IWC

Man, oh man. Irvine Welsh, where hae ye gawne? I just finished reading his latest novel (about a week ago or so), and the sullen feeling of disappointment is still clinging to me. I sometimes shower four times a day, trying to rid myself of it.
If you don't know who Welsh is, well, he wrote the novel (and, I think, screenplay) "Trainspotting." If you don't know what that is, well, it's about junkies in Scotland. It was a great novel and a great movie, and kicked off a very successful run for Welsh. The next handful of books he put out were great; he really knocked them out of the park. About eight years ago or so, sadly, he started to slip.
This latest novel, "Crime," certainly isn't his worst. It is, though, his saddest. And not 'sad' as in emotional-response levels; just 'sad' like watching your uncle fall down the steps on Memorial Day.
Too sad to even continue writing about.

Batman Movie Review!

I watched about four or five minutes of Batman Forever on TV today (I got a sweet new set). Two things struck me as being a little strange. First, why is "Two face" called 'two-face'? Technically, he doesn't even have one complete face. Let's face it; if he were a real person and he only had one of his alleged two "faces," he would probably be known around town as "half-face," not "full-face" or any derivative thereof. To claim that the man has two faces is just laughable.
Secondly, doesn't the stately Wayne Manor have a dryer? In the scene following the Two Face/Riddler introduction (to each other) that I caught, young Master Dick (what a strange title) does a whole French Debutante dance number with his laundry, much to the shock of an onlooking Alfred. The moves all revolve around him fastidiously lining his dripping garments upon a clothes line that runs across the laundry room in Bruce's swingin' bachelor mansion. It was a totally bizarre scene (in both film terms and colloquialisms) from the get-go. Not sure what they were going for, but it gives some creedence to Wertham's argument. Anyway, I can't believe he doesn't have a dryer. Get with the times, man.

A little well-earned R&R

I'll be on vacation for the next week. If you need to contact me, please write to: Your Anus, c/o your taint.

The World of Steve Ditko

Yesterday, I finished reading the new biography of Steve Ditko, "Strange and Stranger." Now, needless to say, I am a huge fan of Steve Ditko. In fact, to a certain extent I like him much better than Jack Kirby. Ditko's seminal run on "The Amazing Spider-Man" ranks as one of my all-time favorite comic series. It was spot-on, and this book does a good job of painting some background information about the time period and the extent of Ditko's involvement.
Some folks have been criticizing this book; the same group that criticized the recent Evanier biography of Kirby. I've enjoyed both books, and the artwork reproductions have been wonderful. If I had one complaint about the Ditko book, it's that it could have used some more original repros, as opposed to primarily comic scans. Then again, maybe there were a lot; I can't really remember right now. I know that the Kirby one had a ton of rare shit, though.
Anyway, sure, this isn't as extensive as Harvey's recent bio of Milton Caniff, but it sure was a pleasure to read through. It's a shame that Ditko's obsession with Ayn Rand and Objectivism pretty much shattered his career. Then again, his style was so diametric to that prevalent during the 1980s, he probably wouldn't have lasted, anyway. Another interesting point that author Blake Bell drives home (at one point, even breaking the objectivist voice of an impartial narrator) of how much original artwork Ditko has, and the approximate value thereof.
All in all, a fine read.

