I had a little panic attack today. Why, you might ask. (You might ask. I'm not sure why, but you might.)
Well, whether you ask or not, I'll tell you. I bought socks.
I could bore you with the story of how I have spent these last cold weeks in southern PA slowly discovering that my old socks had holes in them by stepping on cold tile whilst slipping down to the kitchen for a late night snack, or I could just jump to the short version -- I needed new socks.
So, after much him-hawing (because I see any money spent on clothing as "vanity money" that could be used instead for a new toy), I gave in and bought new socks.
In fact, I bought 6 pairs of new socks. Nothing fancy. Not my style.
But, after the buying, came the laundering. Not the money style. The actual water-and-soap style.
Let me skip ahead one washer and dryer load, to the action!
After all was said and done, I had 6 new pairs of socks. Soft. Tight elastic. Thick soles. Perfect.
And, in order to keep my life and sock drawer perfectly neat, I decided to rid myself of 6 old, hole-ridden, loose-elastic socks.
It wasn't hard. "There's a hole. Pitch in the garbage."
But, I got to thinking. I hadn't bought new socks in about 5 years. That's 5 years worth of service these socks gave to me.
And, then I got to even more thinking. Those socks were brand-new in 2005. I was 19 in 2005.
I was a freshman in college in 2005.
Those socks, now sitting quietly in my trash, had been through quite a lot with me.
They were there when I moved to college. They were there in those horrifying, exhilarating days.
I was wearing those socks before I even knew what I was "going to be when I grew up." (That, of course, assumes that I know now.) These socks sat in my underwear drawer as I was discovering who I was.
At the age of 19, I thought I wanted to be a computer programmer. Then, a high school English teacher. Then, some kind of psychologist.
Now, of course, I want to be a writer. I mean, a paid writer. But, at 19, I didn't know that. I only knew I had the writer's spirit, but, like Bruce Banner, I was unsure of how to wield my inner-strength. At that time, writing was a hobby. Not an opportunity.
I hadn't made the decision to take a Creative Writing course. I hadn't met influential professors. I hadn't even thought of a graduate degree. Of flying to frigid Vermont to meet with other writers and hone my craft.
I hadn't had the thought yet, What if I'm not good enough? What if I'm crap and no one will tell me the truth? What if I'm a joke?
None of that had come yet.
At the age of 19, I was dating the same girl I am dating today. But, at the time, I was fumbling with my first relationship. Now, I'm still fumbling, but now I'm an experienced fumbler.
All of these things occurred since I bought those socks. But I didn't pull them out of the trash. That would be an inability to let go of the past.
But then I saw these new socks. 6 new pairs. Purchased in 2009.
And I thought to myself, what will life be like when I throw these socks away?
Let's say I finally come around to buying new socks for myself 5 years from now. What will have happened? What will these new socks have seen?
Where will I be? Will I be somewhere for work?
Will I be writing? Teaching? Selling poorly hand-crafted straw dolls on Venice Beach to buy gas for my van?
Will I be married? A father? Or will I have made "The Ultimate Fumble?"
It's the strangest wish I've ever made, but I wished then and there that these socks could talk to me from that future. What advice would they give me? What forecasts of doom or happiness?
All of these thoughts of the past and future from such innocent-looking garments. How naive I was when I bought them. How naive.
11.30.2009
10.06.2009
I've Been Touching My iPod. A Lot.
Even though the disc for Batman: Arkham Asylum is sitting in the tray of my Xbox 360, my most amusing toy as of late has been my iPod Touch. My little Hitchhiker's Guide is little more than a year old now, and I have to say that using it as a $300 remote control never gets old.
But, aside from that, here's what I've got on the Touch...
1. Podcasts
In my first post, I mentioned a list of podcasts I've been listening to, as I've become a talk-radio junkie. I'm sad to report that Maniacal Rage has not recorded a new podcast since March, but it still plays constantly on my iPod. In order to cope with my podcast fix, I've found some new ones:
Wordballoon with John Siuntres. It's a comic book podcast that focuses on specific creators in a one-on-one interview. While every interview may not be a top-tier creator, host John Siuntres is a personality of epic proportions in the comic book podcasting world. He's like your fun uncle who thinks nothing has ever topped The Dick Van Dyke Show.
