Collision of Culture
I distinctly remember when the idea first popped into my mind.
I distinctly remember when the idea first popped into my mind.
“Or hadn’t you noticed the lack of people in the streets after the firebombing the enemy did last night? You do realize that most of the city is blackened rubble above our heads?”
The Hellions reached optimal range halfway through their charge; several missiles clawed up the hillside towards the massive Falcon ‘Mech and crimson beams from lasers scythed across its legs. The explosions from detonating shells and autocannon fire shook the assault machine but failed to dislodge it; with rock-steady deliberation, Pryde raised his left arm and cut loose with another PPC blast, eviscerating a Cercerops.
Talk everywhere in my circle of nerdom is about some flick that came out over the weekend. Perhaps you’ve heard of it? I believe it’s called Deadpool. I won’t be seeing it.
It’s been a year since I popped my Destiny disc into my console. A lot of ups and downs since its release; can Bungie’s latest DLC keep me enrolled as a Guardian, or do I retire my light forever?
I was cleaning through some of my older project files and stumbled over my Wars of Reaving material. It’s been four years since the Origins Award-winning book was published, and running through the depth of material I’d compiled over several years was nostalgic, in a way.
Whew. Almost there.
I was recently at a holiday event and, as is inevitable around DC, the conversation circled around to the local NFL team and the name debate. Normally, I engage in this discussion (since my thoughts on this are pretty well known here) with the intent to educate a lot of the misconceptions that have been floating around out there. (In large part, no thanks to the football team’s horrible attempts at PR.) But that night, before I could readily engage, the speaker launched into a more authoritative style and dominated the discussion with his ‘facts.’
My eyes swept back and forth along the highway, looking for a sign, any sign. A single thought hammered at my mind, over and over: Why did he run?
Those who think the continuing movement to change the name of the local pro football team is a waste of time and trivial were clearly not at the recent Art All Night event here in the District. Secreted in one corner of the venue was local Indigenous artist Gregg Deal. His project, “Redskin,” took on the racial overtones of the team moniker and projected it at his audience.