Okay, okay... I think I like this "Who Wants to be a Superhero?" show. It's cheesy and kind of bad, but it's okay.
Excelsior!
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Who Wants to be a Superhero, Etc...
So Peabo had some heated words for me in the comments section. I put together an astounding reply to which anyone would have to be impressed. Unfortunately, WordPad decided to freak out when I went to save it as a back-up (ha ha, die Windows, die!). So long to an hour of my life.
Suffice it to say, I am brilliantly aware of international politics. So just imagine yourselves stunned at my insightful and irrefutable retort. Peabo (and you all) will just have to live in a whirlpool of mystery, wondering what it was I might have said to show him the error of his ways.
People keep sending me links about Stan Lee's "Who Wants to be a Superhero?"
I have an answer to that question: L.A.-entrenched failed actors looking for exposure.
Stan has been trying to sell this idea since "Who Wants to be a Millionaire?" was in it's prime (ie: when Nathan freaked out North America by introducing The Reeg to his monkey, Coco). Thus, the name of Stan's show.
I thought it was a bad idea for a show back then, and I am still not entirely sold on the concept now.
Loyal Leaguers you may all be, but let's face facts: aside from Spider-Man and Batman, you think superheroes are pretty stupid, right?
I mean, if you were at a party and someone asked you to come up with a superhero idea, you'd probably tie a towel around your neck, grab a plunger and a shower cap, and declare yourself "Roto-Rooter Man/ Lady" (no discrimination here), and you'd get a big laugh. I'd laugh, too. That's good stuff.
That's pretty much what the show looks like it's lining up to be. Whether Stan was ever serious about trying to find a property to develop through his Pow! Entertainment company (ie: not Marvel), or whether he was just looking at the dollar signs tied to reality game shows is sort of irrelevant. The producers don't care WHAT Stan does with the winner.
Like American Idol, the opening tone will no doubt be ridiculous as chubby comic-loving dorks squeeze into homemade outfits and go before a panel of "judges" to pitch their concept. There will be a snarky voice-over encouraging us to make fun of the fat guy in the shorts, or the moderately unhinged guy in his Punisher-like commando get-up. A few people will be genuine or funny enough to move on to the actual final round.
The other night I found myself completely unable to watch TLC's new show "The Messengers" (which came on after two hours of shows about somethign called primordial dwarfism. Apparently, gelflings live among us). "The Messengers" is a reality/ game show which features wanna-be motivation speakers going through a harrowing experience, such as being homeless for a few hours, and then shouting at a crowd about how it sucks to be homeless. For a few hours.
I brought this up with Jamie about what an odd concept the show was, and she didn't even blink. "What do you want me to say?" she finally sighed after repeatedly being cued to be impressed, "They'll put anything on TV in gameshow format."
Judging from the list of contestants on the website, "Who Wants to be a Superhero" has gone for the quick-cash-in "wacky" factor. This seems rather obvious.
I would have thought long-term. Go for the hard-core geek audience and create what could be a nichey show about how comic properties are developed and how one can create a character as enduring as Spider-Man. I mean, Jesus. This is Stan "I developed X-Men, The Hulk, Spidey, the Fantastic Four and countless others" Lee we're talking about. If anyone could give a few pointers and career tips as he enjoys his semi-retirement, it's this guy.
This is not to say "WWTBS?" won't be fun and funny. If it works. But you know what's not funny two hours into the party? Roto-Rooter Man.
In comics, very few comedy comics stick, especially funny superhero comics. Even "The Tick" is mostly reprints these days. The original Red Tornado, Forbush Man, 'Mazing Man and Ambush Bug all had a few moments in the sun, but I think you'd be hard pressed to find a hard-core fan base or margin of profitability for any of the characters.
So, once again we're back to 1960-whatever, and Batman is hilarious. For three seasons. Frikkin' "Yes, Dear" has already surpassed that by 3 years.
Yes, I do like the campy side of superheroes. I'm all about movies like "Mystery Men", etc... but even those movies had a story (and "Casanova Frankenstein" is the best villain name ever. Seriously. I will be 90 years old and will still be jealous that I couldn't come up with that name).
I will watch the pilot so I have a common point of reference, but I'll be honest, it's a muted enthusiasm. I see 11 Roto-Rooter Men/ Ladies.
So Peabo had some heated words for me in the comments section. I put together an astounding reply to which anyone would have to be impressed. Unfortunately, WordPad decided to freak out when I went to save it as a back-up (ha ha, die Windows, die!). So long to an hour of my life.
Suffice it to say, I am brilliantly aware of international politics. So just imagine yourselves stunned at my insightful and irrefutable retort. Peabo (and you all) will just have to live in a whirlpool of mystery, wondering what it was I might have said to show him the error of his ways.
People keep sending me links about Stan Lee's "Who Wants to be a Superhero?"
I have an answer to that question: L.A.-entrenched failed actors looking for exposure.
Stan has been trying to sell this idea since "Who Wants to be a Millionaire?" was in it's prime (ie: when Nathan freaked out North America by introducing The Reeg to his monkey, Coco). Thus, the name of Stan's show.
I thought it was a bad idea for a show back then, and I am still not entirely sold on the concept now.
Loyal Leaguers you may all be, but let's face facts: aside from Spider-Man and Batman, you think superheroes are pretty stupid, right?
I mean, if you were at a party and someone asked you to come up with a superhero idea, you'd probably tie a towel around your neck, grab a plunger and a shower cap, and declare yourself "Roto-Rooter Man/ Lady" (no discrimination here), and you'd get a big laugh. I'd laugh, too. That's good stuff.
That's pretty much what the show looks like it's lining up to be. Whether Stan was ever serious about trying to find a property to develop through his Pow! Entertainment company (ie: not Marvel), or whether he was just looking at the dollar signs tied to reality game shows is sort of irrelevant. The producers don't care WHAT Stan does with the winner.
Like American Idol, the opening tone will no doubt be ridiculous as chubby comic-loving dorks squeeze into homemade outfits and go before a panel of "judges" to pitch their concept. There will be a snarky voice-over encouraging us to make fun of the fat guy in the shorts, or the moderately unhinged guy in his Punisher-like commando get-up. A few people will be genuine or funny enough to move on to the actual final round.
The other night I found myself completely unable to watch TLC's new show "The Messengers" (which came on after two hours of shows about somethign called primordial dwarfism. Apparently, gelflings live among us). "The Messengers" is a reality/ game show which features wanna-be motivation speakers going through a harrowing experience, such as being homeless for a few hours, and then shouting at a crowd about how it sucks to be homeless. For a few hours.
I brought this up with Jamie about what an odd concept the show was, and she didn't even blink. "What do you want me to say?" she finally sighed after repeatedly being cued to be impressed, "They'll put anything on TV in gameshow format."
Judging from the list of contestants on the website, "Who Wants to be a Superhero" has gone for the quick-cash-in "wacky" factor. This seems rather obvious.
I would have thought long-term. Go for the hard-core geek audience and create what could be a nichey show about how comic properties are developed and how one can create a character as enduring as Spider-Man. I mean, Jesus. This is Stan "I developed X-Men, The Hulk, Spidey, the Fantastic Four and countless others" Lee we're talking about. If anyone could give a few pointers and career tips as he enjoys his semi-retirement, it's this guy.
This is not to say "WWTBS?" won't be fun and funny. If it works. But you know what's not funny two hours into the party? Roto-Rooter Man.
In comics, very few comedy comics stick, especially funny superhero comics. Even "The Tick" is mostly reprints these days. The original Red Tornado, Forbush Man, 'Mazing Man and Ambush Bug all had a few moments in the sun, but I think you'd be hard pressed to find a hard-core fan base or margin of profitability for any of the characters.
So, once again we're back to 1960-whatever, and Batman is hilarious. For three seasons. Frikkin' "Yes, Dear" has already surpassed that by 3 years.
Yes, I do like the campy side of superheroes. I'm all about movies like "Mystery Men", etc... but even those movies had a story (and "Casanova Frankenstein" is the best villain name ever. Seriously. I will be 90 years old and will still be jealous that I couldn't come up with that name).
I will watch the pilot so I have a common point of reference, but I'll be honest, it's a muted enthusiasm. I see 11 Roto-Rooter Men/ Ladies.
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
CAPTAIN OF THE THUNDER AND LIGHTNING
Wow, Leaguers... We had some serious weather last night here in the PHX. BOOM! POW! WHOOOOSH!!!!
We don't get too many days of rain and thunderstorms, but we do get these storms they call "monsoons". Now PHX is a little different from, oh, say, Myanmar. We don't get real monsoons, but we do get these wet fronts that come in from the ocean south of us, and... man... they can be sort of exciting. In the daytime they usually come with a wall of dust several stories high, just sweeping across the desert.
Last night we got the longest, most sustained lightning storm I'd ever seen in Arizona. It was the sort of fun you get in Dallas or occasionally in Austin, but without the fear of a twister coming and tossing you right out of your La-Z-Boy.
SHAZAM!
We do not have children, but we do have pets. And last night, for the first time in a long time, I let Mel sleep in bed with us. He was a little off from the storm, and he's so very happy when we let him sleep on the bed. Unfortunately, Mel is the size of a people. So when I came to bed last night, and Mel was sprawled across the foot of the bed, it was kind of a tough negotiation.
Jeff the Cat does not like rain. Or thunder. or lightning. So he curls up into a tiny ball, finds a spot where the sounds are quietest and just sits, slowly freaking out. He was hiding int he guest bath when I finally retired.
Lucy-Girl had to pee, and as she's seen rain maybe four or five times in her life, she wasn't feeling too confident when I kicked her outside. I felt pretty bad for her, so I went outside to lend her moral support, and man... the wind was kicking our trees around, rain was coming down by the bucket-load and it was like a Frankenstein movie with all the thunder and lightning. Lucy, of course, gav eup on being scared and decided 9:30 in a lightning storm is the perfect time to play fetch, especially with four inches of standing water in the yard.
The good news is she did pee. The bad news is I had to put her to bed still damp and disgruntled that I called the game of fetch short.
