Turns out you can’t bottle lightning twice. Shocking… Bioshocking, even!

The sequel to the remarkably awesome Bioshock is out, and with only a handful of hours controlling my prototype Big Daddy, “Mr. Delta” behind me, I can report a resounding… “meh.”

C’mon, You Know You’re Going To Play It

This game should be subtitled: “You played the first game, right? OH THANK GOD!”

As an experience, it is coasting entirely on the first game’s momentum.

What’s more? It’s taking me for granted. It’s assuming I will put up with their lackluster effort due to my love of the first game. That I will endure the clunky control, woeful lack of power, piss-poor voice acting, shoddy exposition, and forgetting little things like (re)establishing their setting, all for my rose-tinted memories of fear and desperation in an underwater Objectivist Utopia gone wrong.

And you know what? They’re not wrong. That’s exactly what I’m doing.

Oh Man You Guys, It’s So Mysterious!

A story lurks around the corner. A story I want to learn more about, granted. A story, so far delivered with ham-fisted, fumbling subtlety.

The opening presents an interesting enough–if abrupt–set-up, then shoves you unceremoniously into the gameplay.

In the first game this was compelling, mysterious, and terrifying. Here it’s simply negligent. “Yeah, so you’re a Big Daddy and, ummm, you like Little Sisters, this one in particular, and maybe you’re dead, but here you are now. Go on our fetch-missions!”

You see, the reason most PCs are amnesiacs, orphans and cyphers is so your lack of pre-game knowledge is understandable–in fact part of the game’s very paradigm.

The opening to the first Bioshock is one of the best openers of all time, second only to the likes of Half-Life. Your every step filled with some new sight, some impressive reveal, some compelling reason to continue through a mixture of need to survive and desire to discover.

Here, it’s just trusting you to get on with it.

There’s no direct incentive other than knowing the game won’t play itself. Even when “reveals” come, they’re clumsy and dejected. You walk through a door, it jerks control away “teasing” you with a sledge-hammer to the face. This story is either ridiculously transparent already or I’m stuck waiting for it’s very telegraphed twists.

No, I’m not contradicting myself, it’s either totally obvious what’s going on or it’s just as obviously a red herring.

Oh, then it besets me with a wave of enemies.

Big Daddy, Scourge of Rapture!

A wave of enemies my very human protagonist of yore seemed capable of dispatching with teeth-clenching effort; yet my gargatuan Lord of Rapture gets bitched by every few seconds.

My fragility and woeful lack of power is completely laughable. It’s so sad as to be hilarious. You know, in the first game, I really felt like a lone guy with a handful of ammo and a prayer. I ran breathlessly from danger, firing off pot shots until I ran out of room and was forced to bludgeon some Objectivist jag-off in a bunny mask until he stopped breathing.

I felt my role. I felt part of it.

As a Big Daddy–even a prototype–I feel like a newborn foal trying to take my first, stumbling steps… in a shark tank.

My footsteps lumber, my leathery fist flexes, my gigantic drill glistens powerfully, then half my life is disappeared by some random bum I didn’t see. I turn–too far, thanks control sensitivity–and fire up my drill! Which immediately runs out of gas and I’m shot to death by another splicer I didn’t see.

Seriously, this happens, like, every couple of minutes.

I don’t feel like a powerful warden of Rapture. I feel like a golem made of elbows and thumbs, set upon by hunters trained from the Creche to destroy Frankensteins like me. Ayn Randian footsoldiers which I remember dispatching easily enough are now expert killers with Big Daddy all up on their menu as the soup du jour.

The impressive and terrifying panopoly of the Big Daddy afforded me are in fact gag-props leftover from some Cos-play event, apparently. Weapons that tore my former protagonist literal “new ones” with every encounter are laughed off by the citizenry of Rapture. “Rivet gun? Fuck, son, are you still using that old thing? Me, I’ve got a revolver, and Ole’ Wrenchy over there’s got… well, a wrench. These are the weapons of the future.”

Which is more or less fine, considering I will respawn right over there. You can see it from here.

It’s Only a Game

And that’s the thing, when playing the first game, I felt it was important to live.

It was all so immersive, I fought desperately to survive. I felt a vary tangible failure when I was overcome. I would reappear in a nearby Vita-Chamber my finger still reflexively firing, my hearbeat still racing.

Then, very late in the game, I realized there’s no penalty for failure. Dying was a minor setback at worst.

With that realization I stopped being afraid. Suddenly ripped out of the experience only to find out I’m a guy on my couch playing a videogame. Mind you, it took me almost the entire narrative to realize this.

In this outing, I am made painfully aware from my very first encounter.

“Oh well, dead again,” I find myself chuckling as I respawn right over there.

So I might be made of elbows and thumbs, but frankly I’m not fearful of the forthcoming elbowmen purge. At all.

Bring on your Kristallnacht, I’ll see you again in a second.

Soooo… What?

The absence of the creators from the first game is tangible. This sequel comes off as if someone described the first game to someone and then had them try to recreate it. It has all the elements–all the furniture is there–but none of the substance. It simply is.

I’m going through the motions only because I’m painfully aware that I have to. All the ideas and devices that felt so fresh and compelling in the first game are laid bare here. All the false-starts, side-tracks, and all-too apparent game realities are now annoying where once they were obscured by suspension of disbelief. A suspension bartered for with brilliant exposition, direction, and mood so thick you could not escape it.

None of which is present here.

That’s really all there is to say at this point (except a minor point that a lot of the voice acting sucks straight balls, totally phoned in).

Is it awful? I mean, I guess not, because I find myself wanting to continue. Only barely (and because I’ve been told in good confidence, the last act is as inspired as anything from the first game… without that promise I might already be trading it in). It’s just not great, not on it’s own, anyway. It is instead coasting on greatness, which is exactly the kind of thing that would piss Andrew Ryan off.

Verdict: If you haven’t played the first one? Don’t bother. There’s nothing here for you. Play the first game instead. It’s seriously awesome.

If you have played the first game, you already bought this and it’s impossible for me to sway your desire for more from this world. I obviously can’t blame you, but I gotta’ tell you: it’s disappointing as hell with only the barest hope that they’ll remember how to make some magic by its end.

Postscript: I am very aware that excess expectation is the usual suspect in this kind of disappointment. I assure you, I wasn’t expecting the second coming, here. If anything, I was expecting to be underwhelmed and this limboed in well below my worst assumptions.

Heads up: I’m a huge Disney fan (or was when they were worth being a fan of).

