I Hate Mah Momma, Sugah!

X-Men Annual #1

First of all, this isn't the first X-Men Annual. I'm sure of it. If I wasn't old and arthritic what with the rhoomatiz, I'd go upstairs and look through the Comic Room to see when the last one was. Still, onwards and upwards!

This issue deals with Rogue and her Pouty Team of X-Men trying to unscramble the brains of Northstar and Aurora. Their plan--and it's a doozy--is to use some brain machine on the S.H.I.E.L.D. Heli-carrier and basically reprogram their entire lives in a day. Nothing can go wrong with that, nossir!

But let me pause to say: ENOUGH WITH BLOODY S.H.I.E.L.D.! They're turning into the O.M.A.C.s of the Marvel Universe. You can't open any Marvel book these days without seeing Maria Hill's dominatrix look, or someone moaning about the good old days when Nick Fury ran the show and bought donuts on Friday. ENOUGH! MOVE ON!

Anyway, enter Exodus and his crew of Acolytes--Random, Tempo, and Frenzy. (Random is a big guy who can turn his body into almost anything, Tempo can mess with time, and Frenzy...I think she just kicks ass.) Their plan is to crash into the Heli-Carrier, empty out Cable's brain of its future knowledge of a future Cerebro, and use that to find any potential mutants out there, then turn the Heli-Carrier into a giant ark while it goes collect them. Exodus figures that even though Crazy Wanda Maximoff reduced the mutant population to 198 whiners and emo listeners, the X-gene should still be showing up in newborn babies.

The other story here is that Mystique wants to make up with her daughter, Rogue, and make all nicey nice. Rogue isn't done with that, because she knows Mystique is a skanky ho, and she ain't buyin' it, no ma'am. So even though Exodus doesn't want to hurt anyone in his attempt to hijack the Carrier, Frenzy has other ideas, and proceeds to put the beat down on Rogue. Rogue goes down like a soriority girl on her first date, and it's up to Mystique to return the beat down on Frenzy. Because Rogue is her girl, see.

Oh, yeah, Northstar and Aurora. Apparently, in the attack, their minds get melded and they fix all their mental problems. Now perfectly balanced, they come to rescue Rogue. Rogue then informs Exodus that Wanda not only normalized most mutants, but she altered the human genome as well. There simply isn't an X-gene anymore. POOF! It's gone, courtesy of hex magic.

Exodus gets all pissed at that, and he and his team leave shaking their fists. Rogue thanks Northstar for saving her, and he's all 'Mais non! C'est la Mystique!' Or something like that. Northstar then gives advice, because he's the beacon of sanity now, about places in the heart and balance. He doesn't hug Rogue, but you know he wants to. Rogue mutters grumpily.

The story ends with Exodus heading down to Antarctica, where he meets up with someone I think is Mister Sinister. Of course, he has a plan to save the mutant race. Which I assume will involve death rays and punches to the head.

And so the longest soap opera in super hero comics continues. As for Rogue and Mystique, set your egg timers as they reconcile, go for coffee, watch The View together, and then fight as Mystique goes all skanky ho again.

Old Man Reads Comics, Then Bitches About It!

The Spirit #1

Look: I can't always be topical with these reviews. I tend to fall behind. I have a life. Okay, no I don't, but sometimes I do other non-life, geeky things. I even sometimes write my novel, a short story here and there, and fall through portals to rescue princesses. All's I'm saying is that those things take time. So if I'm behind, that's why.

So it took me awhile to get to this here book. And it took me even longer to say that I completely, utterly adored it.

If you've never sat down and spent an evening reading a collection of Will Eisner Spirit stories, then you should. I came to his work in my thirties, and as I read them, I saw where most of my favourite creators back in the Seventies stole all their tricks. Perhaps the most amazing thing Eisner did was that he refused to let himself be bound to telling simple masked adventurer stories back when that's all his publishers wanted. (When his publishers told him they wanted a superhero strip, he simply drew a mask on Denny Colt just to shut them up.) As well, he made the world in which the Spirit moved and lived feel alive, as much a part of the story as the characters themselves. Oh, and he did rain very, very well.

So that brings us to Darwyn Cooke's new Spirit comic. You want to see magic? Here it is. Cooke has managed to update the Spirit into a world of cell phones and CNN-like news shows, while still maintaining the sense of fun and adventure that Eisner so lovingly crafted. In this opening tale, a newscaster called Ginger Coffee (!)is kidnapped by the henchmen of the evil ganglord The Pill, just as she's about to reveal an informant that will put the Pill in the hoosegow. The Spirit then rescues her (with the best escape from a bad guy's car you'll ever see). Ginger, though, is pissed that there are no cameras about, and turns on her cell phone so her network can provide live audio coverage of her escape. All without telling the Spirit, who is getting pissed at her for talking like a narrator as he tries to keep her alive.

