"Draconic Visitor: Because Apparently One Dragon Is Never Enough."

"Draconic Visitor: Because Apparently One Dragon Is Never Enough."

by:

Virgilio F. De leon Jr. MD

I am always on the lookout for new Dragons in every Magic: The Gathering set.

Aside from the fact that I collect them, I also enjoy upgrading my existing Dragon decks. And if a new Dragon is really good, there is always the possibility that I might just build an entirely new deck around it.

So, naturally, I was fairly disappointed when the opposite version of the Strixhaven founders gave us Sphinxes instead.

Yes.

Sphinxes.

I was looking for Dragons.

But then they spoiled this five-mana 5/5 flyer, and suddenly I became interested again.

Draconic Visitor has some serious potential.

Because apparently, this Dragon doesn't just want to join your Dragon deck.

It wants to make more Dragons.

All you need is one other Dragon on the battlefield.

And one particularly interesting candidate is Ganax, Astral Hunter, who already has a very useful relationship with Treasure tokens. Whenever Ganax or another Dragon enters the battlefield under your control, you get a Treasure token.

Now add Draconic Visitor to the equation.

Draconic Visitor turns those artifact tokens into 5/5 Dragon tokens.

Ganax sees the new Dragon enter the battlefield and creates another Treasure.

Draconic Visitor sees that Treasure and turns it into another 5/5 Dragon.

Ganax sees that Dragon enter.

Another Treasure.

Draconic Visitor sees the Treasure.

Another Dragon.

Another Treasure.

Another Dragon.

You see where this is going.

It's an infinite loop.

Of course, because Magic is Magic, you eventually need a way to actually stop the loop.

You need some way to sacrifice one of the Dragons or otherwise break the cycle.

But honestly…

Who cares?

If you've already created a million 5/5 flying Dragons, losing two of them seems like a pretty reasonable price to pay.

At that point, you're not exactly going to be counting your losses.

And this doesn't even have to stop with Ganax.

In a Jund EDH deck, you could also bring in Smaug, Wicked Worm, whose enters-the-battlefield ability can create a pile of Treasure based on the artifacts your opponents control.

If Draconic Visitor is on the battlefield, suddenly those Treasures aren't just sitting there waiting to be cracked for mana.

They're potential 5/5 Dragons.

And then there is Bootleggers' Stash.

This one gets particularly silly.

Bootleggers' Stash gives all your lands the ability to tap for a Treasure token.

Which means that, at the end of an opponent's turn, you can simply tap your lands and start producing Treasures at instant speed.

And if Draconic Visitor is sitting there?

Well…

Treasure becomes Dragon.

Dragon becomes more Treasure.

Treasure becomes more Dragon.

At this point, I am basically turning my mana base into a Dragon factory.

And maybe Old Gnawbone would fit right into this deck as well.

After all, Old Gnawbone makes sure that the damage your Dragons deal to your opponents comes back as Treasure.

Which means we have another way of generating the very resource Draconic Visitor wants.

So yes, I went into this looking for new Dragons because I am a Dragon collector.

I was disappointed when I saw Sphinxes.

And then Draconic Visitor showed up and reminded me of one of the most dangerous sentences in Magic:

“Wait… I think I can build a deck around this.”

Yup.

This one is pretty high on my list.

"Extinction: Why Were the Zombies So Bad at Being Zombies?

 "Extinction: Why Were the Zombies So Bad at Being Zombies?

by:

Virgilio F. De Leon Jr., MD

Extinction is a family drama with a little bit of mutated zombies thrown into the mix.

And because I have somehow managed to watch almost every zombie movie and series available on Netflix, I finally got around to watching this one.

And, well…

I’m not really sure if it was because I was sleep-deprived and getting increasingly annoyed with the pacing, or if the movie genuinely needed a lot more zombie screen time.

The story follows three survivors of a zombie apocalypse, almost a decade after they narrowly escaped death.

One of them is a baby who has now grown into a nine-year-old girl.

Don't ask me how she managed to survive the apocalypse all those years ago. I assume milk was not exactly the first item on everyone's survival checklist.

Anyway, she is now nine years old and hopelessly bored with how carefully her “Daddy” has protected her from the outside world.

