I'll Leave The Cool Podcasts To Jim Dandy..

...but I did find this very amusing.

For those who play Warcraft, you can smile at how close this one cuts. For those who don't, this will keep you away from the game forever. 'I hear them. That's good enough for the blind'
made me spit coffee.

For Sonny

Sometimes, you just find a picture of Barnabas that you have to put on your blog. No other reason. Some things are just too cool not to.

Now Look, All Of You

You know who you are. It's time someone had a word with you. And that someone, buster, is me.

Stop apologizing for Indiana Jones and The Kingdom of The Crystal Skull.

It's okay not to like it. Yes, Raiders was awesome. I saw it opening night when I was fourteen. There was next to no one in the theatre, because who knew what the hell this Raiders thing was, anyway? It had Han Solo in it, that's all I knew. Maybe it was about pirates, because don't pirates raid? These were my thoughts that fateful Friday night, lo those many aeons ago.

The film--which to my mind--was about this nerdy professor who really loved archeology. So much so that he reluctantly ended up having to leave his cluttered office and ended up in crumbling temples and fighting bald Nazis in Egypt. He had the living crap beaten out of him, too. And thrown through a windshield of a truck. And his girlfriend? Totally hit him the face with a mirror. But in the end, he survived, even if he got screwed over by the government, but at least knew that the Ark of the Covenant wasn't in Hitler's hands. Now Professor Jones could go back to his office and read Archeology Today. Maybe have a coffee. Take it easy.

See? A nicely rounded story. A nice formula--most of us nerds could relate to Indy's bookish ways, and a reluctant hero is always more likable than one who goes out looking for the action.

But that formula was taken out back and shot in the following two films. Now, Indiana Jones was a HERO. He always got into impossible situations, and he always got out. He had contacts all over the world, people who would die for him because of other impossible situations that they'd been in together. Indy took on gangsters. Indy let children drive pell-mell through crowded city streets. Indy was bigger than life. There was no longer any sense of danger to his character, because we now knew there wasn't anything that could stop him. He had been, to put it bluntly, been Roger Moored.

That was Temple of Doom. But after parents fainted in the streets and children wet their beds after the violence of Temple, Lucas and Co. laid Indy low for a few years. When they finally did bring back Our Hero, they decided to play it safe, going for yuks and bringing back those lovable blunderpusses, the Nazis. Oh, and another Christian related treasure wouldn't hurt, either.

Still, where Temple was bleak, Last Crusade was just blah. So far, we are now one for three. Not a great record.

So for those of you who feel like they're somehow being unfaithful to their hero by saying Crystal Skull isn't a good film, get over it. And I'm not being cruel here--I am the biggest Star Wars mark you'll ever meet, and boy, did I ever try and justify The Phantom Menace. I'm not proud of the things I said. Upon reflection, it was like being punched in the nuts and then saying, "Well, at least I'll appreciate not being in pain once the agony subsides."

And please don't wrap your faint praise by saying, "Well, I always loved the pulps, and Indiana Jones is very pulpy."

Stop right there.

The pulps were written by hungry men and women who were paid next to nothing, whose adventures were bought by people doing their best to escape the world around them. They were adored because many of them were far better than they should have been, and even the ones that were downright horrible, few of them could be accused of being lifeless.

The Indiana Jones film series (which I insist began with Temple of Doom. Let's keep Raiders separate, shall we?)was created by multi-millionaires with an eye on the merchandising.

See the difference?

Thank You, Dan Abnett

Blurry Sundays and Geek Labelling

Awoke on a blurry Sunday morning, with the Super Furry Animals song Neo Consumer stuck in my head like terpsichorean spam. Feel awash in a wave of guilt, since I had thought to go and see the UFC 84 with that scoundrel over at Jim Dandy Goodness , but it was far too late at night for someone with delicate sensibilities such as my own.

Of course, this was the big weekend for Heroes Comics, which had it's grand re-opening in its spiffy new store on Dundas, almost kitty corner from its old digs. The new joint is very impressive--wonderfully high ceilings, glass cases holding statuary, and a generally classy feel, like some store you'd find in New York or Los Angeles. It makes the old place look like a cramped basement that was just waiting to stretch out and put on a good suit. As we were there, Brahm informed us that everything in the old store was going for 50 percent off. Clearly, he'd rather sell t than move it.

So we hied over there. It was packed. And as we looked around, I couldn't help but start geek watching.