The Spirit: Seriously, is there something wrong with you? Why do you keep gibbering in that Newspeak?

Later:

The Spirit: Will you please stop talking in that idiotic way? Or can't you help it? Maybe you're actually a news robot. Is that it?


Ginger Coffee: He's a man of great heroism, yet oddly cruel.

Cooke is a comics master, and it's a relief to me that DC has the sense to give him this project. It's wonderful, fun stuff. Highly recommended. And if you're still on the fence, check out Pages 2 and 3. You won't see a more amazing two page spread this year. Guaranteed.



52 Week #47

Oooh, so that's how you do it. If you want to get rid of your personal demons, just sit inside a cave in the dark for a few days. Cured Batman of his terminal grouchies! It can cure you, too!

After the country killing and all out awesome action of the last two issues, here we have a more quiet time. We find out that Wonder Woman messing up and snapping necks and stuff is actually good for her, because now she knows what it is to be human. If she really still wants to know, she can come and do my laundry. I mean, anything to help Diana. I'm here for you, babe. Sivana is putting Black Adam through the gears, his screams upsetting Doc Magnus. We don't see what Sivana is doing, but I'm assuming it involves pointy things. Poor Animal Man finally copies a Sun-Eater and can maybe get his ass home from space, but sees his wife in the company of another man. Like all men who see their beloved being touched by another man, he screams real loud and clenches every single muscle in his body. You mean you don't? This is why I don't watch my wife in karate anymore. You can only scream and clench so much. And we end with Renee Montoya--the Questionette--finding that Batwoman has been kidnapped by those pesky evil cultists. She and Nightwing look set to do the team-up tango to rescue Renee's old flame.

A good issue. Well worth your money and time. Unlike flossing.



Conan #35

Remember back in the Seventies, reading Marvel's Conan The Barbarian book? How Conan would just hit people with his sword, there'd maybe be a bit of black to represent blood? If you wanted gore, you had to go and buy the more expensive, magazine sized Savage Sword of Conan? Ah, thank Crom those days are gone.

Here, we have arms being severed, intestines flying out of stomachs, and in an awesomely AWESOME scene, Conan actually sticks a Pict with a spear and uses him as a shield against a volley of arrows. Robert E. Howard would be proud, so he would.

They Shall Be Lords Again looks like a sequel to The Phoenix In The Sword by REH, with King Conan out to find the sumbitch who tried to have him assassinated. On the way, he and his soldiers run amok of a Pictish shaman who gives everyone the mind wobbles. Conan's soldiers all buy the farm, and even Conan himself passes out, after wiping out a small village of Pictish warriors on his lonesome. He awakens to find himself being tended by a Pictish woman, but one from one another tribe. She enlists his aid in killing the shaman, and our old barbarian agrees to help, but not without adding this:

But remember this, witch--if this is treachery, I will return here and split you from skull to belly!

I say the same thing whenever I buy a car. Try it. You don't get lemons that way.

The story ends with Conan getting into a barge being helmed by what may or may not be the skeleton of King Kull, that old Atlantean warrior who was pretty awesome on his own.

A decent, solid Conan story. Tim Truman just continues to show he may even be better at writing this title than Kurt Busiek.



Captain America #25

I bitched about this before, but the media event that was Cap's death was a mistake. And here's why: it plays into the media's limited fascination with comics, where they only run stories when a long standing character dies or when something controversial occurs. Both Marvel and DC are guilty of this, and it only serves to bite us all in the ass in the end. Both companies should be focusing on having media reports about the more positive elements in the field--like how Action Comics is still being published, or the longevity of characters like Batman or the Fantastic Four. Dark Horse seems to get this, and had a small media circus of their own with the release of the new Buffy. That's positive news. Not killing off characters to get on the front page of the New York Times.

Having said that, I admit this wasn't a bad issue. It was a bit bloated with everyone and their dog remembering how great Cap was, long before he was shot. Like they can't think of Cap without remembering him fighting the Nazis in sepia tone. I realize that was included for the benefit of new readers who would pick up this comic on the buzz alone, but it hurt the story. Take out those pages,and you have a fairly suspenseful Brubaker story. Having Sharon be the one who pumps the killing shots into his stomach was a surprise, but in true Brubaker style, the clues were there. So, yeah--a good comic. Too bad it was tarted up like a media whore.



Fantastic Four: The End #3

A few months ago, an employee at a local comic store said to me that he didn't 'get' the Fantastic Four, or why older readers looked at the team with such adoration. He's in his early twenties, and as I thought about it, the last fifteen years or so haven't really given him any reason to adore them.

But myself, David and Southwell, we grew up in the Seventies, when it can be argued the FF was at it's best. I always looked forward to finding copies of it at the Byron variety store, since Fantastic Four always represented the Marvel Universe at its most cosmic. Those issues--and that time--were a very large part of my childhood.