The real highlight of his show has always been the Bendis Tapes episodes, in which Siuntres interviews the one and only Brian M. Bendis, superstar of Marvel Comics. The Bendis Tapes began about four years ago, and Siuntres interviews Bendis every six months or so. Currently, Siuntres is releasing a new set of these Tapes, and anyone interested in comics, film, pop culture, or listening to two incredibly well-read individuals, this is the nectar of the gods.
Co-Op. It's a well-done yet relaxed video podcast shot in San Francisco about the latest video games. What makes this podcast unique is that it isn't shot on a soundstage. It has guerrilla segments shot on the streets of San Fran, featuring the Co-Op hosts and a varied array of guests talk about games. The comments can range from the casual to the hard-core, and after watching these episodes, I always want to go out and play these games.
Also, Co-Op is updated pretty regularly (about once a week), so there's never a long wait for the next one.
Finally, That's What She Said. TWSS is a fan-produced Office podcast. Each episode comments on the most recent NBC's The Office episode. The hosts talk about what worked and what didn't work, with segments of the show's audio thrown in as well. I sometimes find the hosts bashing on the show more often than enjoying it, but for the most part it's a nice (and free) audio companion to the TV show.
2. Motion Comics
I blogged about motion comics back in August, and I mentioned Spider-Woman: Agent of SWORD. At the time, I was brimming with anticipation as the previously mentioned Brian Bendis was writing the first Marvel Motion Comic that wasn't an adaptation of an early print comic.
As of today, there are 4 episodes of Spider-Woman available for download on iTunes, and I may not be as enthusiastic as I previously was. Motion comics have a way to go, as the illustrated audio book just doesn't seem to be original enough to last beyond the novelty. Yet, Spider-Woman is gorgeous. Artist Alex Maleev has clearly poured his heart into the art for this book, and Bendis has been waiting to write this book for about 10 years.
All 4 eps are on my iPod now, and I've watched them several times. I even wrote a review about Episodes 1 and 4 for ComicNews.info. Again, comic nerds, check this out.
3. Games
I had originally believed games for the iPhone/iPod Touch to be cheap and crappy. Up until about one month ago, the only game I had was a free app version of Solitaire, which only got some playtime during a long wait at the Charlotte airport.
However, my eyes have been opened.
Harbor Master is puzzle game that utilizes the touch feature of the iPhone. You guide little ships into their docks, let them unload their cargo, and then you lead them out. Sounds simple, I know, but wait until you get four ships at once -- two of them 4-cargo ships -- and then try to lead them all around without crashing one into the other. It's not easy. Trust me.
I probably wouldn't have given this game an initial glance were it not for the 99-cent price tag. Seriously cheap. Seriously awesome.
And the soundtrack is quite enjoyable. It's a simply little beat to accompany your harbor-mastering, but the sounds you make when moving your ships around actually becomes part of the music.
Also, I recently got geoDefense Swarm. Now, I'm a tower defense junkie, so this is the game for me. There's another GD game, simply titled geoDefense, but Swarm is different in that you are given an open field (for the most part) on which you can place your turrets. Anyone who has played Tower Defense games will know how this works.
What makes this game special is the stunning graphics and color. Everything is vibrant on the crisp iPhone screen. Again, another 99-cent game. (The original geoDefense is $1.99.) Both are must-haves for the iPhone.
For now, that's all I've got, and it's keeping me busy. However, other downloads loom on the horizon.
Till next time.
But, aside from that, here's what I've got on the Touch...
1. Podcasts
In my first post, I mentioned a list of podcasts I've been listening to, as I've become a talk-radio junkie. I'm sad to report that Maniacal Rage has not recorded a new podcast since March, but it still plays constantly on my iPod. In order to cope with my podcast fix, I've found some new ones:
Wordballoon with John Siuntres. It's a comic book podcast that focuses on specific creators in a one-on-one interview. While every interview may not be a top-tier creator, host John Siuntres is a personality of epic proportions in the comic book podcasting world. He's like your fun uncle who thinks nothing has ever topped The Dick Van Dyke Show.
The real highlight of his show has always been the Bendis Tapes episodes, in which Siuntres interviews the one and only Brian M. Bendis, superstar of Marvel Comics. The Bendis Tapes began about four years ago, and Siuntres interviews Bendis every six months or so. Currently, Siuntres is releasing a new set of these Tapes, and anyone interested in comics, film, pop culture, or listening to two incredibly well-read individuals, this is the nectar of the gods.
