An image from Alan Moore's Swamp Thing comic (June 1984), presented without further comment:

As Ben has somewhat tersely noted over at his blog, tonight he and I finished our big summer project: playing through The Warriors in co-op mode.

(On "Hardcore Soldier" mode, no less — this is the first time I've ever skipped normal difficulty and started with hard, but now it's clear that we made the right decision. The learning curve was pretty steep, though — once we got better I started accusing Ben of having lowered the difficulty level in my absence.)

The game is fashioned philosophically after the old-fashioned brawlers (e.g. that four-person Ninja Turtles arcade game), technically after Grand Theft Auto, and thematically after A Clockwork Orange — you play a scrappy band of gang members fighting for control of a dark 1970s New York City.

There's more to this plot, in fact the videogame is the prequel to an old movie I'm now very interested in renting, but it's the sadistic little touches that really made me love this game:

The ringing sound a policeman's riot helmet makes when you throw him into a parking meter, that extra who ran around shouting "Maria! Maria! I've got to find Maria!" during a fire, the random "King of the Hill" level at the junkyard, the guy who spat in my face when I tried to mug him... they really thought of everything.

Unfortunately, actually conquering the game was anticlimactic. Ben and I spent half an hour puzzling over what we could have missed before we found out we just needed to do some exercises in our base's gym.

I'm going to miss The Warriors. Drinking beer and bopping boppers a few nights each week was a welcome diversion, especially since Ben is one of the few people in the Cities whom I know independently of Graham and/or Jenna.

For the first month or so, that game was my proof that I wasn't just a tag-along. I mean, I was player two, but just because it's the superior slot. I mean, Luigi.

As for what we'll do now, besides the usual: oh, there are plans.

So I had a job interview today in Minne-inset-tonka. I don't really mind anything about the drive; it's the thought of driving all that way that actually gets to me.

The interview was for a part-time editing job, so I had to take a battery of tests. I did well on everything except the spelling portion; in the world of editing, I'm just not a fantastic speller.

My real asset is a sort of cultivated skepticism; I have the Internet right in front of me to check, very quickly, if I think anything is wrong. I really don't see anything wrong with this method of editing.

As I've argued before, old-school paper tests like I took today should be replaced, or at least supplemented, by timed editing tests in front of a computer. They better reflect real-world conditions and aren't biased toward a particular editing philosophy. Or we can just pretend it's still the '50s, your choice.

After my appointment I drove to the other side of the world, Maple Grove, to obtain an official criminal history record from the Bureau of Criminal Apprehension.

If you got a call from me today, I was probably hoping you could help me find this place; I quickly discovered that Google Maps wanted me to take a nonexistent exit (109 off of 94 by St. Paul). I was so flabbergasted that this exit wasn't appearing that I spent about thirty minutes looking for the road before I thought to stop at a gas station and look at a map.

Once I finally got there, however, my first thought what an incredible base the BCA building would make for fending off zombies. Security doors, guns and ammo, emergency vehicles, a hospital right across the street, not to mention the grocery store, auto shop, and high rise apartments with balconies all nearby... the place is paradise.

(Homeland Security's biggest impact on my life so far: taking up two spots so that I had to look for another space.)

Getting your M.N. criminal record (or impersonating someone without a criminal history and getting their record) has never been easier. It took only $8 and about five minutes to verify what I already knew: I'm a cleanskin, perfectly qualified to work at part-time job #2.

My new hobby: using the Internet to explore the wide world of comics, a perfectly legitimate genre that I've prettymuch neglected. Thanks to comic readers like CDisplay and torrent sites like Z-Cult FM and Torrenz, in the past three or four months I've looked at dozens of different comics.

"Perfectly legitimate" genre; whatever that means. Next week: the "perfectly legitimate" word!

Last night I overheard Graham — whose taste in comics is different and thus inferior to my own — trying to recommend Transmetropolitan. And butt in I did.

Now, Transmetropolitan is better than most comics, but it's essentially a slightly raunchy Phillip K. Dick story in comic form, with a gonzo journalist at the center, and for me the weaknesses of what's being combined outweigh the end product.

What weaknesses, you say? Phillip K. Dick's books are good (I've read about seven) but they're good because of their great concepts, not their generally loose plots. I'd rather discuss one than read one, honestly. And gonzo journalism is essentially (and triumphantly) self-indulgent. It can be fantastic, but if you don't cotton to the journalist then the whole exercise is wasted. Don't see any problems here? Then read Transmetropolitan. I say no thanks.

Anyways, I interrupted our resident blowhard not to bash Transmetropolitan, but because I think there are many comics more worthy of recommendation. Here are my picks.

1. Sandman

If you haven't at least tried to read Sandman, you really have no business discussing comics-as-literature. It's the ultimate English-major comic, full of allusions and clever metaphors. Neil Gaiman has built an incredible universe here, out of old legends from all over the world. The first book, still somewhat in the world of superheroes, is the worst, the collection Brief Lives is the best, but you really can't skip ahead.

It's better than The Watchmen. (So is V for Vendetta, for the record.)