Alan Davis looks to feel the same way. This series--which takes place in the far future, where the deaths of Valeria and Franklin Richards have destroyed the Fantastic Four, sending each of them to find their own solace, alone--is a ode to the times when the FF was glorious. Davis has packed each issue with enough coolness to make we old colostomy bag wearing True Believers squeeeee! with joy. In this issue alone, we have the daughter of Doctor Strange training with her father, traipsing across those wacky dimensions where eyeballs float. We have Namor and Sue fighting beneath the waves. We have Ben Grimm getting his revenge on Johnny through a food fight. We have Black Panther, the Inhumans (and we learn why the more human of them wear masks), Silver Surfer, and one giant fricking Kree Sentry. And if that isn't enough, we even have H.E.R.B.I.E.

Davis loves the material, just as he's shown in his imagined/alternate future/worlds of the Justice League and the Legion of Super-Heroes. His depictions of Sue and She-Hulk aren't that hard on the eyes, either. If you're--like the kids say--old school Marvel fans, you deserve to read this series. We remember when the FF rocked. So does Alan Davis.

Never Drink A Litre of Anything

Ugh. I drank a litre of chocolate milk today. I don't know why. It just seemed like a good idea at the time. Like the time I did shooters with Lindsey Lohan on the wing of a Concorde over Paris. Oddly enough, I felt as nauseous afterwards as I did then.

So listen, kids: a glass of chocolate milk is enough. Walk away. Don't give in to the chocolately goodness.

Oh, I read stuff:

X-Men #193



This was the final issue in the Supernovas storyline. For those of you not reading it--which is probably all of you, because you spend your money on things like mortgages, prostitutes with whips, and hyperdrives, here's the deal: the X-Men fight bad guys.

The flavour of bad guys here is Mutants Who Have Been Trapped In A Time Bubble Oil Tanker And Have Evolved Tons More Than The X-Men flavour. This tastes like chocolate chip mixed with radioactive isotope 14, if you're curious. These mutants--who call themselves 'The Children of the Vault'--were waiting for the world to go to hell so they could rule it. Problem is, they came out of their time tanker early, so they've decided to kill everyone who isn't them. The X-Men, of course, take issue with this.

The X-Men here are the rough and tumble ones--like Rogue, Cannonball, Sabretooth, Cable, Mystique, and Ice Man. Outside of Rogue, they're all B-players. So they fight the Children, Rogue shows us that planting a bomb before confronting the bad guys is always a good idea, and after all the Children are apparently dead, we learn that they pulled a fast one, too: most of them are down in South America, where all Nazis tend to go. They vow revenge, their new leader being some bald chick with a helmet to hold her glowing head.

Fairly basic X-Men fare. I had thought that the X-Men don't kill, but apparently Mystique didn't get that particular email, since she shoots the bad guy with some rather nasty hi-tech bullets. He dies, but no one sees her do it. She also gets chummy with Ice-Man, so I'm sure no one will see her when she does him. In an entirely different way.

I like Mike Carey's script here, even if I don't know why Rogue is all BitchFace and decides to take her badass team on the road. Chris Bachalo's art is nice, but all over the place. For some reason, for example, Wolverine's arms become the size of trees. He does do 'shiny', very well, though, and it seems everyone is now wearing little marshmallows on their costumes. At least it's not those goddamn belts. Remember the Nineties and Rob Liefeld? Belts belts belts everywhere!

Best line? As Emma Frost sees an oil tanker hove into view above the X-Mansion, she says, "With our lives being as surreal and hallucinogenic as they are, it's been awhile since I felt the actual need to do serious drugs."

That Emma. If she isn't with the boyfriend stealing, she's the one with the lines.

Workplace Haikus

Tired and weary
Monday morning black soul death
Dreaming of my couch


Bad haircut old man
Spouting his dull ignorance
Bland wallpaper soul


Gold frosted highlights
Making calls on her cellphone
Cuts herself at night

What I've Been Readin' In Mah Readin' Chair

Justice Society of America #4

There's always something vaguely wholesome about reading a Justice Society comic. I'm not sure why. It just feels more like a security blanket than most comics.

Unless I missed something, this issue wrapped up The Next Age storyline. Here, that immortal pain in the ass Vandal Savage was going to yet again take over the world by killing off anyone even slightly related to any member of the JSA--his thinking being that if they were all dead, he could take over the world in about a hundred years. (Which, if you're an immortal pain in the ass, is like a weekend or something.) I guess Vandal was assuming anyone else heroic would not be born in that time, or that Superman would fly off to rebuild Krypton or something. Anyway, the centrepiece of the comic was the various ass kickings the JSA deals to both Savage and his Nazi underlings.