Co-Op. It's a well-done yet relaxed video podcast shot in San Francisco about the latest video games. What makes this podcast unique is that it isn't shot on a soundstage. It has guerrilla segments shot on the streets of San Fran, featuring the Co-Op hosts and a varied array of guests talk about games. The comments can range from the casual to the hard-core, and after watching these episodes, I always want to go out and play these games.
Also, Co-Op is updated pretty regularly (about once a week), so there's never a long wait for the next one.
Finally, That's What She Said. TWSS is a fan-produced Office podcast. Each episode comments on the most recent NBC's The Office episode. The hosts talk about what worked and what didn't work, with segments of the show's audio thrown in as well. I sometimes find the hosts bashing on the show more often than enjoying it, but for the most part it's a nice (and free) audio companion to the TV show.
2. Motion Comics
I blogged about motion comics back in August, and I mentioned Spider-Woman: Agent of SWORD. At the time, I was brimming with anticipation as the previously mentioned Brian Bendis was writing the first Marvel Motion Comic that wasn't an adaptation of an early print comic.
As of today, there are 4 episodes of Spider-Woman available for download on iTunes, and I may not be as enthusiastic as I previously was. Motion comics have a way to go, as the illustrated audio book just doesn't seem to be original enough to last beyond the novelty. Yet, Spider-Woman is gorgeous. Artist Alex Maleev has clearly poured his heart into the art for this book, and Bendis has been waiting to write this book for about 10 years.
All 4 eps are on my iPod now, and I've watched them several times. I even wrote a review about Episodes 1 and 4 for ComicNews.info. Again, comic nerds, check this out.
3. Games
I had originally believed games for the iPhone/iPod Touch to be cheap and crappy. Up until about one month ago, the only game I had was a free app version of Solitaire, which only got some playtime during a long wait at the Charlotte airport.
However, my eyes have been opened.
Harbor Master is puzzle game that utilizes the touch feature of the iPhone. You guide little ships into their docks, let them unload their cargo, and then you lead them out. Sounds simple, I know, but wait until you get four ships at once -- two of them 4-cargo ships -- and then try to lead them all around without crashing one into the other. It's not easy. Trust me.
I probably wouldn't have given this game an initial glance were it not for the 99-cent price tag. Seriously cheap. Seriously awesome.
And the soundtrack is quite enjoyable. It's a simply little beat to accompany your harbor-mastering, but the sounds you make when moving your ships around actually becomes part of the music.
Also, I recently got geoDefense Swarm. Now, I'm a tower defense junkie, so this is the game for me. There's another GD game, simply titled geoDefense, but Swarm is different in that you are given an open field (for the most part) on which you can place your turrets. Anyone who has played Tower Defense games will know how this works.
What makes this game special is the stunning graphics and color. Everything is vibrant on the crisp iPhone screen. Again, another 99-cent game. (The original geoDefense is $1.99.) Both are must-haves for the iPhone.
For now, that's all I've got, and it's keeping me busy. However, other downloads loom on the horizon.
Till next time.
9.28.2009
Your Guide to...DVD Commentary
Now, I've talked a lot of movie talk in my time. I've also done a lot of the TV chatter. I'm a media junkie, so that can't be helped.
I know people who go out and buy new DVDs every Tuesday. Whether they've seen them or not, they buy them. Brand new.
And the next week, these people want nothing more than to tell me about the latest DVD purchases. They want to tell me about the deleted scenes, alt endings, additional disc of 18 unseen hours of whatever.
But whenever I mention commentary, everyone clams up.
At first, I never understood this. People will watch lots of extra stuff on DVDs, otherwise why would it be there? It helps sell the product.
People will watch a lot of stuff, but no one ever listens to commentary. Except for the real nerds.
Only the real nerds want someone else to tell them about the movie, rather than just watching the movie themselves. Please, William Shatner, tell me about Wrath of Khan.
But, I'm being honest here. I'm that kind of nerd. I watch the commentary, because I want to see these things through the creators' eyes. I want to know what Steve Carell is like off-camera.
Nay, I need to know.
I'm going to assume that, if you're reading this, you're not a part of that .001% that enjoys the commentary, so, for your ease, I'm going to explain the commentary so that you might know when it's worth your time.
You need to know who will be in the commentary. I don't just mean, make sure whoever is talking is someone important. I've listened to commentary with lead actors or directors, and they can be boring.
