The DaVinci Ehhhhh

Regular readers, if there are any, may remember my dabbling with the DaVinci Code a few years back. All four of you may also remember my obvious…contempt for the book.
Well…I got the movie. Not *bought* the movie, or *paid* for the movie. Withdrawn from the library is more like it.

I gave up on the book 28 chapters in, fed up with the farfetched writing and simply awful pretentiousness of the historical inaccuracies and the cavalier way they were thrown about. Insofar as the movie goes… let’s see…

It has a very big name cast. Tom Hanks, Jean Reno, Alfred Molina, and Sir Ian McKellan. It also looks very good. The cinematography is well done, with dramatic shading conveying the tension that a thriller should. The acting is pretty good across the board, not best actor/actress of course (props going to McKellan for making a so-so movie watchable, just like in X-3) but serviceable.
The story is…watered down from the tinfoil hat concepts of the book, but not too much, and as such, I still sit and ultimately can’t enjoy the movie.

It may sound arrogant, but a story so steeped in outright historical ignorance (and as last time, my major complaints about the garbage are historical and not theological-there are others more schooled in theology than I) is not at all enjoyable to a lover and reader of history. I could write at length about the confusion and conspiracies about the meteoric rise and fall of the Knights Templar, but there really isn’t any time/room for that right now. Suffice it to say the actual truth is much, much more intricate, tragic and dramatic than what has been laid forth by this story.

This story….sadly it is just silly garbage that isn’t worth my time, nor anyone else’s.

2/29/08

Remember when I said “Monday at the earliest?” Yeah, that didn’t happen. Responsibilities accumulated and then I just sort of fell off the wagon. Hard. Like, “You have tried to ford the river and lost three oxen and cousin Buck has diphtheria” hard.

Well, I might as well babble about something while I’m here. This month marks issue 50 of Cable And Deadpool, which translates into about 4 years of a monthly ongoing comic. Not bad. Add the fact that writer Fabian Nicieza has been on the book pretty much the whole time and that’s one impressive run on a comic these days.

So what was it about? Basically an odd-couple pairing of Deadpool, cult-favorite Merc with a Mouth with a healing factor better than Wolverine’s and a mouth faster than Spider-Man’s with Cable, square-jawed time traveling soldier from the future who’s actually the son of Cyclops and Madeline Pryor (who was a clone of Jean Gray created by Mr. Sinister back in the day. Don’t worry about it, Madeline’s been dead since the 90s). Let’s just say that most of the people who picked it up weren’t there for Cable. I know I wasn’t. So what did the book have going for it? Killer moments of extreme funny, gratuitous action, solid artwork, character growth, guest stars, tie-ins to most of the big crossovers, and even poignancy. It also had Deadpool in a Marvel Girl costume from which is burned into my mind like acid.

If you have been reading Cable & Deadpool, raise a cry of “Bea Arthur!” to the heavens. If you haven’t been reading it, then you were trying to let the terrorists win and deserve a spankin’ with a slotted wooden spoon. Then you should go out and try to pick up the trades because they are good for you and spending your rebate on them is good for the American Economy.

Its what Captain America would want.

2/11/08

Well, this is sad news http://www.nytimes.com/2008/02/09/world/europe/09bertie.html The Grand Master of the Knights of Malta died over the weekend. Andrew Bertie was 78 years old and the first English Grand Master in the Order’s 900 year history.

More information about the S.M.O.M. can be found on their website, http://www.orderofmalta.org/index.asp?idlingua=5

Yes, a 900 year old Medieval Order has an official website. I’d like to see the Templars beat that.

2/10/08

I can explain. First, there was internet troubles yesterday, and I got caught up in the playing of No More Heroes on the Wii.

Which is an interesting game. The plot is rather simple, in a Kill Bill sort of way. Travis Touchdown wants to be the No. ranked assassin in the world, so he’s got to fight his way to the top with his battery operated beam sword that he got in a ‘net auction. And he’s got a bike that looks like it came out of Akira. Its absurdist, bloody and really really violent for a Nintendo game. Its also the first good sword fighting game I’ve played on the Wii. There’s nothing bad I can say about the combat, except for when the AI tries to shoot through an invulnerable box that I’m hiding behind (suck it Destroyman!)