The modern era has not been good to the House of the Mouse, at least not at the cinema. Everywhere else he continues to dominate (and I, for one, welcome our big-eared rodent overlords).

But it’s the movies—the anticipated yearly release that has been overtaken by Pixar and Dreamworks—that keep Disney present and accounted for in the minds of the greater (no-kid-having) public.

You could fill a book with Disney’s screw-ups over the last decade (letting Pixar go was emblematic but not isolated). Not the least of which was trying to keep up in the young man’s game of computer animation; at which they failed unanimously. Not all of them were bad movies per se, but they were consistently outplayed by up and comers.

Ultimately because Disney doesn’t make a very good follower. They’re leaders. They lead. And rather than fail at following or shrink away, I’m glad they finally dusted off their pencils and pens and went back to what they’re best at. Traditional animation.

I’ve been really disappointed to see a lack of old pen and paper animation on the big screen lately. Hey, I love Pixar and Dreamworks and all the dross in between, but it shouldn’t replace really-real animation. America still has a lot of talented pencil jockeys and I’ve hated to see what looked like the white flag to me.

If not Disney, then who?

You can well imagine how excited I was to see The Princess and the Frog on opening day.

I took the family as an excuse, I was going anyway.

•••

Oh man you guys, words cannot express my excitement—nor my kids’—when that castle showed up and the music started. I am such a little girl when it comes to this stuff, but more to the point, I really wanted this to be good. Think of it, if this fails, I don’t know if Disney recovers (at least RE: animated movies). So far, Frog is trending well in reviews and that’s good news but the Box Office will be the real test.

Just to see traditional animation back up there on the big screen is refreshing. I think m’man Ebert says it best:

This is what classic animation once was like! No 3-D! No glasses! No extra ticket charge! No frantic frenzies of meaningless action! And . . . good gravy! A story! Characters! A plot!

3-D animation and CGI is great, no doubt. Yet it can easily devolve into spectacle and gimmick—often covering for bad storytelling in the process. You’re not allowed as much leeway in Tradanime. You’re either good or you’re going home.

In my not so humble opinion, this was great. I enjoyed myself immensely, and my kids were consistently entertained in a way that, say, Up or Wall-E didn’t do.

Let that sink in a spell: Two of the best animated films… arguably ever, doesn’t quite grab kids as much as me or you. Kids. Remember them?

Leave it to Disney to deliver on all emotional levels, while still keeping little eyes on the screen and little butts in chairs.

•••

Storywise, Frog is nothing new but presented in several novel ways.

The story is flush with mood and character while providing plenty of cheap laughs and prat falls.

Nothing revolutionary but good stories don’t have to be. In many ways it’s Ratatouille… only with a consistent story, fully realized characters, and not trying to rely on the food pr0n fad to make up for its many shortcomings.

Frog is about food, family, friends, music and all the things that make the heart happy in this world. It delivers Ratatouille’s confused message within the first five minutes and goes on to say even more stuff about how to live life and gain satisfaction. Specifically how to balance what you want versus what you need. Traditional Disney fare delivered with the ease and grace you should expect.

Side note: I pretty obviously don’t care for Ratatouille. If Pixar has made a bad movie, it’s it. Before you break your leg rushing to its defense: it’s entertaining enough, it’s not like I hated it. It just has none of the character that has made Pixar so dominating. Which is surprising not just from them, but from Brad Bird who is a slick writer with depths of talent. Point is, The Princess and the Frog has just as much love for food, restaurateurs, and following your dream but manages to show it in a way that doesn’t rely on you sharing its niche fascination (which, again, kills it for kids, and people like me who could give a poop about all of the above).

•••

Let’s talk about the long awaited elephant in the room: She’s black, they’re black, there’s a lot of blackness going on.

It’s about time.

Not much is made of it, which should be expected. While it might avoid whole swathes of the black condition in and around World War I, it peppers enough code-words and visual cues that I don’t feel as if they’re presenting pure fantasy either (and either way, what’s wrong with a little fantasy?). It focuses on class over color, which the argument could be made will always be the larger issue.

As was predictable, sight unseen there have already been a few charges of racism. Prince Naveen isn’t “really” black, accusations of stereotypes abound, and all the rest of the crap that Disney draws just by being the industry leader in innocent fun. You need to have your soul checked if you’re overworried about this stuff.

It’s a delightful movie, with realized characters, while still highlighting a culture. In this case, it’s as much southern (specifically N’awlins) culture as it is “black”, albeit the latter is our POV.

White folks are presented as villains, nincompoops, comic relief, and vapid in turn. But a) we can all take a little mud on our face, and b) it’s not like it’s presented as some crazy revenge fantasy, it’s all in good fun.

It’s an upbeat movie that lingers long enough to be racial but never has enough to say to risk being racist.

Otherwise Disney embraces its own reputation of being maudlin, sappy, hope-mongers, while defying themselves comically at several turns. It’s tough to tell you what I mean there without risking too many reveals. I’ll talk a bit more about it toward the end, but suffice to say it knows when it’s becoming a Disney movie and makes an effort to keep you guessing.

Without mincing words: It’s just nice to have a black princess to stand up there among the sisterhood of princesses once and for all. Too long coming but just in time.

•••

If you grew up with Disney, chances are you have your own Top Five in at least one category. I have several, but that’s not the point.

First, the easy one…:

Prince: Prince Naveen of Maldonia

Naveen easily steps up as one of the top two Disney Princes of all time. He has the benefit of carrying his half of the film (which is itself odd for Disney), so he does so almost too easily.

Still, several princes have enough chance to distinguish themselves that it’s not as if he takes his place without competition. For the record, Aladdin is his only better at this slot, because let’s face it, Aladdin is rad.

The new guy has a complete story arc with lots of quirks and developments along the way. He’s consistently amusing and expertly acted by Bruno Campos. He suffers from none of Simba’s whininess, the Beast’s ugliness, or John Smith’s off-putting falseness.

He is spoiled without being aggravating, and carries a full half of the movie’s lesson. He has as much to teach as learn, which is in and of itself unique in a Disney flick which trends toward one character being the moral center from whom all lessons descend.

Plus, he’s a little hot.

•••

Villain: Dr. Facilier, The Shadow Man

The big, bad Voodoo daddy.

I compare Dr. Facilier to Jafar in the way that his story is never fully explored, but you get him entirely in just a few short seconds. He’s got a great look and a sinister edge while stilling coming off as just sympathetic enough. Which is to say not at all, but you can see he feels justified in his delicious evilness. Plus he’s played by the instantly recognizable Keith David which alone makes him badass.

