Adios, el Diablo Yanqui

I try to be friendly with most people I meet; it's true to my nature, the way I'd like to be treated, and generally a safer way to proceed within a chaotic universe. But I'm not interested in having a high number of friends so much as being able to treat them well and maintain our relationships with a degree of care and attention. How does the transition from friendly acquaintance to buddy to friend even happen? The two most common denominators, in my personal experience, are a) when I'm not even paying attention, and b) with very little conscious effort on my part. As a case in point, allow me to introduce Jim, who we visited this week prior to his imminent move from Calgary to Illinois.

Audrey and I have known Jim for over 20 years. When we lived in Toronto, Jim came up from the Games Workshop HQ to run our trade sales department while I was in mail order. AT that time, there weren't a lot of church-going family types at GW, so we made a point of having him over to our little apartment in Etobicoke for pizza or a home-cooked meal or popcorn and a movie.

Jim has a yet-unmatched capacity for telling stories and a wealth of nerdly lore that encompasses tabletop gaming, comic books, period movies, antique firearms, history, the art deco period, pulp novellas, book collecting, and many others. Now, many of my friends have similar and similarly varied interests, but  Jim's characterful work experience in the games industry and his gentle Kentucky accent (where the h's precede the w's in words like "white" and "where") make him a delight to listen to. And I say that as someone who has been known to spin a yarn or two.

It's difficult to say whether we exoticized him or not, (as the sole American in an office full of Canadians and Brits, I delighted in tormenting him with the name "El Diablo Yanqui") but our simple homeliness made quite an impression on Jim. When Fenya was born, his grandmother sent up a beautiful christening blanket that we have to this day. But before Fenya turned one we had returned to Edmonton in search of a lower cost of living (and closer proximity to grandparents), and the following year Jim followed a girl out to Seattle before getting married to her and starting his own family.

We would touch base periodically, most commonly when he had a mutual friend in his home or car (Hi Aaron!) or after he'd read one of my blog posts that prompted a memory of something. When Dad passed, he was very quick to email me, and to post responses to blog posts written by a man with a broken heart so that not only I but others would know I had his support.

(And when his dad passed after a surprising and terrible encounter with cancer, I was flattered to be someone he wanted to talk to. Both of us believe in God, but not magic, and that can put people at odds in terms of discussing the end of life and how we face it, regardless of what might come next.

Three years after Dad passed, Jim called me from Minnesota to ask what I thought about Calgary as a place to live because his wife was being considered for a CEO position there.)

Audrey, Glory and I met Jim, Carol and their son Jack in Calgary for dinner while they were up looking at houses prior to the move. I' hadn't met Carol before, but for someone with such a capacity for focus and intensity, she was delightful and friendly. Jack was a wonder: smart, curious, and polite, with his dad's charm and humility in plain view.

Calgary is not next door, and both our families are intensely busy, so there weren't as many opportunities to get together as we might have liked, but we got down there a time or two, and they came up to visit us as well. Jim even managed to make an appearance at my 50th birthday, at which he made me look better by charming all my guests. Who am I to have such intriguing companions from such faraway places?

As a birthday gift, Jim hosted the girls and I at the Calgary Comic Expo the following year (and myself the year after, where he amiably chatted up Star Trek Discovery's Anson Mount before having our picture taken with him). His ability to make connections with people and put them at ease within seconds of meeting them amazed all of us. Walking into the Cluck N Cleaver to pick up dinner, he shouts "Hello, chicken people!" and they are delighted to hear his voice.

But Carol's success in her CEO role has led to her being sought after and headhunted by a larger company in Illinois for a senior VP position, which is not only an extraordinary career opportunity but brings them close to both their families.

And so it was that we went to Calgary for a final visit with Jim, Carol and Jack having already relocated to Bloomington in time to start her new job and Jack's school year. In many ways, the simple interactions of the visit tell the tale of the man.

We picked up dinner (Cluck n Cleaver again) and shared a meal together.

He shared his dog, Sidney, for cuddles with both girls (which was especially appreciated by Glory, stricken as she was with a nasty cold).

He got Glory to model the Calgary Police buffalo jacket he got for a pittance by offering the cash he had left to a gentleman tired of carrying it.

