squidbag

Legacy Heroes

If you are not a fanboy, you probably do not know this.

The comic book superheroes you know and love?  Not always the same people under the mask.  Sometimes there's a death, a retirement or a disappearance, and someone else is inspired to take up the mantle of the recently departed hero.  If you saw Watchmen, you saw this in the cases of Nite Owl and the Silk Spectre.  DC's the king of this, with more Flashes than you can supersonically shake a stick at, and 7200 (no, really) Green Lanterns.  Even Batman's someone new under the cowl these days, and half of the JSA is made up of what we call "legacy heroes," people like Dr. Mid-Nite, Mr. Terrific, Johnny Thunder, & Hourman, who incidentally, has one of the best porn names in comics, falling just under Iron Fist on the big list.

For a lot of characters, this doesn't work.  No one else is Superman, for instance.  You can have Supergirl and Power Girl and Krypto the Super-Dog, but Superman is Kal-el, the last survivor of Krypton, raised by simple Kansas farmers, and with a boy scout attitude, for the most part.  No one else is Thor, the God of Thunder, for obvious reasons.  No one else is the Hulk, though you can see the messy raw meat train wreck of what happens when someone tries that one currently in Jeph Loeb's Hulk, which makes most of us remember when Loeb used to be consistent.  No one else is the Punisher...unless they have a near-identical backstory, which is how they're making this work currently with Batman and Captain America.  Batman was recently apparently killed during DC's latest universe-changing Summer crossover, which I did not follow.  They are already intimating that he might not really be dead (duh) and in the interim, Dick Grayson, the original Robin and up-until-recently-current Nightwing, is functioning as Batman, thanks to the capable stylings of Grant Morrison, who is a plotting genius.  This works.  Why?  Near-identical backstory.

Batman's parents were murdered randomly, and he dedicated his life to protecting others from his fate.  You know all of this.  Grayson's parents are similarly somewhat randomly murdered by criminals, and he is adopted thereafter by Batman.  So - same training (obviously), same motivations, same (shared) experiences.  Grayson can be Batman, though not permanently.  Wayne does have a personality, after all, and people will miss it.  I don't know how long they'll do this thing; I don't read Batman religiously like I do Captain America.

Two years ago, Marvel killed off Cap in a courthouse steps, orchestrated by the Red Skull, in front of a big crowd, assassination on TV.  Since then, they've had Cap's former partner from the war, Bucky, growing into and filling the role of Cap.  And he's good, he does a good job.  Again, this works because of the background thing - both saw WWII, both are patriots up to a point, both come from a background of work and perseverance.  However, one of the reasons this is interesting and will continue to be is because of the difference - Buck saw action as the Winter Soldier, and his ethic in terms of force has always been a bit different.  Also - he doesn't seem to have the natural leader thing going for him that Steve Rogers did.  So this preps you for what they're doing now; Captain America Reborn, wherein we find out that Rogers was made to become "unstuck in time" and still lives, passing between his past selves.  If this sounds dicey to you, well - I'm waiting to see if they'll be able to pull it off.

Happy Independence Day, everyone!

Wolverine: Origins

I gotta say: Meh.

I think that this is the first X-Men movie (though the last one reflected a transitional phase for the franchise) for the generation of comics fans that came after me.  Possibly even the generation that came after them.  The point is, I'm old.  I knew that watching the previews for the Transformers sequel (Turturro must be seriously hurting for money) and for Terminator: Salvation - I was actually irritably bored.  Hurry the fuck up, I have zero interest in these obviously flushable movies.  I give two fifths of an airborne fuck about Shia getting psychic messages from Cybertron, Megatron, or the Uniflate 1000, and Christian Bale calling dystopia to morning prayers.  Fuck you and your detail-ridden previews, without which idiot sheep America wouldn't go to your shitty movies, because they're part of what screwed this viewing experience up for me in the 1st place.

I knew too much.  I knew EVERYTHING about this movie.  This may be where my fanboy status plays against me, but there were no twists, no plot jumps, no surprises, and a large part of that was from the damn previews.  I had already seen Blob, Emma Frost, Cyclops, Gambit, Wraith and Sabretooth, along with most of the major set pieces (save one) and the entire opening credits sequence before I ever threw down my nine bucks.  So what saves a comic movie when you already know everything?  Good acting, tight direction and a solid story.  Solid story?  I can't judge.  I know the ins and outs of this story like nobody's business and am no longer qualified to judge this version based solely on its relative merits.  I don't think Wolverine's as interesting when he has an origin anyway - I preferred him shrouded in mystery, unpredictable and with a dark past. 

