Final Crisis, Final Straw

Okay, so I read the final issue of Final Crisis. And I have to say...I did not really enjoy it. In fact, I feel a bit ripped off. You see, I only read Final Crisis. I did not read the many and various tie in books, because I'm of the mind that a tie in book should not be essential to reading a series.

You could read Crisis On Infinite Earths alone and understand it. You could read Secret Wars on its own and fully understand how crappy it was. But if you didn't read every single tie in to Final Crisis, then the main series reads like a collection of unrelated scenes and ideas. Yes, the ideas are very good, and there is a feeling of something really cool going on, but that's it.

I've been told that if you read every single related book, you can see how wonderful Grant Morrison's Final Crisis truly is. But I'll have to take their word for it. After nearly 40 years of reading DC Comics, I am truly galled by their actions. I've thought they've screwed fans over before, but to ask readers to buy not only seven (often late) books, but to shell out for even more to understand the original seven, is reprehensible.

Why couldn't these essential tie-ins be a part of the ongoing Final Crisis series itself? Why insist that FC be seven issues, when it clearly needed to be at least 22 to be understood? Why couldn't DC even print a 'Please read these titles before the next issue of Final Crisis? at the back of the FC issues?

If there's any silver lining to this series for me, it's that I like the current physical state of the DC Universe. My fears regarding the multiverse disappearing because it's an editorial headache are, for now, at ease.

But the feeling of being cheated, of having DC pull some of their laziest and shoddiest tricks yet, that's still there. In an industry that is being gutted by downloads and growing disinterest, DC continues to show how best to hurry along their own extinction.

Where I Get My Fashion Tips

The money I save not subscribing to GQ, I can't tell you...

I Meant To Be More Cultural Today, Really.

Weekends are like the carrot held before my donkey self. I plod through the week, dreaming of these glorious forty eight hours. Yet when they arrive, the physics of the universe changes, Time merges with the Speed Force, and suddenly it's almost 6 p.m. on Sunday night. I realize with a dread mixed with horror that I have done nothing that I planned to do on the previous Monday (finish writing my novel, sell a screenplay, finish all my video games, catalogue my comics collection, write a scathing letter to Dan Didio, get my third degree black belt in a martial art I made up myself, and D-swap into a dimension where the Star Wars films are now on their 15th film, with each one getting better and better.)

So what have I done? I've read too many Avengers comics. Dark Avengers, Mighty Avengers, Avengers The Initiative, and Thunderbolts, which is really an Avengers book but they just got the letters wrong in the title.
Hank Pym is the new Wasp? Oookay.


The Scarlet Witch is back? Really, I didn't miss her and her hairspray. You didn't really have to bring her back on my account.


The internet word for masturbation is now being used as a sound affect? Well, about time.


I also started reading this:

It's not actually not bad. So far, it seems to be written with comic book and D and D nerds in mind, and has been a little more hardcore than I expected. When I'd heard it had been made into a Sci-Fi channel TV show, I feared that it would have been totally

but twas not the case.

And yes, I had intended to be more cultural this weekend. Last night, I made plans to go and see Rachel Getting Married because a) I want to support the Hyland Theatre
b) I want to feel I have some grain of artistic appreciation for aht films still left in me


and c) I simply enjoy staring slack jawed at Anne Hathaway.

But twas not to be. Instead I decided to read a gaming manual for my Dungeons and Dragons group, hone up on my grapple skills and Detect Magic rules set.

Story of my life, really. Forsaking babes for nerds.

There Is Hope For The Future

Just when I was about to tar paper the windows, slip my wine bottle into my housecoat and shuffle off into oblivion, I see that there is still hope for the future.

And no, I'm not talking about Obama.

I'm talking about this:




If kids are still rocking to YYZ, then there is still hope.

Hope for us all.

(God bless BoingBoing for the link)

Have You Had A Shitty Day?

God knows I did. So instead of drinking the Cutty Sark straight from the bottle, I just hit Play below.





Okay, feeling much better now.

Who Tavern

And so this year's first Who Tavern came and went without the usual tasering and tear gas. The assorted Tavernites gathered at Chaucer's, and quickly went to work debating the question we'd had months to come to grips with: Is there anything worthwhile to say about Timelash? Oddly enough, there was much good to be found in it, which will no doubt make London Tavern an outcast among the other Who tribes around the globe.