Growing up in Houston and Austin and weathering hurricanes and tornadoes, I do remember being scared of thunder and lightning. If Jason was around, like in one of the years we shared a bedroom or if it was during the day, it always helped. Trees might be snapping, the power might be out, but he'd look at me and say "Hey, pretend we're on a ship and we need to secure the ship." And we'd be sailors on a ship, battening hatches and pulling down sails, fearless against the elements. Or, "We're hiding in a cave from the dragon outside," and we were adventurers holed up in secret, snickering to ourselves about the loot we'd stolen from the dragon who was, even now, causing all that calamity just beyond the cave entrance.
And when that didn't work, he'd count it out for me. "Hear that...? That lightning flash and thunder? There was eight seconds between the flash and thunder. That was eight miles away..." Eight miles might as well have been in Paraguay... that was a safe distance.
I don't get as bent out of shape about the weather anymore. But I still think about riding on a wind-tossed ship in the sea, or in the cave hiding from the dragon... and occasionally in my DCU-addled brain I watch the lightning streak across the sky and I think of Captain Marvel going toe-to-toe with some monster hiding among the clouds. With one magic word and a bolt of mystic lightning, Billy Batson transforms from an ordinary boy to the World's Mightiest Mortal, a being of myths and stories. The kind of stories of adventure and adversity Jason used to make up on the spot when the monsters were reaching down out of the clouds.
And that's why these days I look forward to the thunder and lightning.
SHAZAM!!!!
Wow, Leaguers... We had some serious weather last night here in the PHX. BOOM! POW! WHOOOOSH!!!!
We don't get too many days of rain and thunderstorms, but we do get these storms they call "monsoons". Now PHX is a little different from, oh, say, Myanmar. We don't get real monsoons, but we do get these wet fronts that come in from the ocean south of us, and... man... they can be sort of exciting. In the daytime they usually come with a wall of dust several stories high, just sweeping across the desert.
Last night we got the longest, most sustained lightning storm I'd ever seen in Arizona. It was the sort of fun you get in Dallas or occasionally in Austin, but without the fear of a twister coming and tossing you right out of your La-Z-Boy.
SHAZAM!
We do not have children, but we do have pets. And last night, for the first time in a long time, I let Mel sleep in bed with us. He was a little off from the storm, and he's so very happy when we let him sleep on the bed. Unfortunately, Mel is the size of a people. So when I came to bed last night, and Mel was sprawled across the foot of the bed, it was kind of a tough negotiation.
Jeff the Cat does not like rain. Or thunder. or lightning. So he curls up into a tiny ball, finds a spot where the sounds are quietest and just sits, slowly freaking out. He was hiding int he guest bath when I finally retired.
Lucy-Girl had to pee, and as she's seen rain maybe four or five times in her life, she wasn't feeling too confident when I kicked her outside. I felt pretty bad for her, so I went outside to lend her moral support, and man... the wind was kicking our trees around, rain was coming down by the bucket-load and it was like a Frankenstein movie with all the thunder and lightning. Lucy, of course, gav eup on being scared and decided 9:30 in a lightning storm is the perfect time to play fetch, especially with four inches of standing water in the yard.
The good news is she did pee. The bad news is I had to put her to bed still damp and disgruntled that I called the game of fetch short.
Growing up in Houston and Austin and weathering hurricanes and tornadoes, I do remember being scared of thunder and lightning. If Jason was around, like in one of the years we shared a bedroom or if it was during the day, it always helped. Trees might be snapping, the power might be out, but he'd look at me and say "Hey, pretend we're on a ship and we need to secure the ship." And we'd be sailors on a ship, battening hatches and pulling down sails, fearless against the elements. Or, "We're hiding in a cave from the dragon outside," and we were adventurers holed up in secret, snickering to ourselves about the loot we'd stolen from the dragon who was, even now, causing all that calamity just beyond the cave entrance.
And when that didn't work, he'd count it out for me. "Hear that...? That lightning flash and thunder? There was eight seconds between the flash and thunder. That was eight miles away..." Eight miles might as well have been in Paraguay... that was a safe distance.
I don't get as bent out of shape about the weather anymore. But I still think about riding on a wind-tossed ship in the sea, or in the cave hiding from the dragon... and occasionally in my DCU-addled brain I watch the lightning streak across the sky and I think of Captain Marvel going toe-to-toe with some monster hiding among the clouds. With one magic word and a bolt of mystic lightning, Billy Batson transforms from an ordinary boy to the World's Mightiest Mortal, a being of myths and stories. The kind of stories of adventure and adversity Jason used to make up on the spot when the monsters were reaching down out of the clouds.
And that's why these days I look forward to the thunder and lightning.
SHAZAM!!!!
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
I don't want to be a Negative Ned, but does anyone else sort of feel like we're finally getting that third world war in the hopper?
As if our adventuring overseas wasn't enough to ruin your afternoon, and if the excitement in Lebanon wasn't enough to get you to stall for a minute on the news... well... this can't be good
As if our adventuring overseas wasn't enough to ruin your afternoon, and if the excitement in Lebanon wasn't enough to get you to stall for a minute on the news... well... this can't be good
Monday, July 24, 2006
Summer of Superman: No Superman 2?
Leaguers, you've failed me. Superman Returns has only raked in $170+ million up to this point. As the movie cost a lot more than that to get made and marketed, it looks like the chances for a sequel are pretty much drawing to a close.
Now, what kind of crazy-assed we world we live in where $170 million isn't enough of a gross to make a profit...? Well, I don't really like to think about that all that much.
What's really upsetting is that X-Men 3, which was, at best, a cookie-cutter action sequel, and at worst... well, let's not get into what I personally felt about the movie, but that movie made something like $230 million.
@#$%ing Brett Ratner, man.
There's no justice.
The American movie going public is a fickle beast, to be sure. I'll never know why Super Returns didn't do better at the box office (ie: why more people didn't want to see Superman in a movie), but I have a suspicion...
Nobody generates bad press like Superman.
I get a lot of e-mails from Loyal Leaguers and beyond any time some pop-culture columnist can't think of anything to write about and decide to jump on the "I am so smart, Superman is no longer relevant" bandwagon. You don't see a lot of articles about why Iron Man or Thor are out of touch with the American zeitgeist. Or a lot of ink spilled over Batman's irrelevancy in our day and age. And with every movie review re: a superhero movie, the reviewers who haven't seen Superman since they were 8 spend a lot of time talking about how Superman is a simple-minded lummox, a boy scout, etc... but Batman and Spider-Man... well, those guys, they're REAL characters.
I think we all sort of killed Superman. At some point we decided Superman was the broadstroke caricature, the two-tone copyright-infringing generic "superhero" popping up in ads for plumbers and carpet millers. He was that silly man-like-object who couldn't be taken seriously while Spider-Man... Spider-Man and Batman both seemed safe. I mean, really, they were just us, right...? And not really... super. We made Kal-El into the alien he'd always tried so hard not to be.
We read the pop culture reviewers rants about how our age had surpassed that of Superman's simple origin (ah, the joy of looking at our forebears and laughing), how Superman is a kid's fantasy, how he's sexually confused, how he's a relic, how he is nothing but the nerd's projection of powerlessness, how he couldn't have sex with Lois without killing her... we analyzed and analyzed until what was left?
Jesus. How well do you really think Wolverine would hold up under such scrutiny?
We've been trained not to trust the character, to believe he's got to be up to something, that nobody could possibly be who he seems to be when he's not one of us.
Superman Returns did receive fairly good reviews. It had amazing special effects and a few stars in the cast. And lets be honest... they marketed the hell out of that movie, maybe too much, but I don't think there was a lot of confusion that Superman Returns was coming out this summer. But that was a media blitz for a movie fighting uphill against a whisper campaign starting sometime back in the mid-80's when the last of the Reeve Superman movies was released to empty theaters.
I'm disappointed, Leaguers. The nay-saying Luthors have won. I don't think I'm getting my second installment.
So if you haven't seen the movie, say you were too busy, and, heck, by the time you DID have time, you thought you would just go see the Pirate movie instead... Or just wait until the DVD... Go check out Superman Returns now, on the big screen while you can.
And if you've already seen it just the once and that was it... Leaguers, go see it again. Heck, go just to see what the little kid has printed on his jammies in the final scene. I noticed it on a second viewing and it was all I could do not to crack up and ruin the mood of the whole theater. Fathers, take your sons.
It's a mighty weight, Leaguers. A weight great enough that even Superman himself can't lift. So put your backs into it.
Leaguers, you've failed me. Superman Returns has only raked in $170+ million up to this point. As the movie cost a lot more than that to get made and marketed, it looks like the chances for a sequel are pretty much drawing to a close.
Now, what kind of crazy-assed we world we live in where $170 million isn't enough of a gross to make a profit...? Well, I don't really like to think about that all that much.
What's really upsetting is that X-Men 3, which was, at best, a cookie-cutter action sequel, and at worst... well, let's not get into what I personally felt about the movie, but that movie made something like $230 million.
@#$%ing Brett Ratner, man.
There's no justice.
The American movie going public is a fickle beast, to be sure. I'll never know why Super Returns didn't do better at the box office (ie: why more people didn't want to see Superman in a movie), but I have a suspicion...
Nobody generates bad press like Superman.
I get a lot of e-mails from Loyal Leaguers and beyond any time some pop-culture columnist can't think of anything to write about and decide to jump on the "I am so smart, Superman is no longer relevant" bandwagon. You don't see a lot of articles about why Iron Man or Thor are out of touch with the American zeitgeist. Or a lot of ink spilled over Batman's irrelevancy in our day and age. And with every movie review re: a superhero movie, the reviewers who haven't seen Superman since they were 8 spend a lot of time talking about how Superman is a simple-minded lummox, a boy scout, etc... but Batman and Spider-Man... well, those guys, they're REAL characters.
I think we all sort of killed Superman. At some point we decided Superman was the broadstroke caricature, the two-tone copyright-infringing generic "superhero" popping up in ads for plumbers and carpet millers. He was that silly man-like-object who couldn't be taken seriously while Spider-Man... Spider-Man and Batman both seemed safe. I mean, really, they were just us, right...? And not really... super. We made Kal-El into the alien he'd always tried so hard not to be.