I will say that as a plot device, adamantium bullets are bullshit.  From a narrative standpoint, they turn Wolvie into the boogeyman or something, on par with vampires and werewolves, something that can be defeated with the right plot device as a tool.  And if you'll permit me to push up my glasses for a moment, wouldn't you need an adamantium gun to fire adamantium bullets?  With an adamantium firing pin and trigger mechanism?  Comics don't do shit like that anymore.  Adamantium bullets are on par with the Beyonder and the Ultimate Nullifier.  They are teh suck.

The movie was directed like a video game, so make your judgments as ye may.  As far as acting goes, there are some moments that flat do not work (which actually may be the fault of the writing, I can never tell), but most do.  Those moments are too short, though, as is most everything in this movie, because there's too much in it, and correct me if I'm wrong, Kappelmeister, but the ear can only hear so many notes in the course of one evening?  Seriously, though, everything in this is clipped to within an inch of it's life, on-screen just long enough to push the movie forward - unless it's an action set piece, that is.  A horrifying act will be onscreen for half the time as the bar fight that takes place to avenge it.  And some of these action scenes are pretty.  Most are kind of ridiculous - you just don't care that these people can do these things, because the whole movie works to make them all feel expendable.  Adding in the fact that this is a prequel to movies virtually everyone has seen - you know who lives and who dies anyway.  With the one "stinger" after the credits exception of someone who seems to do both.  But in kind of a silly way.  I am informed that there is a 2nd "stinger" that sets up a potential sequel.  Yay.

More fanboy problems: When did Cyclops start heating things up with his eyebeams?  They're meant to be beams of force, not light sabers from his eyes.  When did Gambit become arguably the most powerful character in the X-Mythology?  I remember back when Wolverine Lite in his pink and blue costume and trenchcoat was focus-groupped into existence so girls would read more comics, and he was never that interesting.  I'm not even sure if he's in current continuity.  But I know a legion of younger fans clamored for him to be in a movie, and now I hope they shut the fuck up.  Young people don't know dick anyway, all us old bastards know that.  Why are two immortal people bent on trying to kill one another?  That seems a tad pointless, yeah?  What the fuck are the Blob's powers, anyway?  Deadpool's kind of wasted in this, and the swords in the arms thing is just stupid.  I gather he gets a spin-off, though, so we'll see where that goes.  I hope he's not the rip off of the Super Adaptoid he is in this movie, though.

Wait for DVD, if I'm not too much behind the curve to have already stopped you, and even then, unless you're hardcore fanboy extraordinaire, you could probably skip this one.  Magneto: Origins would have been a better movie.

Queer as Cobra

There has been a major outcry over the last couple of months about the casting of Joseph Gordon-Levitt as Cobra Commander in this Summer's forthcoming G.I. Joe film.  This fanboy driven anxiety intensified with the release of the photos of the Cobra Commander action figure, which looks like someone crushed a real movie villian, rolled him in leather and acrylic, and then gave him some completely ridiculous weapons.  When I showed the above linked picture to a guy I work with, his criticism was "that's fucking gay."  While I don't approve of his ignorance-driven pejorative usage of the word, I cannot deny it's appropriateness to the situation.  After all, Cobra has always been pretty gay.

Don't believe me?  Storm Shadow is the only ninja assassin I've ever seen who dresses all in white, apparently since he can only kill people between Memorial and Labor days, and all while looking fabulous.  I mean, black is traditional, and even Elektra's badass enough to have picked red, the color of blood.  But no, Storm Shadow's wearing white, with little wrist wraps and strappy little shoes that offset his weapons accessories.  What about Zartan, the master of disguise?  Here's a guy wearing too much eye makeup and a belly shirt, whose big claim to fame is dressing up.  And he hangs out with the Dreadnoks, who have that Zed / Deliverance vibe, and who all carry giant phallic symbols with them.

What about Destro, with his club drugs around his neck and his fluffy high red collar and shirt open down to there?  That metal mask is what he wears until society accepts his alternate lifestyle.  Tomax and Xamot?  Gay narcissist twin fantasy.  Two words: sleeveless tops.  And Dr. Mindbender?  Leather Daddy.  Come on.  Here's a guy with no shirt, some little silver suspender bands covering his nipples, knee boots, purple pants, and a big Village People shock absorber mustache.  This a gay crew, all the way.  And the biggest queer in the group is Cobra Commander.  Check this out:

Here's a man who favors formal wear and masks, and who hangs out with hot-ass Baroness all day long.  And the Baroness is covered from neck to heels in tight black leather, too.  She's got the glasses for the kind of uptight librarian thing - sexy.  But is he commanding her to do unspeakable things with him in a back room involving snakes and domination?  No.  He's spending his time with Dr. Mindbender, whose real first name is Lance, and who we already know is gay, and their big project is?  Building the perfect man.  A man who they call Serpentor, which could easily be the name of a gay porn star.  Now this sequence of panels makes the Commander look uncomfortable with Serpentor's enthusiastic and shirtless embrace, but I sumbit to you that this is just an internal realignment taking place as a man who calls himself Commander realizes that in a sexual relationship with a man cloned from the DNA of history's great leaders (who will later dress in red, gold and green) he can only ever be a bottom.  'Cause Serpentor's a top.  Has to be that way - c'mon, you knew he was a top, right?

