grin. "But Yorrick Grondson, half-orc bard and adventurer, is completely on-board thanks to the effective arguments made by Fardun Glinthammer!"

Grinning, the monk player looked at his teammate running the gnomish druid, Merrick Frostbottom. "Well," he mused, "if we can keep me out of the scrum a bit longer, it could work..."

All eyes turned to the player running Ivar Ango, human bounty hunter, who stared back impassively for a long moment before finally sighing, "well, it's not like I am going to let you idiots do this without me, am I? So I guess I'm in too."

And so the next night, the adventurers set themselves up far more strategically, and when the frost giant skeleton was summoned this time, it was hard pressed to deal with the hit and run attacks of the nimble monk. Ivar darted between the massive stone thrones, forcing the undead thing to clamber over them in pursuit while spells shot forth from Yorrick and Merrick.

With the martial arts attacks of Fardun doing double damage to the brittle bones of the skeleton (and with it not rolling any critical hits this time!), they made short work of the first challenge in surprisingly little time.

And when the invisible stalked first attacked one of them, Merrick illuminated it with faerie fire, negating its primary defense. This allowed the rest of the party to flank it and take it down in again, a surprisingly quick fashion.

This prompted cheers around the table and a respectful nod from the ghost of King Reggaryarva, who raised his hand and...whoa, almost put more spoilers in there than I'd intended... Needless to say, the Ice Pack was elated, and the adventure will continue in early November.

From a coin check earlier in the evening; Sahnar (RIP) at the bottom

Campsgiving 2025 - The Hard Wind

Parts of our family have been late-season camping (Sep-Oct) in Jasper since 2017. It is rare that all four of us are able to go on this cool-weather hot spring trip, but rarer still for the trip to occur without incident.

In 2018, Frankentrailer gave up the ghost.

In 2020, Covid scuttled the whole thing.

In 2023, I tried the cold pool at the hot springs and regretted it immediately.

And last year, damage from wildfires ended up closing our chosen campground and Bride of Frankentrailer got a flat on the Henday as we headed towards our alternate site, so we ended up staying in a motel with kitchenette instead.

This year, we were fully aware it would be cold. We knew there was a high likelihood of rain and a possibility of snow (all of which eventually happened) and dressed accordingly.

But we were unprepared for the 40-knot winds on Saturday morning that inside-outed our 10' Coleman shelter and nearly carried Fenya away with it while I was trying to make French toast. Thankfully I had already turned the camp stove off so there was no risk of fire or injury that way. The girls gamely held onto the legs of the bent structure while I struggled to remove the covering as it flapped loudly in the gale-force wind.

It was raining at the time so we were all damp and chilled by the time we got everything stowed, and breakfast was a write-off. But when we got to Jasper townsite there was a parking space directly outside North Face Pizza, and two large pizzas made a great hot breakfast...at 1:30 in the afternoon.

Heading out to the hot springs, the weather turned less windy and more snowy the moment we turned onto Miette Road. The twisty trail (that still has automated traffic control for the single lane area where the road washed out a few years ago) carries you up nearly 400 meters up from the Yellowhead and although the roads themselves were clear, the limbs of trees were bowed under the burden of wet, heavy snow.

Thanksgiving weekend is the last chance to visit Miette each year, so it is usually pretty crowded - last year there was a line-up to get in for the first time. But despite being close to capacity, it is still very relaxing to sit in the naturally hot waters and let cold snow melt upon your head. 

We got to the Inn Grill for dinner around 6 pm, and were seated right next to the fire, which was lovely. Sipping on cocktails while we waited for dinner to arrive, the girls were a bit surprised when I thanked them profusely for their patience.

"We volunteered, and weather is not guaranteed..." they said.

"I know," I agreed, "but you signed on for cold nights and maybe setup or takedown in the rain, not almost getting pulled into the sky by a runaway shelter. To say nothing of how cold is it likely to be tonight. Do you have any idea how many offspring would have turned on their dad like cornered snakes after the night and day you two had?"

They shrugged it off like I figured, but took my toast to their patience and understanding with good humor.

That night we watched Bull Durham on my iPad before bed, and our tiny space heater was put to the test overnight as the temperature dropped to five below freezing. But there was no complaining that night, nor the next day as we packed up camp while the occasional transient snowflake drifted in.

The Waiting (Room) Game - Canine Edition

Sleeping with a dog like Canéla in the room can be a challenge at times. While she will begrudgingly depart our bed for her own when we ask her too (often voicing her displeasure with a low, rumbling growl), and on occasion even remove herself after lights out, she fully believes she can reserve the right to unilaterally resituate herself on our queen-sized mattress at pretty much any time she wishes. And if we are sound asleep, oftentimes it turns out she is correct.

Friday morning at 3:40 am, however, she was whimpering on the floor loudly enough that it woke me up. This wasn't the soft cries of bad dreams that we find so unsettling during the day, but sounds of stress and discomfort. She was also at the foot of our bed, not in her own, which was unusual behaviour.

Thinking she needed to go to outside, and got up and led her to the back door, but noticed her walk was much more stiff-legged and awkward than her usual loping gait. After opening the back door, she proceeded gingerly down the back steps and towards the grass.

When I came back from my own washroom break, it looked like she was trying to poop but unable to, and her back legs were visibly shaking. She stopped trying, and then her long legs seemed to fold up under her and she lay down on the cool, damp grass - also unlike her.