War Heroes: MIA

Well, I'm usually tickled pink with my service from DCBS (the Discount Comic Book Service, natch!). This month, however, I was only tickled a light shade of magenta. You see, when I received my monthly batch of funnybooks, one was missing. And it wasn't just a mere, lame old comic that was missing; it was one I was looking forward to for quite some time. Specifically, Mark Millar's "War Heroes" number one.
I buy pretty much everything Millar does. As far as mainstream superhero comics go, he's the best. Yeah, I said it; he's the best. The best currently churning out a half dozen titles per month, anyway. Naturally I was excited to see the beginning of his latest series. I was even more excited when I read that this series was based on Mark's rejected premise for "Ultimates 3." I can't imagine why the fuck Marvel would reject one of his storylines, especially for a series he pretty much started from scratch and shot to the top of the charts. Especially especially if they were going to replace it with something by that sentimental old hack, Jeph Loeb. But I digress.
The problem is, apparantly, that Diamond "shorted" orders on War Heroes #1, so I didn't get one. This really sucks, especially since I pre-ordered this damn book about seven months ago (alright, it was probably only three or four, but you get the picture). I'm reminded of that Jerry Seinfeld routine about taking reservations versus holding reservations. They took my reservation, but they sure as hell didn't hold it.
I'm guessing that DCBS is not really at fault here, and that Diamond fucked up. Who knows; maybe Image did. All I know is, I went to a few comic shops last month while I was on vacation in Boston, and I saw plenty of copies of War Heroes sitting around. I could have picked any of them up, but I put each one back on the shelf, knowing that my copy would be awaiting me at the end of the month. Guess I was wrong.
One more thing: Waaaaaahhh! Just thought I'd beat the name-callers to the punch. I realize how big of a baby I am being.

UPDATE: I got the comic in Philly last weekend. It sucked.

Book Reviewed!

How long do you think you'll be able to read this particular blog entry? Let's face it; time is pretty cheap these days. Have you seen ninety percent of what passes as entertainment on the internet these days? If you actually have seen ninety percent, that's amazing. I mean, really; the internet is pretty much endless. It's like the universe and the solar system and all that space-shit combined. It never ends. Kind of like this blog entry.
If you're still reading this blog entry (heretofore mentioned as "BE-Blog Entry"), don't pat yourself on the back just yet. It's a boring entry, and the fact that you've made it this far is really nothing to congratulate yourself about. Especially since, though originally intended to be a never-ending, tedious, long-winded diatribe, this entry simply ends without

Death of Death Note

I thought I would never do it, but I am almost finished watching Death Note. Yes, it's an anime. Yes, it's ridiculous. Yes, it kicks ass. This show really has nothing that would appeal to me in its separate parts, but throw them all together and it's compelling as hell. Basically, some Japanese kid gets the ability to kill people by writing their name in a notebook. There are 37 episodes in total, and I'm up to 33 or 34. To tell you the truth, there's really not much to say about it. It's compelling and enjoyable, but if I didn't make a solemn promise to update this blog a few times each week, I probably wouldn't even bother writing about it. Oh well; enjoy the picture.

Pulling Out!

I recently finished watching the second season of the BBC (I think it's from the BBC; anyway, it's British) comedy, "Pulling." I don't think it's on in the states, though it may be on BBC America. It's a pretty simple concept, really: a woman gets "cold feet" and leaves her husband, pretty much at the altar, and the two of them try to adjust to this drastic event.
To look at it objectively, it's the same basic premise as Friends or Sex in the City, at least I assume it is. I've never actually seen an entire episode of either of those two shows, but what I have seen sucks ass. Pulling not only doesn't suck ass, it actually kicks it! It is one of the rawest shows on (or not on) TV, and the fact that it's primarily comprised of females makes it even more surprising. Nothing against the ladies, you know I love them, but they don't usually make me laugh. And that's no reason to stop trying, sweethearts. Anyway, the situations and interactions these three psycopaths (four, if you count Carl, the lead character's ex-fiance) are continually hysterical. Definitely worth checking out if you're a fan of the Office, Peep Show, or Ideal.

Futurama Returns Returns!

Last week, the second full-length Futurama DVD movie came out. Being a huge fan of Futurama (much moreso than the Simpsons for the past several years), I naturally snatched it up. It seems like most people either love or hate Futurama, or love it but want to pretend they hate it. I know quite a few people like that. Well, like I said, I really enjoy the show, and eagerly awaited this film.
When Futurama returned from the grave with their first full-length a few seasons ago, it felt like a dream come true. That may be the single nerdiest thing I've ever said in my life, or it may be lightyears from the nerdiest thing I've ever said. I'd bet on the latter of the two. Anyway, it really got me psyched up, and it didn't let down. That first one, Bender's Big Score, started off on the slow side, but really picked up. By the end of the movie, my mind was blown.
Now, this movie wasn't as good as the previous one, but it still wasn't bad. Not enough Zoidberg for my tastes, but he still had some choice lines to parlay. That thing rocks!