And this brings me back to something I have always found fascinating about young people:

They have absolutely no imagination of how terrible the world can be.

This nine-year-old wants to see the world.

Well, kid…

You're about to see it.

The third member of their little survivor group runs a radio station in the middle of their small town, conveniently located right across the street from the other two.

And he is the first person to encounter the mutated White zombies.

Which brings me to my first question:

How exactly did the zombies mutate into these things?

They look like something that wandered out of A Quiet Place—completely blind and heavily dependent on their hearing to hunt.

I mean, sure. It's a zombie apocalypse. I'm willing to accept a certain amount of scientific nonsense.

But I would still like to know how we got from regular zombies to alien-looking creatures with super-hearing.

And more importantly:

Why didn't they attack the row of houses?

These creatures can obviously hunt during the day, so why are these people somehow living in a relatively peaceful little neighborhood while these things are apparently roaming around?

Then there is Peter, who runs the radio station.

Peter likes to blast loud music at night.

Very loud music.

Which makes me wonder how the White zombies weren't constantly drawn toward the radio station.

We already see that when just one of these things captures something, it can apparently make enough noise to attract the others.

So Peter is sitting there broadcasting loud music all night, and somehow the zombies are like:

“Nah. That's probably nothing.”

Just reasons.

Then, weirdly enough, the movie shifts back into family drama.

The three survivors eventually encounter a fourth survivor, a pregnant woman who has somehow survived an attack by the Whites.

And, unfortunately, that is pretty much her role in the movie.

She panics.

She tells them what happened.

She panics some more.

And then she continues being pregnant while everyone else deals with the actual plot.

To be fair, she does survive the movie.

Peter does not.

And this is where we finally discover that Peter was actually the girl's biological father.

Apparently, nine years earlier, he had killed his wife when she was about to turn into a zombie.

So his sacrifice at the end is supposed to be his redemption.

Outnumbered and cornered, Peter deliberately draws the White zombies toward himself so the other three can escape in a truck.

And here we reach another important question.

Was the truck silent?

Because I don't think trucks are particularly famous for being quiet.

Peter is making himself into a giant zombie magnet while the others drive away in a truck that presumably makes a considerable amount of noise.

So why weren't the zombies following them?

Did they suddenly decide:

“You know what? We've had enough excitement for tonight.”

Just reasons.

Eventually, the movie ends with the survivors looking out toward the coast, with the future still uncertain.

The nine-year-old seems happy.

She finally gets to see the world outside the little bubble her father had created for her.

And I suppose that is the point.

The movie is ultimately about survival, family, guilt, sacrifice, and the desire to see what lies beyond the walls that have protected you.

Which is actually a pretty decent premise.

Unfortunately, I spent a significant portion of the movie wondering why the zombies weren't attacking things that were making extremely obvious zombie-attracting noises.

Maybe I was too tired.

Maybe I was expecting too much.

Or maybe after watching approximately every zombie movie Netflix has ever thrown at me, I have developed unreasonable expectations about zombie behavior.

But as I sat there watching the credits roll, I could only think:

I am 49 years old.

I have survived adulthood, medicine, responsibilities, traffic, and apparently an entire Netflix catalog of zombie movies.

And after all that…

I think Extinction was the thing that finally killed me.

Not the zombies.

The pacing.

"Every. Effing. Artifact.: Why Memnarch Has My Attention."

 "Every. Effing. Artifact.: Why Memnarch Has My Attention."

by:

Virgilio F. De leon Jr.MD

One of the things I saw in the Reality Fracture EDH precon spoilers that gave my heart a little twinge was Memnarch.

Not the Memnarch I knew and loved.

Well… technically, it is Memnarch.

But this is the good Memnarch.

The Echoverse version.

A far cry from the Memnarch who spent his time stealing other creatures from other planes and generally making everyone’s life miserable.

This Memnarch is Memnarch, the Warden.

And honestly?

I like this guy.

A lot.

For starters, he is a ten-mana colorless Wizard who is also an indestructible 8/9.

This guy is tough.

Really, really tough.

He also creates two 1/1 colorless Myr artifact creature tokens.