Where does he rank overall? Man, there are so many good Disney villains, so it’s a tough race. Jafar is arguably my favorite of all time, so by comparison he’s already in good company. Still, I don’t know that he usurps Scar or Ursula, but easily stands among them. I’d say he’s in the Top Five without too much ado, but I reserve the right to change my answer later.

It’s worth noting that his “friends” however are visually excellent and steal the screen every time they show up. They don’t get a single line, but you know what they’re about. Plus they treat you to some really neat effects that show of what traditional animation can do.

•••

Music: Meh.

That’s harsh. The music was great.

Each song toe-tapping, spooky, or sweeping in turn. However don’t expect any of them to be the hit single of yesteryear. Each song is pretty specifically tied in context to the scene it’s in and they don’t really stand on their own.

That said, they were good enough to be good enough. Plus, the background soundtrack is full of horns, bass, and Dixieland jazz and that is its own reward.

Unfortunately none of the songs are going to make anyone’s Top Five, let alone too many Top 10s. Regardless, each one serves the story just fine, and are hummable in their own right.

Quite good in context, and probably worth buying if you’re already a soundtrack person, but it’s not going to compare to past Grammy winners.

Which is a shame considering how important music is to the background of the piece. It definitely could’ve been better and instead of going back to their usual well I wonder if they shouldn’t have gone for a Harry Connick Jr. or other songwriter a little more apropos and a little less Disney.

•••

Princess: Tiana

Tiana is up against a hard wall of nostalgia but benefits from being fresh in the mind.

Listen, if we’re being straight up with each other, than Tiana is probably the best princess just based on character alone… like having a complete one (played superbly by Anika Noni Rose).

A lot of these princesses have gotten away with being vapid placeholders who get their every wish by the end. That is not Tiana’s story. Remember earlier how I mentioned Frog flirts with Disney conventions while juking you at several points? Tiana sits strongly at the center of each of those veers from formula.

In many ways she’s jaded. She doesn’t believe in wishing on stars, she doesn’t act like—or even believe herself to be—Disney Princess material for the better portion of the movie. How that turns out is worth watching, as they’re several surprises left at the end of the story. Surprises. In a Disney movie. That alone earns it some points.

So, all things being equal, Tiana boldly takes the lead with only maybe Belle, or Meg keeping up with her as characters go. Still, I’m a big sappy fanboy when it comes to Ariel and Jasmine, and the abovementioned ladies, so it’s tough to just hand her the crown of ichi ban Princess #1.

But she’s close.

You’ll have to decide that for yourself.

•••

Final Verdict: Man, I loved it. The cast, the color, the music, the ebb and flow of the narrative itself. The moral lessons were direct and accessible, and it was just a damn enjoyable film.

I’d like to formally welcome Disney back to the map, and I certainly hope this becomes this generation’s Little Mermaid. A wake up call to what Disney has to offer and the start of a decade-spanning legacy of kick-ass films.

Of course, they’ll have to follow it up with a decade of kick-ass films.

Only time will tell.

Marty here for a very special Process Thursdays.

Why is it very special? Because it’s by me, of course. Also it’s cross posted, which is the new hotness.

Over on my blog—which I’ve only just remembered that I had—friend of the show: Tarvis North, suggested I talk about inspiration. That’s a rich, meaty vein of veiny, rich meat of a topic. So I applied the question to Shadowstories, remembering its earliest days back when it was a poorly kept slambook writ by a handful of giggling idiots.

It inspired (see what I did there?) me to pull back the curtain on the adolescent and transparent origins behind the characters you see before you every week here at the Storyverse. From back in the day: when Chuck, myself, and a handful of our Creative Writing class first added our characters to the story. They were never intended to be self-inserts, I don’t think we ever considered Grebok to be me, or Chuckles Chuck, etc. If anything, they were avatars (pardon the pun) into the book.

Over the years the little scamps evolved and migrated to the folks we see to the right here. At one point (which was still, like, fifteen years ago. The first time I think we had any illusion of doing something “serious” with it), Chuck and I wrote up a series of origin stories, which finally gave us anything resembling canon. Even then the ideas have continued to mutate into the material that ultimately ended up in the Bios.

That’s who they are now, but let’s take a look at who they were then. Back when they were the barest spermazoa ejaculated out of our deranged, pop-culture drenched brains into the wadded tissue of our high school notebooks.

•••

Lord Chuckles: Avatar of Good

Lord Chuckles origins may not be surprising to those of you with detail-oriented eyes and a love of late 80’s/early 90’s PC gaming.

This was Chuck’s chosen name in the then-popular Ultima series as the, well, the Avatar of Virtue (no relation to the jester from the series, actually. That just happened). It was more or less a play on “Chuck” with the added benefit of being a ridiculous name for a Chosen One type hero person (this isn’t high comedy folks).

Earliest incarnations of Shadowstories played this pretty straight (since we had no hope of publishing, IP issues were somebody else’s problem). In fact, in one of the books—VI, I think—the team spent a good deal of the story in Britannia. It was just that much funnier that the so-called Avatar of Virtue was a prickish fop.

Once we manifested illusions that this was a saleable property, we needed to change Chuckles’ origin. By then the story barely relied on the game (which, by that time, had already boomed and busted online), so it was a fairly easy fix. One that gave us a new bounce of narrative freedom, and Moritania was born (originally Morittannia). Chuckles’ time spent on a garbage scow and ignoble return home were added as send-ups of the Chosen One legacy.

That he’s not technically an Avatar, or that in his apparent embodiment of all things “good” (including fruit-filled pastry and anonymous rest stop handjobs) he’s abandoned those assholes to their fate, only adds to his hilarious mystique.

•••

Grebok, son of Drogmar,

Keeper of the Seven Keys of Ventoozlar

While a more obscure reference, Grebok is arguably the more direct lift.

The name is taken from a line delivered in the MST3K episode: Cave Dwellers. During the long-winded and convoluted exposition (a part we like to call, she had to ask), we are introducted to the incidental character: “Grebok”. Crow supplies the rest of this ridiculous moniker in a master stroke against flimsy fantasy nomenclature (I found an annotation that says it was actually “son of Flockmar, Keeper of the Seven Keys of Pentuzlar.” I am just learning this now). I fell in love. This was literally the funniest thing I’d heard so far. I started using it on the BBS’s and anywhere else it would fit.

Grebok, the character, was originally more Cro-Magnon (or Conan-ish), in keeping with the barest hint of his “source material”.