I always feel cheated when Vandal Savage is defeated, because he makes such a smug villian. You know he'll always be back (unless they cut off his head, which I think someone did once--guess it didn't take), and his defeat this time around--being hit by a firetruck while being distracted by Wildcat and his son (also called Wildcat, although I like the nom du internet of 'Wildkittie' much more)--seemed a punk way for him to go out. I did like artist Dale Eaglesham's depiction of Savage going from this tightly coiled control freak to a complete shirtless savage by battle's end. Nice nod to his caveman roots, and to show what having a fistfight with Wildcat will do to you.

And by the way--I love Wildcat. He's so many conflicting things at once. His power is simply that he can kick almost anyone's ass--he's the toughest of the tough--but he wears cat power pyjamas. That rocks in any dimension.

We learn a bit more about Damage (face all messed up--why?). We see more of Liberty Belle--again, the more Forties heroes DC can dig up, the happier I'll be. The promotion of Power Girl to Chairwoman of the JSA was unexpected.

It's funny--if it wasn't for Power Girl's impressive chest and cleavage revealing costume, there is no way she'd be any more than a second rate heroine. She'd be as much a draw as Liberty Belle, for example. As much as DC wants to dress her up as a lost Kryptonian, or the daughter of Arion, or the team leader at Starbucks, the major force of her appeal is that she has a large chest and you can see her cleavage. Other heroines have tried to take the sexpot route--Huntress, Fire--but it just never seemed to stick. There was always an interesting backstory to stop them from being anything more than pin-ups. (Okay, perhaps I'm stretching a bit with Fire, there. But she's Brazillian! That should count for something!) So I'm happy to see Kara getting more of a role with the team other than cheesecake. I just wish they'd finally nail down who she is, instead of what she carries beneath her chin.

A very nice two page spread at the back of the book shows the current team. Even Ma Hunkel--the original Red Tornado--is there. And me getting that explains why I don't breed. I like this team, even if I missed Star now being called Stargirl. A nice nod to the past (Jay Garrick, Green Lantern, Hawkman), with new heroes assuming old mantles (Sandman--thank God Sandy is gone), Doc Mid-nite...and I could go on. I probably will one day. And did I mention I love that huge meeting table. Hey, JLA! Look! A team book with an actual team! And a shiny table! Amazing!

And did I mention we have the Paul Levitz era Dream Girl shackled in Arkham Asylum? Thought that might get your attention. Is the Levitz Legion coming back? (Please!) I mean, we already have the Levitz Starman on the JSA. Oh, how I am wishing for this.



52# Week 46

Okay, I didn't expect this. After wiping out all the men, women and children in Bialya, I thought old Pointy Ears Black Adam would go all Kid Miracleman with the evil scientists. Put heads on poles, pee down the neck stumps, that sort of thing. But oh no! Black Adam gets whomped, but good. And gets dragged to the acid baths. Yerks. So much for my favourite homicidal Marvel.

I always wonder what writer does what issue of this series, and I'm guessing Grant Morrison did this one. Only Grant would have a female scientist get aroused at the thought of her own evilness as Adam approaches, and then try and bang Doctor Magnus. The dialogue following screamed Morrison:

Veronica (Slut Doctor): Do you hate me?

Doctor Magnus: I guess not. Sorry to disappoint you.

Snicker. Are we to assume the creator of the Metal Men couldn't perform, or are we to take the high road and assume Magnus was sorry for not playing into her self hate?

Oh, come on. You know where your imagination lies. Magnus totally couldn't do it. Geek!



The Brave and The Bold #2

Aaaand for more uncomfortable comic book moments, here we have Supergirl just throwing herself at Green Lantern.

Supergirl: So, Green Lantern, tell me: what does a man like you do for fun when the mask comes off? It does come off, right?

Despite Lantern repeatedly reminding himself of Supergirl's age (17.17.17.), he finally confronts her on the gambling planet Ventura:

Green Lantern: Knock off the crush thing. You've been doe-eyed at me all day. And I am really flattered. And you are gorgeous. But even if you were ten years older....NO."

Remember back in the Seventies? This same thing would have been dragged on for months, with Supergirl maybe writing GL's name on the moon, or sending him lantern polish with candy. Now, we have Supergirl snuggling up against Lantern, while a man in his thirties does his best to fend off jailbait. Very funny stuff.

I'm just wondering when Supergirl became such a tease. She seems just vapid over in Legion of Super-Heroes. Maybe it's GL's cologne. I assume he wears Brut, since it's green. I may have to buy some tonight.

The story--oh wait! There's a story?--is pure Seventies fun. GL and SuperTease are chasing the Book of Destiny, which has everything that has ever happened or will happen written in it, so some schlep has taken it to Ventura, the gambling world. Sucker doesn't know they have chronal detectors there to detect any sort of time fuckery, so he tries to make it big on one huge bet: Supergirl dressed as a little girl--complete with pigtails, a teddy bear and skirt--fighting two giant rock monsters.

