
In 2005, New Orleans was devastated by Hurricane Katrina and the related breach of the Lake Pontchartrain levees. We all saw the reports. We all saw the wreckage

In 2005, New Orleans was devastated by Hurricane Katrina and the related breach of the Lake Pontchartrain levees. We all saw the reports. We all saw the wreckage

Some of you may already know that I have spent slightly more than a year in the idyllic little slice of hell life known as The Buffyverse. In fact, I just recently finished my sojourn with the viewing of the last episode of Angel.
Being the overachieving geek that I am, of course, I couldn’t leave it at tormenting myself with the shows only. Oh no! There are comics as well, my friends! In fact, both Buffy and Angel continue on in comics-based “seasons.” Prior to this, however, the shows had regular release comics, running concurrently with the shows…just like Star Trek or The X-Files.
Just like Star Trek or The X-Files, these early non-canonical comics are spotty in their storytelling attempts, but more often than not simply awful to behold. On all levels. The artwork is questionable in its best form. In most forms, it’s the equivalent of a hydrochloric eye wash. Seriously, if you cannot find someone able to tell your story in a visually pleasing style, you need to reconsider telling your story in graphic form. Many of the comics are illustrated in poorly chosen styles, some looking so amateurish and off-putting that the artwork distracted me completely from the story itself.
Thankfully, Cliff Richards did a lot of the artwork throughout these first four Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Omnibus volumes. His style is far more aesthetically pleasing than some of the more obtuse styles throughout these volumes, albeit more traditional as well. What can I say? I’m just an old-fashioned wolf at heart, I guess. Not even Richards, however, could meet the challenge of making the characters look like their actor counterparts. This is something that I notice in every show- or movie-based graphic novel tie-in: The comic characters very rarely look like the actors.
I’m somewhat all right with this, but it’s because I have decided that the artists do this as a means of signaling that, hey, this isn’t Sarah Michelle Gellar. This is Buffy. And she only looks like Sarah Michelle Gellar when Sarah Michelle Gellar is playing her. Elsewhere? She looks like this. Or this. Or this. The artist is ultimately true to the character, not the player. Does that make sense?
Of course, that being said, sometimes we then end up with comic characters that look like this little slice of WTF:

And believe me when I state that there were worse visual offenses than this throughout these volumes. For the most part, however, I think my biggest quibble with a lot of the artwork was the fact that more often than not, Willow was a brunette. Um…wha? That’s as irritating as a certain TNG novelist writing that Dr. Crusher has green eyes. Again, if you want to be taken seriously, you kind of have to get basics right. I know I just wrote that the artist must remain true to the character rather than the actor with comics…but when you’re not drawing your characters to look like the actors, you need some kind of universal visual to signal that this is Willow and not Cordelia, which honestly became an issue for me with some of the more non-traditional artwork.
That being said, I would like to hug the artist responsible for the cover art for the third volume of this set. Why?

Well played. So very well played.
Oh, and in case you were wondering, I chose to read the first four volumes of the Buffy Omnibus because they were readily available through our local library. Only these volumes, however. Honestly? I’m okay with that. Only getting to read the first four volumes is more than okay with me.
As for the stories, they were mostly…unmemorable. Some were short little one-shots that made absolutely no sense and held no point beyond the one being wielded by the Slayer against whatever demonic ick she was facing at the moment.
There were standouts, however. Actually, I’m going to say that the first volume in its entirety was the most enjoyable of the four, and very much worth reading. It begins with a graphic rendering of the original Joss Whedon script for the movie that started all this insanity.
Remember that movie? Yeah.
Well, apparently, it was supposed to be much darker…still possessing pop culture awareness, humor, and kitsch, but also infused with deep shades of melancholy and despair.
Kind of like what the show often tried to be.
The original movie story actually wasn’t bad. Neither was the follow-up arc “Slayer, Interrupted,” which chronicled Buffy’s brief institutionalization that was referenced a few times on the show. It also shows the tangential travails of one Rupert Giles, who wishes to earn the Council’s approval as the next assigned Watcher. The Giles storyline is fairly decent as well and plays quite nicely in conjunction with Buffy’s arc, bringing them together slowly and convincingly until they finally cross in good old Sunnydale.
Before we get the recognizable arrangement of Buffy and Giles and the Scooby Gang, however, we get Volume 2’s “A Stake to the Heart.” This was probably my favorite story arc of all four volumes. It details the end of Buffy’s parents’ marriage and Joyce’s subsequent decision to move her daughters to Sunnydale. It’s quite a dark, grim tale in which Angel accidentally releases a band of “malignancy demons” upon Buffy in an attempt to cast a spell to protect her from the miseries and pressures of life that surround her.
Oops.
Admittedly, it’s a silly sounding premise for a story. However, the artwork is the finest of the lot