After we had gotten underway with the first couple of Shadowstories, Chuck and I used to pass a property on the bus with a sign in front announcing it as: Mirador. It was just a suburban plot of land in a rural part of our County. I guess they really identified with lighthouses. I think it was a single story home, even. How that got conflated with the Spanish word for Watchtower is anyone’s guess. I just thought it was a badass fantasy name, and that was the beginning of the end for Grebok’s more Conan-y tropes.

Slowly but surely Mirador grew in my mind, as did Grebok’s role in it. I just heaped layers of my favorite things onto this fantasy planet. It was at turns Final Fantasy/Phantasy Star, Star Wars, Star Trek, D&D, Magic: the Gathering, you name it. Eventually it grew too cumbersome, even for my “but it’s rad” teenage justifications. I refined the idea down but it still held all these really weird artifacts from previous bad ideas. Eventually the only way to parse it all was for Grebok to become the man of two worlds he is now. At times savage and dopey, and other times cultured and well-trained. Somewhere between Conan and Han Solo is the Son of Drogmar.

Ooo! Here it is (Cue it up to 2:55).

•••

Lord of the Lemmings

From the game, Lemmings, not-so oddly enough.

Our friend Lupy (who just got married last weekend btw, big w00t) introduced us to the always enigmatic Lord of the Lemmings. It started just BSing and getting into the head of whoever must be laying down all these mono-functional little rodents from this game which delighted us so. When Shadowstories came around, he put himself down as ShadowLord (his current BBS handle), the Lord of the Lemmings.

In his earliest days he supplied the gang with boosts from his signature, situation-appropriate critters. All with self-explanatory names like: Flashlight Lemming, Explosive Lemming, Glasscutter Lemming, Mood Music Lemming, etc. It wasn’t long (possibly as many as five pages) before the “Shadowlord” part got dropped. However, the dire, cloaked look of the character remained well after.

Lupy’s penchant for hijacking Shadowstories with bizarre anecdotes and long winded (if well written) asides, slowly coalesced into the LotL (pronounced Lottle) that we all know and are highly suspicious of these days.

His impending godhood, and ability to move in and out of the story (moreso than his fellow protagonists) are all latter day additions more Chuck and myself than Lupy. However the reverence of a Great Big Lemming, his knack for speaking in sing-song rhyme, and ability to confound all who speak to him are all from the original blueprint.

•••

Gunther P. Washington

Not so much based on any particular person or source of pop culture.

Although his hapless humor was very much in the style of Get A Life, the (too) short-lived sitcom starring Chris Elliot. A favorite of our own pasty, tow-headed friend, Jim. A wunderkind of impeccable comic sensibilities (he was unto Jim Carrey before anyone knew who that was).

It was Jim who first gave us Gunther P. Washington and his lovable loser mystique. His obsession with his “mommy”, love of all things tacky, indomitable sunny attitude, and common foil for Sparky were all the character had in those halcyon days of youth.

Over time, however, the character became more and more the doughy, magnet for big violence and office clerkery, man-child he is today. Not so much a departure from his original purpose considering he didn’t have one, but no less an evolution in concept.

•••

Sparky and R.T. are more or less our own creation. They might be lampoons of Wookie sidekicks and the concept of pilots loving their spaceships a little too much, but not nearly as specific as the above. The Bastard Sun, Skarpo the Wily Bear Magician, Jason Priestley Death, and assorted other characters are more or less our own.

It was primarily the main characters all had their uncreative origins in other media. Whatever was our favorite thing the minute and a half before Chuck handed us an otherwise unexceptional, single-subject notebook is now permanently embedded in the fabric of the Storyverse for all time.

And that, dear readers, is how the sausage got made.

Yeah, yeah. It’s my birthday.

Yeah, no, don’t worry about wishing me well—I mean, you can if you want, I won’t be a dick about it or anything. It’s just not my favorite day for a variety of reasons, the passing of time being the least of them.I’m cool with getting older. Growing up is pretty rad, all-told.

I think long ago I found that wishing me a happy anyday doesn’t actually bring it to pass. That simple but potent lack of magic in our world hits me hardest around this time.

Which is the frilliest of privileged sissy problems to have, but there it is, and it depresses me more than it should. And please, before anyone stages an intervention, I already know I’m a beautiful snowflake worthy of love and all that. I’ve already called it a sissy problem. I’m thirty some-damn years old. I’m well aware of how to navigate the stormy rocks of my BS depression.

•••

I totally won’t remember yours.

I’m terrible about that. I probably won’t get you a gift either, or if I do, it’ll be weeks after the fact. So really, just save it up for someone with a better track record of general Birthdaymanship.

I’m just not that into birthdays.

Mine or yours.

It’s nothing personal, which is how I excuse a lot of my stand-offish behavior. I don’t know that it actually makes it better.

I think growing up misanthropic has just put me in a permanent state of living up to a zero level of disappointment and surliness, despite largely moving past that stage in my life.

I’ve made a few stabs at genuinely enjoying my birthday and it’s worked, but all-told it’s too much work. So I mostly shut off the world as best I can, and just try and do something that makes me happy.

Usually that involves marathon sessions of Final Fantasy.

So who knows what I’ll do today. Don’t really have anything charted out, but you probably won’t hear from me again until Monday.

So while I’ve got your attention get on over to the Storyverse and check out our latest chapter: Virgin Sacrifice.

Now, with that maudlin and needlessly dramatic crankiness aside: Happy Birthday me!

•••

I mentioned it over the Twitternets machine, but I’ll say it again: Blackest Night: New Mutants is the best non-Green Lantern tie in so far.

Let me start by assuring you, dear readers, the recent New Mutants series penned by Zeb Wells continues to impress. It’s just fanboy enough without being suffocating. His characterization has been spot on (with a margin of error of 10), and I look forward to each issue in a way I don’t reserve for much these days.

Which brings us to Necrosha, the Blackest Night rip-off running through the ancillary X-books.

Oh, and it is a rip-off.

A decent enough one. With an internal continuity and (hopefully) a reason for happening. But don’t get it wrong, this is a direct lift from the Distinguished Competition. During its pronouncement at various cons the quote “we’re raising a million dead mutants—suck it Blackest Night” floated around. So, you know, not strictly veiled.

This happens quite often on both sides of the aisle, I’m not actually accusing anyone of untoward behavior. Most of the guys in the trenches are all buddies, and a good idea is a good idea. I’m just pointing it out so we can all make the obvious jokes and move on.

The million dollar question: is this a good idea?