You know, I hadn't realized how perverted this comic was until now. If most comic readers are in their mid thirties, I feel slightly nauseous at the thought that this is being written for us.

Ummm, hello, DC? Yeah, me here. Guy's been buying your books for thirty five years. Look, I think Supergirl is pretty attractive, but not in that way. It's creepy. And the little girl look? Ummm...really, no. Sure, it's funny, but I think I'm in the minority for thinking that. I think all across America right now there are fathers and husbands looking perhaps too long at Page 14 of Brave and The Bold. Hey, I'm not a prude. You want to get Frank Cho drawing Power Girl, and I'll be first in line. Adam Hughes painting Catwoman? All about that. This? Not so much. Thanks for listening, DC!

Where was I? Oh, right. George Perez's art? Makes my eyes tired. So much wonderful detail. The man does not shirk anywhere. From the glitzy gaudiness of Ventura, to even the buildings of El Paso, the linework is there. His panel set up is always enjoyable. So many artists today just don't go as far as Perez does, since they get the same paycheque regardless. But this is why I've been loving his art since I was a teenager on The New Teen Titans.

Mark Waid builds a very fun story--outside of the American Beauty creepiness--and sets up next month's team-up quite nicely. (And you can see the other team-ups to come if you look on the cover!). And I have to say: chasing through space to get a book that tells the future? I love that shit. Forget world domination. Give me villians and items that are just plain nuts. That's good comics, that is.

"Leapin' Lizards, Sandy! We're All Cutting Edge Now! Jeepers!"

The three of you who read this blog regularly instead of using that time more efficiently by flossing and/or learning to play the tuba, will perchance remember my fascination with the current Annie daily comic strip.

I must now report that whatever twisted minds are at work here, they keep backing into something within free local calling of genius. It wasn't enough that we had Annie going back in time to Atlantis in the TARDIS. It wasn't enough that when an Atlantean princess tried to follow Annie back to our time, she ended landing in the Pacific Ocean and drowning. No,surely not enough. Now, we have
this.

For the record, we have Daddy Warbucks in Iraq--no, no, no, I mean Ratznestistan. Apparently, he's behind the puppet government, because all bald rich men turn into Lex Luthor sooner or later. He's involved in some plan to get a double agent out of Gitmo and back into Ratznestistan to infiltrate the local rebellion. No, really, you aren't reading Splinter Cell. This is Annie. But look at the protests from the enraged populace. Doesn't 'Phooey To Great Satan' just say it all? Are they also blowing raspberries?

And then we have this.
Warbucks and the Asp are now undercover--and they run into the local Mid-East police force--who look like British bobbies with crescents on their helmets. They even have night sticks and bushy British moustaches.

And where's Annie in all of this? Watching television.

If I live for anything, it's to get up each day and see what new weird shit this strip will delve into next.

Pleasantly Constantly Rewinding

Sometimes, a crap day can be saved somewhat by a song. A song that you hear as you get ready for another day, or as you drive to work. You hear it, and it sticks in that part of your brain that is marked Constant Rewind. As the day progresses, bringing with it what it will, this song plays like friendly Muzak, always waiting for you to pay more attention to it, or just acting as a happy backdrop.

Or is that just me?

Anyway, listen at your Constant Rewind peril.

Now Tell Me You Want Dirk Benedict Back

I adore Starbuck. I adore Katee Sackhoff. And I adore this picture.



Go to Femme Fatale for more edumacation about the glory that is science fiction/action related female actresses.

This And That On A Sunday Afternoon

Ah, Sunday. The day before it's back to work, and the constant struggle to keep the razor blades from the wrists. But there still exists time to geek out.

--Finished Heart Shaped Box late Friday night. I'm not surprised to read this, since this novel will make a very easy transition to film. The soundtrack alone will sell very well. As I've already said, there was much I enjoyed in this book, but it wasn't until the end that I realized just how well constructed the story was. Again, being someone cursed/blessed with a high degree of animal empathy, there were some scenes I didn't need to see, but all in all, this was a fine horror novel.

--Had our Dungeons and Dragons game last night with Paul and Lisa. As usual, we spent more time shooting the shit than rolling the dice. Our only crisis was my discovery of having NO MORE COFFEE in the house, necessitating my heading out into the cold, dark night to purchase more.

There was an odd energy last night. I've felt this last week has had quite a few nights where there was definite feeling in the air, a feeling that something really bad is just looking for an excuse to happen. Last night, it just felt...odd. It's all down to timing, of course, but the streets were empty as I walked last night, and even Wharncliffe looked a bit deserted. I almost expected to see zombies lurching beneath the streetlights, like I'd missed an undead apocalypse or something. Heading to Shoppers Drug Mart, I was horrified to find that the only coffee they had was the dreaded Life Brand--which I would only give to my worst enemies. So back out into the zombie night to Tim Horton's, picking up a tin there, heading home, beneath glittering Orion only to find...that that coffee was shit as well. There's a moral there, but I think it involves thought, so not today.



