Older Movies I Re-Watched Recently: Elmore Leonard 90s Double Feature—Jackie Brown (1997) /Out of Sight (1998)

Spoilers Ahoy

I got left without adult supervision recently, and ended up having a late-90s Elmore Leonard double feature of Jackie Brown and Out of Sight. I’d seen both movies when they came out, hadn’t seen either since. They both hold up!

The two make an interesting comparison.

Jackie Brown isn’t anyone’s pick for Tarantino’s best move—it’s the one where people go “oh right, he did that one too!” Pam Grier and Robert Forster had never been better—and neither one would have a part that good again. For everyone else, this is clearly a minor movie in their respective bodies of work. I remember reading a review of Jackie Brown at the time that said something along the lines of “Tarantino could probably make a movie like this every eighteen months for the rest of his life.” And yeah, everyone in this movie has a quality like this is a break between “real” projects. Not that they’re not taking it seriously, but everyone involved already knows what movies are going in the first line of their obituaries, and this isn’t one of them.

With Out of Sight, on the other hand, you get the sense that everyone knows this is the Big One. This is the start of Soderburg’s comeback, Clooney is still “the ER guy”, Lopez is still a b-player. But there’s a swagger to it; maybe the set was riven by anxiety, but overwhelming sense you get from this movie is: everyone knows this is working. This movie cemented Clooney and Lopez as major movie stars. This was easily Soderburg’s best movie to date, and certainly his most successful, since sex, lies, and videotape. After this, he joins the ranks of major directors. This was it, and you can tell they know it. They’re working their butts off and it is paying off.

Both director’s tics are on full display; there are a lot of closeups of Bridget Fonda’s feet; there are a lot of mid-scene freezeframes of Jennifer Lopez.

One of my favorite things about Jackie Brown is how smart everyone is. All the major players, Jackie Brown herself, Michael Keaton’s ATF agent, Sam Jackson, Robert Forster’s bail bondsman, all know what’s going on; they know that there’s a whole series of double-crosses in play, but they’re all used to being the smartest person in the room, and are all confident they still are. To steal a quote from another movie, at the end they all find out who was right, and who was dead.

There’s a scene at the end where ATF agent Ray Nicolette, played by Michael Keaton, realizes both what’s just happened, and how much he’s been played, and then spends a beat quietly replaying the events of the movie, realizing what’s really been going on this whole time. He’s still got a lot of options, Jackie Brown is still in a lot of potential trouble, but she’s also given him a tremendous gift if he’s smart enough to see it. He is. You watch him consider his options, and he takes a breath and decides he’s good, he’s done here. Jackie Brown is free to go.

Structurally, Jackie Brown is one of Tarantino’s least ambitious movies, and to the movie’s benefit. The most sleight of hand the movie does is around that aforementioned smartness; everyone has a plan, and the audience doesn’t get to find out what they are until they happen. There are long stretches where the suspense is the audience wondering “what is happening right now?” whereas the characters all know.

Unlike Jackie Brown, everyone in Out of Sight is dumb. Even the smart characters Clooney and Lopez are playing spend most of the movie doing very dumb things. (The Soderbergh/Clooney movie with vibes closest to Jackie Brown is Ocean’s 11.) There are parts that play more like a Coen Bros movie, but meaner.

Out of Sight starts in what we later learn is the middle of the story and extends forwards and backwards along the character’s relationships. But this isn’t just the same out-of-order storytelling as something like Pulp Fiction. Pulp Fiction reorganizes events so that the epiphany that drives all the action takes place is in the last scene of the movie. We’ve already seen the reasons for, and consequences of it, and then with Sam Jackson’s last line of dialoge the movie slots into place the reason for everything we’ve just seen.

Out of Sight is doing something altogether different. It’s structured like a memory, not dream logic in the David Lynch sense, but how you would remember these events after the fact.

A specific example: the scene where Lopez and Clooney seduce each other. From a strictly technical sense, the scene is edited as two sets of interleaved flashbacks, the first in the bar, the second in a hotel room. But it all plays as they way you’d remember it later; no one remembers things in strictly linear order, memory tends to be images linked by emotion, so we get a hand on a glass, and then a hand on a thigh, and then a smile—a collage.

(Soderbergh dials this all the way up in his next movie, The Limey, where the entire movie is effectively Terrance Stamp thinking about what’s happened on his flight home afterwards.)

It’s remarkable how good Clooney is here. He was still “the ER guy” at this point, and the way he quietly underplays lines like “I wasn’t asking permission” makes it clear his stardom wasn’t a fluke. Lopez is on fire, managing to land the very tricky mixture of “highly competent agent who always gets their man” and “but this time I’d like to have an affair first.”

Out of Sight is also an incredibly sexy movie, especially for one where basically everyone keeps their clothes on. From the first moment they look at each other, there is absolutely no question about why Lopez and Clooney are doing extremely dumb things to get together; their chemistry positively sizzles, you could practically cook on the heat they give off.

Which makes an interesting contrast to the central romance in Jackie Brown, between Pam Grier and Robert Forster. Their characters are both older, more disappointed, with a longer debris field of personal wreckage. Their almost-a-romance isn’t about heat so much as kindred spirits, they’ve both been disappointed by the same kinds of things. When Lopez and Clooney get separated, the energy is, well, it was fun while it lasted. When Grier walks out of Forster’s office, it’s just terribly sad; one more disappointment for both of them.

They both end on the same sort of “downer-upbeat” vibe; things aren’t great now, but the trend lines are going in the right direction.

On paper, Jackie Brown is much closer to my sensibilities; smart people outwitting each other, good music. But I found 25 years later, I preferred Out of Sight. I don’t have a deep insight here, but I think maybe the older I get the more sympathetic I get for people doing dumb things hoping they’ll work out. They usually don’t, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try. But mostly, I thought the movie was just more fun.

Read This Book Next! Dungeons & Dragons: Dungeon Master’s Guide (2024)

And the “New D&D” double volcano-asteroid summer comes to a close with the release of the 2024 revision of the 5th Edition D&D Dungeon Master’s Guide.

Let me start with the single best thing in this book. It’s on page 19, at the end of the first chapter (“The Basics”). It’s a subsection titled “Players Exploiting the Rules.” It’s half a page of blunt talk that the rules are not a simulation, they assume good-faith interpretations by everyone, they don’t exist as a vehicle to bully the other players, and if a player is being an asshole tell them to stop. Other games, including previous iterations of this one, have danced around this topic, but I can not remember a rule book so clearly stating “don’t let your players be dicks.” I should add that this comes after a section called “Respect for the Players” that spends a page or two finding every possible way to phrase “If you are going to be a DM, do not be an asshole.” It’s incredible, not because it’s some hugely insightful or ground-shaking series of observations, but because they just say it.

(There are a couple people I played with in college—no, no one you know—that I am tempted to find for the first time in 20+ years just so I can mail them a copy of these sections.)

Let me back up a tad.

A running theme through my “New D&D” reviews this year has been: where were people supposed to learn how to play this game? At one point I posited that the key enabling technology that led to the current D&D-like boom was twitch, which finally let people watch other people play even if they didn’t already know someone.

Like I talked about last time, TTRPGs have this huge mass of what amounts to oral traditions that no one really wrote down. Everyone learned from their friend’s weird older brother, or that one uncle, or the guy in the dorms, or whatever. And this goes double for actually running the game—again, one of the reasons 10’ square-by-square dungeon crawls were so common was that was the only style of play the Red Box actually taught you how to run.

As much as “new player acquisition” was a big part of D&D’s mandate, that’s something it’s struggled with outside the era of the Red Box; text actually answering the question “okay, but literally what do I do now that everyone is at my kitchen table,” has been thin on the ground.

D&D tended to shunt this kind of stuff off into auxiliary products, leaving the Core Books as reference material. The classic example here is the Red Box, but as another example, if you go back and look at the 3.0 books, theres no discussion on what “this is” or how to play it at all. That’s because 3e came out alongside the “D&D Adventure Game” box set which was a Basic-eque starter set that was supposed to teach you how to play that no one bought and no one remembers. (The complete failure of that set is one of the more justifiable reasons why 3.5 happened, those revised books had a lot of Adventure Game material forklifted over.) 4E pivoted late to the Essentials thing, the 2014 5e had three different Starter Boxes over the last decade (with a new one coming, I assume?)

And this has always been a little bit of a crazy approach, like: really? I can’t just learn the game from this very expensive thick hardcover I bought in a bookstore? I gotta go somewhere else and buy a box with another book in it? What?

By contrast, the 2024 rules, for the first time in 50 years, really seems to have embraced “what if the core rule books actually tought you how to play.”

Like the 2024 PHB, the first 20 pages or so are a wonder. It starts with an incredibly clean summary of what a DM actually does, with tips on how to prep and run a session, what you need to bring, how do it. It’s got an example of play like the one in the PHB with a sidebar of text explaining what’s going on, except this time it’s explaining that the DM casually asked for what order the characters were in as they were walking towards the cave before they needed to know it so they could drop the surprise attack with more drama.

It’s got a section on “DM play style” which is something almost no one ever talks about. It’s got a really great section on limits and safety tools, and setting expectations, complete with a worksheet to define hard and soft limits as a group.

Then that rolls into another 30 pages of Running The Game. Not advanced rules, just page after page of “here’s how to actually run this.” My favorite example: in the section on running combat, there’s a whole chunk on what to actually do to track monster hit points on scratch paper. There’s a discussion on whether to start with the monster’s full HP and subtract, or start and zero and add damage until you get to the HP max. (I’m solidly an add damage guy, because I can do mental addition faster than subtraction.) I literally can’t ever remember another RPG book directly talking to the person running the game about scratch paper tracking techniques. This is the kind of stuff I’m talking about where we learned to play the game; this was all stuff you learned from watching another DM or just figured out on your own. This whole book is like someone finally wrote down the Oral Torah and I am here for it.

For once, maybe for the first time, the D&D Dungeon Master’s Guide is actually a Guide for Dungeon Masters.