Yeah, sure.

Like I said, it has an internal continuity. All the pieces are more or less on the table. They have to do some stretching but not as much as inventing a rainbow of cosmological flavor just in time to need it to defeat an age-old D-list villain.

Get this, the villain of Necrosha? Totally C-list.

Yeeeaah! Suck it, Blackest Night!

Advantage: Marvel in the villain category. Only because I’m a bigger fanboy of semi-obscure X-villains from the 80’s. Selene is definitely that. Still, she’s been oft forgotten or misused over the years, and this makes a decent case for the once Oldest-Mutant-Evar (this title changes hourly. See also: Most-Powerful-Mutant-Evar).

With a little help from the Techno-organic virus the former Black Queen raises all the dead mutants anyone can remember to wage war on New Genosha or Historyrepeatsitselfopolis or whatever Scott is calling that bad idea of his off the coast of San Francisco (the good news is they probably won’t get nuked this time, since they’re so close to San Fran… unless Republicans get back in office).

Pro: it’s a chance for the old Hellfire Club to all be petty and mean to each other regarding their respective mistakes twenty years hence. Selene raises the Hellions to go pick on “I’m totally a good guy now” Emma; Sebastian Shaw has to deal with his dead son; Leland returns to haunt his old sandwiches; Pierce has to admit he used to hang out almost exclusively with mutants, that kind of thing. That appeals to me.

Con: it involves the new X-Force, but what are you gonna do?

•••

The real subject today is the inaugural New Mutants issue.

The gang is having their share of resurrections lately: Magik’s back; Warlock is inexplicably alive (whatever, he’s a living machine alien, not being dead is the least I’m taking on board).

It’s like the only one missing for a full-on reunion is Doug E. Doug Ramsey (shut up, Tabitha).

I’ve heard a lot of disrespect for young Master Ramsey over the years. Lamest superpower ever (he reads/understands any language), worst death ever, most obvious death ever, etc., etc. I invite all those people to shut their goddamn mouths. Doug Ramsey was a fantastic character for all of those reasons and more you unimaginative twits.

My only real objection here is that we are seriously running out of deaths that stick in comics. Doug was my generation’s Gwen Stacy—or maybe just mine. The creepy inevitability of his staying dead was a sadness that haunted us well into all that Douglock nonsense. Even that was just a cold reminder that he was really gone.

Until now he’s not! Yay!

But he’s a revenant slave. Boooo!

Anyway, Zeb and the assorted Necrosha writers finally get Doug’s potential. He doesn’t just understand written or spoken language. He deconstructs patterns, interprets them, and knows all he needs to know about your shit. Body language was always my favorite idea they never used.

Well, here it is (below, click to embiggen). Plus they did me a few better with him taking apart architecture and security systems by observing a small sample. That’s a great way to turn the “lamest superpower ever” on its head and have it beat your super team.

Zeb not only uses Doug to good effect as a threat, but also as a decent way to get into the heads of his character that much more. That’s classic X-storytelling right there, and might just be my favorite moment of the revitalized series since Illyana offered to make Amy’s sociopathic ex-boyfriend all better.

A good crossover should do more than just reference the master series, it should take it as an opportunity to explore something about their characters or series that they couldn’t otherwise. The Hitman crossover for Final Night, or Starman taking advantage of the Sins of Youth story (matter of point, both series were the only good things to come out of the Bloodlines crossover); or Young Justice and Superboy’s excellent issues spinning out of Our Worlds at War.

Great stories on their own facilitated by big, world-endy backdrops.

Which brings us to the best Blackest Night crossover conceit of my little joke here.

So far the BN tie-ins have been completely emotionless affairs, despite being predicated on that very thing. That’s what the Black Lanterns feed off of, emotion. That’s the whole schtick. Yet each one has been played straight without anything new or even neat being explored. BN: Superman was soooo bland and unimaginative (strike two, Robinson); BN: Batman was ignorable at best with one or two moments that played; and BN: Titans actually added something to the story but largely was inseparable from every other torture-laden issue of that misbegotten series. Meanwhile, every issue of the main title and it’s natural follow-through in the Green Lantern titles are full of fear, danger, regret and all the other things that should make this kind of dead-raising adventure worth reading.

The Verdict: Necrosha already delivers in a way I never expected, while the DC tie-ins (to the arguably better set-up and conceived story) have fallen flat so far. I definitely suggest Blackest Night and it’s Lantern-related tie-ins, but you can safely ignore the rest. Meanwhile Necrosha is remarkably good so far, but might rely too much on your being a fan of the Claremont Hellfire Club and their related shenanigans.

In other news this will force me to pick up issues of X-Force which is almost certainly someone’s cruel joke just for me.

I saw Astro Boy last night with the boy (just the regular boy).

It wasn’t great.

FULL DISCLOSURE: I’m going to get into spoilers herein. In part because the story is a predictable and projected golem from its onset. I figure most of you are adults and unlikely to need to go into this one “pure”.

In fairness, it wasn’t awful either.

If you’re under eight you’re gonna’ love it. I asked Josh what his favorite part was and he told me it was when the little boy got robot powers. Sounds good, right?

Translation: when the borderline psychotic father builds a cruelly mocking simulacra of his disintegrated child.

Now, that is the original story (more or less).

In fact a lot of nods to Osamu Tezuka’s manga are peppered throughout what is otherwise a thoroughly modern and often heavy-handed storyline. Granted, it’s a kid’s movie in the end, and heavy-handed often trades as subtlety at that level, but its constant reiteration does very little for the story. Dreamworks, Pixar and even Disney have proven less is still more in the language of film, regardless the audience.

The child’s death is handled with the softest touch, which makes sense. No need to traumatize the young’uns. Unfortunately that means it’s completely missed. Josh kept asking why that man was so sad and angry. His kid has awesome robot powers, what’s to be sad about? Right?

That man is Doctor Tenma (inexpertly played by Nicholas Cage. While I admire Cage’s enthusiasm he really needs to learn what parts are appropriate to his talents. In fact, Cage and Sutherland should’ve switched roles in my not so humble opinion) who we establish as an earnest if negligent parent.

When his son dies he has a breakdown, builds a robo-copy in a lab and uploads the boy’s memories from his DNA (whatever, Science, eat my magical nuts and shut up).

Meanwhile, the benevolent Dr. Elefun bears sympathetic witness to this process, enabling an entirely unhealthy pursuit.

•••

Toby wakes up!