The stuff in between the fighting though, is a bit…lacking. The driving feels like a tacked on imitation of Vice City, the side missions to get the money to enter the next rankings fight are, well, let me put it this way; picking up trash and carrying coconuts is about as fun as it is in real life.

But the fighting? Awesome.

2/9/08

Hmm. Four days in and I’ve got nothing.

Wait. Wait. I might have-

No. False alarm.

Well, rather than have a complete waste of time for an update, here’s a flash fact: Sitting on top of my monitor for the last year or so is a stuffed lobster. He’s a product of Korea (probably South, but I’m not sure) and his name’s Pepe. Pepe the Lobster of Love.

It helps if you say it in an Antonio Banderas voice. No, really.

2/8/08

Since February is the Month of Love, I might as well weigh in on an important issue: Turn-offs. Personally, I’m not a big fan of piercings in general, but no big deal. Except for lip studs. A nose ring is one thing. Sure I want to ask if it feels like a metal booger, but whatever.

The lip stud I just don’t get. It doesn’t look comfortable. At all. And it looks like a shiny metal wart. There, I said it. I don’t find shiny metal warts sexy in any way shape or form. Nasty.

2/7/08

My laptop hates my printer. Which is strange considering both are HP products. Every time I reconnect the printer to the lappy, it asks to install the drivers, which causes me to grit my teeth in rage because the drivers have already been installed four times on the damn thing and installing a fifth one isn’t going to solve the problem. Oh, it would work, but only until I shut off the machine or disconnect the printer, which defeats the purpose of a portable system such as a laptop. The printer’s been installed on my tower (also an HP) and it works fine and dandy. I can unplug it, leave it in a corner for weeks, take it on a thrill-packed road trip ala Smokey & The Bandit and when I reconnect it, it gives me no guff, just tells me that its ready to go.

Really, the only difference between the two computers (besides age) is that the tower runs XP and the lappy has Vista. Hmm…

Why yes, I am running filler this morning. Its because I've got some important crap to take care of today.

2/6/08

Well here we are, another February, another daily blogging project. Last years’ kind of petered out since I spent most of my time looking for a new job. The year before was actually pretty successful in that I managed to pull off the daily grind. This year? Who knows. It could fizzle, it could crackle and explode. All I do know is that its like an eclipse; don’t look at it directly or you’ll hurt your eyes. Today’s light on content since I’m still trying to figure out how and when I’m going to update what with working 2nd shift and all. Should be interesting for anyone who wants to stick around for the ride.

In Which I Pretend To Be Both Theatre Critic And Foodie

Hop, skip, jump and scamper your merry little way over to a theatre if possible and see Avenue Q. “What’s Avenue Q?” you may ask your monitor at your home or office, perhaps to the puzzlement of nearby bystanders. Well, the best way I’ve been able to explain it is: Its Sesame Street meets Rent, only less pretentious.

Seriously, its got puppets who swear, get drunk and make hot puppet love on stage. I’m just saying, is all. But it is good toilet humor. The writing is sharp, the songs are at the same time hilarious, original and poignant, and the damn thing’s got heart. So yeah, I definitely recommend the show. Honestly, with songs like “The Internet is For Porn” and “Everyone’s A Little Bit Racist,” how can you go wrong?

So with a Broadway show like that, me and the usual gang of idiots who saw it were hungry afterwards. Denny’s is pretty damn low on the classy totem pole, and IHOP is just plain disgusting for cardboard, so why bother with offal when for a few dollars more you can hit up a local, independent joint.

Said independent joint was Lolita, located in Cleveland’s quasi-artsy, quasi-trendy Tremont neighborhood. Lolita is a restaurant owned by Michael Symon, who you might actually have heard of thanks to the Food Network’s recent Next Iron Chef competition. Lolita’s got a bigger sister downtown called Lola, which is swankier and (by nature) more premium prices. Haven’t been there yet.

Back to Lolita. After parking on the street, the four of us entered from the bitter Cleveland cold and waited a few minutes looking over the menu before a table cleared. The wait wasn’t long at all actually, The place is actually quite big, but cozy. The lighting is dim enough to be intimate, but not enough to hide what it is you’re eating.