You have to admit, we do come in various flavours, and most of them were represented in that cramped soon-not-to-be-a-store. And we all tend to think that our own take on geekery is the best. And we're all perfectly correct in that assumption. But it's still fun to watch and mentally classify our own kind.

There was I Can't Believe He's Into Comics Guy, for example. The middle aged man (okay, more middle aged than me), dressed in a sensible business shirt, sensible pants, and with male pattern baldness frantically going through the back issue bins, amassing a pile of comics so high he'll have to hire Tito Ortiz to carry them out. London has quite a few of these guys running about. (I was in Neo Tokyo awhile ago when one came in. My first reaction was that this guy was heading straight for the hentai section, but when the wary female staff asked if she could help him, he really knew his manga and anime. He was quite passionate about it, so much so that it became unnerving. )

There was the Socially Inept Guy. Thin, red haired, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the store was packed and the sole staff member was swamped. Peppering him with questions about this lunchbox for sale, about what cards are in what trading card packs, and where are the cheap comics again? And would the staff member pick up that toy for him because he doesn't want to touch it for fear he'll break it and then will have to buy it?

There was the Untouchable Geek Beauty. The young, mid twenties woman with a smile that would melt your heart and a knowledge of Dungeons and Dragons that would lead geeks to storm Troy--if she but only asked them to. They would even forgo watching Battlestar Galactica and posting their thoughts on Blogger if she would but touch their d20s. I often wonder if women like that know what power they wield within comic and gaming shops. (To which Vulcan Ninja says "Oh yeah. We do.")

The Untouchable Geek Beauty was deep in conversation with the Loud Fan, perhaps my least favourite of the geek subset.We all know the Loud Fan. I pray you are not one of them. These are the gentle souls that labour under the delusion that each and every one of us is fascinated with every detail of their lives, and love having our ears bleed as he/she shouts them out at us.

This Loud Fan had piles of action figures in his arms. I imagined he would take them home and either slap them up on Ebay or place them in cryogenic freeze until the market was ripe for a Captain Jack Sparrow 12 inch. He was proclaiming to the Beauty about a girlfriend he'd left because she was 'sleeping around', then he launched into how he was spending so much time playing Guild Wars. I was fascinated, even as I wondered how I could kill myself.

The Beauty did her best to re-direct the conversation. She mentioned how she was playing AD and D (a retro gamer and a beauty! She's thrown off the shackles of 3.5!), which only led Loud Fan to roar about how he had 'graciously' offered to DM a gaming session, but it had all gone to hell...and I had to move on. I couldn't take anymore.
I'd start blogging about it if I wasn't careful.

But what about me? What sort of geek am I? I'm the quiet kind, the one who went through his Loud phase when he was 21, who married his own Untouchable Geek Beauty. I'm also the one who bought a DC Comics baseball cap that I know I'll never wear, but I simply had to have it. It'll collect dust with all my Doctor Who toys, still in their protective plastic cases, which I'm sure will be worth tons of money someday.

More Than Halfway

I hit Level 40 in World of Warcraft today.

I know, I know: no one else here plays, but this was a sweet moment. This was the battle that that gave me those oh-so precious XPs. Afterwards, there were congratulations from the party, whoops of victory, and then we all went our separate ways.

Sniff.

I remember when I was just a Level One, still in shortpants...

She Cries, Victorious

So it's another night at Casa Twist. We'd sent the servants home early, leaving the two of us to sip our claret by the roaring fireplace. I'd taken the house trolley down to the library, and had returned with a Neal Stephenson novel. Cher had foregone the pleasure of reading to hunch over her DS, her face a portrait of intense concentration.

I sat down on the couch beside her, book in hand. Marmalade, refreshed from a day of sleeping, jumped up beside me and proceeded to curl up to sleep yet again, the effort of walking from the bedroom to the living room being more than enough exercise for him. I opened my book, too a sip of my drink, and proceeded to read.

Then Cher screamed.

Marmalade shot into the air. When he landed, he tore across the table, nearly sending my beverage into the upper atmosphere as well. My heart--I truly believe--actually stopped.

"Sorry! Sorry!" Cher said. "But I did it! I beat it!"

Despite the chaos,I could not but smile.

After five months, my wife had finally, finally defeated....Puzzle Quest.