Those lovable little metal guys that were scattered all over Mirrodin, doing all sorts of jobs before the Phyrexians came along and decided that everyone needed to have a much worse day.

But that's not even the part that got me excited.

The really exciting thing about this Memnarch is what happens when he attacks.

You draw a card for each artifact you control.

Each.

Effing.

Artifact.

Read that again.

Every artifact.

And immediately, my brain went straight to my Sai, Master Thopterist Commander deck.

Because Sai does not believe in owning a reasonable number of artifacts.

Sai believes in production.

You cast artifacts.

You make Thopters.

You make more artifacts.

You sacrifice artifacts.

You make more tokens.

And eventually your battlefield starts looking less like a Commander deck and more like a small industrial complex.

And now Memnarch walks into that mess and says:

"You know all those artifacts you have?"

"Yes?"

"Draw a card for each one."

Excuse me?

Each one?!

This is the kind of card that gets me more excited than some of the other obviously powerful cards in the precon.

Because this is exactly the kind of ridiculous interaction that makes me want to build a deck.

I can already see the battlefield.

Sai has been doing Sai things.

There are artifacts everywhere.

Thopters are everywhere.

Myr are everywhere.

Somehow there are probably several other tokens whose original purpose I have completely forgotten.

And then Memnarch attacks.

And suddenly my artifact army isn't just an army.

It's a library search system with legs.

Yes, Memnarch costs ten mana.

Yes, that is a lot of mana.

But when the reward is potentially drawing a card for every artifact you control, I suddenly find myself asking a very dangerous question:

"How many artifacts can I make?"

And if you have played enough Commander, you already know that this is how it starts.

You tell yourself you're just going to add a few cards.

Then you need more artifact generators.

Then more token makers.

Then more ways to sacrifice them.

Then more ways to recur them.

Then suddenly you're staring at your decklist at two in the morning wondering why you have 47 artifacts.

And somewhere in the middle of all that madness, Memnarch is sitting there waiting to turn every single one of them into another card.

That Reality Fracture precon was already looking interesting.

But now?

It's looking really, really fine.

"Brewer’s Madness: At Last, The Ur-Sphinx Has Arrived."

 "Brewer’s Madness: At Last, The Ur-Sphinx Has Arrived."

By:

Virgilio F. De Leon Jr., MD

Every once in a while, I am afflicted with a condition I like to call Brewer’s Madness.

It is an all-consuming desire to build decks—Commander decks, specifically. And not just decks that are proven to work. No, I have a particular talent for trying to make decks work even when the tribe or strategy has absolutely no business being supported.

My last bout of Brewer’s Madness had me brewing decks for Spiders and Turtles.

Oh, and a third tribe:

Sphinxes.

Now that there is an abundance of Spider and Turtle commanders, I have been able to look at the situation with a slightly more sober mind and wonder:

When are the Sphinxes finally going to get their turn?

And then The Ur-Sphinx was spoiled as part of the Reality Fracture preconstructed Commander deck.

I finally got to say:

“Ah. There you are. At last.”

Aside from Sharuum the Hegemon, I really couldn't remember a Sphinx lord that I would consider a great commander to lead the tribe. I had previously settled for Unesh from Amonkhet to lead the way.

But now?

With five new Sphinxes from Reality Fracture, plus this new Sphinx Avatar, Unesh can finally take his rightful place in the 99.

Enter the Ur-Sphinx

The Ur-Sphinx gathers its brethren in only Esper colors, giving us access to white, blue, and black.

It is a nine-mana, flying 10/10 with the much-celebrated Eminence mechanic, allowing you to cast your larger Sphinxes for a colorless mana discount.

And finally, we have what I would call a proper Sphinx Matters Commander deck.

The Ur-Sphinx rewards you for attacking with Sphinxes. For each Sphinx that attacks, each player mills that many cards.

And then comes the really fun part:

For each player, you may cast a card that player milled this way for free.

Yes.

For free.

Now let's talk about that kind of value.

The more Sphinxes you attack with, the more cards everyone mills, and the larger your potential pool of free spells becomes.

Most permanents and spells can be cast this way without paying their mana costs. Lands are the obvious exception, which is one of the areas where the Ur-Sphinx is more limited than its draconic counterpart, the Ur-Dragon.