We watched a delightful French comic book movie (The Extraordinary Adventures of Adele Blanc-Sec by Luc Besson, highly recommended!) and the next day, he took us out for breakfast at the Ladybug Cafe.

How do you know Jim, they asked us?

Oh, gosh, we said, we've known him for over 20 years, going back to our time in Toronto in the '90s.

We're going to miss him, they said, genuinely, and sadly, and without exception.

So will we, we replied.

And we will. Me most of all.

I know we won't fall out of touch, because we are both at a stage in our lives where we recognize the value of good friends (of which Jim is one among an astonishing number) as well as the importance of maintaining relationships, but knowing he is no longer a moderate drive away is a tough pill to swallow. It also underscores the fundamental mystery of friendship: what is it that we do that could possibly justify the inclusion of amazing people in our lives?

I can at least take comfort in the fact that this is a good, if difficult, move for Jim, Carol and Jack. And I am confident we will cross paths again before too long.

In the meantime, I will console myself by celebrating their good fortune and remembering good times, well spent.

Do Androids Dream of Eclectic Geeks? - Autumnal Geekquinox 2019

It began inauspiciously, actually.

Geekquinox had rolled around again and Pete had decided to (somehow) theme it around Ridley Scott's influential sci-fi/noir classic, Blade Runner. Released in 1982, its story is (was? will be?) set in November of 2019, so this is the closest one of these dinners will get to it. Blade Runner is one of my favourite films, but Audrey and I were disappointed at being unable to come up with anything thematic to wear for the first time in ages. A church commitment the next morning also meant we could not spend the nights as we usually did, and really should pack it in much earlier than usual.

Unsurprisingly, it was still a wonderful time.

In terms of dress, it is probably just as well that rush-shipping some appropriate t-shirts was prohibitively expensive, as Pete and Ellen's level of commitment and flawless execution would have left us looking especially meager in their resplendent get-ups depicting Gaff and Rachel.

(46 bobby pins in that hairdo, by the way.) Totty played his hand well, noting that in the sequel, Blade Runner 2049, Deckard is wearing a grey t-shirt... Japanese and advertising-influenced decor set the tone.

And as always, the menu itself was a treat in both its presentation and the tastily tenuous ways it connected to the film.

The very first dish was a Hungarian fried bread called langos because Hungarian is one of the languages used in the film to create the dystopian patois of Cityspeak. I was astonished that something so simple could taste so good, but the crispy exterior, chewy insides, and toppings of garlic and a bit of coarse salt made this a very popular appetizer.

Since Blade Runner is based on the Philip K. Dick novel "Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?", it was appropriate that the next course was"lamb lollipops." These were very generously cut lamb chops with the bones neatly frenched so you could eat them with your fingers. Seasoned with rosemary and other spices and cooked/smoked to perfection on Pete's Big Green Egg, these may have been my favourite dish of the evening.

The lamb was followed by shots of tequila poured from a bottle in the shape of a .45 automatic Pete had picked up when the two of us visited Texas in February. It paled in comparison to some of the other tequilas he had around, but the novelty of the receptacle was sufficient to pique our interest, even amongst some of those disinclined to do such shots. A worthy stand-in for the iconic blaster used in the movie!

Referencing the tortoise flipped on its back in the empathy test from the movie's opening scene, the mock turtle soup was a real treat. Almost more like a chili or stew than a soup. it combined ground beef and shredded boiled egg to create a number of intriguing textures in a thick, savoury base.

In terms of broth, it would be difficult to top the delicious shoyu ramen Pete made from scratch, topped with seaweed and served alongside four pieces of succulent wagyu skirt steak prepared on the Egg. Far better than the streetside dumplings or sushi the Harrison Ford's Deckard is eating when we first encounter his character in the film.

I must confess: the current cachet that ramen carries had escaped me up until this point, but the texture of the noodles coupled with the aroma and lingering taste of the soup made it clear that I have given this treat short shrift. And of course, the wagyu beef was astonishingly tender and tasty, prepared with Pete's custom rub.

The final meat course was crispy skin duck breast Pete had prepared in his sous vide rig, in honour of the derogatory term "skin jobs" used to refer to replicants in the movie. I'm not usually the biggest fan of duck, but this was indeed a pleasure to eat. Less crispy than one might expect from the name, the pieces of duck were tender but firm, without being chewy.