We read the pop culture reviewers rants about how our age had surpassed that of Superman's simple origin (ah, the joy of looking at our forebears and laughing), how Superman is a kid's fantasy, how he's sexually confused, how he's a relic, how he is nothing but the nerd's projection of powerlessness, how he couldn't have sex with Lois without killing her... we analyzed and analyzed until what was left?
Jesus. How well do you really think Wolverine would hold up under such scrutiny?
We've been trained not to trust the character, to believe he's got to be up to something, that nobody could possibly be who he seems to be when he's not one of us.
Superman Returns did receive fairly good reviews. It had amazing special effects and a few stars in the cast. And lets be honest... they marketed the hell out of that movie, maybe too much, but I don't think there was a lot of confusion that Superman Returns was coming out this summer. But that was a media blitz for a movie fighting uphill against a whisper campaign starting sometime back in the mid-80's when the last of the Reeve Superman movies was released to empty theaters.
I'm disappointed, Leaguers. The nay-saying Luthors have won. I don't think I'm getting my second installment.
So if you haven't seen the movie, say you were too busy, and, heck, by the time you DID have time, you thought you would just go see the Pirate movie instead... Or just wait until the DVD... Go check out Superman Returns now, on the big screen while you can.
And if you've already seen it just the once and that was it... Leaguers, go see it again. Heck, go just to see what the little kid has printed on his jammies in the final scene. I noticed it on a second viewing and it was all I could do not to crack up and ruin the mood of the whole theater. Fathers, take your sons.
It's a mighty weight, Leaguers. A weight great enough that even Superman himself can't lift. So put your backs into it.
Sunday, July 23, 2006
WEEKEND ROUNDUP
Howdy, Leaguers!
It's been a whirlwind of a weekend here at League HQ. I got home Friday night and was immediately put to work. Thursday we'd selected a realtor, so as of Friday we knew that Sunday afternoon we'd have Pat here to take pictures of the house, sign some papers and put the house on the market.
So, I pretty much spent all of my time from Friday evening until about 12:00 today organzing my office, packing action figures and statues and doing a lot of general organizing. Now, a lot of that may seem like Ryan wasn't doing anything else in the rest of the house, and if you thought that, well, you're an observant sort of Leaguer.
Jamie's been on cleaning overdrive since I mentioned picking up stakes. She's gotten some spot help from me, but overall, it's been a one-woman job. She deserves some applause.
We've also had to take steps towards "depersonalizing" the house. So a lot of our personal effects have had to get put away so folks who come in can visiualize themselves in your space. Curiously, Pat the Realtor didn't seem to worry too much about The Fortress. She was mostly concerned kids would walk out with figures or pull them off the shelves. So, I have to pack them away until we sell and move.
Poor little Supermans all put away in the dark.
Jamie is obviously very concerned that Pat the Realtor suggested putting Mel and Lucy in the car and driving off with them every time people come to the house. Mel and Lucy are both sweet dogs, but Lucy believes jumping at you is completely acceptable while Mel will cry and cry if you pull him away from the peoples. Ugh.
Our prep meant my neglected little corner of the world needed a lot of help. However, I did get a chance to hang out in The Fortress and watch 2 discs of my "Adventures of Superman Seasons 3 & 4" collection.
All of that Superman wasn't quite enough, so we decided to go see "Superman Returns" again. Honestly, I think I liked the movie even better the second time around. There's a lot going on in that movie, and the first time I think I was so overwhelmed with the "wow" factor of the film that I missed some of the little things and character bits.
Jim D. also contributed to the high quality Supermanness of the weekend by sending along a box of back-issues he'd picked up for me. Inside were some issues of DC COmics Presents (a Superman team-up book) and issues of "Jimmy Olsen". Yes, Jimmy Olsen used to have his very own title. Yes, that goofy photographer from the movies.
I like Jimmy. I'm a fan. It's a fun idea, this "Superman's Pal" thing. It sounds like a back-up feature, but at one point Jimmy Olsen sold a heck of a lot of comics every month.
Anyhow, it's late. Hope your weekend was super, too.
Howdy, Leaguers!
It's been a whirlwind of a weekend here at League HQ. I got home Friday night and was immediately put to work. Thursday we'd selected a realtor, so as of Friday we knew that Sunday afternoon we'd have Pat here to take pictures of the house, sign some papers and put the house on the market.
So, I pretty much spent all of my time from Friday evening until about 12:00 today organzing my office, packing action figures and statues and doing a lot of general organizing. Now, a lot of that may seem like Ryan wasn't doing anything else in the rest of the house, and if you thought that, well, you're an observant sort of Leaguer.
Jamie's been on cleaning overdrive since I mentioned picking up stakes. She's gotten some spot help from me, but overall, it's been a one-woman job. She deserves some applause.
We've also had to take steps towards "depersonalizing" the house. So a lot of our personal effects have had to get put away so folks who come in can visiualize themselves in your space. Curiously, Pat the Realtor didn't seem to worry too much about The Fortress. She was mostly concerned kids would walk out with figures or pull them off the shelves. So, I have to pack them away until we sell and move.
Poor little Supermans all put away in the dark.
Jamie is obviously very concerned that Pat the Realtor suggested putting Mel and Lucy in the car and driving off with them every time people come to the house. Mel and Lucy are both sweet dogs, but Lucy believes jumping at you is completely acceptable while Mel will cry and cry if you pull him away from the peoples. Ugh.
Our prep meant my neglected little corner of the world needed a lot of help. However, I did get a chance to hang out in The Fortress and watch 2 discs of my "Adventures of Superman Seasons 3 & 4" collection.
All of that Superman wasn't quite enough, so we decided to go see "Superman Returns" again. Honestly, I think I liked the movie even better the second time around. There's a lot going on in that movie, and the first time I think I was so overwhelmed with the "wow" factor of the film that I missed some of the little things and character bits.
Jim D. also contributed to the high quality Supermanness of the weekend by sending along a box of back-issues he'd picked up for me. Inside were some issues of DC COmics Presents (a Superman team-up book) and issues of "Jimmy Olsen". Yes, Jimmy Olsen used to have his very own title. Yes, that goofy photographer from the movies.
I like Jimmy. I'm a fan. It's a fun idea, this "Superman's Pal" thing. It sounds like a back-up feature, but at one point Jimmy Olsen sold a heck of a lot of comics every month.
Anyhow, it's late. Hope your weekend was super, too.
Friday, July 21, 2006
Thursday, July 20, 2006
I am a packrat.
I have a hard time throwing things away. I have a great time accumulating baubles and hoo-hahs.
When it comes to moving, this is not a welcome trait. When you move, you pay by an estimate of the weight the truck will carry. I have somewhere in the neighborhood of 25-30 long boxes of comics. According to comicpriceguide.com, I have somewhere near 5,200 comics. This doesn't include my graphic novel collection. Or action figures. Or signed Noel Neill photos. Or Superman and Batman related videos. And my super cool statues, props, etc...
A lot of people are surprised we aren't planning to move into a rental place until we find a house. "Put it in storage" they keep telling me.
No.
It's not that I can't bear to think of my comics living in Public Storage for a year or two. Rather, I'm much more concerned that if we rented, then bought a place and moved again, it would mean I would have to move all of this junk twice. That's a lot of heavy lifting without the help of the surly moving guys who we plan to hire.
Why surly? I have learned in my moves that the moving guys will hate me for moving what is essentially boxes and boxes of paper. Paper is heavy, Leaguers. Maybe not "box of lead" heavy, but it's almost water heavy. There's few things that runs a chill up my spine more than the look of desperation rolling over the face of the movers when they see my comics.
"Is that all books?"
"Comics."
"Comic... books?"
"Uhmmm... yes."
As much as they don't want to have to lift all that weight, I don't want for them to manhandle those boxes of precious, precious comics. Or my toys. Or, you know, my amazing statues.
Such is the fate of the mover who takes on our house. Sure, we're not exactly moving the Library at Alexandria, but I guess most people don't intentionally keep crates of paper around. Or books.
Dear Mr. Mover,
Please love my comics, too.
We met with our final realtor last night. The bottom line is that we should have sold last Spring if we wanted to make the big bucks. Now it's going to be a game of figuring out how to still make money, but price the house low enough that it can move faster than the other houses in our neighborhood. (our neighborhood has a total of 6 models, I believe, with 2 or 3 around our same square footage). So if we were to undercut everybody else, we might move our house a lot faster. I feel okay about that as I think all we're doing is beating everyone else already on the market to an inevitable sales point. On the other hand, we might also drive down the price of every house in our neighborhood.
Well, maybe they should have thought of that before they didn't talk to us for the past four years. Screw you, neighbors!
I just want to sell and go. Is that so wrong?
My boss posted my position yesterday. I was curious as to how the job would read, and while I would have flip-flopped the order of the responsibilities listed, I thought they came up with a surprisingly accurate description of what I do. Sort of. They didn't include the "Shadow Puppet Theatre" I like to do when the projector is turned on in the conference room.
The description also does not include that in April I was named the Assistant Fire Chief for my office. No, really. If our Admin Assistant is somehow unable to perform her Fire Chief duties, I am next on tap to usher my co-workers out of the building. Who shall convince the Director to get off the phone when the alarm goes off if not I? Because that happened back in February during an actual fire. Guy wouldn't get off the phone and there were flames in the elevator shaft. That, Leaguers, is dedication.
Jim D. has suggested I write a novel or meoir or something regarding the move. I have mixed feelings on this as I sincerely hope that nothing exciting enough to warrant a novel will happen during my move. Is it too much to hope for a smooth transition?
I have a hard time throwing things away. I have a great time accumulating baubles and hoo-hahs.
When it comes to moving, this is not a welcome trait. When you move, you pay by an estimate of the weight the truck will carry. I have somewhere in the neighborhood of 25-30 long boxes of comics. According to comicpriceguide.com, I have somewhere near 5,200 comics. This doesn't include my graphic novel collection. Or action figures. Or signed Noel Neill photos. Or Superman and Batman related videos. And my super cool statues, props, etc...
A lot of people are surprised we aren't planning to move into a rental place until we find a house. "Put it in storage" they keep telling me.
No.