Like the PHB, you could sheer the first 30-50 pages off the front of this book and repackage them as a pretty great “Read This Book Next!” softcover for a new Red Box. From that point, the book shifts into a crunchier reference work, but still with the focus on “how to actually do this.” Lots of nuts-and-bolts stuff, “here’s how to work with alignment”, “here’s how to hotrod this if you need to”, the usual blue moon rules, but presented as “here’s how to run this if it comes up.”

In the best possible way, this all seems like D&D finally responding to the last decade and change of the industry. Like how Planescape’s Factions were a direct reaction to the Clans in Vampire, so much of this book feels like a response to the “GM Moves” in Apocalypse World. Those moves weren’t hugely innovative in their own right—there were a lot of reactions to PbtA that boiled down to “yeah, that’s how I already run RPGs”, but that was the point, those were things that good GMs were already doing, but someone finally wrote them down so people who didn’t have direct access to a “good GM” could learn them too. The effect on the whole industry was profound; it was like everyone’s ears popped and said “wait, we can just directly tell people how to play?”

For example: the 2024 DMG doesn’t have a section on “worldbuilding”, it has sections on “Creating Adventures” and “Creating Campaign” with “campaign settings” and worldbuilding as a secondary concern to those, and that’s just great. That’s putting the emphasis on the right syllables; this is much more concerned with things like pacing, encounter design, recurring characters, flavor, and then the advice about settings builds out from that, how can you build out a setting to reflect the kind of game you want to run. Fantastic.

However, the theme of this book is “actionable content”, so rather than throw a bunch of advice for settings around and leave you hanging (like the 2014 DMG,) this includes a fully operational example setting, which just happens to be Grayhawk. It’s a remarkably complete gazeteer, nice maps (plural), lots of details. This strikes me as a perfect nostalgia deployment, something that’s cool on its own right that also will make old timers do the Leo DiCaprio pointing meme.

Following that is a remarkably complete gazeteer of cosmology, offering what amounts to a diet Manual of the Planes. It does a really nice job of the whirlwind tour of what’s cool and fun to use from what they now call the “D&D Multiverse”, while making it clear you can still use any or all of this stuff on top of and in addition to anything you make up.

Something else this book does well is take advantage of the fact that there’s already a whole line of compatible 5e books in print, so it can point you to where to learn more. There’s a page or two on things like Spelljamming, or Sigil, or The Radiant Citadel, which is fully useful on it’s own, but then instead of being coy about it, the book just says “if you want to know more, go read $BOOK.” That’s marketing the way its supposed to work.

On a similar note, before it dives into Greyhawk, the DMG has a list of all the other in-print 5e settings with an elevator pitch for why they’re cool. So if you’re new, you can skim and say “wait, armies of dragons?” or “magical cold war you say?” and know where to go next.

(Well, everything in print plus… Dark Sun? Interesting. Everything else in the table is something that got into print for 5e, so the usual stuff like Forgotten Realms, Raveloft, and Planescape, but also the adapted Magic: The Gathering settings, the Critical Role book, etc. Mystara isn’t here, or any of the other long-dorment 2e settings, but somehow Dark Sun made the cut. Between this and the last-second name-change reprieve in the Spelljammer set, there might be something cooking here? sicks_yes.gif)

There’s also the usual treasure tables, magic items, and so on.

Between this and the PHB, the 2024 books are a fully operational stand-alone game in a way previous iterations of the “core rules” haven’t always been.

⚔

Okay, having said all that, I am now compelled to tell you about my least favorite thing, which is the cover art. Here, let me link you to the official web page. Slap that open in a new tab, take a gander, I’ll meet you down at the next paragraph.

Pretty cool right? Skeleton army, evil sword guy, big dragon lurking in the back. Cool coloring! Nice use of light effects! But! There, smack in the center, is Venger from the 80s D&D cartoon. My problem isn’t the nostalgia ploy, as such. My problem is that Venger is a terrible design. Even if you limit the comparison to other 80s toy cartoons, Venger is dramatically, orders-of-magnitude worse than Skeletor, Mum-Rah, Megatron, Cobra Commander. Hell, every single He-Man or She-Ra bad guy is a better design than Venger. Step that out further, every single Space Ghost villain is a better design than Venger. D&D is full of cooler looking stuff than that. This cover with Skeletor and his Ram Staff there instead of Venger and his goofy-ass side horn? That would be great. This, though? sigh

He shows up inside the book, too! Like the PHB, each chapter opens with a full-page art piece, and they’re all a reference to some existing D&D thing, a setting or character. And then, start of chapter 2, there’s Venger and his big dumb horn using a crystal ball to spy on Tiamat. And this is really the one I’m complaining about, because all the other full-page spreads are a cool scene, and if you want to know more, there’s a whole book for that. But for this, the follow up is… you can go watch the worst cartoon of the 80s, the DVD of which is currently out of print?

And I hear what you’re saying, it’s a nostalgia play, sure, yeah, but also, it’s 2024; the kids that watched that show are closing in on 50, or thereabouts. The edition that could lean into 80s nostalgia for the purposes of pulling in the kids back in was third, and I know because I was there. “That’s the bad guy from a cartoon your parents barely tolerated” is a weird-ass piece of marketing.

As long as I’m grousing, my other least-favorite thing is towards the end, where they have something called a “Lore Glossary.” On the surface, this is a nice counterpart to the Rules Glossary in the new PHB, but while the Rules Glossary was probably the single best idea in the new books, this Lore Glossary is baffling. It’s a seemingly-random collection of D&D “trivia stuff”; locations, characters, events, scattered across various settings and fiction. There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to why things get an entry here; Fizban and Lord Soth get entries but Tanis doesn’t, but Drizzt, Minsc, and Boo do. There’s an entry for The Great Modron March but not Orcus which, okay, spoilers I guess. It’s all details for settings rather than anything broadly applicable; the book was already too long, it didn’t need 10 more pages of teasers for other books. Both Venger and the main characters from the 80s cartoon (as “Heros of the Realm, The”) are in here too. Again, it’s just plain weird they leaned in that hard to the old show. I assume that someone on staff was a huge fan, that or there’s a book coming out next year that’ll make us all go “ohhhh.”

The last thing I have anything negative to say about is the new Bastion System. On it’s own, and having not taken them for a test drive yet, it seems cool? It’s a pretty solid-looking system for having a player or party create and manage their own base of operations, possibly with Hirelings. Ways to upgrade them, bonuses or plot hooks those upgrades get you.

I’m just not sure why they’re in this book? It feels like a pitch for a “Stronghold Builder’s Guidebook” or “Complete Guildhall” got left without a release slot, and they said “let’s put the best 20 pages of this in the DMG.” Everything else in the book is applicable to every game, and then there’s this weird chapter for “and here’s how to do a base-building minigame!” Sure?

Personally, I love hireling/follower/base-building systems in computer games, but stay far away from them on the tabletop. The base management subgame was one of my favorite parts of both BATTLETECH and the first Pillars of Eternity, for example, but I don’t think I’ve ever had the desire to run a tabletop game with something more complex than “Wait, how many GP do you have on your character sheet? Sure, you can buy a house I guess.”

There’s nothing wrong with it, but like the Lore Glossary I wish they’d tried to make the book a little shorter and 10 bucks cheaper instead. (And then gave me the option to buy the blown-out version next summer.) Actually, let me hit that a little harder: this is a $50 384 page hardcover, and that seems like it’s out of reach for the target audience here. I don’t know how much you’d have to cut to get down to 40 bucks, but I bet that would have been a better book.

Finally for everyone keeping score at home (that’s me, I’m keeping score) Skill Challenges are not in this one.

🛡

And so, look. This is still 5th Edition Dungeons & Dragons. There’s a reason they didn’t update the number, even fractionally. If 5e wasn’t your or your group’s jam, there’s nothing in here that’ll change your mind. If 5e was your jam, this is a tooled-up, better version. This book is easily the best official D&D DMG to date. Between this and the ToV GMG, it’s an unexpected embarrassment of riches.

I see a lot of chatter on the web around “is it worth the upgrade?” I mean, these books are fifty bucks a pop retail, there’s nothing in here that’s so earth-shattering that you should consider it if you have to budget around that fact. Like buying a yacht, if you have to look at the price tag, the answer is “no.”

Honestly, though, I don’t think “upgrade” is the right lens. If you want to upgrade, great, Hasbro won’t decline the money. But this is about teeing up the next decade, setting up the kids who are just getting into the hobby now. More so than in a long time, this is a book for a jr high kid to pick up and change their life. I’ve said before that as D&D goes, so goes the rest of the hobby. I think we’re all in good shape.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Weird times, but we’re all still here, and that’s something to be thankful for at least.

Whether your celebrate the American holiday of Thanksgiving, or the non-American holiday of “It’s just thursday man, calm down” I hope you’re all having a good day out there.

Delicious Library Crosses Over

Okay, this one hurts. Amazon has finally turned off the thing Delicious Library used, so the app has been discontinued.

Over at Daring Fireball, Gruber has a really nice writeup about how Delicious Library was the exemplar for the era of apps as art in their own right that seems to have mostly passed: Daring Fireball: The End of the Line for Delicious Library

Personally? I have a Delicious Library that contains (almost) everything I own. “Dad, did you scan these yet” was a standard phase of any new purchase or gift. Books, games, toys, whatever, the thing where it could pull data on anything with a UPC or EAN from Amazon was amazing. Even more amazing was the barcode scanner app for the iPhone that used the camera. Just walk around the house zip, zip, zip.

You know how they say you should have a list of everything you own for insurance purposes? I had that! Plus, the ability to see when something was bought was surprisingly useful. “What birthday was that?” You could answer those questions! I loved it.

It was clear DL was on its way out: Wil Shipley has been an Apple employee for years now, the app hasn’t been updated in ages, the Amazon link was getting… “sketchy.” But there just isn’t a replacement.

This is the sort of think where all you can do is throw your hands up and make a sort of “ecchhhhh” sound. One more great thing we used to have that’s gone because the easiest way for some middle manager somewhere to make one of their KPIs was to break it.

Although, maybe the most maddening thing about this one is that I would have absolutely paid some kind of subscription fee to Amazon (directly or indirectly) to keep this working, and… nope. Not an option.