And as the main, the duck was served alongside hashed-brown potatoes and Swiss chard, both of with were delicious.

For someone who doesn't have much of a sweet tooth, Pete is a dab hand at producing tasty and intriguing dessert courses, often eschewing complexity in favour of a dramatic presentation. Last night was no exception, as he put together a simple but comprehensive ice cream sundae bar (complete with chocolate, raspberry and butterscotch sauces made from scratch!) and topped with a pane of caramelized sugar.

This delicious brittle was listed on the menu as "shattered glass" in tribute to the demise of the first replicant in the film, Zhora, who is sent crashing through a succession of plate glass windows by Deckard's blaster. Breaking this sheet was done in a likewise dramatic fashion:

As promised, it made the ideal topping to the ice cream sundaes, adding both a smoky sweetness and a contrasting texture to the ice cream and toppings.

As good as the food was though, the real treat was the company.

It was after 1:00 a.m. when we finished dessert, but approaching 2:00 when Audrey and I finally said goodnight and made our way back to the north side to catch 4-5 hours of sleep before church the next morning. We left earlier than we have at many other Geekquinoxes, but perhaps a bit later than we had anticipated. It was well worth the sacrifice, and we didn't dream of sheep, electric or otherwise, but of friends, and food, and grace and hospitality and the simple joy of getting together.

Thanks again, Pete and Ellen!

James Peter Robertson, VC

The Victoria Cross may be the most storied decoration for military gallantry in the Western hemisphere. It was created in 1856 and is awarded for valour in the face of the enemy for the British Armed Forces and those of the Commonwealth, although most nations now have their own. The vignettes depicted in the citations for this award are dramatic and nigh-impossible sounding, which is probably why such a high percentage of them are awarded posthumously.

The U.S. Congressional Medal of Honor has been around almost as long, but has been awarded 3,520 times, compared to a mere 1,358 for the Victoria Cross. In addition, the VC has only been bestowed 15 times since World War II, and not to a civilian since 1879. Legend has it that the original metal for the Cross came from cannons seized at Sevastopol during the Crimean War, but a metallurgist has determined the brass to be from Chinese guns instead, hinting at a story yet to be told.

The VC's rarity and the exceptionalism behind it make it one of the most intriguing and sought-after decorations in the world. And I got to touch one the other day.

Our good friend Peter gave Audrey, Glory and I the opportunity to view it a week ago, the day before he and it flew to Ottawa so this august decoration can take its place in the Canadian War Museum.

It came to Peter by way of his mother, and to her from her uncle, James Peter Robertson. He is Peter's namesake, having preferred his middle name. Born in Nova Scotia, Robertson moved to Medicine Hat at a young age where he lived with his mother until he joined the Canadian Expeditionary Force in June of 1915. His papers tell us he was 6'1" tall, with dark brown hair and blue eyes, and had been employed as a locomotive engineer.

Two years later, he was dead in Passchendaele. On his last day on Earth, Robertson distinguished himself under fire on two separate occasions. His Victoria Cross citation tells the tale:

For most conspicuous bravery and outstanding devotion to duty in attack. When his platoon was held up by uncut wire and a machine gun causing many casualties, Pte. Robertson dashed to an opening on the flank, rushed the machine gun and, after a desperate struggle with the crew, killed four and then turned the gun on the remainder, who, overcome by the fierceness of his onslaught, were running towards their own lines. His gallant work enabled the platoon to advance. He inflicted many more casualties among the enemy, and then carrying the captured machine gun, he led his platoon to the final objective. He there selected an excellent position and got the gun into action, firing on the retreating enemy who by this time were quite demoralised by the fire brought to bear on them.

During the consolidation Pte. Robertson’s most determined use of the machine gun kept down the fire of the enemy snipers; his courage and his coolness cheered his comrades and inspired them to the finest efforts.

Later, when two of our snipers were badly wounded in front of our trench, he went out and carried one of them in under very severe fire.

He was killed just as he returned with the second man.