--After the game ended, Beloved Wife returned to reading The Darkness That Comes Before,



a novel by fellow Londoner R. Scott Bakker. She's read it before, but is going through it a second time. I asked her what it's like reading a book by someone who lives in her city. She said that she doesn't like to think about that when she reads a book, and does her best to forget it. Even though she's friends with Tad Williams, she makes herself forget she knows him when she reads his work. She wants her experience with a book to be between her and it, and nothing else. Which may explain why she is always reluctant to read anything I write. That, or she doesn't like having her eyes bleed.

As for me, I geeked out wonderfully. Went through the library until I found The Complete First Doctor, a very thorough--geekily thorough--look at William Hartnell's run on Doctor Who.



What did I learn? That Hartnell was a bit of a racist old bastard. That the show I love very much is as much a result of pure accident as it was planning--which there didn't seem to be much of the latter. That producer Verity Lambert was a knockout back in 1963.That it's amazing anything ever gets produced, written, or even filmed. That British filming schedules make no sense (the first episode of An Unearthly Child, for example, was filmed between 8:30 pm and 9:45 pm. on a Monday evening. What? You can't shoot during the day?)And, most importantly, why Who is so great is because it always is making it up as it goes.

It's a good read, filled with tons of backstage photos, odd stories, and enough information to make your brain turn to mush. And the drinking! I remember seeing an old picture of Patrick Troughton on a lunch break when he was doing Who: everyone had a pint of Guinness in their hands, getting right plastered. In the afternoon!

I suppose if I ever had a wish, I would have loved/ or would love to work on Doctor Who, or any ongoing television show with a mythology, with other writers, banging out episode after episode. Let me loose on Corner Gas, for example. I've known people who had had jobs working on Coronation Street as writers, who then walked away, saying it wasn't their thing.

Me? You couldn't pry me off anything like that with a blowtorch. I ever get a writing gig on a TV show? I'll show you a deathgrip then.

What I Read Instead of Writing Yesterday

Buffy The Vampire Slayer Season Eight #1

Look, I'm all about Buffy. I discovered the show one Saturday afternoon on the TV dead zone of Channel 43, and began watching with a sneer, that slowly turned into a smile that lasted for seven seasons. I even managed to finagle my fandom into reviewing the last episode for the National Post. So yes--I was pretty pumped about this comic.

And you know? It didn't disappoint. Joss Whedon made me feel like I was back watching the show by the fifth page. There are some nice surprises here as well, some Nick Fury love, and a cliffhanger that had me humming the screeching guitar sound that ended most episodes. Easily my favourite book this week. Easy peasy.



New Avengers #27

I think Bendis is really apologzing for the craptitude of Avengers: Disassembled. This second issue of the Revolution storyline is everything Avengers has not been for too long: fun. Bendis' strength is his dialogue, and he has some great scenes between Wolverine and Luke Cage, Wolverine and Silver Samurai, and a nice shoutout to my favourite Lindsey Lohan film. Spidey's shout out of 'Oh no! It's Civil War 2!' made me forgive Bendis for half of the last year of Avengers titles alone.

Oh, and before I continue: British David didn't care for Mighty Avengers. I suspect he has no soul, and has lost his taste for Frank Cho drawing Ms.Marvel's glorious physical attributes, as well as the glory that is Black Widow in leather. Anyone who does not enjoy this should not be reading this blog, and perhaps should sign off on their masculinity. I'm calling you out, Southwell. Geek pistols at dawn.



Criminal #5

Read the final issue of Brubaker's first arc--Coward--and it reassured me that crime comics are here to stay. A damn fine story, amazing art by Sean Philips, and a great backup of today's great comic writers discussing their favourite examples of noir. Simply an amazing read. A fucking amazing, amazing, amazing, read.



The Authority #2

I had my doubts with Grant Morrison's first issue of The Authority, simply because I had no idea what the hell was going on. All is made clear with the second issue--it appears the Authority has ended up on our world. Yes, our world. Of course, this being The Authority, everything is about to go to cosmic hell, and it doesn't help things that the U.S. Army just shot down Apollo in Afghanistan. Or that Midnighter is there to greet them when they come to collect the body.

Morrison manages to give the title that intense crisis feel that has become an Authority trademark, and Gene Ha's art is always gorgeous. My only complaint was that it read too fast for a four dollar comic. Two page spreads are great at conveying wonder, but they should be rationed out a little bit, especially in a monthly book. I know the market is now aiming at trades, but they should still remember there are those of us who enjoy our monthly fixes--and that we work very hard for the money we give them for said fixes. Still, a gorgeous book, so my whining will be tempered.

The Geeks Of The Night, What Beautiful Music They Make

David has--as usual--started something. He's got a few of us talking about music--namely, about London music stations back in the Seventies and Eighties.