I’m kind of tired, so I’m not going into full blown narrative mode here. The food: The list of appetizers is very long and packs a lot of variety. Three were ordered and basically tasted in roundtable format. Chicken Wings. Yes I know, why go to a nice place and order wings? Well, the wings were very good and involved cilantro and chiles and packed a sizable kick to them. Next. Crispy Chicken Livers. That’s what I ordered. Breaded and served with mushrooms and (I think grilled onions) the livers tasted awesome and just about dissolved in your mouth. Well, not “Your” mouth since “you” weren’t there. Third: Pork Cheeks. Soft and about as tender as you can get, with a thin layer of sweetness on the outside. The appetizers were awesome and worth the trip themselves.

The main course: Pizza. What I call “European” style (since that’s what it was like when I was in Europe). About 12” in diameter, thin crust and with decidedly different toppings than the standard fare. The pizza we didn’t share with each other. Mine was the lamb sausage with arugula and feta cheese, it was nice. Other pizza toppings included specialty cured meats and duck.

Lolita, definitely plan on going back there again sometime and ordering one of the main entrees. If you’re in Cleveland and looking for a quality meal in a great atmosphere at a very reasonable price, Lolita is definitely one of the places I would recommend.

Sure Don’t Feel Like Christmas Time

Its really odd to me, but this year, I’m just not feeling the Christmas spirit. Last year it was practically unavoidable, what with working in a retail job during the holiday mercantile mad dash. But this December, well, its all been pretty low key for me. I don’t want to hear badly performed soft-rock Christmas carols, I don’t want to fend my way through the rabid flocks at the mall who are searching for quantity over quality, hell, I don’t even really want any presents. Not that I don’t appreciate the gesture, but, honestly, I don’t really need anything and that money can be spent on someone more needy than me. I’ve gotten my shopping out of the way early and right now, I’m just kind of waiting for the whirlwind to end and then work its way to New Year’s.

Burnout from last year aside (when Christmas never ever, EVER ended thanks to work), I’ve just been cold on holidays in general this fall. I shot my Halloween wad sometime in August, then moved to second shift at my new job and had a pretty good Thanksgiving and really couldn’t give a shit about the official “Christmas Season.”

And I think that’s got something to do with it. It could be the Dortmunder Gold coursing through my system right now, but it seems to me that “the Christmas Season.” No, wait, I’m sorry, Let’s be culturally sensitive and generic. “Holiday Season.” (That’s a rant for another time. I’ll just leave it with io, Saturnalia!) I think the problem with the “Holiday Season” is that all this talk about Christmas Magic and Hanukkah Miracles and Kwanzaa, um, Goodness is pretty damn hollow right now. I mean step back and look at it. Where are the idiotic holiday sitcom specials (well, okay, the Writers’ Guild Strike may be an answer)? Where’s the love? I’m not even referring to the violence in the world. I mean where the hell is “goodwill toward men”? It just feels like this nebulous “Holiday Spirit” is just something that you do for a little while and then you go back home and try to forget about it till next year. There’s no fucking magic to it. I need more beer.

Ah, that’s better. Where was I? Right. So when I was a kid Christmastime meant something different. It meant that people went out of the way to help a stranger. It meant trying to convince my parents not to take me to the department store Santa because sitting on a stranger’s lap creeped me out. It meant getting a shitload of presents from my grandparents. It meant going to midnight mass because dammit, Christmas wasn’t Christmas without baby Jesus. But above all that, it meant treating people with extra respect, because in the middle of December (which can get pretty fucking cold up in Northeast Ohio) with the slush and the snow and the wildly fluctuating temperatures and people bundled up in ugly old school nylon winter coats, people are having a really shitty time as it is, and maybe, just maybe it isn’t actually very funny seeing an old woman slip and fall on a patch of ice. And even more maybe, it might just be a pretty decent thing to switch off your goddamn autopilot and actually go over there and help her up, ask her if she’s okay and not need anything in return.