Tenma takes him home reinvigorated with a desire to reclaim lost time with his son. Eventually he realizes he’s created a shambling simulacrum of his child, freaks out, and rejects the boy much to the chagrin and protest of the benevolent Dr. Elefun (who I will continue to refer to thus).

Ah, there’s the rub.

That’s the break right there.

At this point the movie could’ve gone a couple of ways. The powers that be chose the wrong one in my opinion.

In the original version, Astro Boy is clearly not Toby. He changes for the journey; an imperfect copy. He likes the structure of cubes over flowers, that kind of thing. He is a flawed recreation if still a good boy who would love his mother if you remembered to input that line of code. When Tenma rejects the creature in realization of what he’s wrought, goes nuts (sometimes burning down his lab), sells the boy to a circus and disappears from the narrative, you kind of get it.

Dark stuff, but psychologically genuine for its part.

Here, that line is never made. In fact, for all intents and purposes the boy is completely unchanged for the journey. He is by all rights the same kid,  if slightly accelerated for his robotitude.

That the father quickly gives up in his personal attention and rejects the boy all the same (by describing him as changed and not the same—because remember kids, never show what you can tell!) is jarring at best.

Tenma mugs to turn the boy off, and solicits the aid of the benevolent Dr. Elefun. Who, bless his heart, tries to tell Tenma that of his two neurotic breaks, this one is the more vile.

However, he stops short of making the point. The point that the boy is essentially a success, or that boys will be boys, or that he should’ve tried to move on in the first place. None of them.

Just the vaguest of platitudes bandied back and forth before the father becomes resolute in his rejection and the benevolent Dr. Elefun is left to sigh and let it come to pass. Of course Toby overhears this and leaves.

He immediately runs afoul of the militaristic badguy before promptly getting knocked into an entirely different movie. For what it’s worth, a better movie—this one has Kristen Bell.

•••

This is standard kid’s movie fare.

Toby/Astro learns the value of friendship, continues his quest to belong, and shows he’s a thoughtful and selfless young lad. Traits which are never shown to be missing per se, so it’s not so much a journey as a plateau of pre-established destination.

Several new characters and concepts are introduced, including the aforementioned Ms. Bell who plays Cora. A character who’s notable for being the only one with any real arc. Even then it’s a clumsy, misshapen thing.

The relationship between humans and robots is shown a number of times without any real depth or promise of conclusion. Instead it’s one of many ideas brought up but never really put back down in any satisfying way.

Which after all this whistling out my asshole will be the problem plaguing the whole film.

Yet another opportunity for theme is missed during this part: the subject of father figures.

Toby is on the search to belong, and flirts with a number of would-be mentors who all want something. This would’ve been a great theme, rounding off to the inevitable benevolent Dr. Elefun who is the only person who wants Toby to be Toby (even if he’s robo-Toby). Unfortunately, this simple theme was completely missed by everyone involved.

All-told the second act wraps up with a few chuckles and a sense of setting the table and then eating off of it. Which belies that the writers understand how stories are made in principle.

Then we go jolting into the finale.

•••

Badguy Donald Sutherland captures the boy and orders him to be dismantled.

Tenma agrees, the benevolent Dr. Elefun protests vainly, and Toby goes willingly and dejectedly to his own demise….

And by all rights that should’ve been the end of the movie.

I mean, that wouldn’t have satisfied any audience (although we had the theater to ourselves, so it’s obviously not satisfying one anyway), but nothing in the story so far supports a triumphant, eleventh-hour turn around.

Toby has suffered the latest and cruelest of his series of rejections; Tenma is resolute in regarding his Frankenstein-like creation as an abomination; and the benevolent Dr. Elefun, while benevolent, has been wholly ineffectual in making his benevolence felt or heard.

Dr. Tenma is only ever expressed in extremes. He is the negligent parent, he madly recreates his lost son, he throws himself into his attempt to reconnect, if he learns anything it’s that he shouldn’t have bothered, and from then on he is all too game to shut the boy off at his next opportunity, and—in fact—does so.

Then, despite a complete lack of setup or foreshadowing in any way, Tenma comes to grips with the boy having the right to exist.

Unfortunately, yes, really.

All the sudden and without prelude, he’s all “Toby be free!”

I was gobstruck.

Keep in mind, in almost every iteration of Astro Boy, Tenma is in the backstory, but not a presence. The benevolent Dr. Elefun is more or less the father figure.

So, at most, I was expecting him to be the coup-bringer. Nay, in fact, I was waiting for it.

That would have been supported by the fundament of an arc. He’s been consistent in marveling at the boy and, indeed, wishing him well when able.

Come on, Shorty, I found myself internally goading the screen, do something.

Instead the actual father has a crisis of conscience and learns all his lessons instantly.

It’s terrible at best, contrived on down the list at worst.

•••

The Verdict: This was so close to being a decent movie for all ages. It really was.

Plenty of enjoyable moments made it through the gauntlet of committee storytelling, but it all amounted to things happening in order.

One or two artifacts of honest narrative made it through, so someone with a pen knew what they were doing. But it had all the appearance of a group of fans wanting to do good by the original before they received the damning note: “Make the father the hero” somewhere after they had animated half the movie. All of those scenes from the commercials where Toby and Tenma are embracing and encouraging? All within the last five minutes.

At best it comes off as phony, at worst, the father receives the heart-warming ending he does not deserve. He’s been a prick and a villain-by-inaction for the better portion of the feature.

Listen, excising the father would have been dark in its way, but kids’ movies are full of stark life lessons dressed up by colorful animation. For awhile every Disney movie called for someone dear to the audience’s violent death. Orphans are all over the place in kids’ fiction, and as Toby spends the better portion of the movie as a spiritual orphan anyway, it wouldn’t have changed anything but the nonsensical ending.

All-told, the movie is fine for the younger set who will enjoy all the hot robot on robot action. Too much older and I think the lack of theme can only be misread. Either as: all adults are batshit; or run away before your parents’ overwhelming regret drives them to turn you off, or some other such half-message.

Lastly, it misses the mark for any adult who would like to see a decent recreation of the manga by tampering with the one element that seems fairly consistent (the absence of the father, yeah I’m beating a dead horse, but really, it would’ve solved everything).

A shame. Again, it was close, but far enough away that I was left with regret and the strained memory of the handful of good parts to pull me through.

I give it two Replacement Children out of five.

Please to watch/listen to this. Be aware it’s NSFW once or twice.

Not only is it spot-on and full of chuckles, but it very much highlights my problem with the Yankees in specific, and the MLB for letting it happen.