The decoration has lived in a safety deposit box now for many years, with a framed replica on the wall in Pete's mum's place. Notionally it was to be handed down to male heirs or, failing that,  presented to the Canadian War Museum. As Pete is an only child with no children of his own, the decision was made to arrange the transfer now, so Mum can rest easy knowing this cherished medal has gone to the proper place. Only 99 Canadians have ever been awarded the Victoria Cross, and the Museum has 39 of them - presumably, Robertson's will bring it to 40.

As such, the Cross is in spectacular condition (at least to a layman's eyes), as is the original presentation box.

Presentation box

Presentation box lid interior

Reverse of the medal

The VC also came with a miniature to be worn on the ribbon bar when the Cross itself was not worn.

The miniature VC

And lastly, the Memorial Cross GRI (Georgius Rex Imperator) presented to Robertson's mother.

Memorial Cross GRI

Memorial Cross reverse.

Robertson's bravery and sacrifice are remembered in other ways as well. A Coast Guard Hero-class patrol vessel bears his name, and there is a marker in his honour in the Hillside Cemetery in Medicine Hat. Stories on the Imperial War Museum's Lives of the First World War web page tell of a burly giant of a man nicknamed 'Singing Pete' whose unit mutinied in Medicine Hat due to a delay in getting them into action, and who got into a fistfight with a civilian over their inaction as well.

If you should travel to Belgium, Pte. James Peter Robertson's remains are interred at the Tyne Cot cemetery there, along with so many other Canadian and Allied soldiers who made the ultimate sacrifice in the so-called "war to end all wars."

After two generations in the hands of a grateful family, this particular Victoria Cross now moves to a public institution, which is perhaps how it should be. Now even more people can see it, appreciate it, and hear the harrowing tale of how it was earned, as well as the cruel irony of how the recipient died - not while taking lives, but saving them.

What a privilege to have been accorded a personal encounter with such a piece of significant and moving history! Thank you, Pete.

Chinese Confection Prognostications and Provocations

Fenya's boyfriend Bobby stayed for supper tonight, which sort of monkey-wrenched my plans in one way (as I had only thawed enough meat for four servings), but also enabled me in a far more important way, as we had been lamenting that very afternoon about just how long it had been since we'd ordered take-out Chinese food.

The only way to view the Happy Palace menu online currently is though the Skip the Dishes interface, which I find clumsy and irksome. It took us almost entirely emptying the coupon drawer to find a paper menu, and half-an-hour later, Glory and I were driving home with two bags of cuisine Chinoise.

In all honesty, I've had better food than Happy Palace, but I've paid more for it too, and they hit a sweet spot right in the middle for me, and so it has become our go-to on such occasions (also their shrimp in lobster sauce is tremendous, and hardly anyone else in our neck of the woods seems to serve it).

On occasion, they've stiffed us on the fortune cookies (which I find personally irritating; if I order 4 entrees and you send two cookies, do you think I'm eating all that food by myself or what?), but we got enough to around tonight plus a spare.

Now, if you've seen Iron Man 3, you already know that fortune cookies (like chop suey and so much other North American Chinese food) are by no means authentically Asian. The biscuit portion is actually from a Japanese recipe.  Also, the fortunes are typically vague or inaccurate, limiting their usefulness as an aid in making important decisions or otherwise planning one's life.

But in disseminating these crispy desserts around the table, we made a shocking discovery: Bobby had never played the "Between the Sheets" game so commonly associated with fortune cookies.

In case you also are new to this phenomenon, the game is played as follows: after opening the cookie, you read the fortune aloud, but add the words "between the sheets" or "in bed" to the recitation, usually creating awkward phraseology or a crude double entendre (and rarely, both).

They don't always work:

"Uh, for what, again, exactly...?"

And sometimes they provoke a mirthful chuckle; an intellectual acknowledgment moreso than an emotional one.

Well, one certainly hopes so, in this context...

Sometimes the wording makes you picture a scene from a bedroom farce.

"Ho ho, most amusing indeed!"

At other times the response is a chorus of "well, yeah..." or perhaps "duh!"...

Again, this is hardly a surprise (between the sheets!).

It would seem foolish to deny this (between the sheets or otherwise).