Like David and Crazylegs,, I listened to a fair amount of London radio growing up. Having moved from London out to Delaware at the age of eight, radio suddenly became more important than it might have done otherwise--since there was cable television out in the sticks. The best we could do was a crappy aerial that we had to turn with this giant, humming rotor, which only managed to pull in four--sometimes five--stations. So viva la radio!

As a kid, I adored Joe Duschene on CJBK. He was the morning man then, and to my eight year old ears, he was batshit funny. I think it was also CJBK that played Doctor Demento for awhile on Sunday nights, which made me adore them all the more. At night--when my night terrors took over (yeah, I was terrified of the dark--which may explain my love of horror now) undoubtedly fueled by far too many readings of Tomb of Dracula, House of Mystery, Doctor Strange, and Werewolf By Night, I would lay awake literally clutching this old green radio my grandmother gave me, holding onto the voices that came out of it like a lifeline. I enjoyed the music, of course, but it was the knowledge that somewhere to the west, in that gray light of the city of London, someone else was awake as well.

Getting older, I opted for CKSL--they had Steve Garrison doing the rock show, and since CKSL was in the heart of downtown, in a grotty old building, it had cred, as opposed to CJBK, which now seemed the radio station for old people. And as I've said on David's blog, I thought their bumper sticker--black and yellow with a yellow star--looked far more cool than CJBK's red and yellow, McDonald's like thingamabob.

In high school, in dear old glorious Westminster, I met up with Andy S., who introduced me--via several cassettes--to punk rock. Then my station was CHRW, since they were the only station to play punk (FM 96 would dabble with the Clash's bigger hits, but usually kept it at arm's length), as well as the radio version of Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. Hanging out with my more rocker friends, they introduced me to 6X, which was all metal, all the time. That station was just AWESOME because every Thursday night they used to play 'Virgin Vinyl', where they would play a new album in its entirety, allowing you time to not only tape it, but would give you time to switch over the cassette. Sadly, the authorities twigged, and that was that. Still, I managed to build my library quite nicely that way.

So, those were the stations I adored as a teen, as I wandered the halls of Westminster Secondary, thinking of Tolkien, of Star Wars, and of how Tina made me look at blue jeans in an entirely new way.

One day I will sit down and write about my time in London radio--of my years as a DJ at CHRW, Trixie Dynamite, the soul blistering metal shows I used to be called to fill in for, of the lonely Christmas Eve I manned the station all on my own, of my work now at CJBK.

That will have to wait. Right now, I'm still stuck with that image of Tina in my head, of hearing 'Everything She Does Is Magic' by the Police one day with her in Theatre Arts, and how that damned image is still burnt into my skull nearly 23 years later.

Damn music. It just imprints the damnedest things. Not that I'm complaining, mind...

Why I Love Colbert, Reason 42

'Wakandan vibrainium'.

He is one of us, my brothers.

Cheaper Than Prozac

Thanks to Sonny for finding this . It really made my crap Monday afternoon, and it should make yours.

PS--Girls with glasses rule.

Hungover Geek Thoughts

Stayed up past three a.m. last night reading the above book. In that time, I also drank one and a half glasses of Californian red wine. Woke up this morning with a bugger of a hangover. After one and half glasses!

The book--so far--is quite good. I didn't know that Joe Hill is actually the son of Stephen King. Good for him for not actually promoting this, and for not taking the 'King' name. His style reminds me of his father's, but it's also cleaner, reminiscent of King's earlier work. Hill's work is also far more graphic and disturbing, even for a seasoned horror fan like me. In fact, he reminds me more of Dan Simmons than he does King in terms of story. While King can scare me (his Jerusalem's Lot short story in Night Shift scared the hell out of me, since it was really my first taste of Lovecraft before I even knew who Lovecraft was), Simmons scares the living shit out of me. There is a difference. So far, Hill is going up close behind Mr. Simmons. Each chapter pushes the narrative ahead with all the power of a revolver to the temple, made even more amazing in that the 'hero' of the tale is a callous bastard, a retired heavy metal singer who treated the wrong groupie as trash. Even though you don't like the guy, you still wouldn't wish what happens on him. Just remember kids: if someone offers to sell you a ghost on Ebay, don't buy.

Random discoveries today: found a download of the new Buffy comic. Haven't had a chance to read it yet.

Found out Carrie Fisher is set to host TCM's Essentials. Looking forward to that. I've grown to enjoy TCM of late. Because I'm getting old and will soon be shambling around the house in my housecoat all day, smelling of despair and sherry.

Managed to fix my World of Warcraft problem: this entailed having to buy new install discs, reload everything, and sit through an hour of new patches. Returned to the game last night after being away for a week. It's sad how addicted I am. I just enjoy it--it's like being a large fantasy novel with characters who can't spell.