The Ur-Dragon can simply drop permanents onto the battlefield through its ability.

The Ur-Sphinx, on the other hand, needs to dig through the cards that were milled and find something worth stealing.

But that is still an absurd amount of potential value.

Let's say you attack with three Sphinxes.

Each player mills three cards.

With four players at the table, that's 12 cards milled across the entire pod.

Then you get to choose a card from each player's milled cards and cast those four cards for free.

That's four free spells from a pool of 12 cards.

And suddenly, my little Sphinx deck doesn't look so little anymore.

The Dragon Problem

I have to admit, though, that the Ur-Sphinx feels a little more limited than its dragon counterpart.

The Ur-Dragon doesn't particularly care what it puts onto the battlefield. If you can get a permanent into play, great.

The Ur-Sphinx needs something useful to be milled.

That introduces a little more uncertainty.

But honestly?

I'm okay with that.

Because watching three or four giant Sphinxes attack while simultaneously turning everyone's libraries into a buffet of potentially free spells sounds like exactly the kind of nonsense that makes Commander fun.

I still love my Dragons.

The Ur-Dragon has already earned its place in my heart—and probably several thousand dollars worth of cardboard in my collection.

But I might seriously consider building this Esper Sphinx Avatar in the future.

After all, I already have most of the cards that would fit right into it.

And that is usually how Brewer's Madness begins.

You tell yourself:

“I already have most of the cards.”

Then you buy the cards you're missing.

Then you realize you need a few upgrades.

Then you need a few more Sphinxes.

Then suddenly you have a deck.

And somehow, against all reason, you are already thinking about the next one.

Brewer's Madness strikes again.

At last, though, the Sphinxes have given me a reason to embrace it.

"The End of Oak Street Paradox."

 

"The End of Oak Street Paradox."

by:

Virgilio F. De leon Jr. MD

The plot of The End of Oak Street is loosely explained through the concept of wormholes. The story follows a family whose entire neighborhood is somehow transported 200 million years into the past, landing in the same general area during the age of the dinosaurs.

And yes, before I go any further, there are spoilers ahead.

So if you haven't watched the movie yet, you might want to stop reading here.

My wife had a great idea about how the movie was going to go.

She thought this would essentially be a simple Point A-to-Point B survival movie. The family would somehow make it through the dinosaur apocalypse, escape the prehistoric wilderness, and eventually return home more or less intact.

Which, considering that practically everyone else in the neighborhood seemed to be getting eaten by dinosaurs, was already a fairly generous interpretation of the family's chances.

Then Greg, the father, played by Ewan McGregor, dies.

My wife could not believe it.

And honestly, neither could I.

Except the movie apparently wasn't finished with Greg yet.

About fifteen minutes before the neighborhood is transported into the past, Anne Hathaway's character calls her husband, who is still very much alive at this point, asking him to have pizza delivered to the area in the hills.

And because of the way the movie handles the timeline, Greg survives.

The family is reunited.

There are tears.

There are hugs.

Everyone is happy.

The end.

Except...

A tiny thought suddenly appeared in my head.

"Wait."

That's a paradox.

Now, my wife had just wanted to watch a movie.

I, unfortunately, had just discovered a temporal problem and apparently could no longer leave it alone.

Here's the problem.

The family exists in the original timeline. The neighborhood is then transported 200 million years into the past. We, as the audience, are allowed to see what happens in that prehistoric timeline, including Greg saving his wife from being eaten by a dinosaur.

That means Greg's actions in the past directly affect whether his wife survives.

And if his wife survives, she can help their children survive.

And if the children survive, they can eventually reach the portal that allows them to return.

But here's the problem:

What happens if Greg isn't there?

Because in the original timeline, the family has effectively gone into the past.

Greg's survival in the ending depends on information and events connected to the family's journey into that past.

But the family's survival in the past depends on Greg being there to save his wife.

Remove Greg from that timeline, and his wife may die.

If his wife dies, the children may not survive.

If the children don't survive, they never reach the portal.

If they never reach the portal, the events that lead to Greg surviving don't happen.

Which means...

Greg doesn't survive.

Which means his wife doesn't survive.

Which means the children don't survive.