But there was no doubt in anyone's mind tonight, that poor, semi-sheltered Bobby, dining with his girlfriend's family and forced to participate in a ridiculous and pseudo-risque game involving the widely debunked augury of baked goods foreign or domestic, had the best one of the night:

"...(ahem)"

But any discomfort he might have felt was quickly washed away in peals of laughter and perhaps a bit of reddening in the face of my eldest.

The Game People Play (at Family Reunions)

We just returned from the Oldenburger family reunion in Picture Butte, near Lethbridge. Like, just returned - we got the trailer into the garage and the Flex unloaded about half an hour ago. But I've only missed two self-imposed blogging deadlines in the decade I've been doing this now, and this seems like an opportune time to write an observation down for posterity.

When we returned to the reunion about 5-6 years ago after a 3-4 year hiatus, it was with a bit of apprehension. To placate my discomfort, we brought along a fairly sizable collection of tabletop games: Anomia, Risk 2210, Cthulhu Dice, Formula Dé, etc. My thinking was, if things got dull or we got bored, perhaps the girls and I could grab a table in the Elks hall and get a game in. 

Perhaps mid-way through our first game of Anomia, we got our first curious onlooker; one of the teenaged cousins in the crew. We explained how basic the game was, dealt her in (and a couple other looky-Lous who were watching but hadn't spoken up yet, and pretty soon we had a fairly riotous game going. Later that day, a couple other cousins approached me to ask about Risk 2210, being fans of the original game. I explained the differences, set up the game with them and Fenya, and that accounted for the rest of the afternoon. 

From that point on, we were "the game family." It turns out that a lot of the younger generation share some of my apprehension about these gatherings, and find tabletop games to be a great way to break the ice and purposefully socialize with people you only see once a year and don't have the shared history of the matriarchs and patriarchs of the Oldenburger clan. It's flattering to be told that some people base their decision on whether or not to attend based on whether we are coming or not, but in truth, I feel the same way about those folk.

We didn't get quite as many games in this year, because with the miserable summer we've had, particularly in the northern half of the province, many of us were content to sit outside in the sun and drink a beer (Leinenkugel's Lemon Shandy, in my case). Both major games, Risk 2210 and Formula Dé, were all right but dragged on to the three-hour mark, and Risk is also limited to only five players, one of whom turned out to only be intermittently interested in it.

But I am here to pronounce the  Bang! The Dice Game is the best game to have on hand at this family reunion, and I will outline some of the salient reasons why on the off chance you have a similar occasion that requires a distraction or social monkey wrench of some sort.

This version of Bang! is derived from the Italian card game of the same name. It shares the same setting (a shootout in a spaghetti-western flavoured town) as well as the basic mechanics: each player has a role of Sheriff, Deputy, Outlaw or Renegade, but all the roles except the Sheriff are secret. You can only shoot players within a certain "range" based on seating positions, and as players are eliminated, the range gets shorter and shorter. I still like the card game, but the dice game has several advantages.

It supports up to eight players - That's one more than even the card game. The majority of games max out at 4-6 players, so if you are trying to engage a group, this is a very efficient way to do so. It's practically like having two games going at once.

It's short - Games typically wrap up in fifteen minutes, whereas the card game is a 1-2 hour affair.

It's simple - The game rules are a single double-sided sheet, take about 5 minutes to explain. And I have had people pick up how to play simply from watching it being played. 

It's different every time - the combination of roles, positioning, special character rules and the randomness of dice make every game a new experience.

It's team-based - Only one role (the Renegade) can win on its own. Everyone else wins or loses as a team, even if they got eliminated early on. And since games are only 15 minutes, folks are unlikely to wander off once their character is pushed into Boot Hill. Being told your side won really takes the sting out of being dead.

It's addictive - The combination or short games, different combinations and team victories make it easy to play multiple games. The first year we brought this, the older cousins asked if we could leave it with them when we went to bed just before midnight, and they ended playing past two in the morning.

It's characterful - In addition to having a role, each player is given a named character with a special rule that bends or breaks one of the other rules in the game. For instance, most players only get up to three rolls of the dice, but Lucky Duke gets four. Vulture Sam gains two life points every time another player is eliminated, making him extremely effective as the Sheriff (who gets two bonus lives to begin with).