The Cobras reinforced this gay terrorist organization by killing off the unattractive and possibly straight Cobras like Dr. Venom (who was replaced by Lance Mindbender) and Major Bludd, who was replaced by a fabulous settee and some throw pillows.  Now - you could make an argument that the comic and cartoon estblishment of the 1980's dealt the gay community a raw deal when it made Cobra gay - and I'd agree with you.  It was deplorable the way that media tried to associate homosexuality or other so-called "deviant" lifestyles with the faces of evil - Skeletor, Mumm-Ra, Dr. Claw, Gargamel - the list goes on and on.

Next up: What Decepticons really meant when they said they were "Gettin' some Allspark."

Watchmen Movie Thoughts

Yes, I deliberately waited until everyone should have seen it to say anything about it. If you have not by now seen it and this entry screws it up for you, that is your fault, and the Squidbag will not be held responsible.  By having come to this blog, in fact, you absolve me of any legal responsibility for...for anything, really.

Besides, if all you wanted was a review, there are one hundred thousand gibbering movie reviewers out there, screaming like a, well, like an "abattoir full of retarded children" about how "weird" this movie is, or how bad the song cues or dialogue are, or how the action falls off at the end, or all kinds of shit that they believe doesn't work, like the "slavish" word-for-word dialogue re-creation.  Some of them go out of their way to trash the film, and pony up their credentials at the beginning so you'll understand what's invested in their assessment.  These are serious people, they want you to know.  In reality, reviewers are a dime a dozen, (even though you can't get a dozen of anything for a dime anymore, I'm still using that cliche like Gangbusters) and their opinions are frequently influenced not only by their film education (or lack thereof) and their career frustration, but also by their need to stand apart from the ovine herd of other empty-headed mouthpieces shouting in the parking lot after the movie is over.  Yes, there exists a plethora of silly reviewers, but there can be only one Squidbag.  Furthermore, might I just add that anyone who needs a paid total stranger's review of material to determine whether or not they should experience it for themselves is either possessed of an advanced decision making disorder or so little resources that they should just skip movies and stick to books until they learn better.  Yes, I think I might.

Oh yeah, the movie.  In short - I liked it.  Of course I did.  I liked it very much, but it is not perfect, nor is it an ultimate version of this material.  It is not meant to be.  I have come slowly and bitterly to understand that all movies are but an interpretation of their source material, and should be treated as separate products / pieces of art.  The source material from whence this springs is daunting, much beloved and lauded, and two dozen years old, which is ancient in terms of pop culture.  The fact that it has a currency at all is amazing, and a great testament to the comic's influence, craft, and superiority.

You can tell, that even at 2:43, it's got a ton of shit cut out of it.  The Director's Cut will be as long as the minute hand on the Doomsday Clock.

I absolutely loved Jackie Earle Haley's Rorschach.  It wasn't as I pictured / heard him in my head, but his performance captured the essence of the character so well it made the movie for me.  There is a moment in the book that is described to us, but that we do not see, and we see it in the movie.  After the infamous "hot fat" incident, Rorschach turns to the other inmates in the prison cafeteria and says, "None of you understand.  I'm not locked in here with you - you're locked in here with me."  In the movie, he gets punched in the face by a hack between the first and second clauses of the second sentence, and it appears not to faze him at all.  He is something else, something other.  Driven by something we call psychosis because it's outside of our experience and that's the best explanation anyone's yet developed - some sort of brain disorder.  Rorschach is magnificent, and anyone criticizing his lines - delivered or written - is perhaps missing the point.  Rorschach is a little man in a giant, huge, overwhelming world of chaos and evil by his reckoning, and he will do whatever is necessary to become the hard-bitten, tough as nails, force of nature vigilante he thinks he needs to be, not realizing that he already has.  This includes using language in his writings that Mickey Spillane would have been a little put off by.

Ozymandias came off like David Spade's older gay brother, looking to take over the world.  I hate him in the comic, and I hate him here.  He's the asshole with a point.  The egotistical motherfucker who is, in fact, smarter than you are, and who you hope gets a mouthful of shit someday, shortly before aspirating his own teeth.  In this, he is excellent well played.