Technological Ice-Age Thawed

I recently leaped into the 1990s and purchased an X-Box 360. I haven't really been playing many video games for the past ten years or so, though I did purchase a used PS2 a few years back. Though I rarely played it, the incentive behind the purchase was clear: Grand Theft Auto III. Something about that game appealed to a primal instinct of sorts deep within me. I never got too far in it, but I enjoyed driving around killing people. Even that, sadly, got old after awhile.
Why, then, did I purchase an Xbox 360? Well, to tell you the truth, it was to network video files to my new television. But, being able to play video games is a real plus. The new Grand Theft Auto is so immense, however, that it's basically impossible for a novice like me to accomplish anything. If you care to fight me online, send me an Xbox message. I don't really know how to work it too well, though, so it may take me awhile to reply.

Fuck Joseph Conrad

Last weekend, I read "Heart of Darkness." Yeah, that's right, I put it in quotation marks because I categorize that as a short story, not a novel. In fact, I categorize it as a fucking piece of shit short story, lumped upon a pile of turdlings with some poo-cream whipped up on the top of it. That book fucking sucked.
It started out decent enough, with a dude named Marlow telling a story about his life. I mean, for the most part, his life was boring as shit, actually. If I lived a life as boring as his, I certainly wouldn't write a book about it. Technically, within the book, Marlow was telling his story to a group of captive audience members, but still. I wouldn't do that, either.
The only thing this dude did was sat on a boat, got shot at by natives, and talked to some asshole named Kurtz. And boy oh boy, let me tell you about Kurtz. Everybody throughout the book was like, "Ohhh, Kurtz is soooo fucking wonderful!" They basically kissed his ass nonstop, even going so far as to spread his wonderfulness when he wasn't even around. After all the buildup, I have to admit even I got wrapped up in the whole Kurtz phenom. I couldn't wait to meet the guy!
Then, when we finally get to see him, BAM! The dude is a total fucking loser. A real douche. The kind of dick that says he "doesn't want any of your nachos" when you're standing at the counter, but once you hit the table, he's all over them. Fuck Kurtz. And yeah, yeah, I guess I "get it." Kurtz is supposed to be a piece of shit, right? Maybe I'm reading too much into it. On the plus side, I finished it in just under two days. Which, I believe, is twice as long at that dirty bastard took to write it.

Time for a New Post

It's time for a new post. Here it is! Hope you enjoy it. Lots of people, who were given advance editions of this post, have replied very favorably to favorable-review seeking queries. It was great! they all bellowed. Some even threw roses at the feet of passersby, in the hopes of luring them into a cavern of sin.
Despite the fact that no clear thread, no glimpse of a symbolic theme of any kind, was noticed throughout the posting, it was agreed upon by all that this posting was indeed the pinnacle of its type.
All those in favor? Support your local dignitaries.
Once again, no picture. The protest continues...

All This Bullshit

When you really think about it, all this bullshit is pretty fucked up. Some people try to tip-toe around the bullshit, but I feel it really needs to be thrown out there into the open. Why hide behind a slice of humble turd, when you can fling that fucker to the ground and kick it on someone else?
Bullshit might be a fact of life for some people, but I, myself, have never stood for it. Sure, everyone has to put up with it. Even me! But the thing is, I never stood for it! Yeah, that's right! I look bullshit right in the eye, and say, "Fuck off, BS! And by the way, I'm calling you 'BS' to save time; not because there's any sort of affection between us in any way whatsoever at all period."
If you feel like putting up with bullshit for the rest of your life, join the club. But I'll tell you this: the club ain't cheap, but it sure does look it. If, on the other hand, you're interested in kicking it raw, keeping it real, and just downright fucking country dickin' up in 'em, then do something else. It's all pretty much the same.
PS - No picture was available at press time.