Good friends, good talk, and a few good drinks. Can't really ask for a better Saturday night.

Vodka Stat! E.R. Just Took A Steaming Crap In My Head!

Now, I'll be frank--I don't really watch E.R.. Even though she knows she shouldn't, Vulcan Ninja makes herself sit down and watch every episode, purely because she has watched it for the last 14 years and wants to see it through to the bitter end. Gone are the days when George Clooney could make her heart sing and guarantee me a swift tackle into bed as the credits rolled. Now E.R. has become the television equivalent of The Great Lakes Avengers, and only the dedicated and masochistic remain.

I generally ignore the show when it's on. I only glance up from my book when Parminder Nagra appears on screen, since I've been carrying a succession of torches for her since Bend It Like Beckham, and she can treat my third degree burns anyday. And since last night's ep focused on Ms. Nagra, I finally put my book down and watched the entire damnable thing.

God, was it terrible.

With the show being finally taken out back and shot this year, you would think they would be producing the final shows with the sort of care a craftsman would impart on his final creation before his eyesight and hands fail. You would think that--at the very least--they would move the story. But no--last night was the equivalent of a condemned prisoner masturbating to a Bazooka Joe comic he found on the cell floor.



The premise of the episode was that Parminder's character--Neela Rosgotra--would dream three different versions of the same day. Yes, you heard me right--she was going to dream the show.



So Neela first dreamed that she got up and went to work. And then bad things happened. People died. Neela didn't go to a job interview. And Neela wasn't nice. Then she woke up again, and we got to live THE SAME DAY again--although this time Neela was a little more nice. She talked to geeks on an elevator and learned philosophy, because, you know, philosophy lets you figure things out.



Like how things can be really different and stuff, if, you know, different things kinda happen. Isn't that freaky? It's like it's so weird when you think about it?

So then we get to see Neela wake up a third time, and this time things are kinda different again...ON THE SAME DAY. And then the show ends with...wait for it...Neela waking up, but this time for real. The show ends. And then it dawns on the few remaining viewers left that never has nothing ever happened in a show like it did here. Nothing happened. If you want to get picky, Neela may have farted in her sleep. That is the sole progressive point of the entire episode, and even the passing of bodily gas is pure fanfic speculation.

Vulcan Ninja sighed, and shook her head. She went to bed, alone.

This just in--NBC cancelling all ten o'clock dramas. I wonder why in fuck they'd do that?

When Guitar Solos and Jordache Jeans Ruled The World

I'm assuming David isn't being ironic ( a dangerous assumption, but it's Wednesday, and I live for danger on Wednesdays) and truly does wish we could TARDIS back to a simpler time. I too remember the joy of being accepted at Western (which now is Number Three in my ongoing list of Just Where In Fuck Everything Went Wrong), just as I remember thinking April Wine was the greatest rock band ever. And I mean, ever.

First concert I ever saw was April Wine at the London Gardens. Streetheart opened up

,

along with Harlequin.

I didn't know what one wore to a concert, so I wore my best slacks, a dressy blue shirt and a tie. I received stares. Since no one--including David--would go with me, I went alone. I remember being horrified at all the pot smoke, and was terrified I would lose brain cells and become a stoner.

But as the music started, I thought I must be at the centre of the universe of all things cool. Great music. Real rock and roll stars. And women wearing the tightest Jordache jeans ever. All I needed was to meet someone who looked like Bailey from W.K.R.P. and French kiss her, and I could die a happy fourteen year old.



Good times. Magic times. Now all, sadly, gone.

But I would still French kiss Bailey. Even now. Screw Time--some hotness never fades.

2:00 a.m, Alone With A Camera

This is what I get up to late at night, when I really should be sound asleep.



I also build homages to Robert E. Howard:



And I posit who I think should be the next Doctor:

Life's Great Questions...Answered!

So I woke up this morning, and suddenly found myself wondering:

Just what in hell does chocolate Japanese beer and Japanese Cheetos taste like?

I went downstairs and asked Vulcan Ninja. She knows a lot of stuff, but she really didn't know that. Becoming desperate, I then went onto the Interwebs and wondered if possibly somewhere--maybe Japan--someone would have wondered the same thing.



I love the Interwebs. I really do.

If You Live In London, You Know You're Fucked If...