I actually liked the way the Silk Spectre / Nite Owl romance played out better, inasmuch as it was more playful and obvious and fun to watch.  Both characters seem so standard next to the psycho lone nut, godlike blue nudist, mad preening pseudo-hero and rapist thug they must play against, and while I love reading them, they are pretty much the least interesting two characters in Watchmen.  Here, they are given new life, more emotions, murderous rampages, and sexy banter.  Too much?  Ehh.  And yes, I actually liked the last line of "as long as they think Jon's watching over us," because I take it in a kind of threatening, Damocles way - he'll smack us down if we fuck up - and not like little old throne Jehovah with the beard.  More elder god style, but without the superfluous appendages.  Or pants.

We are all of us living in the shadow of Manhattan.  Or at least, the shadow of Little Manhattan, the sight of which shall surely influence a generational legion of moviegoers who will think a movie is incomplete without a glowing blue dong.  Every movie is a formative experience for someone, remember.  I did very much like the way Manhattan was played, his detachment something he is aware of, but only in a tangential way, not something experiential from his POV.  Also, it is the only thing, seemingly, that he is powerless to affect.  Billy Crudup did a great job of bringing humanity to someone often considered to be devoid of it by those who miss the point.  Best part - fifty-foot Doc smashing through the roof of Karnak, apparently being scary just because he can be.

The Comedian is rude, crude, cynical, smart without being intelligent, nasty, violent, misogynist, plotting and as thoroughly fucking evil as a character can be.  And he is done and done well in the movie.  His death is one of the fight scenes that is extended, and gives you more of an idea of who he was, and what it took to actually kill someone like him.  The flashback scenes of him are spot-on, and putting him in Dealey, 1963 is a stroke of cleverness that would be unendurable if it lasted any longer than it does.

Set aside time and go see it.  Whether you like it or not, you will regret having missed it.  I saw it at midnight opening, so I didn't get home 'til four.  Lots of goth kids were there, in and among the old geeks.  Old geeks get a weird respect in such an assemblage, as long as we don't speak until spoken to.  Someone brought a "The End Is Nigh" sign to my viewing, which was excellent.

Hurm.

Watchmen: History, Etc.

For a few years every Summer, I would take a trip to Destin, Florida with my aunt, a female cousin, and my grandparents.  We stayed in a condominium that was either a timeshare, real estate investment or a tax write-off, I honestly couldn't say.  Everyone but me on these trips was a staunch Church of Christ person, so the fun was all wholesome.  Board games and movies and mini golf and airbrushed shirts, trips to the beach and smelling like chlorine for a week as you snacked on cold cuts and skim milk at the counter sitting on wicker everything and slept on a pad on the floor listening to people snore over your headphones and occasionally hearing the waves breaking against the beach not so far away.  Occasionally, I would sneak out, but there wasn't much to be had of Destin in the mid-eighties.  The clearest sky in my young world, and one girl, once.

In the summer of 1987, I showed up with two new books ensconsed in my luggage.  One was the Hitchhiker's Omnibus, all (at the time) three Hitchhiker's books by Douglas Adams, and the other was Watchmen, by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons.  I was twelve years old, bored, and in Florida with revolutionary reading material.  That week in 1987 I bent my brain slightly.  Brains have memory, of course, and once bent, don't ever quite go back like they were.  LIke a lot of people, what I gleaned from my copy of Watchmen was a deeper understanding of comics history (thanks to the additional Charlton Comics material in the back), and a different expectation of what my comics ought to be like.  Thanks to Moore and Gibbons, I came to expect a little nihilism, frailty, and ego in my heroes.  I also became more discriminating about the artwork in my books, wanting everything to be as clean and detailed as Dave Gibbons drew it.  I also concluded then that Alan Moore was a genius.  (Only later would I qualify this, as you'll see.)  In short, Moore and Gibbons (along with Frank Miller's Dark Knight & Year One, and Claremont's X-Men) changed everything in terms of the literature that I was interested in.  Watchmen is a magnum opus in twelve issues, and the only comics that I've read that equal it (Ennis' Preacher, Ellis' Transmetropolitan among others) take five times that number of issues to accomplish.  Watchmen is so compact, so self-contained.  So round, so firm, so fully packed.  There are, I would argue, better hero comics than Watchmen, but they are subsequent to Watchmen's creation, and so therefore necessarily live in "the shadow of Manhattan," so to speak.

I have read Watchmen once a year since 1987.  At least.  So at bare minimum, I have been through the story twenty-two times.  While it's not fair to say that I notice something new every time I read it, I can say that I tend to read it a different way each time, and the book is strong enough to support that.  You can give weight to or completely disregard the Tales of the Black Freighter story, or the supplemental material - though both add depth.  You can read it as though any one of the main characters is central to the story, and it can be read as a straight superhero tale, or deconstructionist metaphor.  I have purchased four copies - the individual issues, a paperback which is now lost to the ages, a hardback slipcover version, and a second set of the individual issues which I eventually gave away.  I know I have bought at least ten copies of this for others.