Angelo's

Last Fall, I watched a britcom from the BBC (where most of them are from) called Angelo's. I enjoyed it, but the problem is, I never got to see the final episode. At this point, it seems unlikely that I ever will. If anyone has ever seen that finale, please let me know what happened. Please note, although I am interested in the fate of Angelo (and Angelo's (and "Angelo's")), I am more curious as to the ultimate fate of that fucked up dude that dressed like C3-PO. That was some wacky shit!

Long Live the King!

I'm well prepared to eat crow, but every sentiment regarded within the following entry is diametrically opposed to the previous entry's viewpoint. I have to say, the shittiest DC title on the stands is the best DC title on the stands. I'm referring, of course, to "DC Countdown to Final Crisis Town," or something like that. It's the weekly DC series that replaced "52," when that particular title mysteriously ended about a year ago. While 52 was a boring, turd-steamed piece of shitpie, Countdown is based pretty much entirely (at this point, anyway) around Jack Kirby's mid-1970's series for DC. The two primary titles are Kamandi, the Last Boy on Earth and OMAC (the One Man Army Corps).
I have a particular soft spot for these two titles. I would hasten to add, as a matter of fact, that Kamandi was Kirby's finest hour. There, I said it! DC told him to basically 'cash-in' on the then-current "Planet of the Apes" fad (a fad I am always in full support of reviving), and he came up with this twisted tale. It's basically a Tarzan-like kid living in an animal ruled, barbaric state. The latest issue of Countdown has what seems to be the pre-KAMANDI origin of Kamandi. Now, normally I don't like when they fuck with Kirby shit (see below), but this is pretty cool. There is nothing which goes entirely against the overall mood and tone of the originals; it's just a neat backstory. And the inner-nerd in me (as opposed to the outer-one) is going bakabalooey.
Another crazy twist... the lead of OMAC (the original series) turns out to be Kamandi's grandfather! Wowey wooey!! It's the best superhero comic series going today, and it comes out every week.

Funnybook Regicide

I hate to be one of those people that gets all fired up over the events in a comic book, but lately, I just can't seem to help myself. Being a big admirer of Kirby's works, I often find myself going back and looking over different issues or series. Recently, I decided to re-read the "New Gods" saga in its entirety, courtesy of the recently published "Fourth World Omnibus" collections from DC.
Although I'm really enjoying the original issues (even moreso than when I first read them years ago), I can't help but feel very uneasy as I go through the collections. The reason I'm reading them in the first place (well, technically 'second place), is connected to another new DC release, Jim Starlin's "Death of the New Gods."
I have never been a big fan of Starlin's works, but I don't really hate them, either. I guess I'm pretty much stuck in the middle. In fact, I think I actually wrote a blog entry about this series before, but I don't feel like checking. The point is, I am reading this series solely because it's about the New Gods, and more specifically, the death of them. Which is what makes rereading the original all that depressing.
I grew up in the 1980s, and it seems like that entire decade was centered around replacing time-honored characters with darker, more "serious" renditions. The word of choice was Gritty. Well, this must be the 1980's version of the New Gods, because it involves lots of death, deceit, and dastardly doings. It's basically Watchmen done with the Fourth World characters, but a whole lot stupider.
Certain characters go nuts and kill each other; other time-honored characters have been brutally murdered; ones who seemed to be genuine, 'good' characters are revealed to be insidious, evil beings. One guy, Mister Miracle, was transformed from an escape artist into some evil, obsidian, horrendous being of pure energy and revenge. The original was based on Joe Steranko; I wonder how he feels about this version.
I have to admit, it taints my reading of the originals. These are all funnybooks, and it's just silly when you get right down to it, but as I read through I can't help but feel strange with their 'modern memories' lurking behind my eyes.

Kirby is Still the King!