It's not that I can't bear to think of my comics living in Public Storage for a year or two. Rather, I'm much more concerned that if we rented, then bought a place and moved again, it would mean I would have to move all of this junk twice. That's a lot of heavy lifting without the help of the surly moving guys who we plan to hire.
Why surly? I have learned in my moves that the moving guys will hate me for moving what is essentially boxes and boxes of paper. Paper is heavy, Leaguers. Maybe not "box of lead" heavy, but it's almost water heavy. There's few things that runs a chill up my spine more than the look of desperation rolling over the face of the movers when they see my comics.
"Is that all books?"
"Comics."
"Comic... books?"
"Uhmmm... yes."
As much as they don't want to have to lift all that weight, I don't want for them to manhandle those boxes of precious, precious comics. Or my toys. Or, you know, my amazing statues.
Such is the fate of the mover who takes on our house. Sure, we're not exactly moving the Library at Alexandria, but I guess most people don't intentionally keep crates of paper around. Or books.
Dear Mr. Mover,
Please love my comics, too.
We met with our final realtor last night. The bottom line is that we should have sold last Spring if we wanted to make the big bucks. Now it's going to be a game of figuring out how to still make money, but price the house low enough that it can move faster than the other houses in our neighborhood. (our neighborhood has a total of 6 models, I believe, with 2 or 3 around our same square footage). So if we were to undercut everybody else, we might move our house a lot faster. I feel okay about that as I think all we're doing is beating everyone else already on the market to an inevitable sales point. On the other hand, we might also drive down the price of every house in our neighborhood.
Well, maybe they should have thought of that before they didn't talk to us for the past four years. Screw you, neighbors!
I just want to sell and go. Is that so wrong?
My boss posted my position yesterday. I was curious as to how the job would read, and while I would have flip-flopped the order of the responsibilities listed, I thought they came up with a surprisingly accurate description of what I do. Sort of. They didn't include the "Shadow Puppet Theatre" I like to do when the projector is turned on in the conference room.
The description also does not include that in April I was named the Assistant Fire Chief for my office. No, really. If our Admin Assistant is somehow unable to perform her Fire Chief duties, I am next on tap to usher my co-workers out of the building. Who shall convince the Director to get off the phone when the alarm goes off if not I? Because that happened back in February during an actual fire. Guy wouldn't get off the phone and there were flames in the elevator shaft. That, Leaguers, is dedication.
Jim D. has suggested I write a novel or meoir or something regarding the move. I have mixed feelings on this as I sincerely hope that nothing exciting enough to warrant a novel will happen during my move. Is it too much to hope for a smooth transition?
Hey, your lifestyle isn't as fabulous as it should be. No, seriously, trust me. It's not.
But you, yes, YOU can live la vida loca every day with items from the League of Melbotis Store!
Here's Loyal Leaguer Nathan Cone sporting his LoM threads and sipping his usual morning mix of wood grain alcohol and 409 from a niftier-than-all-heck LoM coffee mug.
See, Nathan's life is now way, way better.
So head on down to the LoM shop to see all the neat stuff you can get. it's not just League approved, it's League produced.
Shop Now!!!
But you, yes, YOU can live la vida loca every day with items from the League of Melbotis Store!
Here's Loyal Leaguer Nathan Cone sporting his LoM threads and sipping his usual morning mix of wood grain alcohol and 409 from a niftier-than-all-heck LoM coffee mug.
See, Nathan's life is now way, way better.
So head on down to the LoM shop to see all the neat stuff you can get. it's not just League approved, it's League produced.
Shop Now!!!
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Mister Miracle
I talk a lot about Superman here at LoM, but as Jamie will roll her eyes and tell you, my interests go far beyond just The Man of Steel.
For some reason I've never been able to put a finger on, I dig Mister Miracle.
Mr. Miracle's story goes a little something like this:
Across a dimensional barrier and/ or in deep space, there are two planets constantly at war with one another: Apokolips, ruled by Darkseid, a despot who defies even the darkest definitions of cruelty and evil*, and New Genesis (capital, floating city: Supertown), a peaceful, green world which is inhabited by the New Gods and ruled by the benevolent hand of Highfather.
It doesn't take a master reader to decipher that Apokolips is where all the bad cosmic guys hang out and New Genesis is home to the celestial beings in white hats. It probably also won't come as a suprise that the stories surrounding the characters of what is called "Kirby's Fourth World" are usually broad in scope, but the currents always seem to run deeper than the slug fests you found in other comics.
One of the many characters which spun off from Kirby's Fourth World is Scott Free, aka: Mister Miracle. The son of Highfather, raised in the Armaghetto's of Apokolips, Scott Free dreamed of only one thing: escape.
The antithesis of the vision Darkseid has of crushing and subjugating the universe, Scott Free was the only being ever to escape from Darkseid's twisted planet. He came to Earth where he now uses his tremendous talent to entertain as showman, Mister Miracle, but also as a proud member of the JLA.
Mister Miracle is (and, again, I suggest you read his back story to find out why) THE WORLD'S GREATEST ESCAPE ARTIST!!!
You can read about Mister Miracle here (and I suggest you do. He has one of the coolest back stories in comicdom). And here (this one is better than Wikipedia's entry).
Today I feel like Mr. Miracle. Almost, but not quite. I feel like Mr. Miracle in this picture, anyway. I've voluntarily strapped myself onto a roaring rocket, bound for certain destruction, and even if I do get free of the rocket I'll be entering the stratosphere, bound for a free fall.
Today I am Mr. Miracle.
I hope.
See him strapped to that rocket, looking maybe a little stressed, but not overly concerned?
You know why?
He's Mister Miracle. He's survived the Orphanage of Granny Goodness, he's survived the firepits of Apokolips and he broke free of the world which stands outside space and time, existing to do nothing more than break the will of its denizens. In five seconds Scott will produce his multi-cube from his glove-pocket, shoot a laser into the tumbler of his manacles, do the same for his leg locks, leap clear of the rocket's flame and then float to freedom on his cape, which will have billowed out to become a parachute.
I never had any firepits or Granny Goodness breathing down my neck. The Admiral never swapped me off to his nemesis to resolve some ancient dispute. But today I want to be Mr. Miracle. I want to know that I'm going to jump free and clear in this whole contraption I've set for myself, touching down on solid earth with a wink and a nod to my faithful wife.
Today it's all about the complexity of the escape, but if Mister Miracle can make it fun, so can I. Right? Maybe?
As much as Orion, the Forever People and the New Gods always seemed so straight forward (well, maybe not The Forever People), Mister Miracle wasn't out to fight anybody outright. Instead, he was out to escape the unescapable, defy the undefiable.
Years later, Michael Chabon would refine the idea and produce the greatest superhero the world had never seen in The Escapist, the fictional comic character of his novel The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay.
And maybe I read too much of Chabon onto Mister Miracle. I'm not sure. It's possible Kirby never meant for Mister Miracle to be a walking allegory, but with Kirby, who the heck knows...?
All I know is that as surely as Scott Free dreamed and dreamed of breaking loose of the chains of Apokolips, I mean to shake off the dust of this one horse desert town. And if he can do it, then maybe I can do it. Just like Steven can do it. And maybe you can, too.
So for the next few months, if you see me donning a lot of red, yellow and green and occasionally trying to get put in a lock-box so some burly men can toss me over the rail of a ship, don't you worry about me. I'm just seeing exactly how you do this escaping thing.
*Readers of LoM may be interested to know Darkseid and Apokolips appeared in comics just a few years prior to Lucas coming up with Darth Vader and the Death Star. Lucas famously perused comics while coming up with his story. I've heard Kirby considered suing, but Lucas had tweaked the concepts enough that Kirby knew the passing similarities wouldn't hold up in court.
I talk a lot about Superman here at LoM, but as Jamie will roll her eyes and tell you, my interests go far beyond just The Man of Steel.
For some reason I've never been able to put a finger on, I dig Mister Miracle.
Mr. Miracle's story goes a little something like this:
Across a dimensional barrier and/ or in deep space, there are two planets constantly at war with one another: Apokolips, ruled by Darkseid, a despot who defies even the darkest definitions of cruelty and evil*, and New Genesis (capital, floating city: Supertown), a peaceful, green world which is inhabited by the New Gods and ruled by the benevolent hand of Highfather.
It doesn't take a master reader to decipher that Apokolips is where all the bad cosmic guys hang out and New Genesis is home to the celestial beings in white hats. It probably also won't come as a suprise that the stories surrounding the characters of what is called "Kirby's Fourth World" are usually broad in scope, but the currents always seem to run deeper than the slug fests you found in other comics.
One of the many characters which spun off from Kirby's Fourth World is Scott Free, aka: Mister Miracle. The son of Highfather, raised in the Armaghetto's of Apokolips, Scott Free dreamed of only one thing: escape.
The antithesis of the vision Darkseid has of crushing and subjugating the universe, Scott Free was the only being ever to escape from Darkseid's twisted planet. He came to Earth where he now uses his tremendous talent to entertain as showman, Mister Miracle, but also as a proud member of the JLA.
Mister Miracle is (and, again, I suggest you read his back story to find out why) THE WORLD'S GREATEST ESCAPE ARTIST!!!
You can read about Mister Miracle here (and I suggest you do. He has one of the coolest back stories in comicdom). And here (this one is better than Wikipedia's entry).
Today I feel like Mr. Miracle. Almost, but not quite. I feel like Mr. Miracle in this picture, anyway. I've voluntarily strapped myself onto a roaring rocket, bound for certain destruction, and even if I do get free of the rocket I'll be entering the stratosphere, bound for a free fall.
Today I am Mr. Miracle.
I hope.
See him strapped to that rocket, looking maybe a little stressed, but not overly concerned?
You know why?
He's Mister Miracle. He's survived the Orphanage of Granny Goodness, he's survived the firepits of Apokolips and he broke free of the world which stands outside space and time, existing to do nothing more than break the will of its denizens. In five seconds Scott will produce his multi-cube from his glove-pocket, shoot a laser into the tumbler of his manacles, do the same for his leg locks, leap clear of the rocket's flame and then float to freedom on his cape, which will have billowed out to become a parachute.