Older Movies I Re-Watched Recently: Legally Blonde (2001)

Now this is a movie that’s aged well. There’s a smorgasbord of delightful things about this movie, but I think my favorite is that structurally, it’s a reverse Hero’s Journey; rather than go on a journey of discovery herself, Reese Witherspoon’s Elle Woods enables everyone around her to go on one.

Unlike something like Clueless (also brilliant, but in a very different way) this isn’t a movie about a coddled under-achiever, someone who was living up to low expectations who then learns what to do with her life. Quite the opposite! As the movie opens, Elle Woods is at the absolute pinnacle of her world. She’s president of the sorority, people come to her for help and advice, she’s well-liked and respected in her community, everyone in her orbit is proud and impressed. She has the quality of someone who’s about to 100% a videogame—all she has left is one more achievement to unlock, getting married to the prize hunk, and then she can put it on cruise control. She’s already won.

So when her jerk boyfriend decides to become her jerk ex-boyfriend, her attitude is less heartbreak and more an irritation at a job left incomplete. The other people in her orbit advise her to leave it, be happy with the 99% run, but no. She pursues him to Harvard not as a lovesick dumpee, with with the energy of someone loading up Breath of the Wild muttering “okay, the last shrine has to be around here somewhere.”

One of the other really great things about this movie is that it never treats Woods as being less-than. She gets into Harvard not becase she pulls a favor or a trick; she legitimately has the smarts to do it over a weekend. She wasn’t going there before not because she couldn’t, but because she didn’t want to. The reason “Like it’s hard?” became such a meme for a while was this—this is a character for whom it really wasn’t hard, and has now deployed that talent to a new domain.

A critical part of all this is the way Witherspoon plays her. Woods is never embarrassed or ashamed, her low points come from the culture shock rather than “learning a lesson.” And always with dignity and a rock-solid sense of self. There’s never a moment where she doubts herself, or rejects her roots, there’s no scene where she throws out her pink jackets. But even more critically, she’s not stupid. She knows things are different “here” than back “there”, but also pink is a great color, and if they can’t see that that’s their problem. You get the feeling most people would play the part as either vaguely self-delusional or recoiling; Witherspoon goes the other way, and plays Woods as legitimately confident, and gives her an air of slightly pitying these “elite” kids for how small their lives are. She knows she’s right, and she’s willing to give everyone else a chance to catch up.

Her lowest point in the movie comes at the non-a-costume-party-after-all party—which one suspects is only in the movie so they’d have a shot of Reese Witherspoon dressed as a Playboy Bunny to put in the trailer. But this is one of several places where Witherspoon picks up the slack the script leaves; as written, her line when she realizes her jerk ex is going to stay that way is something like “I was never good enough for you,” but she delivers it in a way that makes it clear she is thinking the exact opposite. Again, not heartbreak, but irritation at herself for the wasted energy.

Her attitude attitude then is basically to shrug and say “well, I’m already here, so how hard can this be?” And, from that point on, the movie delights in reminding us that Woods is as smart or smarter than all the rest of these dorks, she just knows different stuff, and constantly reinforces that being an expert in two worlds is more powerful than just being an expert in one.

The movie is very careful to present the world at Harvard Law as different, but not better. The lives and ambitions of the ladies at the nail salon, or the women back at her sorority in LA, are just as important as the dorks in law school. Her friends from back home coming out to support her unquestioningly is directly contrasted with the backstabbing nature of the law school, and not in the school’s favor. They might not know much specifically about what’s going on, but they know who their friends are.

The engine of the rest of the movie is Woods knocking down challenge after challenge as the people around her grow. The other characters have to learn to put their prejudices aside, expand their views of what counts as expertise, reconsider what matters. Meanwhile, Woods plows forwards, the mere fact of her presence acting as the catalyst for their growth.

(Topic for a film class: Elle Woods is basically the monolith from 2001, discuss.)

Her core flaw is an inability to see when people are bad. This isn’t presented as naiveté, but as her own default optimism being used against her and turned septic. Every time someone in her life acts against her—her boyfriend dumping her, the dad from Alias taking a pass at her, Liz Sherman lying about the party—Elle’s reaction is more to be mad at herself as anything, “How could I not have seen this?” Most importantly, the lesson isn’t to lose her optimism, but to cut the toxic people out of her life faster.

These things all click together at the climax, with Woods in court for the first time. The text of the script is ambiguous about what happens at the ending: did Woods luck into a solution or was that her plan all the time? But the glint Weatherspoon puts in her eye as she snaps the trap shut makes it clear—Elle Woods has finally learned how to turn these people’s expectations against them, and she has nothing left to learn.

She’s now achieved the pinnacle of success in two worlds. The people around her, on the other hand, have much left to do.

Tales of the Valiant: Game Master’s Guide (2024)

“New D&D” Double Volcano Summer continues, and, I guess, has moved on into Double Asteroid Movie Autumn?

Over the summer we had two revised 5th Edition player’s handbooks in the form of Tales of the Valiant and D&D (2024), and now their respective Dungeon Master’s Guides are arriving.

Once again, Kobold Press got out of the door first, with the Tales of the Valiant: Game Master's Guide

(As an aside, which I am putting in a parenthetical because I am too lazy to format a footnote tonight, I have always disliked “Game Master” as the generic form of “Dungeon Master.” I understand all the ways both legal and conceptual that “Dungeon Master” is undesirable as the general term, but “Dungeon Master” is a very specific kind of weird that that I think fits the role, whereas I’ve always found “Game Master” too generic. There are too many other kinds of games that could have a “Game Master,” but very few that could have a “Dungeon Master.”)

Let’s pause for a moment and ask the obvious question: why have a whole separate book for Dungeon/Game Master?

If we’re honest, the real reason that Dungeons & Dragons (and D&D-likes) are published as a triptych of rulebooks—Player’s Handbook, Dungeon Master’s Guide, Monster Manual—is that’s how Gygax organized AD&D 1, and everything since has followed suit. Of those three books, the “Dungeon Master’s Guide” has always been the weird one. Like, you need a whole extra book for that? Most other games manage to fit “how to run the game” as a single chapter at the end of their single book.

(In this day and age it seems a little crazy to require three thick hardcovers for a TTRPG, but I’ll accept that it made more sense back when they were three thin—and cheap—hardcovers. I have the “orange spine” later printings of the 1e AD&D books, and all three next to each other, including their covers, is still thinner than the new 2024 PHB.)

Not that a dedicated “how to run this” book is a terrible idea. The basic idea of splitting the rules into a Red Box–style “read this one first,” “read this one next” pair makes a lot of sense.

D&D—and its close relations—have always had a bad habit where the books will present a list of rules and options, but won’t actually say when and how you might want to use those options. Some of this has been explicit over the years—wanting to “reward mastery” is the usual excuse given. The books were always stuffed full of a lot of “here’s what you can do” and not a lot of “and here’s when you would want to.”

There’s always been this huge blob of tribal knowledge, urban legends, and re-learned lessons that you have to absorb from somewhere to actually run the game well, and that stuff never used to get written down anywhere.

One of the reasons why everyone ran dungeon crawls in the 80s (or “dungeon crawls” in the forest on an island with hex maps) is that the Red Box/Blue Box did an amazing job explaining exactly how to run that, and then just… didn’t tell you how to do anything else.

In practice, though, that’s not really what the DMGs have been for. The original DMG from ’78 was more-or-less Gygax’s manifesto (and, as it turned out, final statement) on how the hobby he helped start should work. It’s one guy’s crazy vision fully unpacked. But not a whole lot of “okay, here’s what you gotta actually do.”

As such, the DMG became the book without a clear role in later iterations. As the game got updated, the content of the other two books was fairly obvious and is pretty well fixed: the PHB holds the core rules for the game and is the minimum viable purchase, the Monster Manual has a bunch of monsters. The DMG, though, was always sort of a grabbag, holding a mixture of blue moon rules, advanced options, advice, and material cut for space from the other two books. The clearest example of the DMG’s status is that when 3rd edition was revised into 3.5; the PHB and MM stayed nearly identical, but the DMG was essentially a ground-up rewrite.

The upshot of all this, though, is that the DMG is where each iteration gets to make a statement—this is what we, the people making this version, think the DM needs to know about. This goes even more so for D&D-adjacent books like this one, it’s an opportunity to freestyle, to show off.

Of course, this has been a mixed bag over the years: whatever else you can say about the respective qualities of their editions, the 4e DMG ended up as probably the best ever written, whereas the 2014 5e DMG was a haphazard collection of tables, lists, and half-baked advice.

So how did Tales of the Valiant do? TL;DR: Now this is the stuff. This is the sort of book where I could walk through practically every section pointing and going “oooh!”, but I’ll limit myself to the stuff that really stuck out to me.

Previously, I said the ToV player’s book felt like having a really experienced DM sit down and share their accumulated house rules and experience running 5e, and that goes even more so for this book.

This opens with a really good explanation about what the GM actually does. For example, this is the only book I can remember spelling out that part of the GM’s job is to be an event planner. It’s got an incredibly clear-eyed sixteen or so pages of advice about how to run a game. There’s the usual “types of player play-styles” breakdown, and a section on Session Zero.

But then there’s a section on what kinds of supplies you should bring, how to take notes, how to check in on players and make sure they’re having fun, what to do when someone doesn’t show up. Other iterations of other games have danced around this stuff, but I can’t recall a book that laid out this clearly “okay, here’s the job.” It’s great! I wish I had read this at 15!

This is followed some really solid advice about how to run a campaign, how to structure adventures, pacing, encounter mixes. There’s a section on different “flavors of fantasy” which is just a great “let’s get our terms straight” glossary, including examples of fiction in those categories.

The chapter on worldbuilding is similarly full of really solid advice—“here’s what you actually need to think about when sketching in a setting”, along with a bunch of “and here’s some fun detail you can use for color or to really dig in.” For example, the worldbuilding section on deities and religion feels like someone finally getting to flex a degree in the best way; the text makes a distinction between henotheism and polytheism, and then a page later there’s a sidebar on syncretism. It’s full of little details like that to help get up past “you know, like Gondor, I guess?”

The main bulk of the book are a solid batch of expanded & blue moon rules for the “three pillars”—combat, exploration, and social.