It’s finally happened, denizens. I am no longer an Agatha Christie virgin.
It was bound to take place sooner or later. One simply cannot claim a love of literature without giving a go to all those “prime suspect” authors whose works continue to be highly revered by fans and critics of their respective genres.
I suppose I was late to the Christie party because her novels reign within a literary realm I rarely visit: the detective genre. I’m still not really sure why this genre is so hit-or-miss with me, but I do keep giving it a go. One day, something from its hallowed halls will simply knock my socks off.
The Murder at the Vicarage wasn’t necessarily the sock-knocking “something” in question. Not that I was expecting it to be. Honestly, I wasn’t quite certain what to expect. I have seen several of the BBC Miss Marple and Poirot offerings, but I don’t think I ever paid attention to them while watching them. They were sort of background noise while I did something else. And even though I claim to be quite the Anglophile and to have a deeply genetic connection to all things England, I’ve never even considered going to see The Mousetrap while in London.
So what to think of this novel? I was delighted to realize that it was the very first appearance of Miss Marple, that ingenious “spinster sleuth” who starred in one of Christie’s detective serials. I didn’t know at first where this novel fit into Christie’s oeuvre. All I knew was that it was the only one of her novels offered through Amazon’s free Kindle collection. Free is a great incentive to finally give something a go, eh?
As for the story itself, it’s quite…comforting, actually (an odd description, to be sure, for a murder mystery!). Small village tale told in a compelling, lucid voice. Quietly ingenious characters and simple deductive reasoning from a quaint “heroine” of subdued charm and sharp reasoning. An exemplary example of storytelling from another time, another place. I imagine it would be considered dull or pointless to many today. A shame, though. I quite enjoyed it.
I’m also still enjoying my Kindle experience (segue, ho!), and I particularly enjoyed the fact that I was able to go straight to Amazon’s Kindle section to learn more about Christie’s works immediately after finishing The Murder at the Vicarage (even though it was almost midnight and I’d been in bed for almost an hour by that point). Very nice.
What I don’t like is the fact that it seems that Amazon is slowly whittling away its free library. Whereas I was able to download this novel for free, Amazon has now once more listed it as a purchase-only offering. I can’t help but wonder how many other books they’ve shifted from their free section as the popularity of the Kindle continues to grow. Glad I went on that free spree right after I received this for my birfday!
Final Verdict: Christie shall be staying on my Kindle. Perhaps soon enough I shall track down the next entry in Miss Marple’s adventures. Or maybe even…Poirot!

Here’s another book I finished back in September. Huzzah!
Death’s Daughter is the first in the Calliope Reaper-Jones series penned by Amber Benson.
Full disclosure: I only chose to read this novel because it was written by Amber Benson. Yes, she played Tara on Buffy The Vampire Slayer. Yes, I just watched this show for the first time. No, I’m not getting into the details of what I thought.
At least not here.
Tara was one of my favorite characters, and I attribute a great deal of that to Benson’s portrayal, which was sensitive, strong, funny, and ultimately heart-breaking in so many ways. Of course, when I learned that she was now carving a path for herself in the literary world, I was intrigued.
So, here’s the thing: Just like Buffy was a soap opera disguised as a fantasy show, Death’s Daughter is chick lit disguised as a fantasy novel. Unfortunately, fantasy is an iffy enough genre for me on its own, but when you combine it with the even less appealing “chick lit” genre…well, you’re inching dangerously close to the edge of my ability to stay focused on what you’re trying to tell me.
Still, Amber Benson.
Here’s a quick plot summary: Calliope Reaper-Jones is, indeed Death’s Daughter. His middle daughter, to be precise. She doesn’t want anything to do with her family or the decidedly depressing family business, so she wipes her memory and takes off for New York City, to make her own way. However, her plan of blissful normalcy is obliterated when her father is kidnapped and she is tasked with finding him.
Indeed, hilarity does thus ensue.
Truth be told, this book feeds a bit too heavily upon the tropes of traditional chick lit for it to really appeal to me. Calliope is a bit too…Carrie Bradshaw at times. I probably wouldn’t have minded if she’d been more Samantha Jones, but that might have been too feisty for what I’m assuming is a book marketed to Young Adults as well as the Terminally Geeky.
And I have now pretty much exhausted my knowledge of Sex and the City. Thank the prophets.
“Callie,” as she is called, fits the fantasy trope bill of “unwilling hero/ine” quite well. She does not want this duty. She is unprepared and even a bit whiny about the entire ordeal. I can’t say I wouldn’t be the same since I’ve never found myself tasked with temporarily being “Death” and dealing with all variety of strange and sometimes scary underworld characters. Still…this novel confirmed for me that chick lit AND fantasy make for a very difficult journey at times.
Then again, Amber Benson.
I wanted to like this book. On certain levels, I did. It was a light and oftentimes funny read. The plot, while dependent upon many very familiar tropes of the genres, was well-considered and intriguingly executed. The fact that it falls within the boundaries of genres that I typically do not enjoy is not a reflection of its merit but rather a reflection of my own personal limits.
Final Verdict: I’m hanging onto this one for now, simply because I’m still debating whether or not I wish to read more about Death’s Daughter. As of now, there are three other Calliope Reaper-Jones novels, with a new one scheduled for a February 2013 release. I’m honestly curious as to whether the journey that Callie endured in this first novel changes her in ways that I might find a bit more enjoyable.
Also? Amber Benson.