I never had any firepits or Granny Goodness breathing down my neck. The Admiral never swapped me off to his nemesis to resolve some ancient dispute. But today I want to be Mr. Miracle. I want to know that I'm going to jump free and clear in this whole contraption I've set for myself, touching down on solid earth with a wink and a nod to my faithful wife.
Today it's all about the complexity of the escape, but if Mister Miracle can make it fun, so can I. Right? Maybe?
As much as Orion, the Forever People and the New Gods always seemed so straight forward (well, maybe not The Forever People), Mister Miracle wasn't out to fight anybody outright. Instead, he was out to escape the unescapable, defy the undefiable.
Years later, Michael Chabon would refine the idea and produce the greatest superhero the world had never seen in The Escapist, the fictional comic character of his novel The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay.
And maybe I read too much of Chabon onto Mister Miracle. I'm not sure. It's possible Kirby never meant for Mister Miracle to be a walking allegory, but with Kirby, who the heck knows...?
All I know is that as surely as Scott Free dreamed and dreamed of breaking loose of the chains of Apokolips, I mean to shake off the dust of this one horse desert town. And if he can do it, then maybe I can do it. Just like Steven can do it. And maybe you can, too.
So for the next few months, if you see me donning a lot of red, yellow and green and occasionally trying to get put in a lock-box so some burly men can toss me over the rail of a ship, don't you worry about me. I'm just seeing exactly how you do this escaping thing.
*Readers of LoM may be interested to know Darkseid and Apokolips appeared in comics just a few years prior to Lucas coming up with Darth Vader and the Death Star. Lucas famously perused comics while coming up with his story. I've heard Kirby considered suing, but Lucas had tweaked the concepts enough that Kirby knew the passing similarities wouldn't hold up in court.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Sunday night we headed over to some friends' house for a sort-of "Well, we're leaving" chat and dinner. It's always been nice hanging with Ryan and Trisha, but two years ago they had a kid, and, up to this point, I had no idea that the reason people have kids is for the free entertainment.
Isaac is almost two. He's a wee man who likes to use his head as the base of a tripod before performing some awesome somersaults. He's mostly into Elmo and the Wiggles these days, but he's also into loose change and whatever chips he can get his mits on. He seems smarter than the average bear, which should surprise nobody whose ever met his folks. He's got somethign going on with his legs, and he needs braces right now, but he's two and he's like a combustible ball of energy, so what does he care about the braces? Isaac's still in motion.
As proof positive that Ryan N. is a quality dad, he's found a ceiling fan for Isaac's room that is the propellor of an F-4U Corsair, with the iamge of the Corsair on the ceiling. I am now jealous of a two year-old. Jamie will never let me put up that sort of fan in the bedroom.
We spoke with our first realtor on Sunday, and I liked her a lot. Having never sold a house before, it's hard to tell if someone is ripping you off or telling you things that you want to hear before they put the screws to you. We're taking a pass on a realtor we found online and we're talkign with a recommended realtor on Thursday.
Must get house on market. Must sell house.
I have 330 hours of vacation built up. Apparently, after speaking with higher powers this morning, most of that vacay will disappear into a howling void, just like my late 20's. I'll get something like a month paid out, but that's 160 of my 330 hours. I would have preferred a big old bag of gold coin, but what are you gonna do? My boss is trying to be cool about it and help me out.
As mentioned, I have no job lined up awaiting me in Austin. It would be nice were things otherwise, but they aren't. Fortunately. friends and Leaguers have already volunteered to come to my aid.
Not having a job lined up is not unknown to me. When I graduated I went months without full-time work. When I arrived in Phoenix, I had nothing in particular lined up. So finding out who will take me on becomes a waiting game. I don't mind interviewing. I guess I feel like I'm interviewing my potential empoyer to see if this would be, in fact, a good fit for me as well. If they feel I should be coming in grovelling, well, maybe me and that work place aren't going to get along too well.
My co-worker Juli asks me about once every six months: If money were no object, what would you do for a living?
The idea of the thought exercise is that you're supposed to come to some realization of your true calling, give up your work-a-day job and go chase that dream, whether it's driving a shrimp boat or auditioning for community theater. I have never, not once, come up with an answer to that question. It's too huge. And I think I'm painfully aware that aside from being Grand Sultan, every job is going to have it's drawbacks. And even Sultan's need a food taster to keep them from being poisoned by scheming underlings.
Two years after college, my parents and I were having a similar conversation, and at the time I responded that "I would like to do nothing. I would like to sleep late and stay up late and read. And watch TV. Probably a lot of Discovery Channel. And maybe, I dunno, go to Barton Springs when the weather was nice." Because at the time, that's what I wanted to do. My parents went into some sort of tizzy, my mother cursing my inherent sloth, my father lecturing me about the value of a good work ethic. But I think even I missed my point. It's not that I literally would be happy not working, or being a bum who lives somewhere near Zilker. I jist want to be able to do those things once in a while. And back then, I wasn't getting to do them.
I graduated with an RTF degree and it's not that I didn't want to work on films, it was that I didn't want to work on bad films. And dumb commercials. And corporate in-house birthday videos celebrating some poor schleb who would probably be fired when the stock took a downturn next quarter, anyway.
So I went to work for the state, figured I get a little money in my pocket and health insurance. And I really, really dug my office. My job was sort of goofy and it was okay. But I liked my co-workers and I liked what we did.
Since then, even with a new job in a different city, the work has been good to me, and I think I've been good to it. I think I'm actually effective at my job, and I think I make things run fairly smoothly.
So what do I want to do with my life? My options are open, Leaguers. I'm an open minded guy. I wish I could say "I am a CPA with five years' experience and am worth six-figures." But I'm not.
So what do I want to do with my life? I still want to sleep late on Saturdays and stay up late reading comics. I still want to watch Discovery Channel and hit the pool when it gets hot out.
I want to make things that I don't find embarassing. I want to be a part of a team of people who actually care about one another and the health of the office. I want to be a part of a team where people like what they're doing and who they're doing it for. I'm flexible. I'm happy as long as I'm busy.
I want to be able to laugh at the water cooler and wear jeans to work when I feel like it. And for nobody to worry about my Superman mouse-pad or my Batman clock.
I dunno. It's going to be fun. I'm looking forward to seeing what's out there. I feel like there's a world of opportunity. Hopefully nobody with better qualifications is going to beat me to the punch.
Isaac is almost two. He's a wee man who likes to use his head as the base of a tripod before performing some awesome somersaults. He's mostly into Elmo and the Wiggles these days, but he's also into loose change and whatever chips he can get his mits on. He seems smarter than the average bear, which should surprise nobody whose ever met his folks. He's got somethign going on with his legs, and he needs braces right now, but he's two and he's like a combustible ball of energy, so what does he care about the braces? Isaac's still in motion.
As proof positive that Ryan N. is a quality dad, he's found a ceiling fan for Isaac's room that is the propellor of an F-4U Corsair, with the iamge of the Corsair on the ceiling. I am now jealous of a two year-old. Jamie will never let me put up that sort of fan in the bedroom.
We spoke with our first realtor on Sunday, and I liked her a lot. Having never sold a house before, it's hard to tell if someone is ripping you off or telling you things that you want to hear before they put the screws to you. We're taking a pass on a realtor we found online and we're talkign with a recommended realtor on Thursday.
Must get house on market. Must sell house.
I have 330 hours of vacation built up. Apparently, after speaking with higher powers this morning, most of that vacay will disappear into a howling void, just like my late 20's. I'll get something like a month paid out, but that's 160 of my 330 hours. I would have preferred a big old bag of gold coin, but what are you gonna do? My boss is trying to be cool about it and help me out.
As mentioned, I have no job lined up awaiting me in Austin. It would be nice were things otherwise, but they aren't. Fortunately. friends and Leaguers have already volunteered to come to my aid.
Not having a job lined up is not unknown to me. When I graduated I went months without full-time work. When I arrived in Phoenix, I had nothing in particular lined up. So finding out who will take me on becomes a waiting game. I don't mind interviewing. I guess I feel like I'm interviewing my potential empoyer to see if this would be, in fact, a good fit for me as well. If they feel I should be coming in grovelling, well, maybe me and that work place aren't going to get along too well.
My co-worker Juli asks me about once every six months: If money were no object, what would you do for a living?
The idea of the thought exercise is that you're supposed to come to some realization of your true calling, give up your work-a-day job and go chase that dream, whether it's driving a shrimp boat or auditioning for community theater. I have never, not once, come up with an answer to that question. It's too huge. And I think I'm painfully aware that aside from being Grand Sultan, every job is going to have it's drawbacks. And even Sultan's need a food taster to keep them from being poisoned by scheming underlings.
Two years after college, my parents and I were having a similar conversation, and at the time I responded that "I would like to do nothing. I would like to sleep late and stay up late and read. And watch TV. Probably a lot of Discovery Channel. And maybe, I dunno, go to Barton Springs when the weather was nice." Because at the time, that's what I wanted to do. My parents went into some sort of tizzy, my mother cursing my inherent sloth, my father lecturing me about the value of a good work ethic. But I think even I missed my point. It's not that I literally would be happy not working, or being a bum who lives somewhere near Zilker. I jist want to be able to do those things once in a while. And back then, I wasn't getting to do them.
I graduated with an RTF degree and it's not that I didn't want to work on films, it was that I didn't want to work on bad films. And dumb commercials. And corporate in-house birthday videos celebrating some poor schleb who would probably be fired when the stock took a downturn next quarter, anyway.
So I went to work for the state, figured I get a little money in my pocket and health insurance. And I really, really dug my office. My job was sort of goofy and it was okay. But I liked my co-workers and I liked what we did.
Since then, even with a new job in a different city, the work has been good to me, and I think I've been good to it. I think I'm actually effective at my job, and I think I make things run fairly smoothly.
So what do I want to do with my life? My options are open, Leaguers. I'm an open minded guy. I wish I could say "I am a CPA with five years' experience and am worth six-figures." But I'm not.
So what do I want to do with my life? I still want to sleep late on Saturdays and stay up late reading comics. I still want to watch Discovery Channel and hit the pool when it gets hot out.