That’s just an example, but its getting me closer to what pisses me off about this bogus “holiday spirit” thing. BluRay doesn’t mean shit when you’re so wrapped up in your own little vacuum of self-importance. I’d say it would make baby Jesus cry if he saw what we’ve become, but its not what we’ve become. We’ve always been like this. Its human nature to ignore problems and put them off until they’re breathing in your face. Hell, I do it all the time. But dammit, its also human nature to get pissed off by yourself and your own stupid tendencies. And I realize I’m slightly tipsy at this point, and that you’ve probably already heard this before, but reiteration is important people.

Its surprisingly easy to do something good and decent for another human being when you don’t expect or even want a reward. That’s it right there. That’s the fucking Christmas Spirit that I honest to God haven’t seen a whole lot of in the “world at large.” I’ve seen a helluva lot of vitriol and demagoguery being spat across televisions nationwide as part of this absurdly early “campaign season.” I see drivers doing a whole “Ben Hur chariot scene” just driving to the mall. I see the occasional Salvation Army Santa ringing his bell while shoppers guiltily hurry by him and try no to make eye contact. I swear, it makes me want to spew my Subway Meatball Marinara sandwich from eight hours prior all over my keyboard just thinking about how generous and compassionate humanity is as a whole. But even if I sound a little cynical, I’m not negative. I know we’re capable of doing better. I’ve seen it, done it, bought the t-shirt. Its just not the norm. The ideal and not the paradigm.

So happy holidays, merry Christmas, happy Hanukkah, merry Kwanzaa, io Saturnalia, happy birthday Son/Sun God and all that other stuff. Sure, no problem. Enjoy your ham, kosher dinner and even New Age Winter Solstice tofurkey. Just, take a damn minute to look out your window. See the freezing rain and snow? There are people out there in it right now. Yes, even this very NOW. Spare that moment to think about them, how they’re cursing the weather and trying to get home (if they have one), how they’re worrying about getting a gift and not being able to find it/afford it. Imagine their lives sucking eggs and then mentally photoshop your face over theirs. Golly, it sure would suck if that was you, wouldn’t it? The homeless family living out of their car, the harried mom and dad who didn’t get the gift they promised junior Santa would bring, the lonely bachelor sitting on his couch wishing he had some fine foxy lady to get warm with. It sucks to be everyone from time to time. REMEMBER THAT WHEN YOU SEE SOME RANDOM STRANGER. They’re not some extra in your movie of life. They’ve got their own shit to deal with, and you know, even giving them a simple smile and hello might be enough to help their day not be a total stressfest.

Merry Christmas. Goodwill towards mankind. We don’t deserve it, which makes any goodwill shown all the more precious.

Dusting

Shucks-howdy, its been a while. Whatever, I’ve been busy and have nothing to apologize for. A lot’s happened in the interim, mostly good, some bad. Helped drink a bottle of King Cobra (not advised, despite the $1.44 price tag) on a wedding eve and subsequently spoke with an genuine Irish accent for an hour, caught a glimpse of enlightenment where every abstract concept I’ve spent my entire life believing in was challenged and validated, and gave a wedding toast as the best man that started off with “Mawwiage. Mawwiage is what bwings us here together.” All true stories. All took place within 72 hours..

Transformers came out in theatres and exceeded my (admittedly low) expectations. The Simpsons movie hit and…pretty much met my expectations. The last Harry Potter book was released and I’m cheerfully apathetic about it. Yes, I know, a fanboy who doesn’t care about Harry Potter, blasphemy.

As August heat slowly rises and the summer blockbuster season slowly grinds down, one reflects that there aren’t a whole lot more slam-bang movies on the way. Run Fat Boy Run looks good, Superbad could be super or bad, Rush Hour 3 probably will be bad but its got Jackie Chan and he makes anything watchable (like Around the World In 80 Days).