I know, I know. You’re all wondering, “What gives, Loba?” I hang out with you for almost the entirety of October, regaling you with redundant dark beer reviews…and then November comes along and POOF! Loba gone.
I’m a bit backlogged, denizens. How backlogged, you might wonder? Well, this is the first BookBin entry I’m writing since September 6. More surprising? It’s a review of a book I finished the weekend after Labor Day, whilst sitting under an umbrella on the beach.
I apparently put the back in backlogged at the moment.
It’s also befitting that the first BookBin post I’m making to end this prolonged literary absence is a book called I Remember Nothing and Other Reflections. Not surprisingly, the amount of time that has passed between the finishing of this book and now has left me remembering very little about this particular collection of essays by screenwriter Nora Ephron.
That’s not to say that it’s not a good read. I Remember Nothing comprises reflective vignettes, some poignant and some amusing, sifted from Ephron’s own admittedly incomplete memories. It makes for a wonderfully quick read, whether nestled into a beach chair with your feet burrowed into the warm sand or snuggled on your side of the couch under your favorite zebra-print blanket.
Not that I have experience with either of these scenarios.
I think what made this collection more moving for me was the fact that I read it not long after Ephron’s death. Reading through Ephron’s essays after her passing was bittersweet, and at times I sensed in her writing a subtle self-awareness of her increasingly tangible mortality. Maybe that was just me reading more into her statements than was truly there…maybe not.
To be completely truthful, I have a bit of a “hit or miss” affinity for Ephron’s writing in general. Most of her movies do not necessarily speak to my personal tastes, and her script for Bewitched simply made me want to weep from the horror of it all (My childhood! What are you doing to my childhood!!).
That being said, When Harry Met Sally is one of the greatest comedies ever written (imho) and remains in heavy rotation in my “favorite movies to quote the hell out of.” Sleepless in Seattle is one of my few “chick flick” girly pleasures. And, as I’ve discussed here at the lair previously, it’s simply not the holidays without at least one viewing of Mixed Nuts, which I argue is one of her greatest and most underrated scripts ever.
Whether or not I loved all her movies, I cannot deny that Ephron was incredibly talented. She possessed a self-deprecating sense of humor and a sharp wit, which she never wielded maliciously. For that, I respect her even more.
Final Verdict: This was a library loaner and not one that I foresee adding to my own collection, but it was definitely one that I’m happy I read.

Brewer: Flying Dog Brewery
Location: Frederick, Maryland
Type: Imperial Pumpkin Ale
ABV: 9%
Once more, a lovely little story, included on the label of this final Darktober entry:
Why is there only one time of year

Brewer: Flying Dog Brewery
Location: Frederick, Maryland
Type: American Double/Imperial Stout
ABV: 8.9%
Here’s something we don’t often get: a story on our beer label! Something that seems far more prevalent on beers from other countries, especially the United Kingdom, most American beers come with only our less-than-festive government warnings. Flying Dog, however, provided us with the following happy little bedtime story:
“Enjoy your new pet!” he said. Twelve hours later, your heart is pounding with terror as you wake up to find the savage beast growling over a puddle of your neighbor’s organs. And that’s not coffee on your breath this morning, it’s fear. Sleep tight, my friend.
May I introduce you, denizens, to the mascot of the lair this Darktober: KUJO. This beautiful black beast of a brew is quite simply amazing. It’s also rather unkind of me to be reviewing it for you, as I don’t believe Flying Dog has set a release date for a second round of its brewing. This was part of its 2011 Wild Dog Series, which of course lets you know that the version I’m reviewing tonight is another from my stash of aging beers.
I’ve also had this one fresh from the bottle, of course, as well as on tap. The flavors of KUJO are frighteningly intense in both forms, with a bit of a more bitter edge from the bottle. The coffee used for this stout is provided by Black Dog, a local roastery located in West Virginia. I can tell you this, denizens, if you enjoy delicious, unique roasts that aren’t to be found on the shelves of your local supermarket, you might want to give Black Dog a look. As for their contribution to KUJO? Absolutely amazing. It takes a really strong, dark roast to withstand a flavor profile this intense, and Black Dog delivers just the right balance.
With nary a noticeable head and an almost impenetrable darkness, KUJO is a rabidly rich stout. And aged for just under a year, it becomes even more frightening in its intensity. The coffee flavors deepen, the roasted maltiness is magnified, the thick, delicious mouthfeel expands, the already high ABV intensifies, but remains just below the level of overpowering the other flavors beneath it. This is one hella amazing beer, too fierce to chug, too special to treat with anything less than the utmost respect. Besides, you don’t want to piss off KUJO. This is one beast you’d rather not have glaring you down over a frothy snarl.