There are a lot of books that contain tables for randomly or semi-randomly generating or stocking dungeons, but this is the only one I can think of that explicitly talks about things like how the choice of entrance to the dungeon sets the mood for the dungeon as a whole. Furthermore, there’s also some good advice on when to use and not use elements like puzzles.

There’s a whole set of rules for running chases as a more abstract encounter that seem really run, more like something out of Feng Shui than a D&D-like.

And my beloved 4e Skill Challenges are in here! The basic structure of “you need 6 successful checks before 3 failures of any of these related skills” was such a great way to resolve any number of non-combat encounters. D&D-likes have long struggled with the fact that “fighting” is a mechanically complex and satisfying sub-game, and “not fighting” tends to be a bunch of talking followed by “okay, roll…. charisma, I guess?” And yes, the role-playing part is fun, but part of what makes the fighting fun is that mechanical complexity, and I’ve always wished for that kind of mechanical detail in the other two pillars. Skill challenges were such a great way to use more of your character sheet while “not fighting”, and I’m glad to see them again.

Speaking of ideas from previous iterations of D&D, the homebrew section here also brought back the monster template idea from 3e. This was a set of “features” you could plug onto an existing monster, if memory serves, things like “lycanthrope” and “vampire” were a templates, so you could make a, were-owlbear, vampire goblin, and so forth. Here that idea gets dusted back off with a whole set of templates you can apply to 5e monsters—including, delightfully, templates based on the 4e character roles. So now you can make a Kobold Striker, Controller Pirate, Leader Gelatinous Cube. Those roles, like a lot of 4e, felt like a great idea from a different game, and this feels like a much better way to deploy the concept.

Finally, the original AD&D DMG had something called “Appendix N: Inspirational and Educational Reading,” which was a recommended reading list of the sort of fantasy or sword & sorcery books that Gygax thought were appropriate as reference material. Since then, having a list of recommended & inspirational reading has been something of a tradition for RPGs. Other iterations of D&D sometimes has one, sometimes not; other RPGs frequently have them. I like these a lot, partly because I’m always looking for more recommendations, but also because it gives a great insight into where the designers are coming from—what books do they think you should go read to play the game right? It’s serves as a really nice bookend with whatever they thought was important to put in the “What is an RPG” section at the start.

The ToV GMG has the best reading list I’ve ever seen. Heck, if you get the PDF version, it might be worth the price all on its own. Not just novels, but films and TV, games, nonfiction. In addition to all the books you think it has on it, it’s also got Quest for Glory, Arcanum, and Disco Elysium on the list, which is enough to sell me, but it also has stuff like Ursula LeGuin’s Steering the Craft, Discworld, Zardoz, and Big Trouble in Little China. It’s a really broad list, but also, as the kids say, non-stop bangers. I recognized maybe just over half of the stuff on here, and I’m going to be using this a source of new material for a while.

Really, an all-around great piece of work. I have a teenager that’s learning how to run games, and I’m going to be leaving this in conspicuous places where he can find and read it.

“Sex-Haver Energy”

Somewhere in the last couple of years I had read “something” “somewhere” that described Kurt Russell as having “sex-haver energy.” And he does! The phrase stuck with me as I lost the grip on the source. Part of the problem with our fractured media environment is finding something a second time feels like it should be possible, but rarely is. Was it an article? A tweet? Something from my RSS feeds? Apple News? Linked off one of those? The decayed google search didn’t turn up anything either.

Anyway, I stumbled across it again! It was in Everyone Is Beautiful and No One Is Horny - Blood Knife, which I dug up to drop a link in my piece on Deadpool. It’s funny, because I had completely forgotten that was the origin, despite remembering the article very clearly. The reason my searches never turned it up was that the phrase was actually about Snake Pliskin, not the actor that played him.

Memory is a wacky thing.

Anyway, go read that; one of the best analyses of modern media I’ve read in a long time.

Deadpool & Wolverine (2024)

I’ve got a soft policy here on the ‘cano not to review or talk about pieces of media unless I mostly liked it, because, look, I think that Ebert “hated hated hated” review is as funny as anyone, but in general, what’s the point?

But sometimes I impulse-watch something over the weekend and I’m struck by the need to just wave my hand at it and say: Really? This was the best idea they had?

So: Deadpool & Wolverine.

I guess I should say up front that I enjoyed it! It was a fun watch with a beer on a friday night, but then I made the mistake of continuing to think about it.

Of all the possible takes on a movie with this title, the one they went with was “they keep pointlessly fighting each other until they hold hands inside a Kirkland Signature Warp Core and become best friends?”

The really remarkable thing about this movie is the way they genuinely didn’t have a take on why those characters should be in the same movie beyond “it would be funny if they fought each other.” Or maybe, more to the point, no one involved seems to have had a second idea.

I don’t want to belabor this point too far, but we’ve got two characters whose defining trait is “doesn’t play well with others,” the the concept for the team up is… they don’t play well with each other? That’s it? The single most obvious thing, and then nothing else?

And the action isn’t even that interesting! Just bland, poorly shot, the same crap you see in any other mediocre direct-to-streaming schlock. At least Deadpool 2, which I also was “meh” on, was directed by one of the John Wick guys and knew how to shoot a gunfight. All three Deadpool movies have struggled with “how to make action funny”, a concept Jackie Chan had mastered by at least Police Story (1985), but this one is by far the worst. And it’s got that same endlessly bloodless digital fighting, where there are plenty of computer-generated squibs, but no one gets hurt, and the outcomes of the fights never matter.

I’m not a big-budget hollywood writer, but it seems to me, the funniest thing to do with a Deadpool and Wolverine team-up is to stick them in a situation they couldn’t solve by fighting? Just to pick a random scenario, this feels like the point where you send the main characters back in time to get some whales and make them have to figure out how to navigate modern-day San Francisco or something.

Instead, we get warmed over ideas from a show that ended a year ago, leading a rag-tag band of cameos from movies you’d forgotten into a big CG fight with no stakes. It’s just characters from other, better things talking about how exciting it is they’re on screen together, while providing ample evidence to the contrary.

This movie is a perfect example of what I mean when I say I think most movies would be better at one MPAA rating lower—I’m not opposed to swearing or fake gore, but both lose their effectiveness when there’s this much, it just becomes background noise. Imagine how much funnier if they had had to choose which one “Fuck” to leave in. Imagine if they had had to write punchlines for those jokes instead of just having Hugh Jackman grimace and say “fuck” again.

Ang, ugg, okay, I remembered this just as I was about to hit “Publish” so sorry about the janky segue from the previous paragraph, but my actual least favorite thing about the three Deadpool movies has been how they handled the character of Vanessa.

The marvel movies especially have always had an approach to human relationships that seems like it was written by aliens (see the seminal Everyone Is Beautiful and No One Is Horny,) but the Deadpools are by far the strangest. Personally, I think Deadpool works better as a chaos agent with no confirmed “real life”, but I get where they were going with giving him a girlfriend. But, every movie they find some way to sideline the character, so that Deadpool is off trying to prove something she doesn’t know about. It’s the most “women only exist as prizes” take on relationships I’ve seen in a long time. Deadpool 2 was bad enough when they un-ironically fridged her while also making references to the run on Deadpool written by the woman who invented the term fridging, but this time they just… broke up? Because he’s not trying hard enough or whatever? So she shows up at the very start and the very end, and the rest of the movie he’s trying to “get her back” without having a conversation with her about, say, what she wants? Like, does Morena Baccarin charge by the word or something?

Also, “Deadpool tries to go straight and be successful in civillian life” also sounds like a phenomenal premise for a movie. Instead they burn that off in one scene and get back to the useless fighting.

This really feels like the final apotheosis of the marvel movies slide from “fun action movies” to “content.”

There’s no better example of how this movie works than its treatment of the TVA. As a show, Loki was mixed bag that ultimately refused to live up to its initial promise, but the one consistently great thing about it was the production design. The whole look of the TVA, the sets, the props, the costumes, genuinely S-Tier. And so when the TVA shows up in this movie they just… didn’t use any of it? The TVA office sets in this look like they’re from a mid-list Netflix show, not the second-highest grossing movie of the year. The TVA trooper costumes are all worse. They couldn’t even leave the sets up? Use the same costumes? Leave the plans somewhere the movie team could find?

There’s two possibilities here:

1. They didn’t care enough to get the real thing.
2. They couldn’t tell that their versions were dramatically worse.

Either one works as an explanation for this movie, at large.

So Long, And Thanks For All The Fish by Douglas Adams (1984)

One of the great things about growing up before “the internet” was that you could form an opinion about a piece of art without knowing what anyone else thought about it. Unless something was extraordinarily mainstream, you’d get to talk to maybe half-a-dozen people about any given thing? Maybe Siskel & Ebert would do a piece on it? A review in the paper? Some friends at school? Mostly, you were left to your own devices to like something or not.

So then, one of the really strange things about living though “the internet” emerging was the experience of going online and discovering the places where your long-held opinion diverged from the world at large. For example, it turns out that So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish is a book basically no one liked, which came as quite a surprise to me, since I liked it very much.

The book turned 40 this past weekend, coming out a few days after the HHGG Infocom game, and like that game I’ll take the excuse to talk about it some more.

It’s not really a Science-Fiction comedy, it’s a magical realism romance novel that just happens to star the main character from Hitchhiker. It’s striking how different it is from Adams’ previous work, and frankly, from his work that followed.

Of course part of that is that while it was his fourth book, it was his first novel from scratch, not based on something else. The first two HHGG books were (heavily) reworked versions of the first two series of the radio show, the third book was based on a pile of ideas that was variously a Doctor Who episode, a pitch for a Doctor Who movie, and the concept for the never-made second series of the TV version. As such, it’s his first piece of work not building on ideas that had been clanking around since the late 70s.

As I mentioned way back when talking about Salmon of Doubt, So Long and Thanks for All The Fish kicks off what I think of Adams’ middle period. You get the feeling that’s the sort of direction he wanted to move in, not just recycling the same riffs from a decade earlier. There’s a real sense of his, at least attempted, growth as an author.