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1. You don't have a Cash For Life job.

2. You are not a hockey fan.

3. You don't like New Country music, John Tesh, or the greatest hits of the Seventies, Eighties and Nineties.

4. You don't like your politics the way you like your women: simple, direct, and quick to reinforce your own prejudices.

5. You don't simply go home each night and pick one of the following forms of cranial oblivion: 1)drinking copious amounts of alcohol and/or 2)watching reality TV shows interspersed with laugh-tracked situation comedies.

6. You like to read books that aren't made into movies.

7. You want to meet a mate who can hold a conversation without referencing Oprah or Doctor Phil within three minutes.

8. You enjoy local radio that challenges and informs, instead of just providing the same warm aural pablum that it provided the day before, changing only to reflect the seasons or a media supported, business friendly sporting event.

9. You like a newspaper that believes in and supports its community, and not a faded idea of one that never really once approached reality in the first place.

10. You find yourself venting on a blog more often than you should, screaming into the electronic wind because it seems the only sane thing to do on a cold Wednesday night.

The Offspring FTW!

Man, I was the nerdiest Offspring fan Back In The Alleged Day. I mean, I was huge. How huge, you ask?

When I found two kittens seven years ago, I named one after Noodles (the lead guitarist) and one after Dexter Holland (the lead singer). After a few days, I realized that 'Noodles' was no name for such a majestic cat and quickly changed it to something more fitting--Julius.

Dexter, though, remained Dexter.

So today, when people meet my cat, they always go, "Ooooh, he's called Dexter after that TV show, right?"

And I say, "No. He's called Dexter after the amazing fucking Dexter Holland."

And that usually ends the conversation right there, oddly enough...

Reason 112

The most awesome gift this year?

My sister bought Vulcan Ninja the last book in the Twilight series.

Vulcan Ninja does not have any of the previous three.

My sister's response? "Oh."

I suggested this great movie she should see: Return of The King. "Whatever," she laughed.

Vulcan Ninja refuses to buy any of the other books,and has said she'll just read the one she has.

"Fuck it," she said.

Reason One Hundred and Twelve of why I love her.

2009--The Year of Failing Gloriously

Well, while Jim Dandy has decided to be more 'positive' this year, I thought I'd sit down and reflect on what I want my 2009 to be like. What did 2008 teach me? What lessons have I learned? How close have I come to realizing my dreams? What am I doing wrong? What--if anything--am I doing right?

And it came to me that all of my plans and machinations have come to naught. I have not played Dungeons and Dragons with Tina Fey. I have not had breakfast with Emma Thompson, let alone written a screenplay for a Elizabeth Bennent/Flashman crossover. So obviously I have erred. But where?

So I've decided to stop trying to succeed. Instead, I want 2009 to be the Year of Failing Gloriously. I want to create things no one likes, follow passions no one understands, and become an expert on subjects no one has ever heard of before. In short, I want to take my geekness to a new level. An advanced uber level of nerdiness. And by doing so, perhaps back into a sort of greatness that will only be appreciated by those who are similarly damned, comparatively doomed, and gloriously cut from the same irregular cloth.

So, to that end, I spent last night drawing Sonic The Hedgehog, while watching--in Japanese--Godzilla Mothra King Ghidorah All Out Monster Attack.



And what better video to inspire me than this? A video that must have horrified the record company that paid for it, that has been buried deep in the vaults of YouTube, and one that bespeaks of either genius or massive drug intake. And yet, for all that, it shines. Oh, how it shines.

The Most Uncanny Thing About The New Doctor...

...isn't how young he is (26, making him the youngest actor ever cast in the role). Nor is it his interesting emo haircut. It is, without a doubt, how much he reminds me of our friend David Southwell.

The looks, his mannerisms, his way of speaking....My God. It's like a younger, more hair gel loving version of England's greatest dreamer.

What Little I've Done

I've been tagged by this neer-do-well to list all the jobs I've ever had. In my 43 years on this planet, what have I done? Well, lessee:

-public school custodian

-columnist for the London Free Press

-freelance writer for various newspapers

-conspiracy book author

-radio disc jockey

-game content writer

-comics reviewer for Wizard Magazine

-dishwasher

-bookstore employee

-welder's assistant

-camp counselor

-program coordinator for inner city kids' safehouse


There.

It's up to you now, CL and Sonny.