Brewer: Flying Dog Brewery
Location: Frederick, Maryland
Type: Baltic Porter
ABV: 9.2%
Welcome to the Final Three, denizens. These are purely indulgent entries for me. I’ve had these final three beers many times in many forms. As many forms as I can possibly have them. They are three of my favorite beers from what might be my current favorite brewery: hometown heroes Flying Dog Brewery.
Flying Dog actually started out in Aspen, Colorado, in 1990. They relocated to Frederick, Maryland, in 1994, and it’s been all upward and onward since for us on the East Coast.
I’m not going to babble on about the color or the head or the lacing or the nose or anything along those lines. You can’t even see the color on this entry, thanks to my totally groovy cobalt GEEK glass…although look at that head!! So luscious! You’ve been here with me for almost a month now. You know what descriptors I assign to good versions of these beers…and you know what the few meh or worse entries received in their descriptions as well.
[Loba Tangent: Those of you who actually have stuck around for this entire Darktober? Thank you so much…your indulgence of my random weirdness never ceases to surpise and delight me.]
Also, the selection of these final beers is based on my subjective responses to them. My palate is bizarrely my own…that being said, today’s beer is bar-none my current favorite. Of any beer I’ve ever had.
Is it the best? Probably not. But, oh, the overload it dumps into my pleasure cortex. It’s the liquid version of that crazy game that Commander Riker nearly broke the Enterprise crew with…thank goodness for Wesley!
o_O
I love Gonzo Imperial Porter. Do I think it’s an “everyday beer”? No. I wouldn’t want to drink something this decadent, this complex, this gorgeous every day. That would make it pedestrian, and that is a word this beer most assuredly does not deserve. This is a “treat beer,” in whatever form you can find it. Gonzo Imperial Porter, fresh from the tap, is like ambrosia to me. A must. Gonzo Imperial Porter, fresh from the bottle, leaves me feeling warm and happy. Gonzo Imperial Porter bottle-aged? Sweet merciful Hunter S. Thompson, this beer bottle ages like Helen Mirren: playful, distinguished, and breathtaking. Tonight’s bottle has been aging for about 14 months. Everything about it is…more. Perfectly, deliciously more.
I will say this: Aging this beer definitely turns it into a sipping beer. The intensity of the flavors make it a crime to imbibe it with any semblance of haste. This beer requires the respect of time.
There is another form of Gonzo Imperial Porter that I am sad to say I have yet to experience: Barrel-Aged Gonzo. Flying Dog makes this one in very limited batches, and the moment it hits shelves around here? It’s gone. People love this version of Gonzo. I’m willing to bet I would love it, too. I just need to get the chance…so if any of you ever see a bottle on a shelf somewhere, shoot me a text, okay? 🙂

Brewer: Tr

Brewer: Shmaltz Brewing Company
Location: Saratoga Springs, New York
Type: American Amber/Red Lager
ABV: 6.66%
I honestly don’t know why I chose this one, denizens. You know, beyond the kitsch factor, which, let’s face it, is just pouring from this beer like pigs’ blood on prom night. Grotesque label art, a diabolical ABV level, and a blood red coloring all make this one helluva freaky beer.
Of course, rather than looking like blood, this beer looks more like a glass of Kool-Aid. Maybe Hi-C. I’m not sure. I do know that it’s not an appealing beer color at all. It looks like something went horribly wrong in the brewing process. What might have made it worse was the massive pink frothy head. It’s just not a visually appealing beer. Leaves a massive amount of lacing along the inside of the glass, though. Probably the most lacing of any beer I’ve had this month. Here, I took a photo, just for you:

That’s some serious lacing.
The nose on this one reveals the heavy hoppiness that I feared, mixed with a high-volume syrupiness. Taste is quite similar. It’s not nearly as hoppy as I was expecting from the smell, but it’s hoppy enough. And sweet. Too sweet. And bitter. But not bitter enough to disguise the sweet. It’s seriously like someone knocked a jug of bargain-bin fruit punch into the vat that was brewing this beer.
For the kitsch alone, I guess it was worth trying this beer. From a serious beer drinking standpoint, though? No way. Don’t waste your money, denizens. Or if you must, just to say you’ve tried it, definitely stick with a single bottle. Unless you’ve got three other souls you’re itching to torment this Freaktober…