I learned to do my own laundry because my dad egregiously shrunk my Watchmen T-shirt, which bore the above design.  I wore an unblemished happy face button because my friend thought it was as ironic on my lapel as it was Eddie Blake's.  Because of Rorschach, I was compelled not only to find out more about the man who developed the ink blot test, but also to seek out and read Ditko's Question, who then became one of my favorite comic book heroes.  I read Blue Beetle because of Nite Owl, and collected comics edited by Joe Orlando because of Black Freighter.  I got a biography of Einstein because of the "watchmaker" comments, and bought music I might not otherwise have paid any attention to because of the references in the book.  I learned about Kitty Genovese from it.  Watchmen was a door into a lot of other knowledge and entertainment.

The movie comes out next week, and I have every confidence, based on what I have read from Zack Snyder and seen in the excellent previews, that it will be visually stunning and capture the essence of the world of alternate 1985, where Nixon is President and the fate of the world rests in the hands of madmen.  There's already stuff I see and hear that's not exactly like what I expected - but you have to roll with that.  Mos Def was a great Ford Prefect, and I didn't see that coming either.  If they screw it up, there will be no second chances.  There is no Watchmen II, no second act, or forty years of comics stories from which to pick and choose.  There's just this one solid 12-issue arc.  When I go the movies on the 6th (or more likely, midnight on the 5th) it will be one more chapter in comics fandom for me, but I recognize it as another opportunity for comics as a whole.  I hope that the movie is good enough that more people read the graphic novel and segue from there into other works by Moore and Gibbons, and also into great works by others.  We fanboys always hope that this next one will be the one that legitimizes the art form, that makes it more available and widespread.

I hold my breath until the sixth.  Hurm.

Miasma

Ups and fucking downs.  I've had worse collections of days.  I've had better ones, too, but this particular set needs to be gotten down somewhere and this is as good a place as any.  At this point, I don't remember much from last Monday, other than to tell you that I was glad the Steelers had won the Super Bowl, and that my chili tasted better than perhaps it ever has.  So - that was a high point, yeah?  The only thing I can say for certain is that I was tired enough that I came home and did a layout job for a family friend and went to bed with no TV or reading.  That's tired.

Tuesday: While at work on a fairly busy day, one of my employees stabs another at about 3pm with an X-Acto knife in the hand causing an open wound (you could see tendons and stuff) requiring four stitches.  This happened while both parties were fucking around instead of working, and led to a huge loss in productivity and arguments about insurance with measly pricks named Chip.  After ending my day like this, I come home to find that my wife's school had multiple fights which required police intervention and ultimately, arrests.  During a phone call with my mom, my daughter throws up all over me.  While trying to wrangle her vomit, clothing and self into something like a bath, a glass is broken which later cuts my son's foot.  I am up until 2 AM dealing with sick child.  The foot bleeds a little, but is largely unharmed.

Wednesday: Continued fallout from stabbing incident mars morning, conversations ensue.  Another employee injures himself in the leg with an improperly stored blade.  Work progresses at a dead run as I must leave at one so C can attend an afternoon meeting.  I spend my afternoon reading books, pouring drinks, and changing diapers.  While Abby watches TV, I gather the sickbed laundry, do dishes, and tidy up.  I pick up Max and eat the world's worst chicken sandwich at Ruby Tuesday's, while simultaneously recieving comment from waitstaff about having "the best behaved children ever."

Thursday:  Note from Max's teacher upsets morning.  A progress report in his backpack seems to indicate a major slippage in work and application since January's report card.  It suggests all kinds of things which upset me and C.  I draft a quick but concerned note back to the teacher and send all on their way.  I destroy two co-workers at lunchtime trivia after pouring my heart out to them about what I expect will be a troublesome weekend.  Evening contains failed attempts to procure costume items and bad food at Davis-Kidd bistro.  I swing by and pick up a stack of old comics from the Guys, (also chatting about the various potentials of the coming weekend) which contains many randomly nostalgic items, including my old transistor radio.  That night I am up sick with the vomiting from 2:30 in the morning until 4.