I want to make things that I don't find embarassing. I want to be a part of a team of people who actually care about one another and the health of the office. I want to be a part of a team where people like what they're doing and who they're doing it for. I'm flexible. I'm happy as long as I'm busy.
I want to be able to laugh at the water cooler and wear jeans to work when I feel like it. And for nobody to worry about my Superman mouse-pad or my Batman clock.
I dunno. It's going to be fun. I'm looking forward to seeing what's out there. I feel like there's a world of opportunity. Hopefully nobody with better qualifications is going to beat me to the punch.
Monday, July 17, 2006
Sunday, July 16, 2006
Nothing will make you believe in the relativity of time like a little bit of a travel. Was it only Thursday afternoon that I left the desert? Was it yesterday afternoon that I wound up at my old office, last night for the service? Then finally eating something? (and why doesn't it occur to me to eat when I'm left to my own devices?)
I was in Austin by Thursday night. Peabo and I dropped my bags, said goodnight to Adriana and hopped over to Kerbey Lane on S. Lamar. The people are all so young inside. You forget out here amongst the families and a-dults that there's this other thing going on. The service is no better at Kerbey Lane now than in 1996 or whenever it was I first hit that location. Peabo, though, has landed himself a beautiful home in my neighborhood of neighborhoods. I'm afraid to ask how he swung that.
He's got a little schnauzer, Homer, and I'd like to say that Homer and I really took to each other, but I sort of get the feeling Homer is a dog who is going to love anybody willing to play with him (not that he's want for attention).
Friday morning was the graveside service. The Memorial Park is lovely in that all-encompassing-green way that the older neighborhoods in Austin tend to be. It's oaks and spanish moss.
Afterward I stopped by Jason's house and then the Wilson's for a few minutes. Then off to my old office on campus at UT where time seems to simultaneously never progress and lurch forward in hops and leaps. They've painted the walls. People have left, people have joined. New furniture. New hardware. New technology. No small amount of jealousy, there, given what they're playing with.
Ran back to Jason's, met up with my parents, Sue and Jason. In separate cars we headed over to the Umlauf Sculpture Garden. And people showed up. Lots of people. Reedo, Larry Lee, a sea of attorneys. I'm still hesitating to guess how many folks.
Afterward, off to Threadgill's with the folks and Sue. Then back to Peabo's where we stayed up until 1:30 AM or so. I miss that with Peabo. If ever a man got my mental wheels spinning, it was that guy. We've been staying up too late since 6th grade, I think.
This morning I was up and out the door before Peabo & Family were up. Wagner picked me up, we hit Maudie's for breakfast, floated around the WestGate area for a while not wishing to wake the guys at Jason's house whom Greg informed us had made a night of it last night, and stayed up entirely too late.
Said my adios to Wagner, met up with the family, had some lunch at Casa G's (I know, I know...) hit the airport. My flight was delayed, which was problematic. You see, last night at 10:00 or so, for some reason The Admiral mentioned that this evening was the 15th. For which I had Lyle Lovett tickets and had completely forgotten.
Long story short, mother nature and ineptitude of both Southwest Airlines and the Las Vegas airport (which had sent my craft) conspired to prevent me from making it home in time. I missed the darn show. Sorry, Lyle.
Now, here was an odd bit about the weekend...
All these folks who have been nothing but a name or some folks I had only heard about in passing... two things.
There's nothing like meeting someone you've never met before and them taking a look at you and saying "I saw you eating Cap'n Crunch!" Or, "We saw you and your brother drinking Jones Soda!" I finally met some folks I'd corresponded with only through this oddity we call the internet. Hello, Diva.
But, but, but... it's not just the League, thank you, Steanso... Over at Adventures of Steanso, my brother dearest occasionally refers to me as "Roundball". The name has no meaning, and was used briefly in reference to a book I read in 3rd grade called, I believe, "Anastasia Krupnick." Anyway, apparently Steanso's Austin based-pals believe my name to be "Roundball". Just as they believe my parents' names to be "The Admiral and KareBear".
Now I mention this as I am now not sure what the future holds.
Jamie and I have decided that in very short order we are placing our house on the market and we're moving back to Austin. If any of you have a job you would like to give me (I require a 6-figure salary, four weeks of vacation, an expense account and a company car), I'm game.
We plan to be back in town before ACL Fest and just as the summer heat is scheduled to break. I want to be back in Austin for a lovely Austin fall, all football games and bright sun and those wonderful Northers blowing through once in a while to remind you that winter will be along shortly.
This has been a surprisingly easy decision, but it's turning into the monumental task that I said it would. But remember what I said back then? No limits. This is the right thing to do, and if I was ever unsure of my choice, the past forty-eight hours has been frought with a thousand whisperings telling me that it's time to get on with it.
So I'm a'coming, Austin, Texas. Me and the whole, darn League of Melbotis. No limits.
So when I get back, and I'm back in my home town, do I have to worry about attorneys on the street leaning out their car windows and shouting "Roundball's back in town!"?
I was in Austin by Thursday night. Peabo and I dropped my bags, said goodnight to Adriana and hopped over to Kerbey Lane on S. Lamar. The people are all so young inside. You forget out here amongst the families and a-dults that there's this other thing going on. The service is no better at Kerbey Lane now than in 1996 or whenever it was I first hit that location. Peabo, though, has landed himself a beautiful home in my neighborhood of neighborhoods. I'm afraid to ask how he swung that.
He's got a little schnauzer, Homer, and I'd like to say that Homer and I really took to each other, but I sort of get the feeling Homer is a dog who is going to love anybody willing to play with him (not that he's want for attention).
Friday morning was the graveside service. The Memorial Park is lovely in that all-encompassing-green way that the older neighborhoods in Austin tend to be. It's oaks and spanish moss.
Afterward I stopped by Jason's house and then the Wilson's for a few minutes. Then off to my old office on campus at UT where time seems to simultaneously never progress and lurch forward in hops and leaps. They've painted the walls. People have left, people have joined. New furniture. New hardware. New technology. No small amount of jealousy, there, given what they're playing with.
Ran back to Jason's, met up with my parents, Sue and Jason. In separate cars we headed over to the Umlauf Sculpture Garden. And people showed up. Lots of people. Reedo, Larry Lee, a sea of attorneys. I'm still hesitating to guess how many folks.
Afterward, off to Threadgill's with the folks and Sue. Then back to Peabo's where we stayed up until 1:30 AM or so. I miss that with Peabo. If ever a man got my mental wheels spinning, it was that guy. We've been staying up too late since 6th grade, I think.
This morning I was up and out the door before Peabo & Family were up. Wagner picked me up, we hit Maudie's for breakfast, floated around the WestGate area for a while not wishing to wake the guys at Jason's house whom Greg informed us had made a night of it last night, and stayed up entirely too late.
Said my adios to Wagner, met up with the family, had some lunch at Casa G's (I know, I know...) hit the airport. My flight was delayed, which was problematic. You see, last night at 10:00 or so, for some reason The Admiral mentioned that this evening was the 15th. For which I had Lyle Lovett tickets and had completely forgotten.
Long story short, mother nature and ineptitude of both Southwest Airlines and the Las Vegas airport (which had sent my craft) conspired to prevent me from making it home in time. I missed the darn show. Sorry, Lyle.
Now, here was an odd bit about the weekend...
All these folks who have been nothing but a name or some folks I had only heard about in passing... two things.
There's nothing like meeting someone you've never met before and them taking a look at you and saying "I saw you eating Cap'n Crunch!" Or, "We saw you and your brother drinking Jones Soda!" I finally met some folks I'd corresponded with only through this oddity we call the internet. Hello, Diva.
But, but, but... it's not just the League, thank you, Steanso... Over at Adventures of Steanso, my brother dearest occasionally refers to me as "Roundball". The name has no meaning, and was used briefly in reference to a book I read in 3rd grade called, I believe, "Anastasia Krupnick." Anyway, apparently Steanso's Austin based-pals believe my name to be "Roundball". Just as they believe my parents' names to be "The Admiral and KareBear".
Now I mention this as I am now not sure what the future holds.
Jamie and I have decided that in very short order we are placing our house on the market and we're moving back to Austin. If any of you have a job you would like to give me (I require a 6-figure salary, four weeks of vacation, an expense account and a company car), I'm game.
We plan to be back in town before ACL Fest and just as the summer heat is scheduled to break. I want to be back in Austin for a lovely Austin fall, all football games and bright sun and those wonderful Northers blowing through once in a while to remind you that winter will be along shortly.
This has been a surprisingly easy decision, but it's turning into the monumental task that I said it would. But remember what I said back then? No limits. This is the right thing to do, and if I was ever unsure of my choice, the past forty-eight hours has been frought with a thousand whisperings telling me that it's time to get on with it.
So I'm a'coming, Austin, Texas. Me and the whole, darn League of Melbotis. No limits.
So when I get back, and I'm back in my home town, do I have to worry about attorneys on the street leaning out their car windows and shouting "Roundball's back in town!"?
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Headed for Austin
I'm taking a flight to Austin this evening and will be staying with Peabo and his lovely wife, Adriana. Peabo is finally paying me back for the 1993/94 era loaned car experiment wherein I let him drive my totally rad Mitsubishi Eclipse on a semi-regular basis. While he's out defending the law on Friday, I'll be free to roam Austin.
What can you say about the circumstances of the trip that hasn't already been said?
It sounds like Mandy has picked a beautiful location for the memorial. My memories of the Umlauf Sculpture Garden consist largely of hauling video equipment around and being asked to chase birds away while we recorded. This, of course, meant I ran up and down a creek bed trying to intimidate grackels into leaving. Five years of college, Leaguers. Five years of college.
Anyhow, please consider the fund Mandy has set up in Jeff's honor.
Jason says:
In lieu of flowers, donations can be made to a memorial fund in Jeff's honor. Make donations to the Jeff Wilson Memorial Account, care of Amanda Wilson, at 1504 West Avenue, Austin, TX, 78701. Donations will contribute to some form of charity, but Mandy is still working on deciding exactly how they will be used.
I'm taking a flight to Austin this evening and will be staying with Peabo and his lovely wife, Adriana. Peabo is finally paying me back for the 1993/94 era loaned car experiment wherein I let him drive my totally rad Mitsubishi Eclipse on a semi-regular basis. While he's out defending the law on Friday, I'll be free to roam Austin.