It's luck-based, but there's room for skill - From determining just who you want to shoot in the opening turns of the game when nobody knows who's who, to knowing when to press your luck after two dynamite show up in a roll and you are one more away from having your turn abruptly ended, there are opportunities for skillful decision making. On the other hand, when you lose, everyone knows it was simply the luck of the dice.

It's got a nice form factor - The Formula Dé box is pretty big, plus you might want to bring extra tracks. My version of Pandemic now spans two boxes. Bang! The Dice Game can fit in a large coat pocket and is perhaps five inches by ten. 

It's expandable - Just when you think the game is played out, they introduce an expansion called The Old Saloon with new dice and rules! This is done at the cost of a little bit of the simplicity I appreciate so much, but being able to replace an existing dice with a Saloon dice (in either Loudmouth or Coward variety) brings just a little more nuance and drama in for established players. The second expansion, Undead or Alive, is out later this year. 

It's not a perfect game -what is? But Bang! The Dice Game has enough going for it that most people would benefit from having it in their closet, especially if they are looking for something to play over lunch while at work or school, or are hoping to make awkward gatherings much more enjoyable.

Tangled Webs - Sony vs. Marvel

With everything else in the world that there is to get upset about, it seems ridiculous and disappointing that a grown-ass man (even the namesake of this very blog's title) should exhaust any mental bandwidth or concern at all over two media juggernauts wrestling over the provenance and disposition of a made-up character originally intended to sell publications intended for children.

And yet, here we are.

Learning on Tuesday that Sony had ended their profitable and creatively successful partnership with Marvel Studios and that Spider-Man would no longer be part of the MCU and vice-versa, was incredibly disheartening to me.

It's easy to be jaded now, with the staggering amount of superhero films we've had that are not only successful but also satisfying. But prior to 2012, we'd never had a good third superhero film before. Superman III (1983) was a dud for Christopher Reeve despite two excellent prior entries, Batman Forever (1995) destroyed a lot of the goodwill earned by Tim Burton's uneven but entertaining films and X3: The Last Stand (2006) almost destroyed the franchise that had the most promising sequel of all of them, requiring a reboot five years later.

Sam Raimi's third Spider-Man film landed with a thud in 2007, having mishandled not only the main character but one of the most eagerly anticipated villains, Venom. They rebooted with Andrew Garfield in 2012, but, true to form, bolshed up his sequel so bad by trying to set up their own shared cinematic universe, they instead had to threeboot one of the most valuable and recognizable comics properties in the world.

Thankfully, someone at Sony had the sense to reach out to a studio that was doing it right, and in exchange for 5% of the profits, Marvel Studios lent ace producer and MCU mastermind Kevin Feige to serve as their chief creative influence. This also allowed MCU elements like Iron Man and Happy Hogan to appear in the Sony films and Spider-Man to show up in three MCU films: Captain America: Civil War, Avengers: Infinity War and Avengers: Endgame. The mid-credit and end-credit scenes in the most recent Spider-Man movie promised huge changes ahead for both Peter Parker and the MCU, but unless something miraculous transpires, it appears these two storylines will be pushing on independently of each other, and that is just too bad.

I mean, I understand Sony's perspective; in renegotiating their agreement, Marvel had asked for a firmer partnership, agreeing to finance 50% of future Spidey films in exchange for 50% of the profits. Sony, who now have a much-loved actor in the role and certainly best iteration onscreen yet, have been slowly building their own cinematic universe around the villains of the Spiderverse (and the 900 other characters bundled with him!). Even the movies they make that aren't very good still make hundreds of millions of dollars (ASM2 made $709M, Venom made $856M), while Into the Spider-Verse made $375M...on an estimated budget of $90M and was a critical hit besides. At this point, Sony has to be thinking that 100% x $X x ∞ makes way more sense than 50% x ($X+Y%) x ?, right?

It's going to be harder on Marvel than Sony. The MCU is now unable to use the one character who is, more than any other, the face of Marvel in their own movies. Worse still, they lose Peter Parker, the face of youthful optimism and compassion in a set of films where almost none of the other heroes have any compunction against shooting, maiming or stabbing bad guys.