2. Lucifer

There are numerous spinoffs and separate series set in the same world as Sandman, the best of which is easily Lucifer, a 75-issue series. Read Sandman and Sandman Presents: The Morningstar Option before you start reading Lucifer.

Lucifer appeals to me because it's both more religious and more philosophical than Sandman. The characters, including Lucifer, tend to end up in conflict with each other not because they're good or evil, but because they have very different perspectives. Or are just ignorant and/or greedy. It's a very believable spiritual world.

3. Gotham Central

I'll admit that I'm a sucker for comics set in the supernatural or magical world, but Gotham Central appeals to a different part of me: the part that just wants a decent procedural drama. The world is realistic but dark, and the more-or-less one-sided tension between Batman and the police is handled with just the right amount of restraint.

4. Fables

Recommended to me years and years ago by Noble Joshua, this series is considerably less "angsty" than what I usually read, but still engaging. The concept alone, a group of refugee fairy tale characters living in New York, makes the series worth a look, and the storytelling is so breezy that after one look it's hard not to keep reading.

5. Ex Machina

It was hard to pick a comic for this last spot. I like Hellblazer a lot, but I would only (albeit emphatically) recommend the first 80-odd issues, I like Preacher but I get tired of broad-humor subplots involving Arseface or the Preacher's family. Hellboy and B.P.R.D. are a poor man's Hellblazer, so what's the point, and a lot of other comics I like had really limited runs and similarly limited appeal.

Ex Machina is still alive and kicking. It's written by the same guy behind Y: The Last Man, but this series is less about gender politics than actual, real-world politics (the alternate-world setting is very close to our own). The concept — a guy who can communicate with machines — is interesting, as is the mixed present-day/flashback approach. There aren't a lot of other superbeings cluttering things up, and the hero is still learning, all the time.

Developing in odd ways, too. I'm not sure if I'm going to like where the series ends up, but it's nice to find a good superhero comic and climb along for the ride.

So read some comics. They're not just for kids, kids.

I woke up on the wrong side of the inflatable bed this morning, thanks in part to a housemate we'll call "Clompy McClomperton." Today's goal will be to avoid human contact until the foul mood passes and I can ascertain who, if anyone, I'm actually this frustrated with.

Meanwhile, Kevin Week continues. I've been tagging along at events involving the temporarily repatriated Hamlinite, including a Twins game and several other drinking venues, and the Week has been entertaining if a bit expensive. I've only lived here about a month, so Kevin's visit also serves as a sort of tour of the area. Last night's activity: drinks at the Old Mexico in Roseville, one of those rare bars that still has ashtrays.

Tonight I'm taking a break, especially if I'm still all moody. Forget beer: I want homemade ice cream and a mid-nineties thriller.

And the heatwave is finally over. I grew up on a lake, so I'm used to both heat and humidity, but the last few days were really bad. Our Bold Hero — known to drape quilts over himself in August — had to requisition a fan so he could sleep at night. Sleeping with a fan is very strange.

Lesson learned: heatwaves are expensive, if your solution is to eat out instead of cooking and you feel guilty getting just an appetizer. (At home, using the oven in the summer is up there with premeditated murder.)

We ate at the Chatterbox one night, that's always more expensive than I anticipate. I like the idea of a restaurant where you can also rent and play videogames while you eat, but the place still feels like a glorified Perkins.

Worse than a heatwave: a heatwave and an eight-hour power outage. That was Monday. It was really lame.

Oh, and Markie's b-day was in there somewhere. I gave her the gift of designated driving, which essentially made me an accomplice to Barry's attempts to get her very very drunk. Personally, I feel like that kind of b-day is behind me now that I'm however old.

Just got back from seeing the new Pirates of the Caribbean movie with Markie and Jess. It was lots of fun, but it would have definitely been better if I'd watched the first movie recently. Inside jokes, you see.

It's also worth noting that the movie is a veritable love letter to rum.

I actually read a review where the writer admitted that she hadn't seen the first movie at all. Was that supposed to be a "hook," that this person is completely unfamiliar with everything established in the first movie, you know, the one before this sequel? I've always felt that the first movie in a trilogy is usually underrated, given how much heavy lifting it does compared to later installments. It's one thing not to appreciate what's already been accomplished, but to avoid learning about it entirely?

The best attitude for watching Pirates 2, if you can't smuggle rum drinks into the theater? Remember that this movie is the sequel to a movie based on a ride, and try to appreciate the spectacle without looking down your nose at it. This is, after all, our nation's best pirate movie franchise.

Yesterday was our last day looking at apartments, and after checking out some pricey stuff near where we live now, driving waaaay out to some sad-looking units in the middle of nowhere, and touring a haunted school (which was awesome), we found a cheap place in the Summit-University neighborhood.

I don't know what locals call it. Do people really say "Summit-Uni"? Ever?

We don't know if we have this place yet, though it sounded very likely that we'd get it. I'm not in love with the place, not like I was with the sunken kitchen apartment that was $200 more a month, but it's the right price (cheaper, actually) in the right area. Jenna is using her telecommunications powers to negotiate for a better fridge and newer ripple-free carpet; if she succeeds, then we'll talk love.