Consider, the Pittsburgh pirates have a payroll of 25,197,000. Compare to the Yankees 208,097,414 (approximately twice the payroll of any other team in the league) and tell me they’re even playing the same sport. Something is officially wrong with that. It’s too late for salary caps, no one will agree to a cap this late in the game. But something needs to be done to inject some parity back into this sport.

Those figures are from the regular season too, so any pre-playoff pick-ups aren’t reflected.

Yeah, yeah, it’s my sour grapes, whatever. When a handful of teams (mine included) are vacuuming up all of the emerging talent in the League how is it we expect this landscape to change over the next ten years?

So when they talk about dropping the cap in football, my testicles suck right back into my body.

So, James Robinson is coming up for writing duties on JLA.

I wish I could say I was more excited. After all, it’s James frickin’ Robinson. Writer of no less than two of my favorite comics of all time. Unfortunately, his recent return to the world of funny books has been less than stellar.

His Super-stuff is real hit or miss with the kids, and Cry For Justice (CFJ) is approximately the worst comic of all time. Considering he’s vesting almost half of his line up straight from the pages of CFJ, it’s not exactly encouraging.

On the other hand, I’ve been begging DC—psychically—for years to let the younger set graduate. Let Dick and Donna in the big League. And, well, now they are.

So am I excited or not?

Yes, and no. Let’s take a look at the roster.

•••

Mon-El

Standing in for Superman, Superman-lite.

A.K.A. Superboy when Superman wasn’t Superboy until Superboy came along, and now Superman was always Superboy again. Soooo… a guy without a whole lot of place or purpose, at least until the 30th Century rolls around.

But he’s basically Superman without the rare and exotic weakness. In fact, his weakness is lead. Straight up, the common element lead is his kryptonite. That’s not someone, I necessarily want on the Justice League.

Still it’s a good move for Mon-El, and I generally like the sometimes-inspiration to the future Legion. For his part he brings Superman level power, while being slightly more interesting for not actually being Kal-El.

Last I heard he’s still dying slowly from ambient lead poisoning which is a nice in-built conflict.

But again, how good is a dying man on your Justice League? I reckon we’ll find out.

•••

Batman: Dick

Not dick-Batman who’s been en vogue for the last two decades. Batman, Dick Grayson, whom I have an enormous fanboy crush on all the time. So you know I’m loving this, and proud to say it’s about time.

Currently, and for the foreseeable future, Richard Jonathan Grayson is wearing the big-boy pants thanks to a shouting match Bruce got into with the God of All Evil over some time bullets. You know, hump day type stuff around stately Wayne Manor.

Regardless of whether he’s wearing the Bat, I heartily approve of Dick’s spot on the roster. Everybody loves and trusts him, he’s a great teammate, he already knows your secret identity, and he’s been at the hero game longer than most of the adults. In fact, Bats probably should’ve ceded his spot to him years ago.

Dick is arguably a better leader even if he loses something in the tactician column. Plus he’s a better all around acrobat and athlete than Bruce which adds to his otherwise underpowered value on a team of hitters this big.

I mean, really, what’s left to say? Every team needs more Dick.

•••

Donna Troy

A lot of people don’t like Donna, and I mean a lot of people.

I don’t really get that, except I do. It’s because a lot of writers don’t get Donna. They can’t figure out what to do with her to an almost comical extreme. Her death and rebirth cycle outstrips Jean Grey by a country mile. That translates to a confused and unlikable character for a lot of readers. I don’t agree, mainly because I can think of so many times when she’s been written well, but I don’t blame John and Jane Everyreader for their animosity either.

It’s a problem endemic to a lot of the Teen Titans crew. Which brings up a lot of worries moving to the Justice League. People have a hard time letting them grow. Or know what to do with them once they have.

Here’s the thing, Donna is Wonder Woman only she’s been in Man’s world longer and made more friends. So she’s to Wonder Woman what Dick is to Batman. She’s a Wonder Woman you can talk to.

Donna’s definitely ready, but are all her haters? For that matter, is James Robinson ready to find what’s good and interesting about her where so many others have failed?

•••

Green Lantern: Hal Jordan

Didn’t Hal already quit?

Like three times since the most recent League incarnation?

That last time, didn’t he start a radical splinter League?

And now he’s back again?

This excites me not at all. I like Hal just fine. I like Geoff Johns’ Hal in his own book, as a dedicated Green Lantern.

I like John Stewart as the better teammate and Leaguer. Not only do you get good recognition from the cartoon, but it gives John a unique place to be, and thins out some of the Old White Boy’s Club that I notice this League is going right back to. Seriously, where’s Vixen, Firestorm, Black Lightning and John, all on last year’s team? Where’s Ryan Choi?

Back to the margins with them, I guess.

I’m sure this will follow up on all the CFJ malarkey, which is so much of what worries me. Hal on his own isn’t the problem, it’s the mischaracterization and assorted nonsense in CFJ that’s the problem.

•••

Green Arrow

Speak of quitters….

Didn’t Ollie cede his place on the team to Roy “Red Arrow” Harper? Shouldn’t that have lasted for more than five minutes?

I mean, Roy is simply the better marksman then Ollie and far more versatile. Plus half of this team are Roy’s old teammates, not Ollie’s.

I’m sure somebody wanted Ollie and Hal back together again, and that’s fine for nostalgia’s sake, but man, Robinson was killing this in CFJ. Oh, I’m sorry, apparently “killing” something can be taken as a good thing. I mean, he was doing it very poorly before I had to stop reading because it was so mind-shatteringly bad.

Last but not least, man, but shooting arrows is just not a League level power. Neither is Batman technically, but Batman is Batman (even when he’s not), and Ollie… isn’t. I’d gladly take Roy or Dinah or even Connor over Ollie at this point.

Technically, I’ve got nothing against Ollie, but between the vote of no confidence from CFJ and his diluting one of my favorite super-heroines with his albatross-shaped wedding ring, you can color me cautious.

•••

The Atom: …Ray Palmer… really?

You know there’s a new Atom, right guys?

He’s this really cool Chinese kid named Ryan. He’s established as still being around and he’s leaps and bounds more interesting than Ray. Even on his day’s off from being boring.

That’s not entirely fair, I don’t really have anything against Ray other than he’s not Ryan. Also that he’s been voted most likely to cut himself lately.

He’s not in a good headspace even if you discount the last time we saw him under Robinson’s pen he tortured people by stomping on their brain the same way his criminally insane ex-wife accidentally killed his friend’s wife which sent him moping off to another dimension to live a whole other life because he couldn’t handle the pressure…. Yes, really. That was just a few minutes ago in comic time.