And the cherry this weekend has been a friend giving me Doctor Who: Season 2. Many hours of Billie Piper ogling to follow. Just might be the cure to this hangover.

Comic Books Eat My Life

Oh, they do. Far too much. And here are some more.

Daredevil #93

--This brought to a close the Devil Takes A Ride storyline. I finished it with a sense of exhaustion. Even though it's only been six issues, Ed Brubaker packed it with far more story and character work than I'm used to in regular superhero comics. Unlike most conclusive issues, there was no big battle. We get to see Daredevil majorly fuck over the Kingpin, while at the same time freeing him from prison. We see redemption in the villain of the piece, Vanessa. We see Matt and Foggy reunited (which was nice.) And we also get to see that Matt Murdock is not a nice man, is often teetering on madness, and it will probably only get worse. This is undoubtedly the most adult superhero book Marvel is producing, and I just hope the powers that be keep not noticing it, keeping it crossover free. Unlike Brubaker's other title. Poor bastard.

52 #44

--Everything goes to hell with Black Adam. We see things get definitely Old Testament between Adam and the Four Horsemen, and we get another look at the new Question. This series is showing how a year long book can be done. Amazing what actually planning a series out can do. (Do you hear me, Marvel?)

Justice League of America #6

An okay issue, wrapping up the solid reintroduction of Red Tornado into the DCU. Everything in the nostalgia sink is thrown into this story, from Amazo, Solomon Grundy, Vixen, and a Red Tornado that hasn't changed since the Seventies. I'm not fond of team books that take half a year to actually form the team, but hopefully next issue the Justice League will actually form, and we can get on with the business of resurrecting what should be DC's most cared for and protected title.

The Mighty Avengers #1

I can't help but think this book is an apology by Brian Michael Bendis. His New Avengers has primarily been a disappointment, since there have been very little in the way of team stories, let alone team stories that are actually enjoyable. (The Sentry storyline was too drawn out, centred around a character very few readers care about.) Here, we get all out action and team banter, like we used to get in the Avengers before breaking the fourth wall and trying to ape HBO became all the rage.

Bendis also brings back the thought balloon, which I haven't seen in awhile, intercutting with speech balloons.This worked very well in the scenes with Tony Stark and Carol Danvers, and made me feel that perhaps comics aren't as embarassed by this old trick any longer. It helps bring the reader more into the story, which is something that you can't really say has been Bendis' forte.

The art is by Frank Cho, a man who has shown his love for drawing the female form (with an especial fondness for boobs and bums)in his Liberty Meadows comic strip, as well as his Shanna The She Devil work. Here, Ms. Marvel, the Wasp and Black Widow receive the full Cho treatment, which shouldn't disappoint any one vaguely male. He also does amazing comics--this is fun stuff, even if it's headed by that turncoat drunk Stark.

Captain America

Oh, for crying out loud.

Oh, for fuck's sake.

The Crack House of Ideas strikes again.

"I do want people's money."--Joe Quesada, Editor in Chief of Marvel Comics.

Nuff said.

Why Can't I Live In Tokyo?

Is it too much to ask? Tons of manga, commercials like this, and I can talk about Hideo Kojima and Voltron without enduring looks of incomprehension.

Really, I'd be a very quiet gaijin otaku. You'd never notice me.

Breaking News

So the CBC will show Doctor Who Season 3 in June. This means we don't have to wait almost a year like last time. Of course, fans are worried about ratings, but I think it's great--on Mondays, Who was up against Corner Gas and Heroes, and now should have the Monday slot all to itself, since those shows will all be in repeats.

I love good news on a Sunday. Usually, it's just hangover and guilt.

(Thanks to Rod for the great image.)

When Old Comic Characters Go Nuts

I've recently found two old comic strips I used to enjoy as a wee'un--Annie, and dear old Dick Tracy. I had expected them to be just like the old days--Annie maybe had to go find a toddler who had fallen down a well, and maybe Dick Tracy would go after Flattop again.

No. They are both well and truly nuts.

As for Annie,, she has in the last month been back in ancient Atlantis, courtesy of a time machine that looks very much like the TARDIS. In leaping into the void to return to her own time, an Atlantean princess leapt after her--only to fall into the ocean in our time--and drown. Currently, we have the Asp and Daddy Warbucks dealing with insurgent bombings and puppet goverments in Iraq--no, I mean Ratsnestistan..

As for Dick, he is now married to Tess Trueheart, and has a new C.O.--Lt. Teevo. A guy who is apparently a walking email machine, who lives only to give information when it's needed. Dick is investigating jewelery store robberies--pretty basic Tracy--but has interviewed the Queen of Hearts, who looks like a walking playing card.

There is some very odd, interesting work being done here. I love it when franchises most people have forgotten about have just gone a little batty, alone up in the attic of public disinterest. And it's also nice to enjoy a daily strip again, something the Free Press thinks is beyond it's readership.