What can you say about the circumstances of the trip that hasn't already been said?
It sounds like Mandy has picked a beautiful location for the memorial. My memories of the Umlauf Sculpture Garden consist largely of hauling video equipment around and being asked to chase birds away while we recorded. This, of course, meant I ran up and down a creek bed trying to intimidate grackels into leaving. Five years of college, Leaguers. Five years of college.
Anyhow, please consider the fund Mandy has set up in Jeff's honor.
Jason says:
In lieu of flowers, donations can be made to a memorial fund in Jeff's honor. Make donations to the Jeff Wilson Memorial Account, care of Amanda Wilson, at 1504 West Avenue, Austin, TX, 78701. Donations will contribute to some form of charity, but Mandy is still working on deciding exactly how they will be used.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
I'd like to thank the folks who sent e-mails over the past few days and then yesterday following Jeff's passing.
If you get an opportunity, I'd like for you to do the same for Jason.
If you've been following Jason's blog, like me, you might have been truly amazed by the outpouring of admiration and adoration for Jeff and Mandy.
I'm going to try to be brief this evening, but I want to point out how clearly loved Jeff was by so many people. This list includes folks from high school, college, family friends, co-workers, and even folks who didn't know Jeff outside of the internet, all of whom have taken a moment to remember him.
At Jason's site, more than 30 people have logged in to leave a message.
On the Statesman's site, I lost count of how many folks had left a message, but it goes on for four pages.
Some Leaguers have posted, too.
Sugar and Splice
CBGblog
Maxwell of Cowgirl Funk
Natalie
Distorted Veracity
The broadcast news in Austin has also covered Jeff's story.
KXAN
KVUE
Thanks to Jim for pulling some links for me on this one.
I didn't meet Jeff until shortly before leaving Austin for Phoenix, and thus I'd only see him when I'd pop into town for a few days. He and Jason literally live across the street from one another, and I sort of thought they really needed to build a bridge across the street or some sort of point-to-point pneumatic tube as it occasionally felt like one shared space.
Like a lot of you, I know Jeff largely through e-mail and blogs, and his contributions to Nanostalgia.
and, like a lot of you, I'm going to miss him, too.
We should all be so lucky as to have so many people ready to speak as kindly on our behalf.
If you get an opportunity, I'd like for you to do the same for Jason.
If you've been following Jason's blog, like me, you might have been truly amazed by the outpouring of admiration and adoration for Jeff and Mandy.
I'm going to try to be brief this evening, but I want to point out how clearly loved Jeff was by so many people. This list includes folks from high school, college, family friends, co-workers, and even folks who didn't know Jeff outside of the internet, all of whom have taken a moment to remember him.
At Jason's site, more than 30 people have logged in to leave a message.
On the Statesman's site, I lost count of how many folks had left a message, but it goes on for four pages.
Some Leaguers have posted, too.
Sugar and Splice
CBGblog
Maxwell of Cowgirl Funk
Natalie
Distorted Veracity
The broadcast news in Austin has also covered Jeff's story.
KXAN
KVUE
Thanks to Jim for pulling some links for me on this one.
I didn't meet Jeff until shortly before leaving Austin for Phoenix, and thus I'd only see him when I'd pop into town for a few days. He and Jason literally live across the street from one another, and I sort of thought they really needed to build a bridge across the street or some sort of point-to-point pneumatic tube as it occasionally felt like one shared space.
Like a lot of you, I know Jeff largely through e-mail and blogs, and his contributions to Nanostalgia.
and, like a lot of you, I'm going to miss him, too.
We should all be so lucky as to have so many people ready to speak as kindly on our behalf.
Monday, July 10, 2006
As many of you know, Jeff Wilson has been hospitalized since the evening of July 3rd. It is my understanding that as of today, Jeff has passed.
Jamie and I wish to express our heartfelt sympathies to Jeff's family and his many friends who will all be so profoundly touched by this tremendous loss.
God bless you and keep you, Jeff. We will all miss you so very, very much.
The Austin American Statesman has posted a short article.
here.
Jamie and I wish to express our heartfelt sympathies to Jeff's family and his many friends who will all be so profoundly touched by this tremendous loss.
God bless you and keep you, Jeff. We will all miss you so very, very much.
The Austin American Statesman has posted a short article.
here.
Sunday, July 09, 2006
God bless my brother for being the guy he is. I don't know how many of you have been following his blog over the past few days, but he's been up at the hospital in Austin standing vigil with Jeff Wilson's family as Jeff continues to fight for his life.
I've done my fair stints in a hospital, but nothing, absolutely nothing, is like what he and the Wilsons have been going through. I love that guy, and I wish I knew what I could do to help him out.
Sorry, ya'll, but right now Jeff, Mandy and Jason are on my mind quite a bit.
What else...?
Did anyone else watch the two final World Cup games? Nerve wracking. Absolutely nerve-wracking. Both games. Well, Germany won pretty decisively, but if you watched the game... Heck of a game. Germany deserved their win, especially at home. I was rooting for Italy in the Italy/ France final, mostly because France had the 1998 Cup and I've come to really like Italy's goalie over the course of the tournament.
I have no explanation for Zidane's headbutt. I confess, it was kind of awesome, but I was left with a huge questionmark floating over my head. No matter how angry I've ever become, it has never occured to me to hit someone with my head. Who does that?
Went and saw "The Devil Wears Prada" today rather than brave the maddening crowds in attendance to see Pirates. "The Devil Wears Prada" is not a movie for fashion-impaired dudes, like myself. Honestly, my RTF Narrative Strategies training was going into the red zone for a huge chunk of the movie, and I went into "dissect the movie" mode for the first hour, eventually wearing myself out and just giving up.
The movie is the sort of morality play that's possibly worth seeing for folks ages 18-24, but once you've actually gotten that first job and realized "my boss is an autocrat, and what I think is largely irrelevant", a lot of the movie just doesn't have much of a lesson to share (and it most certainly exists to share exactly that lesson). I had a laundry list of issues with the film, but I won't go into that here.
I will say I never thought the movie did a good job of ever explaining why anybody should care about fashion, and I think that was a major failure of the film. Yes, they explain how fashion eventually trickles down to stores like "Fashion Bug", but it mostly told me what I already know about why the stuff on the rack is there. They never made it sound any less silly than I always suspected the process to be. The rest is largely like most 80's "it's not all about professional success" movies where Michael J. Fox realized financial wealth isn't worth it when you hurt the ones who care about you.
That said, both Streep and Anne Hathaway were okay, although I think Anne Hathaway was getting away with just being pretty an awful lot, but, hey... that's what the movie celebrates even when it's decrying all that.
Anyway, enough.
Ya'll keep Jeff in your thoughts and prayers. And Jason, too.
I've done my fair stints in a hospital, but nothing, absolutely nothing, is like what he and the Wilsons have been going through. I love that guy, and I wish I knew what I could do to help him out.
Sorry, ya'll, but right now Jeff, Mandy and Jason are on my mind quite a bit.
What else...?
Did anyone else watch the two final World Cup games? Nerve wracking. Absolutely nerve-wracking. Both games. Well, Germany won pretty decisively, but if you watched the game... Heck of a game. Germany deserved their win, especially at home. I was rooting for Italy in the Italy/ France final, mostly because France had the 1998 Cup and I've come to really like Italy's goalie over the course of the tournament.
I have no explanation for Zidane's headbutt. I confess, it was kind of awesome, but I was left with a huge questionmark floating over my head. No matter how angry I've ever become, it has never occured to me to hit someone with my head. Who does that?
Went and saw "The Devil Wears Prada" today rather than brave the maddening crowds in attendance to see Pirates. "The Devil Wears Prada" is not a movie for fashion-impaired dudes, like myself. Honestly, my RTF Narrative Strategies training was going into the red zone for a huge chunk of the movie, and I went into "dissect the movie" mode for the first hour, eventually wearing myself out and just giving up.
The movie is the sort of morality play that's possibly worth seeing for folks ages 18-24, but once you've actually gotten that first job and realized "my boss is an autocrat, and what I think is largely irrelevant", a lot of the movie just doesn't have much of a lesson to share (and it most certainly exists to share exactly that lesson). I had a laundry list of issues with the film, but I won't go into that here.
I will say I never thought the movie did a good job of ever explaining why anybody should care about fashion, and I think that was a major failure of the film. Yes, they explain how fashion eventually trickles down to stores like "Fashion Bug", but it mostly told me what I already know about why the stuff on the rack is there. They never made it sound any less silly than I always suspected the process to be. The rest is largely like most 80's "it's not all about professional success" movies where Michael J. Fox realized financial wealth isn't worth it when you hurt the ones who care about you.
That said, both Streep and Anne Hathaway were okay, although I think Anne Hathaway was getting away with just being pretty an awful lot, but, hey... that's what the movie celebrates even when it's decrying all that.
Anyway, enough.
Ya'll keep Jeff in your thoughts and prayers. And Jason, too.
Catching up with Comics
Land's sake, Leaguers... It has been a while since I went all straight up comic review on you.
Here's some stuff I've been reading.
The All-New Atom #1: Here's an idea. How about a superhero who doesn't start his career as a dorky teenager? Well, our hero in question IS a bookworm, but in this case, it's all too appropriate for the hero to be of the pocket protector set. After all, you can't be The Atom without being one of the world's top physicists.
Dr. Ryan Choi takes on Ray (The Atom) Palmer's job in Ivy Town following his disappearance at the end of Identity Crisis. A world class genius among world class geniuses, Ryan is quick to discover the source of The Atom's power as well as some of the perils of shrinking at will.
Gail Simone is on writing chores, following an outline by Grant Morrison, working her usual magic with popping dialogue and natural characterization. She sets up a supporting cast in an organic fashion, introducing the characters as Ryan arrives on campus.
The Atom is now officially a legacy character, from Al Pratt, to Ray Palmer and now to Ryan Choi (you can fit Atom Smasher/ Nuklon in there however you please), and Gail creates an interesting dynamic between Ray Palmer and Ryan. Ray is played up as the distant mentor (Ryan is from Hong Kong and corresponded via letter and e-mail), and, at some point, I'm sure Ray's fate will play out in the title.