And then there’s Stardust. Based on the Neil Gaiman novel of the same name, at its core, its about a young man searching for his heart’s desire. And its got witches, unicorns and lots of fratricide. And a star that lands with an “oof.” It’s a charming novel and I’m really hoping the movie ends up on a similar level as The Princess Bride. I’m very curious to see it and hope its good. Probably a good date movie. Gentlemen, that’s not a hint. Chicks dig unicorns and true love and things of that nature. Take your lass to see it and she will likely go “aww” a lot, squeeze your hand in the darkness of the theatre during emotional scenes and will potentially shower you with kisses afterwards for being such a sensitive, deep, and romantic guy. Unless of course the movie sucks, then the scenario might play out differently.

Now, if only someone would make a movie out of Neverwhere…

Proboscises And Overuse Of The Word “Woo”

I read Cyrano de Bergerac for the first time today. Not in the original French, but that’s not the point. Blew me away. Whatever else he may have written, Edmond Rostand has rightfully earned his place in literature. Cyrano is larger than life, the page and probably even the stage. A hero of epic proportions and outlandish deeds, a man who faces down 100 men with only his sword. A poet, philosopher and warrior but one cursed with an outlandish nose. A dreamer with a wit even sharper than his sword.

The other characters are just sort of there. Mostly they are obstacles for Cyrano, creatures that don’t exist on the same level as he, and who can’t fully understand him. Early in the play, he’s asked why he gave away all of his wages to stop a play, leaving him broke for the rest of the month. The friend, Le Bret, tells him “What a fool!” Cyrano responds “But-What a gesture!” Cyrano’s actions are not those of a fool, but the deliberate actions of a poet, and it is far more poetical to woo the love of his life on behalf of someone else than to never woo her at all.

Cyrano’s love for Roxane is heartbreakingly painful, but so poetical that it transcends mere pain and becomes this thing of exquisite altruism. That Roxane remains oblivious to Cyrano’s love until his death only compounds the sweet pain of it. Its like the Blues in that regard. Misery upon misery is heaped up until the dam finally bursts and by that point its too late for Cyrano and Roxane, but the audience leaves with both a sense of “well at least my life’s not so bad,” but also a longing. A longing to love that deeply, to have a Roxane to fight a hundred men for or a Cyrano to be wooed by under a balcony.

For some, Cyrano’s deeds strike close to home, and so do the consequences. To live poetically is difficult, yet oh so heroic. To woo beneath a window and a bursting, round moon and fail. To walk alone at midnight along empty streets searching for that perfect word to say. To sit on a rooftop begging the stars to finally give them that one chance. To know that failure is honorable as long as it is glorious. Most can’t handle that kind of life. Admittedly it is a little bizarre, not to mention lonely and often painful, but its like the biting wind of winter; the pain reminds that you’re alive, and it sweetens the victories. A Romantic like that, being so placed in a universe where every object, gesture and word has meaning, can’t believe that there is any other way to live that does not ring hollow.

At least, that’s how I see it.

Spider-Man Is The New Black

So Spidey 3 finally hit. Saw it opening night with my posse. Good times. Liked it. If you somehow happen to be one of the few hermits out there who didn’t take part in the “breaking of all box office records” or perhaps a misguided youth who threw money away on a Jon Heder/Will Ferrell Movie.

What’d I think? It was a ride. A damn exciting ride that manages to keep its numerous plot threads from crashing down most of the time. The cast were all excellent, even Topher Grace (I hated “That ‘70s Show” very much).

Though I did have a small problem with the movie. The foreshadowing was incredibly thick. I found myself successfully predicting a lot of the big moments of the movie as though I was a soothsayer. It wasn’t bad storytelling, just incredibly obvious storytelling. Which I suppose is all right, since Spidey is something of a modern Morality Play. Responsibility. Vengeance. Doing what’s right. Not being an assface to the people that care about you.

And assface Peter Parker does become. See, he’s riding high at the beginning of the movie. He’s saved the city and popular with the masses. His girlfriend’s in a Broadway play. His best friend wants him dead. …Okay, maybe its not all wine and roses, but nothing he can’t handle and it seems like everything revolves around Spider-Man in a good way. Of course, he gets so wrapped up in all the good stuff happening to him that he completely and painfully fails to see the problems that Mary Jane is having (and Kirsten Dunst puts in her best performance of the 3 movies). Then he finds out that the guy who killed Uncle Ben wasn’t who we thought it was. It was a guy named Flint Marko, who’s conveniently just escaped from prison and been turned into the shape shifting Sandman (because that’s what happens when you get caught in a late night particle accelerator experiment) THEN an alien life symbiote from SPAAAAAACE lands and bonds with Peter, giving him the black costume.