Infamously, So Long was the book that after a year and multiple extended deadlines he still hadn’t actually started, so his editor locked him in a hotel room in London for two weeks, during which he cranked out the novel. I had two pretty strong reactions to learning this via the aforementioned internet; first, finding our that this whole book was, essentially, the first draft explained a lot, and second, there are very, very few people who could have written a book even this good in a single panicked fortnight.

Adams occasionally expressed regret that it was never really finished, and it shows. Or rather, it’s obvious what parts he cared about, and which parts he never got around to polishing.

So, let’s get the criticisms out of the way.

The previous books have a very strong Narrator Voice, extending out from the fact that the radio show was narrated by the Guide itself, and so even the narration in the book that isn’t explicitly a guide entry has the same tone and character, and is presumably still the Guide telling the story. Here, though, the narrator is clearly Douglas Adams himself, including a few places where he directly addresses the audience in what feel as much like his notes to himself as they do anything else. And there’s a little standalone epilogue about the virtues of not being able to concentrate which is fine on it’s own, but in the context of the book’s creation feels a little overly protest-y.

And it’s funny he has such a presence in that way, because in addition to that, while Arthur Dent was always clearly an author stand-in, there’s also never been less distance between the two as here. This book includes at least two events that happen to Arthur that Adams claimed really happened to him (that’s the story about the biscuits and one of his dates with Fenchurch.) Fenchurch herself is supposedly an amalgam of the two women Adams dated in the early 80s, and she lives in the flat Adams really lived in. There’s parts of the book that feel a lot more like Adams swapping stories over beers rather than an actual, you know, piece of fiction.

It’s not really funny in the same way the other books are, and a lot of the attempts at humor fall flat. There’s a joke about a planet ruled by lizards that the population hates but keeps voting for because “the wrong lizards might win,” that never really coheres and feels like something from one of the endless 80s Hitchhiker knockoffs than something from the real thing. There’s a running joke about a trucker who doesn’t know he’s The Rain God that is mostly very funny, but never really connects to anything else. Even Fenchurch, who is a great character, feels like she has a name where the author was trying to outdo “Ford Prefect” and came up short.

The character most hurt by this is Ford. Zaphod and Trillian don’t make an appearance in this one, so the action cuts back and forth between Arthur’s low-stakes romance and Ford being an extra-disreputable Doctor Who, crashing from one end of the galaxy to the other. This is a version of Ford you can most clearly imagine being played by Tom Baker—or rather, being written by a person who misses writing for Tom Baker—there’s a bit where Ford is stalking around Arthur’s house saying “beep beep beep” which isn’t all that funny on the page but that Tom would have made sing. It’s never entirely clear why Ford is doing what he’s doing, but not in a intentionally ambiguous way, more of a series of “I’ll explain laters” that just never really pay off. The Ford scenes are fun, but of all the book they read the most like rough drafts. It’s hard not to imagine that the book would have been better if Ford crashed into the narrative for the first time at the same time as he crashes into Arthur’s house.

It’s also interesting that Arthur doesn’t really start acting like old Arthur until Ford shows up, which says a lot about how those characters work. Arthur is a character who looks like is going to be a classic “straight man” comedy sidekick, but then starts arguing back and refusing to go along with things, refusing to give up agency despite not having a clue as to what’s going on around him. Here, he really doesn’t have anyone to argue with, and spends the book in a completely different gear until Ford shows up.

On the other hand, Marvin shows up at the very and and proves both that he’s the best character in the series and that “aggressively depressed robot” is an absolutely bulletproof concept.

Having gotten that out of the way, let’s talk about the parts that work. Because the parts that work here really work.

The main body of the book follows Arthur, who returns to Earth, which is somehow un-demolished. The population has dismissed the “thing with the yellow spaceships” as a mass hallucination and/or CIA drug experiment. (Exactly how the Earth has returned is never totally explained, but there’s an ambiguous dream sequence that I always interpreted to mean that the Magratheans had slid the Earth Mk II into place where the original had been. Regrettably, the book declines to mention if Africa has fijords now.)

He goes about reintegrating into his old life, buys a computer, meets a girl, falls in love, teaches her how to fly, both literally and metaphorically. One of the great things about Arthur in this book is that he gets to be the one that knows things for once. The scene where Fenchurch pulls out the Guide and starts asking questions is truly great—finally Arthur is the one who gets to answer instead of ask.

His girlfriend, Fenchuch, is strongly implied to be the person who was going to provide the final readout of the original Earth’s program to find the Ultimate Question; she’s been at loose ends since that failed to actually happen. As such, Arthur digs up the location for “God’s Final Message to his creation” that he got in the previous book, the two of them hook up with Ford, and the three of them hitchhike back out into space.

That end, though. Whatever quibbles I might have about the rest of the book, the end is perfect. The whole premise of “God’s Final Message” both takes a swing at resolving the ongoing philosophical questions that undergrid Hitchhiker while still being actually funny. It really feels like a guy wrapping up this phase of his career. Happy endings, of a sort, resolve most of the open items, send Arthur off into the sunset.

(One of the reasons I have such disgust for Mostly Harmless is that not only is the book terrible on it’s own, but Adams screwed up the perfect end to the series he already had in order to do… that?)

It’s a slimmer volume than its three predecessors, both physically and figuratively, serving as more of a coda than a full installment on its own, but still sending off the series on the right note. It’s not more sophisticated to have bad things happen to people than good things; art isn’t of lesser quality if the characters finally catch a break.

Anyway, I didn’t let those dorks on the web change my mind. It’s still great.

Stray Music

On a pretty regular basis I get a stray piece of music stuck in my head, some tune I can’t immediately recognize. You know, that thing where you kind of hum along with it, thinking “Is this from something? Are there words? What is this?” And then you finally get far enough in to it that you recognize it.

For me, it always, 100% of the time, turns out to be one of the pieces of background music from Sim City 2000.

Woah! Slow Down, Maurice!

I’m a decade late to this, but please feast your eyes on:

This so perfectly captures why Gaston is my favorite Disney antagonist. Because he’s not a “villain”, he just an asshole. He’s not summoning the powers of darkness, or setting kingdom against kingdom, or scheming of any kind. His entire program is:

1. He wants to hear a lot of compliments
2. He wants to bang the hot nerd

And that’s it.

It’s so deliciously low-stakes for a Disney Fantasy movie that also includes, you know, a giant monster man and a singing candlestick. And that’s part and parcel of why I love that movie so much, because the core engine of the plot is that the three mediocre men in Belle’s life collide with each other, and while nothing that happens after is is her fault it all becomes her problem. So even by the end when you’ve got a rampaging mob attacking a castle, the root cause is still one asshole who couldn’t handle that only 99% of the village liked him.

The end result is that two of those dudes get their act together and the third one falls off a roof. And, you know…

“The First Time as Tragedy, the Second Time as Farce”

And it turns out none of it mattered.

The polls really were wrong. Just not in the way anyone had guessed; no one had “solid proper rinsing by Trump” in their list of guesses.

The usual post-election grievance, told-you-so, cognitive bias express—she’d have won if only she’d agreed with me on this—quickly descended into vacuous points-scoring as the scale of the rinsing settled in. Because there wasn’t One Cool Trick that could have won this one—it turns out this really wasn’t an election about policy, or campaigns, or ground game, or Get Out The Vote, or spending, or experience, or the personal qualities of the candidates, or The Information Environment, or even Harris’ race or gender. This really was a vibes election; and the vibe that won was “ehhh, who cares.”

Because the candidate that won was “did not vote.” As I write this, Trump got a million and change less votes than he got when he lost in 2020, Harris meanwhile got about 12 million less than Biden. Unlike early indications, a whole lot of people stayed home. That’s a large enough number to defy easy explanation.

It’s traditional, in these sorts of pieces, to offer a theory of explanation, so here’s mine: I think this is where a decade-plus of Obstructionism-as-Policy paid off. The point to gumming up the works wasn’t to change minds or drum up support, but to make voting seem pointless. And so, when it mattered, a whole lot of people threw up their hands and stayed home.

You add to that the increased prices in the shadow of the pandemic, and a country awash in right wing propoganda as background noise—again, the the goal of which is to suppress turnout—and the demographic that determined the outcome were the “low-information” former voters who said, “nothing ever changes, what’s the point?” (Probably with a side order of “I voted to save democracy the last two times, and all that happened is my grocery bill doubled.”)

This also happens on a backdrop of the elections in the shadow of the pandemic being very bad for incumbents world-wide, so there’s an element of “throw the bastards out”, but keep in mind people didn’t change sides, they just declined to participate. There certainly were some small number of Biden-Trump voters, and we’ll be hearing endless fawning interviews with them over the coming weeks, but it seems clear they didn’t make a difference.

It would be so much easier if there was a thing. Personally, I desperately want the reason to be whatever idiot told Tim Walz to stop saying “weird”, but it seems clear, looking at the numbers, that this result was priced in early; whoever the Blue Team ran was going to lose, and whoever the Red Team ran was going to win, all other details being unimportant. No big lesson here, no moral point, just apathy. It’s hard to believe anyone would sit this one out, but being able to turn away while muttering “not my problem,” is a core American trait. There’s something poetic about America choosing autocracy because not choosing it wasn’t worth the effort.

The other worst American vice is a sort of toxic optimism, the belief that things will work out, it’s not that bad, it’ll be fine, you’re overreacting. I am here to tell you: no. This is not going to be okay. We’re in real trouble now. This time, we are well and truly fucked.

I don’t think any of us are capable of imagining the catastrophe that has befallen us. Not necessarily because of the scale, but because while deadly, it is going to be so stupid. Less 90s Dystopian Movie Future and more dropping dead from the results of a regulation-free food supply. Speedrunning the reasons why we have a professional civil service.

There’s some cold comfort from the knowledge that there’s going be plenty of opportunities for grim, joyless schadenfreude over the next few years as the leopards gorge themselves on faces. I have to confess an almost hysterical fascination with how the “Find Out” phase of “Oops All Tariffs” is going to go.

But make no mistake: everyone, everywhere, is in more danger now than they were a week ago.

It’s also traditional to end these sorts of pieces with a ray of hope, an exhortation to keep fighting, a source of optimism. On those fronts, I will decline. Partly, because as we’ve just demonstrated, Hope leaves a lot to be desired as a strategy; as the man says, it’s the hope that kills you. The aesthetics of “resistance” didn’t work last time. Optimism is what got us here in the first place. The moment calls for something else. Some “secret third thing.” I don’t know what that is yet, and neither does anyone else.