So, another vote of “Are you sure you understand who these people are?” against Mr. Robinson’s Atom.

I mean, I can’t argue that Ray doesn’t belong on the League. But I can better argue Ryan deserves his shot.

•••

Starfire

Yeah? Starfire? Really?

Princess Koriand’r, Starfire?

Listen, in all honesty, I dig Kori just fine. She gets a lot of heat because she’s easy to write poorly, but I liked the work being done with her over in Animal Man. All her space adventures with Adam Strange and Co. were pretty decent outings. A good place for her, I felt. A chance to bring something unique to the table.

If we’re being honest, she doesn’t have the temperament for the Justice League. She’s all filled with alien emotion and prone to outbursts. Which is why I think plenty of interesting stuff can be done with her… away from Dick.

Alright, alright, yes my real problem with this move is that it puts her on the same team as Dick. Mainly because some people think they make a great couple. They don’t. Haven’t for a long time.

This is part of that difficulty letting the Titans grow thing. Everyone seems to think they still have to have the same crushes and relationships they did twenty years ago. Shit, we torture Garfield with Terra every couple of months. Seriously. If I was doomed to still have a crush on the first girl I thought I liked, I’d be totally hanging myself by now. First, second, and third relationships are almost universal failures because we’re all savage, selfish little beasts at that age. It’s all part of growing up.

Not to mention that I have my own designs for who Dick should be with—not counting myself. I just don’t see them having put Kori on this team for any better reason, which terrifies me. I’m not all that interested in the ongoing adventures of Ms. Alien Balloon-knockers banging my fantasy boyfriend.

If you really feel someone with her power set needs to be on the team, how about Firestorm? You want a better girl/boy ratio? What about Firehawk? Okay, not exactly the same power set, but rather a better one. I’m just saying.

•••

Cyborg

Vic too, huh?

While I seriously like the move to graduate some Titans, Vic and Kori wouldn’t be my first, second or third choices. I like Vic more than Kori in this move, but it forgets that whole time that Vic fought the entire League to a standstill and was only allowed to live on the say so of Dick & friends.

Still, that’s advanced enough canon that I’ll let it slip.

I’m just not convinced Vic is going to have a whole lot to do on this team. In fact, every time he’s joined a team lately, everybody dies. That’s not an inspiring pedigree.

Maybe he’ll be the tech guy? That’s cool and all, but the League isn’t really a team that needs a whole lot of tech guy. Ray will already be the science guy, and this team has more muscle than they know what to do with. So what’s left?

Hey! He’ll be the black guy!

Which is doubly unfortunate considering a minute ago the team was mostly black.

Poor, Vic. Always late for the party.

•••

Dr. Light: Not the Rapist

I’ve always liked Kimiyo.

I like that she’s a total bitch but still a superhero. Plus she was actually on the League in the last year, so she comes a little more naturally than some of these other choices.

She’s been handled well and poorly in previous outings, so there’s no telling where James will take her. At the least, I don’t think he can do her any dirtier than she’s already been done before.

Plus she’s a blank enough slate that he might be able to bring some of his classic talents to bear and find some neat quirks for her. Which officially marks the first person I’m interested to see what Robinson does with without reservation.

Oddly, she would’ve made a more natural choice for his CFJ team than… well, almost the entire line-up.

•••

Congorilla

I’ll give Robinson this: by the time I gave up on Cry For Justice for being the worst thing I’d ever read with Justice on the cover, Congorilla was the only part that wasn’t all-bad, all-the-time.

… that’s about all I have to say about an elderly golden gorilla with an elderly white dude for a brain. I think there’s plenty of meat on that bone, although I have to question the assertion that he’s League material. I guess since we kicked the actual African off the team, what’s wrong with an old white dude claiming that spot?

(sigh).

I’m not actually accusing the League, DC, or Robinson of being racist, by the way. Maybe thoughtless or slightly negligent, but I’m sure these were just the office favorites.

It’s just such a pronounced shame when we’re coming off the most colorful League of all time. With, at turns, Jefferson, Marie, Jason, John and Kimiyo on the squad, it’s hard to think of this roster as anything but bleached, and frankly, a step backward.

Still, old dude, gorilla body, comics gold.

Golden gorilla, that is.

•••

The Guardian

A character so obscure I couldn’t even find an image of him. I kept getting pictures of the Manhattan Guardian, another black guy, and another better choice for a character.

Never mind, I finally found one. A decent Steve Rude joint too.

Listen, I like Jim (it is still Jim Harper or a clone, right?) but he’s little more than a super-cop, and he’s not even all that super. He’s not even Captain America super. He’s not DC’s new Captain America: The Shield super. He’s barely Oliver Queen super.

I can’t stress enough that I really do dig the Guardian, but he’s not League material by a long shot. Hell, not even a medium shot. What about Manhunter or somebody who’s claim to fame isn’t protecting one neighborhood with the help of a plucky gang of newsies?

•••

The Verdict

Man, I don’t know.

This team is half awesome and half full of trepidation and fear. Robinson has written some A-class golden material in the tenure of my fandom. But he’s also the guy that wrote what I continue to describe as the worst series of the past year and potentially all time.

What’s worse, it was a Justice League book.

What’s worse than that, is it’s the lead-in to this very book.

Listen, I’m on the hook for the first couple. Let’s face it, I’m in it for Dick and Donna alone. But it had better be good, and fast, or I’m out. Deliver some straight up JL-level action with some nice crinkly character bits that Robinson has always been aces at, and I’ll read you straight on to forever.

Less the superheroes willing to torture and inferred threesomes Hal’s had.

Please?!

Hey there, Internets.

I know, I know, I’ve been so busy doing my thang over Storyverse yonder that I haven’t even touched this space since it went live.

I intend to change that, I just don’t know what to do with myself over here. My previous foray into blogging dealt with a lot of comics stuff, which I’m a superfan of. The question is whether there’s a place in the comic blogosphere for petite ole’ moi.

I could do some funny slice of lifery, but my life isn’t nearly exceptional enough to deserve to be captured in lyric or song.

I could do a writing blog, but I’m pretty sure my partner in crime has that more or less sewn up.

So, I’m going to try a couple things out. Write what I know and see if anything galvanizes. Expect some comics, some opinions, mayhaps a rant on occasion, a few pictures of my kids being total assholes, and see what kind of rhythm we fall into (BTW, rhythm is an asshole of a word to spell).

See you in the funny papers!