After that, the movie can pretty much be subtitled “Peter Parker: Douchebag.” He goes from confident to cocky to arrogant bastard. Sure, he comes to his senses and ditches the symbiote, but not before a LOT of damage is done (like being completely responsible for the creation of Venom)

The scenes where you really see Peter acting like a total ass are both incredibly painful but also totally necessary. Its what happens when a character’s who’s whole tagline is responsibility gets irresponsible. And yeah, Peter gets so emo, it hurts. He pretty much deserves every beating he gets in the movie after the getting the symbiote.

See this movie, if for no other reason than Bruce F’in Campbell.

NOT the E-2 Aircraft, University of Iowa Mascot or Alan Alda

Its rather nice seeing comic book culture coming up from the underground these days. I think a large part of it has to do with the fact that the 20-30 somethings rising to prominence in entertainment were all part of that “Saturday Morning Cartoon” set that grew up in the 80s. And now that this precious 18-35 demographic is graduating college and gaining disposable income, they’re spending it on what they want to see, which seems to be revivals of the stuff they grew up on (see Transformers).

Next weekend, Spider-Man 3 cometh to theaters nationwide. Spidey’s been an icon for decades now, and (next to Wolverine & Captain America) the public “face” of Marvel Comics (like Superman, Batman & Wonder Woman over at DC). Marvel’s usually done right by Spidey (we WILL NOT mention the Clone Saga) and he’s had numerous TV series and crossovers and the character himself is just so damn likable that he’s rightfully cemented himself as a top character.

But he’s not my favorite. Neither is Wolverine (who, while a badass when he’s done right, is just WAY too overexposed that its become a cliché), nor Superman or Batman. Not even Captain America, even though I’ve got nothing but love for the character. Deadpool comes real close, but no, top honors go to Clinton Francis Barton!


Pirate Boots! PIRATE BOOTS!


“Who,” you ask? The simple version is that Clint Barton was a trickshooting carney who wanted to do some good but ended up on the wrong side of the law and fought Iron Man a couple times before reforming and joining the Avengers (you can look up the longer version if you like, but it might make your head explode). Since then he’s been the quintessential Avenger, spitting in the face of danger, mouthing off to anybody (even his mentor, Captain America) and saving the world at the last minute with nothing but an arrow. No armored suit, no powers of a god, just an everyman with top level hand-eye coordination. He doesn’t even have the super soldier serum that Cap was injected with. Since the ‘60s, Clint’s probably quit the Avengers more times than anybody else, but he’s always come back, more times than anybody else. In the 90s, he even took over leadership of a team called the Thunderbolts (who were former b-level villains who masqueraded as heroes in order to conquer the world, but found out they actually liked being heroes and tried to reform legitimately) before coming back to the Avengers again only to get himself blown up in the incoherent “Avengers Disassembled.” I was sad when it happened, and more than a little pissed since it was at a time when I was just getting back into comics in college and Hawkeye was one of the main reasons I wanted to start reading again (The other reasons being Firestorm I, Blue Beetle II and Booster Gold, who all met grisly fates over at DC. Booster got better, and the new Firestorm is actually a pretty cool character, but I still haven’t forgiven DC for putting a bullet into Blue Beetle’s head)

Unlike a lot of kids, I wasn’t all that into Spider-Man and the X-Men. I was an Avengers fan, and trolled yard sales looking for old comic books, mostly for books that had Hawkeye on the cover. I even took up archer in late elementary school, not because I wanted to be like Robin Hood or even Green Arrow, but I wanted to be like Hawkeye. And that’s the thing really, Hawkeye resonated with me. Here was a guy who came up from humble beginnings, was kind of an outsider, wasn’t the smartest guy in the world but wasn’t stupid by any means, respected talent and merit more than reputation, wasn’t afraid of making stupid mistakes, and hid his insecurities (and boy howdy did the thought bubbles cover the panels when he was thinking) behind a big ol’ grin and a gaudy purple costume and a pair of pirate boots. I identified with all of that and still do. Even the pirate boots.