Which means they never reach the portal.

Which means Greg doesn't survive.

And suddenly we've gone from a dinosaur survival movie to Doctor Who before breakfast.

My wife, who had simply wanted to enjoy the movie, was understandably not thrilled that I had decided to perform a full temporal mechanics analysis immediately afterward.

She basically wanted to watch people escape dinosaurs.

I wanted to know whether Greg's existence was causally dependent on his own family's survival, which was itself dependent on Greg's existence.

Eventually, I did manage to explain the paradox to her.

She understood it.

She was still annoyed that I had thought about it.

And honestly, I can't blame her.

Sometimes you just want to watch a movie, eat your breakfast, and move on with your day.

Unfortunately, my brain occasionally sees a perfectly good ending and says:

"That's nice. But have you considered the implications of the space-time continuum?"

My wife did not appreciate this contribution.

But I still think the movie has a problem.

Greg isn't just the father who survived the dinosaurs.

He may also be the reason the story could happen in the first place.

And that, my friends, is how a simple dinosaur movie became a breakfast argument about causality.

"When Machines Become Family: What My Wife Has No Emotion Says About Loneliness."

"When Machines Become Family: What My Wife Has No Emotion Says About Loneliness."

by:

Virgilio F. De leon Jr. MD

I recently finished watching My Wife Has No Emotion on Netflix.

It is a 12-episode anime about Takagi Kosugi, a lonely office employee who falls in love with a Mina Series robot originally designed to cook for him and take care of various household chores.

Yes.

A robot.

Basically, Takagi fell in love with a microwave.

A microwave with a cute face, a pleasant personality, and considerably better conversational skills, but a microwave nonetheless.

And yet, the more I watched the series, the more I realized that this wasn't really a story about a man falling in love with a machine.

It was a story about loneliness.

And suddenly, my joke about the microwave wasn't quite as funny anymore.

The Loneliness Problem

Japan has been dealing with a growing loneliness problem, particularly among the elderly, but also among younger people who are increasingly disconnected from traditional ideas about dating, marriage, and starting families.

There are people who live alone.

There are people who grow old alone.

And, sadly, there are people who eventually die alone.

There are plenty of reasons for this.

Japan has an aging population and a declining birth rate. Younger people are working long hours and dealing with economic pressures. Some simply don't see marriage or having children as necessary parts of a fulfilling life.

Others may want companionship but don't necessarily have the time, energy, or opportunity to pursue it.

And then there is Takagi.

Takagi is practically the poster boy for this demographic.

He works.

He goes home.

He eats.

He sleeps.

Then he does it all over again.

Dating?

That's a lot of work.

Relationships?

Even more work.

Starting a family?

Congratulations, you've just unlocked an entirely new difficulty level.

So instead, he has Mina.

Mina cooks for him. She helps around the house. She talks to him.

And eventually, she becomes much more than an appliance.

Which is probably where things start getting uncomfortable.

Because the idea isn't actually that ridiculous.

The Robot That Comes Home With You

The Mina Series isn't simply designed to make life more convenient.

It fills a social gap.

Imagine coming home from work and having someone there.

Someone who talks to you.

Someone who knows your routines.

Someone who notices when something is wrong.

Someone who can prepare dinner.

And, unlike your spouse, apparently doesn't ask why you left your socks on the floor.

Okay, maybe that last part is an important technological advancement.

But this is what makes My Wife Has No Emotion interesting.

The robots aren't merely solving practical problems. They're addressing loneliness.

And the anime understands something that technology companies have also begun to understand:

People don't just want things that make life easier. They want things that make life feel less empty.

And Then There Are the Parents

Takagi's aging parents represent another side of the equation.

The Mimamorius 3 is designed to monitor the health of elderly people. It can keep track of their condition and call an ambulance when necessary.

That alone is useful.

But once again, the robot isn't simply a medical device.

It is also a companion.

And that distinction is important.

A machine that reminds an elderly person to take their medicine is useful.

A machine that reminds them, talks to them, checks on them, and makes sure someone—or something—is there when they need help becomes something else entirely.

It starts becoming part of their daily life.

And eventually, you have to ask:

At what point does a machine stop being an appliance and start becoming family?