All we can do now is hang on to each other and brace for impact.

Well. Fuck.

Well, See You On The Other Side Everybody

“I do not foretell, for all foretelling is now vain: on the one hand lies darkness, on the other only hope.”

—Galadriel

Software Forestry 0x07: The Trellis Pattern

In general, rewriting a system from scratch is a mistake. There are times, however, where replacing a system makes sense.

You’ve checked off every type in the Overgrowth Catalogue, entropy is winning, and someone does a back of the envelope cost analysis and finally says “you know, I think it really would be cheaper to replace this thing.”

Part of what makes this tricky is that presumably, this system has customers and is bringing in revenue. (If it didn’t you could just shut it down and build something new without a hassle.) And so, you need to build and deploy a new system while the old one is still running.

The solution is to use the old system as a Trellis.

The ultimate goal is to eventually replace the legacy system, but you can’t do it all at once. Instead, use the existing system as a Trellis, supporting the new system as it grows along side.

This way, you can thoughtfully replace a part at a time, carefully roll it out to customers, all while maintaining the existing—and working—functionality. The system as a whole will evolve from the current condition to the improved final form.

As you work through each capability, you can either use the legacy system as a blueprint to base the new one on, or harvest code for re‐use.

The great thing about a Trellis is that the Trellis and the Tree are partners. They have the same goals: for the tree to outgrow the trellis. But the trellis can be an active partner. I have a tree right now that still has part of a trellis holding up some branches. It’s one of the those trees that got a little too big a little too fast, put on a little too much fruit. A few years ago it had supports and trellises all around, now it’s down to just one whimsically-leaning stick. If things go well, I’ll be able to pull that out next summer.

The old system isn’t abandoned, it transitions into a new role. You can add features to make it work better as a trellis: an extra API endpoint here, a data export job there. The new system calls into the old one to accomplish something, and then you throw the switch and the old system starts calling into the new one to do that same thing.

Eventually the new system pulls away from the Trellis, grows beyond it. And if you do it right, the trellis falls away when its job is done. Ideally, in such a way that you could never tell it was there in the first place.

Sometimes, you can schedule the last switchover and have a big party when you turn the old system off. But if you’re really lucky, there comes a day where you realize the old load balancer crashed a month ago and no one noticed.

🌲

There’s a social & emotional aspect to this as well, which goes almost entirely undiscussed.

If we’re replacing a system, it’s probably been around for a while. We’re probably talking about systems with a decade+ of run time. The original architects may have moved on, but there are people who work on it, probably people who have built a whole career out of keeping it running.

There’a always some emotions when it comes time to start replacing the old stuff. Some stereotypes exist for a reason, and the sorts of people who become successful software engineers or business people tend to be the sorts of folks for whom “empathy” was their dump stat. There’s something galling about the newly arrived executive talking about moving on from the old and busted system, or the new tech lead espousing how much better the future is going to be. The old system may have gotten chocked out by overgrowth, left behind by the new growth of the tech industry, but it’s still running, still pulling in revenue. It’s paying for the electricity in the projector that’s showing the slide about how bad it is. It deserves respect, and so do the people who worked on it.

Thats the point: The Trellis is a good thing, it’s positive. The old system and—the old system’s staff—have a key role to play. Everyone is on the same team, everyone has the same goal.

🌲

There’s an existing term that’s often used for a pattern similar to this. I am, of course, talking about the Strangler Fig pattern. I hate this term, and I hate the usual shorthand of “strangler pattern” even more.

Really? Your mental model for biring in new software is that it’s an invasive parasite that slowly drains nutrients and kills its host? There are worse ways to go than being strangled, but not by much.

This isn’t an isolated style of metaphor, either. I used to work with someone—who was someone I liked, by the way—who used to say that every system being replaced needed someone to be an executioner and an undertaker.

Really? Your mental model for something ending is violent, state-mandated death?

If Software Forestry has a central thesis, it is this: the ways we talk about what we do and how we do it matter. I can think of no stronger example of what I mean than otherwise sane professionals describing their work as murdering the work of their colleagues, and then being surprised when there’s resistance.

What we do isn’t violent or murderous, it is collaborative and constructive.

What I dislike the most about Strangler Figs, though, is that a Strangler Fig can never exceed the original host, only succede. The Fig is bound to the host forever, at first for sustenance, and then, even after the host has died and rotted away, the Fig has an empty space where the host once stood, a ghost haunting the parasite that it can never fully escape from.

🌲

So if we’re going to use a real tree as our example for how to do this, let’s use my favorite trees.

Let me tell you about the Coastal Redwoods.

The Redwood forest is a whole ecosystem to itself, not just the trees, but the various other plants growing beneath them. When a redwood gets to the end of its life, it falls over. But that fallen tree then serves as the foundation to a whole new mini-ecosystem. The ferns and sorrel cover the fallen trunk. Seedlings sprout up in the newly exposed sunlight. Burls or other nodes sprout new trees from the base of the old, meaning maybe the tree really didn’t die at all, it just transitioned. From one tree springs a whole new generation of the forest.

There are deaths other than murder, and there are endings other than death.

Let’s replace software like a redwood falling; a loud noise, and then an explosion of new possibilities.

Don’t Panic: Infocom’s Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy at 40

Well! It turns out that this coming weekend is the 40th anniversary of Infocom’s Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy text adventure game by Douglas Adams and Steve Meretzky. I mentioned the game in passing back in July when talking about Salmon of Doubt, but I’ll take an excuse to talk about it more.

To recap: Hitchhiker started as a six-part radio show in 1978, which was a surprise hit, and was quickly followed by a second series, an album—which was a rewrite and re-record with the original cast instead of just being a straight release of the radio show—a 2-part book adaptation, a TV adaptation, and by 1984, a third book with a fourth on the way. Hitchhiker was a huge hit.

Somewhere in there, Adams discovered computers, and (so legend has it) also became a fan of Infocom’s style of literate Interactive Fiction. They were fans of his as well, and to say their respective fan-bases had a lot of overlap would be an understatement. A collaboration seemed obvious.

(For the details on how the game actually got made, I’ll point you at The Digital Antiquarian’s series of philosophical blockbusters Douglas Adams, The Computerized Hitchhiker’s, and Hitchhiking the Galaxy Infocom-Style.)

These are two of my absolute favorite things—Infocom games and Hitchhiker—so this should be a “two great tastes taste great together” situation, right? Well, unfortunately, it’s a little less “peanut butter cup” and a little more “orange juice on my corn chex.”

“Book adaptation” is the sort of thing that seemed like an obvious fit for Infocom, and they did several of them, and they were all aggressively mediocre. Either the adaptation sticks too close to the book, and you end up painfully recreating the source text, usually while you “wait” and let the book keep going until you have something to do, or you lean the other way and end up with something “inspired by” rather than “based on.” Hitchhiker, amusingly, manages to do both.

By this point Adams had well established his reputation for blowing deadlines (and loving “the whooshing noise they make as they go by”) so Infocom did the sane thing and teamed him up Steve Meretzky, who had just written the spectacular—and not terribly dissimilar from Hitchhiker—Planetfall, with the understanding that Meretzky would do the programming and if Adams flagged then Meretzky could step in and push the game over the finish line.

The game would cover roughly the start of the story; starting with Arthur’s house being knocked down, continuing through the Vogon ship, arriving on the Heart of Gold, and then ending as they land on Magrathea. So, depending on your point of view, about the first two episodes of the radio and TV versions, or the first half of the first book. This was Adams’ fourth revision of this same basic set of jokes, and one senses his enthusiasm waning.

You play as Arthur (mostly, but we’ll get to that,) and the game tracks very closely to the other versions up through Arthur and Ford getting picked up by the Heart of Gold. At that point, the game starts doing its own thing, and it’s hard not to wonder if that’s where Adams got bored and let Meretzky take over.

The game—or at least the first part—wants to be terribly meta and subversive about being a text adventure game, but more often than not offers up things that are joke-shaped, but are far more irritating than funny.

The first puzzle in the game is that it is dark, and you have to open your eyes. This is a little clever, since finding and maintaining light sources are a major theme in earlier Zork-style Infocom games, and here you don’t need a battery-powered brass lantern or a glowing elvish sword, you can just open your eyes! Haha, no grues in this game, chief! Then the second puzzle is where the game really shows its colors.

Because, you see, you’ve woken up with a hangover, and you need to find and take some painkillers. Again, this is a text adventure, so you need to actually type the names of anything you want to interact with. This is long before point-and-click interfaces, or even terminal-style tab-complete. Most text games tried to keep the names of nouns you need to interact with as short as possible for ergonomic reasons, so in a normal game, the painkillers would be “pills”, or “drugs”, or “tablets”, or some other short name. Bur no, in this game, the only phrase the game recognizes for the meds is “buffered analgesic”. And look, that’s the sort of think that I’m sure sounds funny ahead of time, but is just plain irritating to actually type. (Although, credit where credit is due, four decades later, I can still type “buffered analgesic” really fast.)

And for extra gear-griding, the verb you’d use in reglar speech to consume a “buffered analgesic” would be to “take” it, except that’s the verb Infocom games use to mean “pick something up and put it in your inventory” so then you get to do a little extra puzzle where you have to guess what other verb Adams used to mean put it in your mouth and swallow.

The really famous puzzle shows up a little later: the Babel Fish. This seems to be the one that most people gave up at, and there was a stretch where Infocom was selling t-shirts that read “I got the Babel Fish!”

The setup is this: You, as Arthur, have hitchhiked on to the Vogon ship with Ford. The ship has a Babel Fish dispenser (an idea taken from the TV version, as opposed to earlier iterations where Ford was just carrying a spare.) You need to get the Babel fish into your ear so that it’ll start translating for you and you can understand what the Vogons yell at you when they show up to throw you off the ship in a little bit. So, you press the button on the machine, and a fish flies out and vanishes into a crack in the wall.