Last night, I finished reading Mark Evanier's new biography of Jack Kirby, "Kirby: King of Comics." I got it from Amazon, and you can check out ordering info from their very own internet-based website. All in all, I really enjoyed this book. First and foremost, the artwork reproductions are phenomenal. It rivals the Masters of American Comics collection as far as quality reproductions goes, and in many ways surpasses that volume.
Page after page of Kirby artwork is included, in both published, original pencils, original inked pencils, and (in some rare cases) actual pre-penciling breakdowns. Say what you will about the man, Kirby's pencils were powerful. That's the oldest cliche in the book when it come to Jack, but there's a reason it became a cliche in the first place. Sorry, I can't figure out how to put that little accent mark on top of the "e" in "Cliche." It's also nice to see his work inked by so many different artists, both through the years and within the same era.
In a project which includes such great (and rare) Kirby artwork, it would be easy to just slap together a few explanatory paragraphs, or a bare-boned overview of his life and works. Thankfully, Evanier's text was indeed informative, but lacked a little of the depth I would expect from him. Mark Evanier was Jack Kirby's personal assistant during the late 1960s and early 1970s, and remained a close friend for the rest of Jack's life. As such, I would have expected the text to go into much greater detail, but that's more a flaw of my approach than the author's. Even still, it provided a great, comprehensive picture of the man's life and works. Strung together, it's amazing what a phenomenal run the guy had. Though I've always preferred the Fourth World stuff, even his final few series (for Pacific and the like) have their high points.
Those who are even marginally interested in Jack Kirby, or the history of comic books (they really are pretty much the same story; sorry for the second cliche) will find this a worthwhile read. Evanier has said that he's working on a much more extensive follow-up, which should satiate Kirbyphiles such as myself. It'll be a great companion, I'm sure.

RAMBO! RAMBO!

I'll tell you something; I saw the new Rambo movie last night, and I couldn't be perkier about it. Who would ever have thought that a Rambo flick released in 2008 would be entertaining? I sure as shit wouldn't, but this one made an asshole out of all of us, I guess.
First of all, I could probably give less fucks about the old Rambo trilogy than I would a Knight Rider made for television remake. Come to think of it, that's not a bad idea. Anyway, the point is that I am not a Rambo fan by any stretch of the imagination, but something about this movie really struck a chord in me. It's kind of weird, getting so much pleasure out of something so utterly crappy. It wasn't even an ironic kind of pleasure, either. It really just had some eerie, calm, soothing manner to it.
Which is pretty fucking ridiculous, because it was also the most violent fucking film I have ever seen. I've seen some violent-ass shit, but this one has to take the cake. There were children blowing up and shit, and limbs being severed off left and right. At one point, I just shook my head and started thinking, "Is this some kind of joke? What the fuck is going on here?" The on-screen mayhem and bloodshed had to have set some kind of record.
Anyway, I got in to see it for free, so I am not sure if it's worth paying for. If you've got an hour and a half to kill, there are worse ways to spend your night.

Born Again Borne Again

I've recently been re-reading (for about the third or fourth time) Frank Miller and David Mazzuchelli's mid-80's Daredevil run, "Born Again." I was a little hesitant to re-read it, since I had read it so many times in the past. I just really thought it would feel like 'Going through the motions,' and that the comic would have little impact any more.
Boy, was I wrong. I am surprised at how much more I pick up on this go-round. Usually, when people say they "Got more out of it" the second time they read or watch something, or that they "pick up so much more" (kinda like I just did), I just chalk it up to the person being stupid, or unable to grasp the subtleties of a particular work. If you're paying attention and you're halfway bright, you should "get" about 99% of the shit you intake. Most entertainment isn't exactly cryptic these days.
Anyway, Born Again is phenomenal. It's amazing how much Miller was able to 'get away with' in the mainstream comic of the politically charged 1980s. Turning the heroes ex-girlfriend into a heroin addicted, destitute porno star comes immediately to mind. Destroying Matt Murdock's life, and not even featuring Daredevil himself for several issues is another big 'coup.'
Miller really was at the top of his game. Within a few years, he had completed his insanely wonderful initial run on Daredevil, both the Dark Knight and Batman: Year One, and this endcap to the DD series. Too bad most of his output these days is utter crap.