We high fived. She gave me the details of her final boss battle, of how she had slipped into the depths of despair, but decided to give it 'one more try.' I got the blow by blow account of spells used, of tactics employed. And then I simply bathed in the radiance of her triumph.

"My life may be in the shitter," she said, "but I beat Puzzle Quest."

I nodded sagely at her battlefield philosophy. And reflected:

Puzzle Quest was the best nineteen bucks I ever spent.

Monsters and Old Heroes

Ah, comics. I realize I haven't reviewed any in a long time. That's down mainly to not having anything really significant to say. Not that that has ever stopped me before.



I only read B.P.R.D now in trades, since I really am trying to cut out monthly books altogether. (Insert laughter here.) I just finished this one mere minutes ago, and it was just superb. I enjoyed the previous collection--Garden of Souls--but this time around it was nigh all out action, with buckets of gore, two monsters, and the death of a main character. There is such a deep and wonderfully dark mythology with Mignola's universe, both here and in Hellboy, and after years of reading and re-reading it, I think I'm getting a solid handle on it. Until the next trade, that is.

As well, this one has the Wendigo, which still creeps me out. Ever go for a walk in a forest at night, with a full moon beaming down through the branches, and have someone tell you that particular Native American legend? Trust me--don't.



Another fine, fine issue. The Dredd story this time around--Road Stop-- has our 70 year old Judge babysitting a bunch of citizens in a hotel while a rad-storm rages outside. Unfortunately, the hotel is run by two creeps who butcher their guests to feed some monster in the basement. Oh, and evil mutants have arrived to kill everyone. And did I mention the rad-storm has knocked out communications, so Dredd is on his own? Awesome. The other stories in the prog--Savage, Dead Eyes, The Ten Seconders, and Dead Signal--are also high quality, no frackin' nonsense science fiction. The Ten Seconders really stands out--it's a post apocalyptic world where 'gods' rule the earth (essentially superheroes), with a collection of men and women doing their best to kill them off. (They're called 'the ten seconders' since that's usually how long they last fighting a god.). Just brutal stuff. And maybe it says too much about me that I love it. Maybe my mommy didn't love me. Sniff.



I love Golden Age heroes. I love the pulps. So I'm currently enjoying the hell out of this series. I admit that I at first thought this series was a homage to the Golden Age, and that these were characters created by Alex Ross and Jim Kreuger. But no--these are characters from lesser known comics from the GA, heroes I honestly had never heard of. To which I say: God bless Wikipedia.

This issue seemed a little stilted, though, since Ross and Kreuger are trying to juggle a lot of narrative shiny balls here--pushing forward the storyline, while introducing the small army of old time heroes. This time we get to see The Death Defying 'Devil (who actually used to be called Daredevil, but they've removed the 'Dare', added a ', and probably saved themselves a call from Marvel Legal)and the Flame, who doesn't do much but whine about his girlfriend and set fire to the Hollywood sign. We also meet Samson (is he the original?) and the Scarab, who reminds me a lot of the current take on Blue Beetle. And did you know that Patricia Highsmith, who wrote The Talented Mr. Ripley, used to write The Black Terror back in the Forties? Love to Wiki again!

Those Moments That Make You Realize Who You Are

I have played nearly twenty hours of Pokemon Diamond.

Jim Dandy's On Fire!

My word! The mad genius over at Jim Dandy Goodness is writing up a hella storm these days. In order to stop his attempt to take over the entire Innnernet with his dangerous thoughts and plans, I must do my bit.

So here goes.

I'm laying on my couch, in my usual Wednesday evening middle aged haze. Thinking of how I really blew my chance with Lisa back in 1983 backstage in Theatre Arts, and how things would be so different now if I'd only worn Old Spice that day.

Then Indiana Jones and The Temple of Doom appears on my TV. And I remember: what a terrible film. Then I realized that of the Indiana Jones trilogy, I only really liked the first one. And now here I was, getting excited about this Crystal Kingdom thing. Even though it has that annoying kid from that Transformers film that I also hated.

Then I see Short Round. I feel myself start to bleed inside, an old wound reopening.

At that point Vulcan Ninja enters the room. She stares at the screen. She has never seen Temple of Doom. She was too busy smoking , listening to Iron Maiden, and being a hot chick back then.

"Oh my God," she says, staring at the antics and hilarity that is Short Round. "It's fucking Jar Jar."

I looked at her with more awe than usual.