So. Look for me there in September, maybe, probably.

To celebrate, or maybe just because, we invited Ben over for some Mariokart and drinking. Apparently Jenna has never played Mariokart, ever, so last night was her introduction to both the game and the drinking game. I attribute my total-defeat-by-Ben to a night spent trying to teach her the basics — remember, always put on your oxygen mask before helping others.

Contrary to our expectations, the Mariokart Drinking Game does not work with older versions of Mariokart. You need Double Dash, kids. Sorry.

Also: LibraryThing! It's not about social cred, it's about books. Books you own, books you like. Tagging books, rating books, reviewing books. The site combines user-submitted info to give you all kinds of information.

For example. Six of the 25 top-rated books are by Bill Watterson. John P. Meier is the author whose books average the highest rating. Already I've discovered the sci-fi book Jennifer Government by looking for other works tagged "libertarian" and "sci-fi." Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince is the most-listed book — you can list 200 with a free account. These authors have LibraryThing accounts. There are four different book recommendation scripts.

And seriously, we should forget Wikipedia and just start linking to these mindblowing author pages, I mean, I can look up the average review for a work by Dave Eggers. They are collecting the stats and they, we, are rating him as a (mediocre) author. It's the wisdom of crowds, people!

Here's my profile, here's my library, here's Rock Show Girl's library. She's the one who wised me up. There's no friends list, but you can add people to you watch list and see what they're reading.

Get an account. Everyone knows you're a geek; now it's time to come out as a bibliophile.

Speaking of goodness, it's time to play many hours of The Warriors. Think A Clockwork Orange meets Grand Theft Auto. Weep with joy.

Graham's back.

In the real world, most character development is too subtle to be noticed. Our Bold Hero especially is often enamored of his first impressions.

People change, but as far as I can tell — or to put it more accurately: for my purposes — Graham (who I last saw in April) and his Stillwater friends (who I last saw years ago) are exactly how I remember them.

The apartment hunt continues. Jenna and I both fell in love with a sunken kitchen the other day, but there are still prospects, other prospects!

We (or am I projecting?) are hoping to decide on a place by tomorrow. Whichever apartment we pick, it's certain that we're moving east, to what is by all accounts a better area. Closer to St. Paul.

So that was a long, complicated trip home. Nearly all objectives were achieved: the traditional dinner at Rafferty's (which apparently has its own beer now, Rafferty's Red), the trip up to the cabin to see my relatives, the retrieval of various forgotten necessities, the purchase of a used car, etc.

They wouldn't budge on the price, but the dealership gave me a $100 Fleet Farm gift certificate. The place is basically the world's biggest convenience store, but spending money there turned out to be quite a challenge. I bought... grilling supplies?

I decided to stay up north until the 4th, and the weekend's bonus round included a trip up to Garrison to see Dylan and his special lady.

It took me 25 minutes to get to his family's place from Unorganized Territory, and for someone who drove 10 minutes every day just to get to town, 25 minutes is nothing. It makes me wonder why I ever complained about the distance. Alternately, this could just be the new car talking.

Unfortunately I was unable to get in touch with Larson.

The other surprise event was a boat trip around the bay for my grandpa's birthday on Monday. I think the last thing my skin was expecting was an hour of direct sunlight; I am now terribly sunburnt. It's even more annoying knowing that this is such a 4th of July weekend cliche. We "did fireworks," as they say, Monday night at the cabin.

For the actual 4th I left the cabin in the morning, drove to Chaska ("Just thirty minutes from cool") for a late lunch with an all-star cast of other relatives, and then grilled at Barry's with most of the usual suspects. Complicated logistics, good times.

Spoilers a'plenty.

1. She's a lousy reporter. She asked questions that were answered in the press packet, it took her forever to track down the source of the electrical disturbance, she let another good story idea (interview Luther) die for lack of effort, and the knowledge of Superman she rattled off to impress her fiance was pathetic. He's vulnerable to Kryptonite, you say? Oh, and she won the Pulitzer for an editorial? Good investigative skills, Lois!

2. She's a lousy mother. She brought her son with her to investigate a story, and walked him past countless reporters to visit Superman in the hospital. I'm sure the "Superman's love child" rumors will die out before the kid turns seventy.

3. She's a terrible girlfriend. It's not clear that she ever told her fiance who her son's father really was, and while she made the right choice in the end, it seems like that was basically Superman's decision. She was perfectly willing to cheat on her husband in the meantime, with a guy she hadn't seen for five years.

4. Kate Bosworth, as Lois Lane, had little to no chemistry with Superman. And I spent the whole movie wondering if she was the same actress who plays the girl doctor on House.

5. Finally: Lois Lane is shallow. Not only because she's couldn't decide between Superman or her fiance, or because she thought only of herself when bringing her son on Lex Luther's yacht, but also because Superman is Clark Kent and she's not romantically interested in Clark at all. But who could blame her, he wears glasses.