From Hatsune Miku to AI

There is another interesting aspect to all of this.

The idea of people developing emotional attachments to fictional characters, virtual personalities, or even inanimate objects isn't particularly new.

Japan has had some very famous examples.

There have been people who have held commitment ceremonies involving fictional characters. There was even the famous case involving Hatsune Miku, the virtual singer.

For a long time, these stories seemed like uniquely Japanese curiosities.

Something you read about on the internet and thought:

"Well, that's Japan for you."

But AI has changed the conversation.

Now we have increasingly sophisticated virtual companions capable of holding conversations, remembering previous interactions, responding emotionally, and adapting to the person they're talking to.

Suddenly, this isn't just about anime fans and virtual idols.

It's becoming a much broader human phenomenon.

And perhaps the more important question isn't whether this is strange.

The question is:

Why does it work?

Why would someone become emotionally attached to something that isn't human?

Perhaps because loneliness doesn't particularly care whether the person sitting across from you is made of flesh and blood, circuits, or pixels.

If something talks to you every day, remembers you, listens to you, and makes you feel like you matter, the emotional response can still be very real—even if the other side of the conversation isn't experiencing things the way a human does.

And that is where My Wife Has No Emotion becomes surprisingly relevant.

A Future That Might Not Be as Strange as We Think

One of the things I appreciated about the anime is that it doesn't spend all its time telling us that Takagi's relationship with Mina is bizarre.

Instead, it gradually normalizes the idea.

Mina becomes part of his life.

She becomes part of his home.

Eventually, she becomes part of what he considers his family.

And perhaps that's the future the series is quietly asking us to consider.

Not a future where robots suddenly take over the world.

Not The Terminator.

Not killer machines marching down the street.

Something much less dramatic.

Something much more ordinary.

Robots that cook.

Robots that clean.

Robots that monitor your blood pressure.

Robots that remind you to take your medication.

Robots that call an ambulance when you fall.

Robots that talk to you when nobody else is around.

And eventually, perhaps, robots that someone considers a member of the family.

That future may sound strange today.

But then again, there was a time when talking to someone thousands of kilometers away through a tiny rectangle in your hand would have sounded like science fiction.

Now we call it Tuesday.

Technology has a funny way of turning ridiculous ideas into normal household appliances.

Which brings me back to Takagi and Mina.

At the beginning of the series, I thought:

"This guy fell in love with a microwave."

By the end, I was asking a very different question.

Maybe the important thing isn't whether Mina is human.

Maybe the important thing is that Takagi isn't alone anymore.

And in a world where loneliness is becoming an increasingly serious problem, perhaps that is the part of the story we should be paying attention to.

"No Spark, No Problem: Koth’s Guide to Infecting the Table."

 "No Spark, No Problem: Koth’s Guide to Infecting the Table."

by:

Virgilio F. De leon Jr. MD

Koth, the Geomancer, really can’t seem to catch a break.

He lost his home, and apparently, he lost his spark as well. Once a planeswalker, Koth is now merely a Legendary Creature. Talk about a career downgrade.

But while his planeswalker status may be gone, some of his old tricks are still around.

Koth now has a Landfall ability, and every time a land enters the battlefield under your control, he deals 1 damage to each opponent.

Not bad. But wait, there’s more!

If the land that enters is a Mountain, you get an additional red mana. That’s right—two mana from a single land drop! Koth may have lost his spark, but he certainly hasn’t lost his connection to the land.

Of course, being a Phyrexian at heart, my first thought is simple: What if we turn all that pinging into Infect?

The answer? Grafted Exoskeleton.

Equip it to Koth, start playing lands, and watch those innocent-looking points of damage turn into poison counters. Ten land drops ought to be enough to eliminate all opponents through poisoning alone.

And if that seems too slow, we can always swing with Koth’s 5/4 body(With the Grafted Exoskeleton of course). A single successful attack puts five poison counters on an opponent—halfway to victory in one go.

The plan might be a little simplistic, but hey, this is a mono-red EDH deck. In a four-player pod, survival is never guaranteed, so who knows what might happen?

Besides, Koth has already lost his home and his spark.

The least we can do is give him a chance to poison the table.