Friday: I am locked out of my apartment by my two-year-old.  She closes and locks the door while my keys are hanging inside.  After 20 minutes, I give up on doing this the right way (waiting for the security guy with keys) and pop my lock with a slotted screwdriver in seconds.  We go in and find keys, and I take my son who is dressed as Harry Potter to school, where he must be signed in because he is late.  I walk him to class where his teacher, clad as Laura Ingalls, tells me that she had another child in mind when she wrote the upsetting note, and that I should disregard it.  (I should perhaps mention here that Max's school is in the midst of Read-A-Thon, where kids read as much as they can and get points and raise money for the school.  The costumes were a part of that ongoing event.)  I get to work late to find the empty threat of a lawsuit in my email.  This is quickly dealt with (20 minutes spent on a carefully crafted response) and the rest of the morning passes without incident.

I did my "invisible phone" gag at the bank, and no one said a word. 

I pick Abby up from school and pay the day care, and we head home into a swirl of packing.  The four of us leave sometime after six to drive to Birmingham, where we check into the Medical Center Inn for a night of relative rest.  I am now dealing with phase two of the sickness using Mucinex D, (which is available without ID and forms in Alabama, so I took the opportunity to start my own meth lab) Aleve, and Sudafed.  I fall asleep around 11:30 or so.

Saturday:  We awaken in our hotel room, the kids having arisen at 6:50.  Cartoons are watched, snacks are had, showers taken, coffee consumed.  After contacting my mother-in-law, a fun trip through the city of Birmingham is had as we become lost trying to find this charming bakery.  Once found, delicious pastries and cookies are consumed as a cavalcade of dogs passes by.  (Matt and Cayce - go here when in Birmingham!) 

We meet up with Carolyn and go see Vulcan, the second largest statue of its kind in the United States and a monument to Birmingham's rich manufacturing heritage.  We spent some time in the museum and rode the glass elevator up the eleven stories to the observation deck.  Vulcan is way cool, though the history of the statue is nearly cooler than the statue himself.  His ass is bare, though,which is amusing.  Also, I kept making the same joke: "How long have we been looking at this Vulcan statue?"  "Does it have to be so Vulcan high?"  Hilarious.  We parted ways with Carolyn then, and got some Gus's hot dogs.  If you ever get a chance to have a Gus's chili dog, I will say that his chili recipe is perfect for dogs - not a lot of extras, good flavor.

After Gus's in the car, we went to Birmingham's Civil Rights museum.  It is awesome, in the old-school sense of the word before it was corrupted by generations of ignorant children and admen.  In the pre-"hundred million hot dogs" sense.  I could have spent forever there.  From the origins of Birmingham as a city to the election of Mayor Arrington, the whole institute is a treat for all the senses, and a mind-numbing experience that makes point after point about racism and humanity's ridiculousness over and over again without becoming tiresome, but often being deliberately overwhelming.  I thoroughly enjoyed it, and would like to go back.  When it closed, we wandered the corner there where 16th Street Baptist Church is, and also Kelly Ingram park, with its monuments to civil rights leaders and milestones.  There, we met a crazy man.

He was the good kind of crazy, like Sun Ra, in his flip-flops and socks carrying a huge bag of 100 double-A batteries, and we paid him five bucks to listen to him run down the history of the area and rap about the park itself, the symbolism of the area, and the evils of too much Internet.  We left him and returned to our hotel, where gifts were given, and we managed to leave the dolls and Transformers flying around long enough to grab some BBQ.  The sausage was my favorite.  And the potato salad.  That night I "slept" restlessly next to Max after Carolyn went to her room and Abby resisted bedtime for a while.

Sunday we had breakfast and came back.  We are fully into February's Valentine week, which is always fun when you have kids and plans.  We are all of us tired today, and settling into sleepiness.  Next time, I'll try to get enough time on my hands to break these up into smaller entries.

Heroic Fiction

I'm here to encourage you to read stuff again.  I wouldn't, except that I think it's likely stuff you wouldn't otherwise pick up and read.

Every time I take a trip to Matt & Cayce's in Atlanta, I am unfortunately reading something quite good.  I say 'unfortunately,' because the last thing I really want to do while I'm there is read at them.  Luckily, I'm up later than most people.  The book I was reading on this last trip is the one I bought and started a couple of Saturdays ago at the fucking mall, Soon I Will Be Invincible, by Austin Grossman.  First off - possibly the best title on a codexed work of literature ever, yeah?  Second, easily one of the most fun books I have ever read, right up there with the Hitchhiker's books, Good Omens, Sewer, Gas & Electric, or Crooked Little Vein.  It is loaded to the helm with comic book cliches which it proceeds to take, twist, and dump out the front door on the sidewalk in an odd little package that you can't help but open and look at.  The book starts out with the world's greatest superhero missing, and the world's greatest villain planning a comeback.  It is fast-paced, well written, jumps around a lot in space and time, and is all about character development.  Well, not all.  It has the best prose super-battle I've ever seen in my mind's eye, too.  Go out and get one and read it.