I thought perhaps we was taking a short break or perhaps cooling off, but when she didn't get up after a few minutes, I opened the door again and whistled. 

Other than turning her head to look at the open door, she didn't move. 

I put on my jacket and went outside in my Crocs, bending down and scratching her behind the ears. I stood up, clapped my hands and pointed to the back step, inviting her back in. 

She looked at me with an expression I couldn't fathom.

I ended up picking her up and carrying her into the house and setting her on the loveseat in the living room. Glory was up by now and I explained my level of concern, which had been rising consistently since being awakened. Glory checked her legs and paws while I fetched a bowl of water, but didn't find any sore spots or injuries, and Canéla turned up her nose at the water I offered her.

With my concern reaching peak levels, I went back the bedroom for my iPad and sat in the recliner next to her, glad to see her rest her head at the armrest so she could see me. I saw there were a number of 24-hour vet clinics I could bring her to if needed, but she didn't seem to be in any distress at the moment, so Glory and I agreed that wait and see was probably the prudent approach. I texted the happenings to the family Instagram chat and headed back to bed, where sleep eluded me for at least another 1-2 hours. Was my pet's issue neurological? Parvovirus? Cancer? 

I found out after I woke up that when Glory got up for her 7:30 am shift at Grey Nuns, the dog was laying on the floor outside her door. Glory let her out, and the morning pattern repeated itself - she ended up carrying Canéla back in and laying her on her own bed, with more room to stretch out. Somehow the same incident repeating made the entire situation more worrisome.

Audrey wanted our own vet in Spruce Grove to look at her instead of taking her to an emergency clinic but they didn't open until 8:30. I called in to work to let them know I would be absent and went back to sleep for a few minutes, but when I called, I discovered they were booked solid for the day and recommended I take her in right away (somewhere else).

So I ended up carrying her out to the Lander (where she had exactly enough strength in her limbs to walk across the comfy blanket I had laid out and onto the opposite rear seat, where she collapsed in a heap), and driving her to Boreal Veterinary Centre, across from the Humane Society on 137 Avenue.

It is a new facility (2 years old this summer), with three of the four receptionsit stations crewed so I could see one right away. They got her checked in quickly and even lent me a leash, since I left the house in such a state that bringing one hadn't even occurred to me.

Canéla walked under her own power to the waiting area until she could be triaged, with her tail tucked and feet skittering uncertainly along the slick floor. She lay down beside my chair in a clear state of apprehension, only rarely letting her head rest on her paws, but not once expressing any interest in or barking at the other people or dogs in the centre. 

It did not take long for a tech to come in and assess Canéla, concurring that the limbs seemed all right, and although her temperature was the high end of normal, her heart and respiration were pretty normal. With her being classified as stable, we would basicaly enter the queue of non-emergency cases, and would be bumped if more pressing cases presented themselves. She advised it we likely be a 2-3 hour wait, which I said was fine and understandable.

We walked back to the waiting area, and after about an hour she stood up and pulled for the door, the most initiative I had seen her take all day. I took her out to their spacious lawn and watched her struggle to excrete a tiny bit of diarrhea, and then let her lead us back to the Lander. 

She seemed must more restful curled up on the back seat than laying on the hard floor inside, so we stayed out for a couple more hours, driving away briefly so I could get some drive-thru for lunch. After eating, I took her back on the lawn with no result, but did get to see her drink a little water from the makeshift tuna can dish I keep in the vehicle.

After three and a half hours, I was growing a little uncomfortable and a bit impatient, but when a young man in his twenties walked by with (presumably) his father, his eyes puffy and cheeks flushed and tear-stained, I overheard him asking if their pet was going to be cremated here. Reminded that these premises contained far worse things than waiting, I opened my iPad and returned to reading. 

It was five hours before we were shown into an examination room, and the lights actually turned off once and I had to flap my arms to reinstate them before the vet arrived . She introduced herself as Milla and apologized for the long wait. She explained there had been an influx of more serious cases and status changes that had kept all the staff hopping.

Despite the stresses of the day, she was delightful and friendly, and plied Canéla with treats while conducting her examination. I held her collar while the vet checked her temperature at the other end, and she noted it had actually increased another tenth of a degree, but wasn't too concerned about it. 

She confirmed the diarrhea and largely ruled out constipation based on palping the dog's abdomen, and suggesting an x-ray to confirm was probably unnecessary. In the end, she suggested that the diarrhea must have taken enough of a toll on Canéla to exhaust her early in the morning, and while she couldn't make a determination as to cause, we agreed that "digestive misadventure" was not out of the question.

She suggested a pre-probiotic paste but not only wrote out a prescription for antibiotics just in case (so we wouldn't have to come back in if her condition worsened), but also asked if she could give Canéla a quick ultrasound to make sure there was no fluid around her heart (something that had happened with another case) for no charge. The emergency exampination and medicine came to less than $250. The dog not only walked back to the car but jumped in on her own this time; she was still for the rest of the ride home though.

Friday night Canéla had a few accidents downstairs, and today the backyard evidence suggests she is still pretty unsettled so we are switching from kibble to beef and rice (there's a reason it's a classic)to see if that helps. But she is jumping on and off the bed again under her own power, which is a relief to see, and acting a little more like herself every hour it seems.

And if nothing else, it is good to know that there is a 24-hour animal hospital just down the road that already has "Kanela" on file if we need to go there in a hurry...but I am okay if we never go back either.