About a year or so after “Disassembled,” Marvel launched “House of M,” a big crossover about a reality warp by the now crazy Scarlet Witch (She’s a mutant and a longtime Avenger before going loopy in Disassembled and has WAY more confusing backstory). Anyway, thanks to her, Mutants are the dominant power in the world and her negligent daddy, Magneto, is basically king of the world (I probably should’ve mentioned the Magneto thing earlier). Anyway, it was an interesting idea but kind of fell flat as a miniseries, but it did do one thing, it brought Hawkeye back to life, who shot a bunch of arrows into Wolverine, sulked a lot when he found out he was supposed to be dead, then was killed again by Scarlet Witch.


A LOT of arrows

BUT THEN…when the whole shebang ends and Scarlet Witch reverts everything back to the proper reality (albeit with a lot fewer mutants around), there’s evidence that our boy Clint is back among the living. Again. Fast forward to 2006. Aside from Civil War, it turns out that Clint has indeed come back to the land of the upright and has a lot of questions he’d like to ask the woman who was once his friend and killed him twice. He tracks down Scarlet Witch to the totally fictional Eastern European country of Wundagore and finds out she’s depowered herself and has no memories of anything to do with the Avengers or superhero stuff. Then they shag, since he stopped a street urchin from mugging her and has been harboring a huge crush on her for 30 years or so (consider that in that time she married a synthezoid/robot-man and sort of had kids with him, and Hawkeye himself bounced from failed relationship to failed relationship until he married a woman who later died while saving him in a hell-like dimension and her soul is still technically trapped there, I think. Continuity is not easy.)

Anyway, aside from a couple of mini-series, the best place to find Hawkeye stories are in any of the older Avengers or Avengers West Coast titles. Inside Avengers circles, Hawkeye is easily one of the top five most popular, so he’s been around for a lot of their big storylines. The Essential Avengers volumes are a pretty affordable place to start looking (albeit without color)


This about sums him up. He single-handedly takes down Deathbird, a villain the X-Men routinely have trouble with, then plants a big wet one on her. Because it was funny.

Yarp

Know what you should do? I mean, all of you. Every last one of you. Man, woman and swamp monster. You should hightail it to your nearest darkened theatre and spend two hours basking in the glory that is Hot Fuzz.

Now, if you’ve seen Shaun Of The Dead, you might be aware of this movie. After all, its got the same two actors, Simon Pegg & Nick Frost.

If, however, you are a swamp monster without a passing interest in recent British comedies, here’s the skinny. Hot Fuzz is a buddy cop movie parody, much like Shaun was a zombie movie parody. Anyway, Nicholas Angel is a London supercop. He’s so good, in fact, that he gets “promoted” to sergeant and transferred to a small village in the country because he’s making the rest of the department look bad. So Sgt. Angel arrives in the village of Sanford, a town voted the best in England with a non-existent crime rate. The first half of the movie concerns itself with Nick being a by-the-book cop trying to adjust to the rural and rather lazy local force and being partnered with Police Constable Danny Butterman, the Inspector’s son. Then the “accidents” start happening.

In the interests of not getting into spoiler territory, the two do as buddy cops do. They bond, they learn from each other, and stop some crime. The first half of the movie isn’t necessarily slow. You know that foundations are being laid, red herrings being dangled, but you’re trying to piece it all together. Then it all gets put together and the swerve it takes is both brilliant and incredibly creepy. And then of course, this being a buddy cop movie, the climax is a hail of bullets, but my God is it one of the most incredible shootouts I’ve ever seen on film, and its compounded by the nature of the people involved in the shootout. I honestly can’t say any more about it without ruining it, so just trust me. Trust a faceless, random voice on the internet.

TRUKK NOT MUNKY!*

Yeah, there’s this movie coming out this year. Some sci-fi thing about robots from space that disguise themselves as cars and planes and cassette players and big robotic tyrannosaurus rexes (GRIMLOCK AM SMAURT!). Apparently a lot of fandom is really looking forward to it.