Today I just finished Dark Horse's The Umbrella Academy: Apocalypse Suite, by Gerard Way and Gabriel Ba.  I'm late to the game on this one - it's been a buzz for what seems like a year, at least.  Also, it took me until the letter column of issue three to realize that the writer is the guy from My Chemical Romance.  It's a lot of fun - a sort of goth kids with superpowers all grown up in a ludicrous universe to be fucked up adults with emotional problems because they were adopted and raised by a space alien and a hyper-intelligent monkey.  There's an evil orchestra, a living national landmark, ennui, and time travel.  The art is great for this kind of thing, and the writing is far superior to what I would have expected from a pop music guy, but that's probably just me being elitist.  This has a sequel coming out already, but for those of you who can only read comics once they're all stuck together with real covers on them, you'll be cooling your heel for awhile before that's available to you.  Besides, you haven't even read this yet.  So read it.

If anyone has any recommendations for me that might evoke the same mood and sense of fun as these books, please comment away.  Now - having walked the fine line between telling you just enough and telling you too much for a couple of paragraphs, I take my leave.

Read or Die.

I work with someone who doesn't read.  This is not one of those people you run into all the time who mean to read and simply don't, or who read only easy entertainment and/or crap, or the magazine-oriented folk who keep advertisers in greenbacks.  Nope.  This is a guy actively opposed to reading.  He DOESN'T read.  His words.  Doesn't see the point in it.  Of course, there have been arguments - he sees the point of texting, pornography, and even arguments, just not reading.  It's like dealing with an alien creature.  And I feel that way, too.

So, in celebration of this guy being misguided, ignorant, & wrong,  I come to you with reading advice, information, and feedback.  Enjoy.

First up: If you're paying attention to my little booklist down there on the right, you know that I have recently read biographies of both of the guys currently running for President.  Actually, I recommend them both.  The interesting thing about both books, at least in my opinion, is that they are both a decade old.  As a consequence, they were written by different men than the ones we're reading about in the news everyday.  Faith of My Fathers, by John McCain and close personal ghostwriter Mark Salter, is enlightening, to say the least, in terms of McCain's personal philosophies about things like legacy, war, victory, and privilege.  If you're voting for this guy without having read at least his one book they turned into a TV movie, then you are not making an informed decision.  Dreams from My Father, from Barack Obama, was essential to me for three reasons: It is the most intelligent perspective on race I've read in recent memory; it bolsters my idea that the next President of the United States should be someone intellectual, introspective and thoughtful, and it's handy for fact-checking all this bullshit about Obama's supposed past that keeps popping up.  So read it.  I liked it.  I'm currently reading Audacity of Hope, which is less engaging, but still a good read.

Max and I are getting through James and the Giant Peach, which I have not picked up since the 3rd Grade.  It's darker than I remember, but then - it's Roald Dahl.

Some of the comics I'm enjoying right now include the Boys, from Garth Ennis, Ed Brubaker's run on Captain America, House of Mystery, from Vertigo, all the Secret Invasion stuff, Thor, the Twelve, Warren Ellis' X-Men book, recent Booster Gold and Magneto books, and Terry Moore's Echo.  Necronomicon from Boom is pretty good, too.  And the recently wrapped Hellboy: Crooked Man mini.  I've also been re-reading Alan Moore's Saga of the Swamp Thing run, some old Werewolf by Night, and Hudlin's Black Panther issues.

As far as webcomics go, I regularly read Girls with Slingshots, Diesel Sweeties, the Devil's Panties, Striptease, and the always excellent Freakangels, also from Mr. Warren Ellis & Paul Duffield.  Oh, and I recently discovered The Book of Biff, which is fucking hilarious.

Other blogs, some better than mine: Mimi Smartypants is always fun, Matt Olson out of Atlanta will teach you all there is to know about the world of wine, Sam Johnson is back at home, Jesse always has a perspective on a life unlike anyone's I know, and I find the I Am Emily X blog from Planned Parenthood fascinating.  Saint Vicious is a new film review blog which looks to be quite good.  Oh, and the Renzntzman out of Seattle is fresh and funny, too.

So read something.  Or your brain will die, and become not unlike tapioca.

Anticipation

DJ Krush: Anticipation

You know, it's one thing for you to have had to wait for the 7th Harry Potter book, or the new Batman movie, the beginning of football season, or a new season of Lost or something, but another thing entirely when what you're waiting for is Volume 8 of Bone in the full-color softcover editions.  Let me explain. 