What follows is a pretty solid early-80s adventure game puzzle. You hang your bathrobe over the crack, press the button again, and then the fish hits the bathrobe, slides down, and falls into a grate on the floor. And so on, and you build out a Rube Goldberg–style solution to catch the fish. The 80s-style difficulty is that there are only a few fish in the dispenser, and when you run out you have to reload your game to before you started trying to dispense fish. This, from the era where game length was extended by making you sit and wait for your five-inch floppy drive to grind through another game load.

Everything you need to solve the puzzle is in the room, except one: the last thing you need to get the fish is the pile of junk mail from Arthur’s front porch, which you needed to have picked up on your way to lie in front of the bulldozer way back a the start of the game. No one thinks to do this the first time, or even first dozen times, and so you end up endlessly replaying the first hour of the game, trying to find what you missed.

(The Babel Fish isn’t called out by name in Why Adventure Games Suck, but one suspects it was top of Ron Gilbert’s mind when he wrote out his manifesto for Monkey Island four years later.)

The usual reaction, upon learning that the missing element was the junk mail, and coming after the thing with the eyes and the “buffered analgesic” is to mutter, screw this and stop playing.

There’s also a bit right after that where the parser starts lying to you and you have to argue with it to tell you what’s in a room, which is also the kind of joke that only sounds funny if you’re not playing the game, and probably accounted for the rest of the people throwing their hands up in the air and doing literally anything else with their time.

Which is a terrible shame, because just after that, you end up on the Heart of Gold and the game stops painfully rewriting the book or trying to be arch about being a game. Fairly quickly, Ford, Zaphod, and Trillian go hang out in the HoG’s sauna, leaving you to do your own thing. Your own thing ends up being using the backup Improbability Generator to teleport yourself around the galaxy, either as yourself or “quantum leap-style” jumping into other people. You play out sequences as all of Ford, Zaphod, and Trillian, and end up in places the main characters never end up in any of the other versions—on board the battlefleet that Arthur’s careless coment sets in motion, inside the whale, outside the lair of the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal. The various locations can be played in any order, and like an RPG from fifteen years later, the thing you need to beat the game has one piece in each location.

This is where the game settles in and turns into an actual adventure game instead of a retelling of the same half-dozen skits. And, more to the point, this is where the game starts doing interesting riffs on the source material instead of just recreating it.

As an example, at one point, you end up outside the cave of the Ravenenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal, and the way you keep it from eating you is by carving your name on the memorial to the Beast’s victims, so that it thinks it has already eaten you. This is a solid spin on the book’s joke that the Beast is so dumb that it thinks that if you can’t see it, it can’t see you, but manges to make having read the book a bonus but not a requirement.

As in the book, to make the backup Improbability Drive work you need a source of Brownian Motion, like a cup of hot liquid. At first, you get a cup of Advanced Tea Substitute from the Nutrimat—the thing that’s almost, but not quite, entirely unlike tea. Later, after some puzzles and the missile attack, you can get a cup of real tea to plug into the drive, which allows it work better and makes it possible to choose your destination instead of it being random. Again, that’s three different jokes from the source material mashed together in an interesting and new way.

There’s a bit towards the end where you need to prove to Marvin that you’re intelligent, and the way you do that is by holding “tea” and “no tea” at the same time. The way you do that is by using the backup Improbably Drive to teleport into your own brain and removing your common sense particle, which is a really solid Hitchhiker joke that only appears in the game.

The game was a huge success at the time, but the general consensus seemed to be that it was very funny but very hard. You got the sense that a very small percentage of the people who played the game beat it, even grading on the curve of Infocom’s usual DNF rate. You also got the sense that there were a whole lot of people for whom HHGG was both their first and last Infocom game. Like Myst a decade later, it seemed to be the kind of game people who didn’t play games got bought for them, and didn’t convert a lot of people.

In retrospect, it’s baffling that Infocom would allow what was sure to be their best-selling game amongst new customers to be so obtuse and off-putting. It’s wild that HHGG came out the same year as Seastalker, their science fiction–themed game designed for “junior level” difficulty, and was followed by the brilliant jewel of Wishbringer, their “Introductory” game which was an absolute clinic in teaching people how to play text adventure games. Hitchhiker sold more than twice those two games combined.

(For fun, See Infocom Sales Figures, 1981-1986 | Jason Scott | Flickr)

Infocom made great art, but was not a company overly-burdened by business acumen. The company was run by people who thought of games as a way to bootstrap the company, with the intent to eventually graduate to “real” business software. The next year they “finally” released Cornerstone—their relational database product that was going to get them to the big leagues. It did not; sales were disastrous compared to the amount of money spent on development, the year after that, Infocom would sell itself to Activision; Activision would shut them down completely in 1989.

Cornerstone was a huge, self-inflicted wound, but it’s hard not to look at those sales figures, with Hitchhiker wildly outstripping everything else other than Zork I, and wonder what would have happened if Hitchhiker had left new players eager for more instead of trying to remember how to spell “analgesic.”

As Infocom recedes into the past and the memories of old people and enthusiasts, Hitchhiker maintains it’s name recognition. People who never would have heard the name “Zork” stumble across the game as the other, other, other version of Hitchhiker Adams worked on.

And so, the reality is that nowadays HHGG is likely to be most people’s first—and only—encounter with an Infocom game, and that’s too bad, because it’s really not a good example of what their games were actually like. If you’re looking for recommendation, scare up a copy of Enchanter. I’d recommend that, Wishbringer, Planetfall, and Zork II long before getting to Hitchhiker. (Zork is the famous game with the name recognition, but the second one is by far the best of the five games with “Zork” in the title.)

BBC Radio 4 did a 30th anniversary web version some years ago, which added graphics in the same style as the guide entries from the TV show, done by the same people, which feels like a re-release Infocom would have done in the late 80s if the company hadn’t been busy drowning in consequences of their bad decisions.

It’s still fun, taken on its own terms. I’d recommend the game to any fan of the other iterations of the Guide, with the caveat that it should be played with a cup of tea in one hand and a walkthrough within easy reach of the other.

All that said, it’s easy to sit here in the future and be too hard on it. The Secret of Monkey Island was a conceptual thermocline for adventure games as a genre, it’s so well designed, and it’s design philosophy is so well expressed in that design, that once you’ve played it it’s incredibly obvious what every game before it did wrong.

As a kid, though, this game fascinated me. It was baffling, and seemingly impossible, but I kept plowing at it. I loved Hitchhiker, still do, and there I was, playing Arthur Dent, looking things up in my copy of the Guide and figuring out how to make the Improbability Drive work. It wasn’t great, it wasn’t amazing, it was amazingly amazing. At one point I printed out all the Guide entries from the game and made a physical Guide out of cardboard?

As an adult, what irritates me is that the game’s “questionable” design means that it’s impossible to share that magic from when I was 10. There are plenty of other things I loved at that time I can show people now, and the magic still works—Star Wars, Earthsea, Monkey Island, the other iterations of Hitchhiker, other Infocom games. This game, though, is lost. It was too much of its exact time, and while you can still play it, it’s impossible to recreate what it was like to realize you can pick up the junk mail. Not all magic lasts. Normally, this is where I’d type something like “and that’s okay”, but in this particular case, I wish they’d tried to make it last a little harder.

---

As a postscript, Meretzky was something of a packrat, and it turns out he saved everything. He donated his “Infocom Cabinet” to the Internet Archive, and it’s an absolute treasure trove of behind-the-scenes information, memos, designs, artwork. The Hitchhiker material is here: Infocom Cabinet: Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy : Steve Meretzky and Douglas Adams

Icecano endorses Kamala Harris for President

Well, fuck it, if the LA Times and the Washington Post won’t do it I will: Icecano Formally Endorses Kamala Harris for President of the United States.

It’s hard to think of another presidential election in living memory that’s more of a slam dunk than the one we have here. One the one hand, we have a career public servant, senator, sitting vice-president, and lady who made a supreme court justice cry. On the other hand, we have the convicted felon, adjudicated rapist, wannabe warlord, racist game show host, and, oh, the last time he was president he got impeached twice and a million people died.

If you strip away all the context—and you shouldn’t, but if you did—there’s still no contest. On basic ability to do the job Harris far outstrips the other guy. But if you pour all the context back—well, here’s the thing, only one candidate has any context worth talking about, and it’s all utterly disqualifying.

Whatever, whoever, or wherever you care about, Harris is going to be better than anything the convicted felon would do. Will she be perfect? Almost certainly not, but that’s not how this works. We’re not choosing a best friend, or a Dungeon Master, or a national therapist, or figuring out who to invite out for drinks. We’re hiring the chief executive of a staggeringly well-armed and sprawling bureaucracy.

I was going to type a bunch more here, but it comes down to this: Harris would actually be good at that job. We know for a fact that other guy will not.

---

One of the gifts age gives you, as it’s taking away the ability to walk up and down stairs without using the handrail, is perspective.

Every election cycle, there’s a group of self-identified “liberal/leftist” types who mount a “principled” take on why they can’t possibly vote for the Democrat, and have to let the Republican win, despite the fact that the Republican would be objectively worse on the thing they claim to care about. And it’s always the same people.

Here’s the thing: these people are liars. Certainly to you, maybe to themselves.

Nothing has ever satisfied them, and nothing ever will. They’re conservatives, but they want their weed dealer to keep selling to them at the “friendly” price, so they pretend otherwise. You know that “punk rock to conservative voter” pipeline? At best, these are those people, about 2/3 of the way down the line. Stop paying attention to them, stop trying to convert them, and don’t let them distract you.

---

Whats the point of being a billionaire newspaper owner if you’re going to be a gutless coward about it? I genuinely don’t know which of these two Charles Foster Kane would have supported, but he’d have made a fucking endorsement.

---

A week to go everyone. Vote.

Software Forestry 0x06: The Controlled Burn

Did you know earthworms aren’t native to North America? Sounds crazy, but it’s true; or at least it has been since the glaciers of the last ice age scoured the continent down to the bedrock and took the earthworms with them. North America certainly has earthworms now, but as a recently introduced invasive species. (For everyone who just thought “citation needed”, Invasive earthworms of North America.)