Still, the timing works out all right for Marvel. If they have to move on sans-Spider-Man, they have run his initial story arc through to a dramatic and emotionally satisfying conclusion. I'm pretty sure they can still continue exploring the arc introduced in the final end credits scene with Nick Fury and...uh...those other guys. (Seriously, go see this film already if you haven't - it's great, and all the speculation over this corporate business is going to ruin a delightful surprise for you!) Plus they still own 100% of all the merchandising and toy rights as I understand it, so there's that.

Other nerds have speculated that future movies won't be able to use the high-tech suit designed by Tony Stark, but I disagree. There is no narrative need to explain where the suit came from, and besides, in the PS4 videogame, Peter Parker builds something almost as high-tech pretty much by himself and has done so in the comics as well. And frankly, if they ended up saying that both Stark suits got wrecked in FFH and Peter went old-school in the next movie (and back to a brighter colour palette!) that would be a-okay with me. I still think there is more drama to be wrought from pulling the fabric mask on and off anyhow, and I love when he pulls it half-up to eat or drink in the comics.

I will miss the potential relationship between Aunt May and Happy Hogan, but the dialogue in Far From Home revealed that this has by no means a sure thing either. The supporting cast is all still on hand, and there are more than enough villains to go around. It will be weird not having them deal with "the blip" that affected the rest of the MCU after Endgame (and called out in FFH), but since none of the core characters were really impacted by it, that's just one more thing that no one needs to talk about in a two-hour movie. Is such maneuvering stupid and unnecessary? Absolutely. But is it insurmountable for a studio whose executives are transfixed by literally billions of floating dollar signs? Not in the slightest.

I still think Sony should go back to the table and work something out with Disney and Marvel though. This maneuver has not only cost them the goodwill of a lot of movie fans, but the uproar actually negatively impacted the Sony stock a little. From a business perspective, turning your back on history's most successful producer (23 films with no bombs and overall BO gross of $22.5 billion) has to feel a little iffy, especially when you consider this is a studio whose only other major franchise is Jumanji. Men In Black International took a pounding this summer, and no one is sure what the turnout will be on next year's Ghostbusters reunion. Was a counteroffer ever made on the 50% figure? Isn't that how these sorts of things work?

Nothing is assured for Sony. They have Tom Holland under contract for at least one more film (and maybe two-no one seems able to say for sure), but they don't have the director locked in yet, they don't have the writers on a contract [UPDATED: apparently Chris McKenna and Erik Sommers are now on board], and let's face it, Sony doesn't have a good track record at this stage of the game. Are they prepared to re-cast the Webslinger for the fourth time this century if Holland decides these guys are clown shoes? I mean, a new face never hurt James Bond that much, but still, things go pear-shaped in the new arrangement and it's back to the drawing board, I am pretty sure the damages will be profound and long-lasting, and many a Sony exec will be shown the door in the aftermath.

Some have proposed that Disney simply buy Sony Pictures outright, and they could maybe do it, but their acquisition of Fox earlier this year still required government approval due to anti-trust regulations, so that doesn't seem awfully likely. Besides, no matter how well they've handled them thus far, I don't like the idea of a single corporate megalith owning the IP to all the cool nerdy stuff, it's more than enough for Disney to have Star Wars and Marvel (now including the Fantastic Four and X-Men!) in addition to their own huge stable of characters.

Until Sony drops the ball again, however, I think the MCU has seen the last of Peter Parker and his wall-crawling alter ego, and that's a sad thing for us fans. The Marvel universe is a better one with him in it, and the completeness and synergy created made both sides more appealing, more engaging, more interesting, and perhaps most importantly, less confusing than they will be from now on.

The good news is that we will still get one more Spider-Man movie with Tom Holland and that cast, so it will at least feel familiar. I don't think they will have access to the effects, costuming, and production design of Marvel, so they probably won't look as nice. I can only hope they don't try to cram all the world-building they want to do into the next film at the expense of the story and end up with a trailer for the next movie instead of a complete story that they could build upon at their leisure.

Meanwhile, the MCU is shaping up to be a very busy place over the next little while, and fans are so likely to be distracted and delighted that it is possible that Spider-Man in that context will end up being like that good friend in elementary school who moved away during the summer. You start out thinking, "It would have been cool to have him here," but those occasions come less and less often, and you only rarely wonder wistfully about what might have been.