John Byrne has managed to utilize the internet to create a not-too-popular image of himself as a cranky curmudgeon. It would be unfortunate to skip this title simply because of Byrne's personal views and inability to step away from the keyboard. His pencils are in great form, and the inking on the book (Trevor Scott) is better than what I recall seeing in either JLA or Action Comics.
I've never really understood why The Atom's costume just appears whenever he shrinks.
The threat established in this comic is especially suited for The Atom, and I'd be fibbing if I wasn't a little concerned how The Atom can continue to find a list of villains which meet his unique talents. I always liked Ray as a utility player in the JLA comics, as both the scientific genius and sub-atomic hero. DC has done it's usual magic of coming up with some crazy ways Ray could utilize his powers, which, no doubt, will also appear in the new comics.
Anyhoo, of the new DC titles, this was probably the strongest first issue.
Blue Beetle #4: This one came out last week, but I'm playing catch-up.
A lot of ball's are in motion already with issue #4. I'm not necessarily on the fence with this book. I'm enjoying it and plan to continue to pick it up. BUT... the book constantly rides the line between yet another book about a teenager figuring out how to be a hero with powers thrust upon him (ie Spider-Man) and something truly unique.
Giffen seems to take one step back into familiar territory with every two steps forward in crafting a title which should be a "must read". Giffen's take on the Blue Beetle's powers, the environment of OYL, Jaime's family all are a new thing, and those moments are when the book shines. However, the villains are too mysterious for their own good, falling right down the slippery slope thanks to their ill-defined "magical" ties. To keep Jaime from sitting around talking to himself, Giffen has given him two best-pals, the over achiever and the goof, creating holy trinity of comics since the 80's. Unfortunately, there's nothing there other than the place-holder status we've seen in dozens of comics prior to Blue Beetle.
I guess my frustration comes from having followed Firestorm for the past two years as writer after writer has tried to make the premise work, the doofus best friend, the straight-from-central-casting "angry father", etc... all work. But it feels like for two years, I've been holding my breath, waiting to see the title cut loose. Instead, we've seen iteration after iteration not really work.
There's a lot to like in Blue Beetle, but Giffen needs to take a sharp left turn when he starts heading into the territory of the familiar and see what it takes to define the new Blue Beetle as the true next generation of superheroes.
Action Comics #840: Wow. Johns and Busiek wrap up the OYL run with a bang.
Very much looking forward to Superman titles as Busiek and Johns continue on with the Superman series.
Crisis Aftermath: The Spectre #2: I'd read a review in which this issue was described as "more whining" before I had a chance to read the issue. That reviewer is looking for ass-kicking action, I guess, and missed the point of this mini-series.
For almost as long as Superman has been zipping around in 4-color comics, Jerry Siegel has has another creation, The Spectre, dispensing horrific justice upon the wicked. This series is asking good questions, attempting to tackle the inherent illogic of The Spectre's mission.
I'm not sure how long the Cris Allen version of The Spectre will continue, and I can't say I'm nuts about the "goatee'd" Spectre, but occasionally DC needs to take a few steps back and examine some of their time-honored ideas just to make sure they still work. In two issues this series has done more in a far more satisfying manner than the Hal Jordan-Spectre series for the 8 issues or so I followed it.
Detective Comics #821: Paul Dini and JH Williams take over the title in the post-OYL era. Paul Dini's name may ring a few bells as a writer/ producer on "Batman: The Animated Series" and as a writer on ABC's "Lost". JH Williams was responsible for the genre-defying art work on Alan Moore's "Promethea".
Dini is doing what he did best on the animated series. He's telling single story issues using a timeless version of Bruce Wayne/ Batman, including Robin where necessary. This first issue is good, solid work, and a great point for new readers to start picking up Batman comics again.
Supergirl #7: My GOD, this title would be a nightmare for anyone without a bachelor's degree in DC History. You know, I'm giving this comic about three more months, and then... well, they've got three more months to get this title in line. I have no idea where they're going, which is part of why I'm sticking with the comic. If it were not for the solicits for September, I'd have given up already.
So far, DC has managed to turn out one serious mess of a character launch. My advice to DC: scrap this Kara Zor-El. I don't care how you do it. The original pollyanna in a mini-skirt worked. Somehow in 7 issues you've managed to give us a character ten times as messy as the old Mae/ Matrix/ Linda Danvers/ Earth Angel car-wreck.
While Ian Churchill's art on this title is gorgeous, that's about all I can say that's positive about the comic to this point.
Land's sake, Leaguers... It has been a while since I went all straight up comic review on you.
Here's some stuff I've been reading.
The All-New Atom #1: Here's an idea. How about a superhero who doesn't start his career as a dorky teenager? Well, our hero in question IS a bookworm, but in this case, it's all too appropriate for the hero to be of the pocket protector set. After all, you can't be The Atom without being one of the world's top physicists.
Dr. Ryan Choi takes on Ray (The Atom) Palmer's job in Ivy Town following his disappearance at the end of Identity Crisis. A world class genius among world class geniuses, Ryan is quick to discover the source of The Atom's power as well as some of the perils of shrinking at will.
Gail Simone is on writing chores, following an outline by Grant Morrison, working her usual magic with popping dialogue and natural characterization. She sets up a supporting cast in an organic fashion, introducing the characters as Ryan arrives on campus.
The Atom is now officially a legacy character, from Al Pratt, to Ray Palmer and now to Ryan Choi (you can fit Atom Smasher/ Nuklon in there however you please), and Gail creates an interesting dynamic between Ray Palmer and Ryan. Ray is played up as the distant mentor (Ryan is from Hong Kong and corresponded via letter and e-mail), and, at some point, I'm sure Ray's fate will play out in the title.
John Byrne has managed to utilize the internet to create a not-too-popular image of himself as a cranky curmudgeon. It would be unfortunate to skip this title simply because of Byrne's personal views and inability to step away from the keyboard. His pencils are in great form, and the inking on the book (Trevor Scott) is better than what I recall seeing in either JLA or Action Comics.
I've never really understood why The Atom's costume just appears whenever he shrinks.
The threat established in this comic is especially suited for The Atom, and I'd be fibbing if I wasn't a little concerned how The Atom can continue to find a list of villains which meet his unique talents. I always liked Ray as a utility player in the JLA comics, as both the scientific genius and sub-atomic hero. DC has done it's usual magic of coming up with some crazy ways Ray could utilize his powers, which, no doubt, will also appear in the new comics.
Anyhoo, of the new DC titles, this was probably the strongest first issue.
Blue Beetle #4: This one came out last week, but I'm playing catch-up.
A lot of ball's are in motion already with issue #4. I'm not necessarily on the fence with this book. I'm enjoying it and plan to continue to pick it up. BUT... the book constantly rides the line between yet another book about a teenager figuring out how to be a hero with powers thrust upon him (ie Spider-Man) and something truly unique.
Giffen seems to take one step back into familiar territory with every two steps forward in crafting a title which should be a "must read". Giffen's take on the Blue Beetle's powers, the environment of OYL, Jaime's family all are a new thing, and those moments are when the book shines. However, the villains are too mysterious for their own good, falling right down the slippery slope thanks to their ill-defined "magical" ties. To keep Jaime from sitting around talking to himself, Giffen has given him two best-pals, the over achiever and the goof, creating holy trinity of comics since the 80's. Unfortunately, there's nothing there other than the place-holder status we've seen in dozens of comics prior to Blue Beetle.
I guess my frustration comes from having followed Firestorm for the past two years as writer after writer has tried to make the premise work, the doofus best friend, the straight-from-central-casting "angry father", etc... all work. But it feels like for two years, I've been holding my breath, waiting to see the title cut loose. Instead, we've seen iteration after iteration not really work.
There's a lot to like in Blue Beetle, but Giffen needs to take a sharp left turn when he starts heading into the territory of the familiar and see what it takes to define the new Blue Beetle as the true next generation of superheroes.
Action Comics #840: Wow. Johns and Busiek wrap up the OYL run with a bang.
Very much looking forward to Superman titles as Busiek and Johns continue on with the Superman series.
Crisis Aftermath: The Spectre #2: I'd read a review in which this issue was described as "more whining" before I had a chance to read the issue. That reviewer is looking for ass-kicking action, I guess, and missed the point of this mini-series.
For almost as long as Superman has been zipping around in 4-color comics, Jerry Siegel has has another creation, The Spectre, dispensing horrific justice upon the wicked. This series is asking good questions, attempting to tackle the inherent illogic of The Spectre's mission.
I'm not sure how long the Cris Allen version of The Spectre will continue, and I can't say I'm nuts about the "goatee'd" Spectre, but occasionally DC needs to take a few steps back and examine some of their time-honored ideas just to make sure they still work. In two issues this series has done more in a far more satisfying manner than the Hal Jordan-Spectre series for the 8 issues or so I followed it.
Detective Comics #821: Paul Dini and JH Williams take over the title in the post-OYL era. Paul Dini's name may ring a few bells as a writer/ producer on "Batman: The Animated Series" and as a writer on ABC's "Lost". JH Williams was responsible for the genre-defying art work on Alan Moore's "Promethea".
Dini is doing what he did best on the animated series. He's telling single story issues using a timeless version of Bruce Wayne/ Batman, including Robin where necessary. This first issue is good, solid work, and a great point for new readers to start picking up Batman comics again.
Supergirl #7: My GOD, this title would be a nightmare for anyone without a bachelor's degree in DC History. You know, I'm giving this comic about three more months, and then... well, they've got three more months to get this title in line. I have no idea where they're going, which is part of why I'm sticking with the comic. If it were not for the solicits for September, I'd have given up already.
So far, DC has managed to turn out one serious mess of a character launch. My advice to DC: scrap this Kara Zor-El. I don't care how you do it. The original pollyanna in a mini-skirt worked. Somehow in 7 issues you've managed to give us a character ten times as messy as the old Mae/ Matrix/ Linda Danvers/ Earth Angel car-wreck.
While Ian Churchill's art on this title is gorgeous, that's about all I can say that's positive about the comic to this point.
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