When you're an HP fan, there are legions of people just like you, dressed up in robes and broken glasses, posting shit on websites, stocking the rumor mill, and keeping up a constant flow of chatter which is bound to generate at least some useful information now and again.  You have company.  Additionally, you have a publisher announcing a date, and bookstores running insane promotions months out from the release date, handing out flyers and stickers and cards and stuff, all reminding you not only of when your book will be released, but opening up at midnight to facilitate your purchase.  Probably shooting you a discount price, too.  Much the same is true of a hotly-anticipated movie -  the theaters, mobs of fans, studios, and internet goblins all team up to make sure the hype machine runs full steam.  Previews, websites, games, advance notice out the wazoo; all of it designed to slake your thirst for product in dribs and drabs until you drink deeply from the cup of wide release.

Now, Bone has a website.  There are games.  There is a single blurb about the softcover edition being out on the 1st of August.  That's it.  All Summer we've been waiting for the 8th volume to come out so we can see what happens to Fone Bone, Thorn and crew, and there's no machine.  No steam to speak of.  There's no community.  Just me, waiting and waiting 'til another weekend, with no new information, and a paucity of conversation about it.  Nothing exciting to stoke the flame of desire.  I must keep the fire stoked without assistance.  For I - am a fanboy.  It helps that I'm reading this to Max, but come on.  We both want this.

Now imagine you do this a couple of times a month, and you will begin to understand what it is to be a true fanboy.  Come not to me with your legions of homogenized fan parties, your funny hats and your midnight openings - though we are likely there, too - just know that the true collector is always waiting for the next thing, and there's never any real release. 

This is the penultimate volume, too.  It's not over yet.

The Dark Knight

I'm going to say that you don't need a spoiler warning on this one.

Normally, I don't really like going to see things when they open, the same time as a huge, swirling mass of people.  People, especially in large groups and in movie theaters, can tend to be selfish, rude, noisy and annoying.  And I just hate that.  Tonight, however, I saw the 12:01 of The Dark Knight with a building full of a few hundred Batman movie fans.  That's a different crowd.  Sorority chix with homemade "The Batmobile is How I Roll" T-shirts.  Guys painted up like the Joker.  People with bat cowls and pajama capes, parading around without a hint of apparent self-consciousness or irony.  The tiny Indian woman sitting next to me who's wrestling with some inner demons, I think, based on her reactions to Heath Ledger's Joker.  Amazing.  I found myself blissfully entertained by a patchwork community of fandom.  Awesome.

I am given to describe Batman Begins as a great movie which has a superhero in it.  This movie is equally great, and has the same superhero in it.  If you liked the first one, you will like this one, which exceeds the first in many ways.  The stakes are higher, the performances, especially on the parts of Bale, Ledger, and Oldman, are strong.  Bale actually plays three people, if you're paying attention: Wayne as he is, Wayne's public face, and Batman.  He juggles them all quite well - and his vocal and physical cadence as Batman would terrify a normal person.  Much has been, and will be made of Mr. Ledger's unfortunately final performance, so I will say only this, and you can give it what weight you feel it deserves: When the Joker is finished speaking, you as a viewer exhale.  He's that good.  Heath Ledger is my Joker, apologies to Jack and Cesar.  Oldman as Gordon is brilliant, and played like is in Year One, which can only be a good thing.  Everyone is good, Eckhart's Harvey Dent is great, Maggie's a big improvement over Katie Scientology, and Caine and Freeman are playing these roles effortlessly now, while bringing more depth to both them, one with some history, the other with a principled stand.  It just comes together perfectly.

(One small note: If you've spent a lot of time in Chicago, the cityscape can be a little distracting in places, 'cause you really recognize it, but proper homages are paid, right down to the similarity of the Gotham license plates to those of the Land of Lincoln.  Gotta get / make me one of those Gotham plates.)

This is a riveting movie, so I highly recommend you go see it.  It is different.  It is less cerebral (sort of), less inner-directed.  It takes more risks, but nothing that doesn't serve the narrative.  It's disturbing and evocative, and if you let it, will make you examine ideas about societal mores and culture and basic principles of right and wrong and what those words & concepts mean, whether you believe they are ironclad or somewhat flexible.  Superheroes have, as a direct ancestor, mythologies and morality plays, so this, after all, is part of what a movie like this arguably should be doing.  It does it very, very well.  I particularly liked the bit with the boats.

There are little visual cues referencing a lot of previous material, everything from the comics (specifically this painting, Killing Joke and Dark Knight Returns) to the 1989 movie, but if you don't catch them, it won't matter.  Nolan and Goyer (who we all know's a fanboy anyway) and company are doing Batman the way he should be done, and avoiding the campy stuff completely.  Batman Returns, with it's similar publicity and three villains, was the beginning of the slide for the first series, while this movie takes three villains or more, depending on how you count, and turns it into a major strength.

You were going to go see this anyway, and I'm saying to you - trust your gut.