What I'll Be Reading This Weekend

Came home to find this in my mailbox--and not only was it signed, but it was personalized! To me! Squeee!

I'm a few chapters in already, and I'm enjoying it quite a bit. You can check it out here for free, since Cory makes all of his books available this way. But it won't be signed. Or personalized, with your name and everything.

Squeee redux!

Holy Places

The Wednesday afternoon rain fell gently against the neon sign of the comic book store. I walked in, said hi to the young guy behind the counter. I say 'young', even though he must be pushing thirty. It was four in the afternoon, and it was Comic Book Wednesday. The books weren't free, but they were new, which is almost as good.

I walked back to glance at the New Releases. Ahead of me was another man, quietly going through the racks, studiously examining the covers, occasionally picking one up to flip through it. Another man--bald, with well polished glasses, had walked around to the other side, where the alternative press books could be found. I stood beside him, seeing what was new in the world of Not Marvel and Not DC.

I think a few minutes must have passed when it hit me.

It was so quiet.

I glanced at the two other browsers. Both were roughly in their early thirties, and even though no one said anything, I could tell this was something both of them had looked forward to--just like me. It was in the slow way they moved their eyes from book to book, just taking their time, relishing the surprise of seeing what was new this week. And I just let myself take a memory photo of the moment: a quiet comic book store, rain falling against the window, the shuuush of cars heard driving past on the wet pavement through the store's open door, the gleam of pristine books, fresh from the shipping boxes, and the lifelong anticipation of enjoying impossible adventures on a printed page.

I picked up a couple books, along with the other oldsters. At the till, I made a comment about the Iron Man film--of how you have to stay until the end to see the Samuel L. Jackson cameo as Nick Fury. Then the bald man with the glasses came up and joined in the conversation, of how this would also be used in the Hulk film, and in the upcoming Captain American and Thor films, leading up to an Avengers film.

We all laughed and geeked out at that. Then we chatted a bit about a Justice League film, and I offered that with our luck, it would be the Detroit Justice League they'd go with, Hollywood sticking us with Vibe and Gypsy. A few minutes later, I said goodbye, and headed back out into the rain, my books held tight against my chest, feeling thirty years younger, if only for a few moments.

Antidote For A Crappy Monday

Metal Queen

So Vulcan Ninja survived going to see Megadeth on her own. I realize there are some of you who may question my Husband Skills by not accompanying her. To which I respond: if she thought I was only going to 'keep her safe', she would break my jaw. While I learned to fight on the hard streets of Delaware, she has been taught jujitsu, American Kenpo, Russian systema, knife fighting, and Sinanju by the world's best. Nuff said.

And she got to use it. Apparently, a very inebriated young man at the concert thought it would be amusing to grab her from behind. The poor, poor bastard.

Free Comic Book Day was a success. I made the rounds yesterday, seeing the usual crowds of happy comic book fans alongside the usual slimy fuckers who want to take everything that they can simply because they can, bored dads trying to get out of the stores before their kids want something they'd have to pay for, the occasional geek goddesses drawing the eyes and imminent fantasies of all those around, the tired smiles of fatigued store staff, all fed with an undercurrent of joy.

Coming home, I then retired to the Comic Room, and spent a glorious half hour bagging and boarding a small pile of loose comics. Yeah, I enjoy doing that. Gives me time to reflect on a lot of the books from the last year or so. My thoughts, in bullet form:

--Even though it ran a bit too long, The Sinestro War was quite enjoyable.

--It's ridiculous that DC no longer has the rights to 'Superboy', but have to call him the idiotic Superman Prime.

--I'm not finding the Millar run on Fantastic Four to all that fantastic. I much more enjoyed Dwayne McDuffie's run, who didn't feel the need to borrow as heavily from the Ultimate FF as Millar does. And McDuffie wasn't as arrogant as Millar has been, boasting that he's going to make FF a top seller while many others could not.

--Blue Beetle is a gem.

--2000 AD is easily the greatest comic currently being produced. The stories are dark, intelligent, with art that is always intriguing. The fact that the editors are able to throw together so many different stories each week that are always of such high quality must make their American counterparts cringe.

--I'm intrigued by Final Crisis. I'm sure that will change. I'm not crazy about Barry Allen returning, and I'm not looking forward to what DC has in mind to 'clean up' the three different Legions running around. I'm just enjoying Jim Shooter's superb run on the current Legion book, and pray to the comic gods that DC has the sense to keep him around.