My Transformers exposure mostly comes from the G1 cartoon (and “Transformers Generation 2” which was the same cartoon only with lame CG effects added to make it all hip and cool for the 90s). To me, the Dinobots will always be “special teams,” Bumblebee will be whiny and useless, Starscream will always be a big bitchy prima donna with a screechy voice, Megatron will always be a gun and not a tank, and Soundwave will always be the best Transformer ever, despite being a tape deck. I can't even count how many times I tried to get my voice to sound like his when I was a kid.

Let’s sum up; I’m of the mind that if it doesn’t have “You’ve got the touch, you’ve got the power” as one of the songs in it, then how can the movie possibly be enjoyed?

Personally, I think a lot of fandom is going to be royally disappointed and pissed off that its not Spielberg’s gift to nerds. Trans-fans are notoriously uppity on things like continuity and canon, despite having several series that are generally very loosely linked. Personally, I’m not really expecting too much out of it. Certainly not the “nuance” that a lot of Trans-fans who read the comics want. We’re talking nuance coming from a license that was a Saturday morning cartoon series based off of cars that turned into robots fighting robots that turn into planes. Its like taking the “drama” of Gundam seriously when the entire purpose of the Mobile Suits is to beat the holy hell out of each other in new and innovative ways. Hey, I loved G.I. Joe a lot too, but if they announced a live action movie, I wouldn’t hold my breath for an Oscar nod.

Now M.A.S.K. on the other hand…

*http://transformers.wikia.com/wiki/Trukk_not_munky This actually explains it pretty well

I am a filthy, dirty whore

Yesterday, at Best Buy, by complete chance, I stumbled on the DVD section and saw all 4 seasons of Scrubs for $19.99 each. Suffice it to say that Season 1 was getting pretty lonely back home.

I feel so dirty. And I’d do it again. I mean 20 bucks for a season! How am I supposed to resist?

Sanguis In Machina

My DVD drive is haunted. That is the only explanation I can conceive. Last year my old DVD drive decided to stop reading DVDs. It would read regular CDs just fine, but put a DVD in and it would basically crash Windows Explorer forcing you to CTRL-ALT-DEL. That (plus the release of Medieval II: Total War, the only game that I actually went out and bought the day it was released) was enough for me to upgrade.

As it stands, I’ve got a sexy new Sony DVD-RW drive that works and burns great. Except for one little thing. Often, but not always, after I open the tray, it slides shut a few seconds later, occasionally trying to take my finger with it. It would seem that the god in the machine wants a blood offering.

Midnight Cookies

There are some barbaric individuals who view cooking as a less than manly art. Something fit only for the likes of women and sissy men. I say thee nay. Just look at Emeril. And Alton Brown. And Mario Batalli. And Anthony Bourdain.

Cooking competence is indeed a very good boon. It means not spending all one’s money on shitty fast foot. It means having control over exactly what you’re putting into your mouth, so if you don’t like applesauce, there ain’t gonna be any applesauce on your watch. More importantly, you can feed yourself AT ANY TIME YOU WANT. Plus, women like men who are capable of feeding themselves. And since I’m rocking a bachelor lifestyle going into grad school, ain’t nobody else gonna feed me.

Case in point: I wanted cookies tonight. I wanted them bad. Nothing in the pantry. A lesser man would chalk that up as a loss. Not I. An egg, vegetable oil, cookie mix and an oven at 350 Fahrenheit was enough to put me in business.

Result: Cookies bigger than the nonsense you find in a bag, and WARM.

Hell. Yeah.

If There’s Anything I Truly Believe In, Its This:

Waterloo Sunset by the Kinks is absolutely, positively, unquestioningly the best song ever in the history of the world. When I say “ever” I am referring to it in the ultimate sense. Never before nor ever in the future, is there a song as good as Waterloo Sunset. And I am prepared to go to the grave content in the knowledge that this is so. So prepared that should anyone challenge this claim of mine, I will jam my index fingers violently into my ears and repeatedly shout “Dewie-dewie-dewie-dewie-dewie” in a high-pitched nasal whine until I pass out from lack of oxygen.

Oh, I’ll do it, too. Just try me.