As such, the biomes North America have very different lifecycles than their counterparts in Eurasia do. In, say, a Redwood Forest, organic matter builds up in a way it doesn’t across the water. Things still rot, there’s still fungus and microbes and bugs and things, but there isn’t a population of worms actively breaking everything down. The biomass decays slower. Some buildup is a good thing, it provides a habitat for smaller plants and animals, but if it builds up too much, it can start choking plants out before it can break down into nutrients.

So what happens is, the forest catches on fire. In a forest with earthworms, a fire pretty much always a bad thing. No so much in the Redwoods, or other Californian forests. The trees are fire resistant, the fire clears away the excess debris, frees those nutrients, and many species of cone-bearing conifer trees—redwoods, pines, cypresses, and the like—have what are called “serotinous” cones, which means they only germinate after a fire. Some are literally covered in a layer of resin that has to melt off before the seeds can sprout. The fire rips though, clears out the debris, and the new plants can sprut in the newly fertilized ground. Fire isn’t a hazard to be endured, it’s been adopted as a critical part of the entire ecosystem’s lifecycle.

Without human intervention, fires happen semi-regularly due to lighting. Of course, that’s a little unpredictable and doesn’t always turn out great. But the real problem is when humans prevent fires from taking hold, and then no matter how much you “sweep the forest,” the debris and overgrowth builds up and builds up, until you get the really huge fires we’ve been having out here.

The people who used to live here (Before, ahh… a bunch of other people “showed up and took over” who only knew how to manage forests with earthworms) knew what the solution was: the Controlled Burn. You choose a time, make some space, and carefully set the fire, making sure it does what it needs to do in the area you’ve made safe, but keep it out of places where the people are. In CA at least, we’re starting to adopt controlled burns as an intentional management technique again, a few hundred years later. (The biology, politics, history, and sociology of setting a forest on fire on purpose are beyond our scope here, but you get the general idea.)

I think a lot of Software Forests are like this too.

Every place I’ve ever worked has struggled with figuring out how to plan and estimate ongoing maintenance outside of a couple of very narrow cases. If it’s something specific, like a library upgrade, or a bug, you can usually scope and plan that without too much trouble. But anything larger is a struggle, because those larger maintenance and care efforts are harder to estimate, especially when there isn’t a specific & measurable customer-facing impact. You don’t have a “thing” you can write a bug on. You don’t know what the issues are, specifically, it’s just acting bad.

The problem requires sustained focus, the kind that lasts long enough to actually make a difference. And that’s hard to get.

One of the reasons why Cutting Trails is so effective is that it doesn’t take that much more time than the work the trail is being cut towards. Back when estimating via Fibonacci Sequence was all the rage, the extra work to cut the trail usually didn’t get you up to the next fibonacci number.

Furthermore, the effort to get in and actually estimate and scope some significant maintenance work is often more work than the actual changes. It’s wasteful to spend a week investigating and then write up a plan for someone to do later. You’re already in there!

Finally, rarely is there a direct advocate. There’s nearly always someone who acts as the Voice of the Customer, or the Voice of the Business, but very rarely is anyone the Voice of the Forest.

(I suspect this is one of the places where agile leads us astray. The need to have everything be a defined amount of work that someone can do in under a week or two makes it incredibly easy to just not do work that doesn’t lend itself to being clearly defined ahead of time.)

So the overgrowth and debris builds up, and you get the software equivalent of an unchecked forest fire: “We need to just rewrite all of this.”

No you don’t! What you need are some Controlled Burns.

It goes like this:

Most Forests have more than one application, for a wide definition of “application.” There’s always at least one that’s limping along, choked with Overgrowth. Choose one. Find a single person to volunteer. (Or get volun-told.) Clear their schedule for a month. Point them at the app with overgrowth and let them loose to fix stuff.

We try to be process-agnostic here at Software Forestry, but we acknowledge most folks these days are doing something agile, or at least agile adjacent. Two-week sprints seems to have settled as the “standard” increment size; so a month is two sprints. That’s not nothing! You gotta mean it to “lose” a resource for that much time. But also, you should be able to absorb four weeks of vacation in a quarter, and this is less disruptive than that. Maybe schedule it as one sprint with the option to extend to a second depending on how things look “next week.”

It helps, but isn’t mandatory, to have success metrics ahead of time. Sometimes, the right move is to send the person in there and assume you’ll find something to paint a bullseye around. But most of the time you’ll want to have some kind of measurement you can do a before-and-after comparison with. The easiest ones are usually performance related, because you can measure those objectively, but probably aren’t getting handled as part of the normal “run the business.” Things like “we currently process x transactions per second, we need to get that to 2x,” or “cut RAM use by 10%,” or “why is this so laggy sometimes?”

I did a Controlled Burn once on a system that needed to, effectively, scan every record in a series of database tables to check for things that needed to be deleted off of a storage device. It scanned everything, then started over and scanned everything again. When I started, it was taking over a day to get through a cycle, and that time was increasing, because it wasn’t keeping up with the amount of new work sliding in. No one knew why it took that long, and everyone with real experience with that app was long gone from the company. After a month of dedicated focus, it got through a cycle in less than two hours. Fixed a couple bits of buggy behavior while I was at it. No big changes, no re-architecture, no platform changes, just a month of dedicated focus and cleanup. A Controlled Burn.

This is the time to get that refactoring done—fix that class hierarchy, split that object into some collaborators. Write a bunch of tests. Refactor until you can write a bunch of tests. Fix that thing in the build process everyone hates. Attach some profilers and see where the time is going.

Dig in, focus, and burn off as much overgrowth as you can. And then leave a list of things to do next time. You should know enough now to do a reasonable job scoping and estimating the next steps, write those up for the to do list. Plants some seeds for new growth. You shouldn’t have to do a Controlled Burn on the same system twice.

Deploying this kind of directed focus can be incredibly powerful. The average team can absorb maybe one or two of these a year, so deploy them with purpose.

🌲

Sometimes, all the care in the world won’t do the trick, and you really do need to replace a system. Next time: The Trellis Pattern

Strange New Worlds Season 3 Preview

I haven’t had much of a chance to talk about Strange New Worlds here on the ‘cano, since the last season went off the air just before I got this place firing on all thrusters.

I absolutely love it, it really might have ended up as my favorite live action Trek. Between SNW and Lower Decks, it’s hard to believe maybe the two best Trek shows of all time are airing at the same time.

Over the weekend, Paramount posted a preview of the next season, which is presumably the opening of the first episode, directly following on from last year’s cliffhanger. Here, watch this, and I’ll meet you below the embed with some assorted thoughts:

• Hey, that’s the music from “Balance of Terror!”
• I know this makes me sound old, but I can’t believe that’s how good “TV Star Trek” looks now.
• Closely related: I really love this iteration of the Enterprise design. I can’t believe how good the old girl looks in this show. Inside too!
• I saw someone griping about Pike being disoriented at the start of this, but I though that was a pretty clever piece of filmmaking to have Pike need a beat to get his bearings in order to give the audience a little space to get their bearings as they get dropped into the middle of a cliffhanger from a year and a half ago.
• Star Trek has always been a show about people working together to solve problems, but I’m always impressed at how good a job SNW does at genuinely letting every member of the cast contribute to a solution under pressure, and do it in a way that the audience can follow along with.
• It’s been fun watching the LED screen tech from The Volume expanding out from The Mandalorian and into the industry at large. Case in point: the Enterprise Main Screen really is a screen now. There’s a camera move about halfway through that clip where the camera tracks sideways towards Uhura’s station (while the Balance of Terror music is going) and the parallax and focus on the screen stays correct, because it’s really a screen. Every cinematographer that’s ever worked on Trek over the last 50 years would have killed for that shot, and they can just do it now. Go look at that again—can you imagine what Nick Myer would have done to have been able to to that in Wrath of Khan? Or Robert Wise?
• I’m a simple man, with simple tastes, and someone on the bridge going on the shipwide intercom with a warning always works for me.
• And big fan of the pulsing movie-era “alert condition red” logo.
• This also gives me an opportunity to introduce my invention of The Mitchell Index. It goes like this: the quality of a given episode of SNW is directly proportional to a) if Jenna Mitchell is in the show and b) how many lines she has. So far, it’s been remarkably accurate, and this clip is close to to highest score yet recorded. She even gets the big idea!
• Speaking of Mitchell, love the way she tags the Gorn with a real torpedo too; sure, you gotta make the dud look good, but also: their shields are down and screw those guys.
• Heh, “Let’s hit it.” Hell yeah.
• Man, I love this show.

Two Weeks and Change

This election is starting to feel like that shot at the end of Return of the Jedi where the Falcon and a TIE Fighter are screaming up the Death Star tunnel away from the wall of flame. In just over two weeks we’ll know which ship we’re in.

The last month or so seems to have really borne out my initial impression that there are no undecided voters; the polls have been basically rock solid the whole time, despite an absurd number of plot twists and things that would have blown up any other election. I wouldn’t have thought a three-way race between “harm reduction, “fascism”, and “well, the leopards won’t eat my face” would be this close, but there you go. Everyone decided four years ago.

On the other hand, who knows? Part of being an American is saying things like “I don’t want to sound like a conspiracy theorist, but….” and then a decade later finding out everything you suspected was right, and then some. Polling is clearly broken this cycle, but we won’t know how cooked it was until after the fact. Everyone who puts out poll numbers or talks about them has a strong financial incentive to make it sound like a close race no matter what; both so they have something to keep talking about and so that they don’t have to answer questions about why their methodologies were wrong. In retrospect, one of the most consequential political events of the last decade was the NYT website poll tracker meter slamming all the way towards Clinton on election night in 2016; everyone in the business looked at that the next morning and thought “never again.”

On a more positive note, how great is it that Jimmy Carter managed to hit his goal of living long enough to vote for Harris? There have been at least three complete narratives about “Jimmy Carter” since I’ve been an adult, and I’m glad he lived long enough to see it finally land on “Beloved and Respected Elder Statesman.” (And, that his long-term rep has increased in a directly inverse proportion to Reagan. Speaking of consequential political events, it’s also nice to see the 1980 election being more widely acknowledged as the course-of-civilization changing fuckup that it was. Here’s hoping we avoid another one.)

Harris/Walz ’24. Let’s clear the tunnel.