The Rightening of the Fifth Estate

I don't really need a newspaper I suppose-in this day and age, who does? But I've been a daily subscriber to the Edmonton Journal for quite some time now. I still get most of my news online and drop the dead tree edition on one of the lunch tables at work, where I know it gets perused. It's nice being able to get local copy on my iPad from behind the paywall, and I don't mind paying for the privilege of having and using a free and independent press, but lately, I've been thinking of cancelling my Journal sub.

Most of my news consumption now is focused on national and international events, which I get from visiting The Washington Post or other major American dailies in Incognito mode or from The Guardian, to whom I pay a small pittance every month by direct deposit. My local news fix I get courtesy of the CBC.

All of my favourite columnists from years gone by have gone on to bigger and better things now: Todd Babiak (fellow Augusta alumnus!) is now a successful novelist, Scott McKeen is a city councillor and Paula Simons is a Canadian senator.

In truth though, things have been trickling downhill in my eyes ever since Postmedia bought the Journal back in 2010. Fewer and fewer local writers and reviewers for things like movies and books, more and more direction from an increasingly conservative head office. And the lack of competition has done them (or the citizenry) no favours either.

I mean, the Journal is no stranger to monopolies, having enjoyed one in Edmonton for over a quarter-century until the Edmonton Sun started up in 1978, but Postmedia solved that by first buying Sun media in 2015, then amalgamating the two Edmonton newsrooms a year later, cutting 35 jobs. That was followed by proclamations to all the Postmedia papers to endorse the Conservative Party in the last federal election, a decision that saw at least one editorial board resign.

Even the editorial cartoons done by the brilliant Malcolm Mayes seem to have taken on a crueler, more partisan tint in recent years, although, to be fair, it would undoubtedly be a sin to waste all the material Trudeau is providing him with.

This month the Journal hired a new editor-in-chief (despite having one already who is apparently still on the premises) and Postmedia has a new political news director who is an old colleague of Ezra Levant and founding editor of The Western Standard. The American-owned media conglomerate's hard turn to political starboard is the subject of an article on Canadaland called "You Must Be This Conservative to Ride."

It all sort of came into focus for me yesterday, when the front-page headline, "Battlefield Conversion," directed me to the Insight section to read about how "As politicians demand a ban on the controversial practice of conversion therapy, there isn't even a clear definition of what it is."

In the article, food blogger Liane Faulder (of whom I consider myself a fan), takes two broadsheet pages to present an in-depth look at the difficulty in banning something notoriously difficult to label or quantify. This is all well and good, but what rose my hackles was the implied notion that conversion therapy could be a continuum, with faith-based tortures at one end and science-based treatment at the other, all with the goal of making sexual minorities "better."

Now, I will not speak for a community I'm not a part of, but I am reasonably confident that gay folks have all the same hang-ups and neuroses as the rest of us, plus whatever you want to pile on in terms of additional oppression, discrimination, homophobia and the rest of it. But the idea of homosexuality et al as a deviation or mental illness that people need to be cured of has been discredited for quite a number of years now. We don't need to be giving even the slightest bit of credibility to this outmoded idea with phrasing like:

Even as conversion therapy is being banned in St. Albert, for instance, it’s not altogether clear where people living in St. Albert would find such a remedy, should they be so inclined.

Seeing the word "remedy" there was disheartening, to say the least. Faulder leads off with the very valid inquiry as to why this issue is coming to a head now, and the possibility that it is yet another tool of division to pit liberal against conservative, urban against rural, modernist against traditionalist. But no matter where it might fall on the spectrum she suggests, conversion therapy, in general, is not designed to help people cope with difficulties that arise from them being who they are, but to make them into other people. Even if they go willingly (which I know many do), I'm not sure remedy is an appropriate expression to use.

Anyhow, this is not really about that. It's about how I feel about spending $30+ dollars a month in an effort to keep journalism from slipping even further into torpor and irrelevance, but simultaneously lining the pockets of a foreign corporate media monopoly no longer interested in even maintaining the illusion of being non-partisan.

And I'm not at all sure how it is going to shake out.