The Gayrriors

Man, I just tried to watch the early 80's flick "The Warriors," about rival gangs in New York City. I am left with one question: What the Hell were they thinking? This movie sucked ass. Sucked TOTAL ass, actually. I'll have to double-check on that, though.
Anyway, if you've never seen it, imagine the suckiest thing you've ever witnessed. Now imagine that with a group of asshole mimes with crowbars. Or baseball players dressed up like Kiss. Get the idea of how sucky this is sucking?
I suppose I can only point the finger at myself, actually. Can society be to blame for my own shortcoming? I knowingly and willingly ordered that movie from Netflix. In a sense, though not a legally binding one, I did welcome it into my home, under thefalse guise of friendship. Putting such a strong stamp upon a rented DVD might be seen as extreme, but realize I am in no position to cast judgment towards anyone.
Anyway, don't rent the Warriors. Go read Moby Dick instead. I ordered that movie from Netflix, too!

Moby Dick Rules!

For some strange reason, someone gave me a gift certificate to Barnes and Noble as a present on the anniversary of Christ the Savior's birth. I guess they just had a hard time moving on. Anyway, I wasn't going to decline it, so I went out to the book store to buy up some shit.
First of all, Barnes and Noble pretty much sucks ass. We don't have one around here, so I went to the one near Philadelphia since I was driving by one day. I had a hard time finding anything to buy in that shithole, so I finally decided on Moby Dick by Herman Melville. I wonder if the expression "Moby Dick" was funny when that book first came out in 1851. It's sure funny now.
As for the book itself, that Ishmael is a real pisser. The dude is a total loser who goes out to sea when he hits rock bottom, and had to settle for the shittiest inn in New Bedford. There is a fucking hilarious exchange between Ishmael and the landlord, who wants Ish to share a bed with some strange man named "The Harpooner."
Ishmael understandably is concerned at this, but he goes nuts, neurotically fixating on the inevitable meeting. Finally the Harpooner arrives, but only after a few chapters of obsessive behavior that would have a first year psychiatry student tossing out his pipe.
I can't wait to finish this fucking book. I'm almost a hundred pages deep, and the sad fucker hasn't even hit the water yet. I can only imagine how crazy this shit is going to get.
Moby Dick Rules!

What's Been Going On

Here is what I have been doing lately, in the realm of all that is nerdness. Most of my entertainment time has been devoted to re-reading John Milton's "Paradise Lost." It's a great book, and I am enjoying it even more the second time around. I want to finally finish reading "Paradise Regained," too. I started that one a long, long time ago and never finished it. It kind of sucks, though, because someone told me He dies at the end.
I saw a few decent flicks lately, too. No Country for Old Men was pretty cool, though it kind of crapped out at the end. To tell the truth, I wasn't paying 100% attention by that point, so I missed most of what Johnny Lee Oswald Copman (whatever the fuck his name is) said at the very end. I heard it must have been pretty cool, though.
I got an old Clash bootleg, demos from the "Combat Rock" album. It contains Mick Jones' original mixes, which got rejected. They are pretty cool, and have more of a Sandinista! vibe to them, but they're really not too, too different from the album version. A lot of people hate on Combat Rock, but I always liked it. Still, it's the shittiest Clash album ever (Cut the Crap does not count).

Steve Roper is the Fucking Man

While shifting around a few books on my shelf the other day, I stumbled upon these little gems that I had read about a year ago or so. They're Blackthorne Publishing's 1980's reprintings of some mid-40's Steve Roper and Wahoo strips. At first they were a little off-putting, but after a few pages I really started to get the vibe, and it was non-stop enjoyment from that point on.
Saunders and Woggon, the creators, had a really great style going. The art is reminiscent of both Dick Tracy and, quite anachronistically, Charles Burns. There are thick, solid blacks flowing between curved lines; not necessarily the angular, jutting corners of Gould's work from the same era.
As for the story, it's pretty silly, really. As I said, I read these about a year or so ago, so I really don't remember them too well. There were some twists and turns, and the overall mood was more akin to Smilin' Jack than Terry and the Pirates. If I'm not mistaken, there might even have been a 'evil twin/lookalike' story; one which plagued comic strips from the Golden Era.