I mean, know what kind of personalities you're going to be listening to. It's like talk radio. If you don't like who's talking, you're not going to want to hear what they're talking about.
I'm a big fan of The Office, and most of the episode commentaries are great because Jenna Fischer or Rainn Wilson are in 99% of the commentary tracks. They're the kind of commentators who keep the energy level high, know when to shut up and when to talk, and, most importantly, they know what's interesting and what is not.
I've noticed that, when the mics are rolling and it's commentary time, there are three types of people.
First, there's the person who acts of MC for the commentary, like Rainn or Jenna as I mentioned eariler. They ask the questions of the other people. They organize the whole show.
Second, there's the person who has something interesting to say. They're the director or casting consultant or writer. However, they won't be the loudest voice. In fact, these people are often intimidated by the third type of commentator...
The loudmouth. The loudmouth doesn't have anything of actual interest to say. Normally, they give insightful comments like "I like this part" or "That was funny." Often, they will simply narrate what is going on. "This is where Frodo drops the ring. Let's watch!" They add nothing of interest, but they're in the commentary because they're someone of importance to the work.
While film commentary will often have the bigger named stars, I'm more often drawn to listening to TV commentary. This is basically because I've come to learn that, if one season of a show has good commentary, the entire series will have good commentary. The Office continues to have good insight. One episode of Season 5 had BJ Novak and the catering crew, and I still found it excellent.
Family Guy has commentary on almost every episode, with Seth MacFarlane in every track.
While 30 Rock's commentary is mostly Tina Fey and her husband, who does music for the show, the commentary is as stunningly brilliant as the show. Occasionally you'll get Alec in there, but mostly it's quiet Tina. But that's fine with me.
Sadly, not all commentary is amazing. Commentary will almost always be interesting to the diehard fan, but to outsiders, it can be a waste.
Avoid commentary with less than three people. It gets slow or dull. Also, avoid commentary with a whole party of people. It's usually hard to tell what's being said, and it sounds like the commentators are just having a keg party back there.
How I Met Your Mother's commentary mainly consists of the show's creators, Carter Bays and Craig Thomas, pimping their band and narrating the show. While I'm a huge fan of this show, I don't really have a stomach for the commentary.
Others, while not outstanding, are definitely worth the listen. Tropic Thunder features Robert Downey Jr. doing his character voice throughout the entire film.
Yes, it's for the nerdiest of the nerds, but it's awesome. At least, I think so.
I know people who go out and buy new DVDs every Tuesday. Whether they've seen them or not, they buy them. Brand new.
And the next week, these people want nothing more than to tell me about the latest DVD purchases. They want to tell me about the deleted scenes, alt endings, additional disc of 18 unseen hours of whatever.
But whenever I mention commentary, everyone clams up.
At first, I never understood this. People will watch lots of extra stuff on DVDs, otherwise why would it be there? It helps sell the product.
People will watch a lot of stuff, but no one ever listens to commentary. Except for the real nerds.
Only the real nerds want someone else to tell them about the movie, rather than just watching the movie themselves. Please, William Shatner, tell me about Wrath of Khan.
But, I'm being honest here. I'm that kind of nerd. I watch the commentary, because I want to see these things through the creators' eyes. I want to know what Steve Carell is like off-camera.
Nay, I need to know.
I'm going to assume that, if you're reading this, you're not a part of that .001% that enjoys the commentary, so, for your ease, I'm going to explain the commentary so that you might know when it's worth your time.
You need to know who will be in the commentary. I don't just mean, make sure whoever is talking is someone important. I've listened to commentary with lead actors or directors, and they can be boring.
I mean, know what kind of personalities you're going to be listening to. It's like talk radio. If you don't like who's talking, you're not going to want to hear what they're talking about.
I'm a big fan of The Office, and most of the episode commentaries are great because Jenna Fischer or Rainn Wilson are in 99% of the commentary tracks. They're the kind of commentators who keep the energy level high, know when to shut up and when to talk, and, most importantly, they know what's interesting and what is not.
I've noticed that, when the mics are rolling and it's commentary time, there are three types of people.
First, there's the person who acts of MC for the commentary, like Rainn or Jenna as I mentioned eariler. They ask the questions of the other people. They organize the whole show.
Second, there's the person who has something interesting to say. They're the director or casting consultant or writer. However, they won't be the loudest voice. In fact, these people are often intimidated by the third type of commentator...
The loudmouth. The loudmouth doesn't have anything of actual interest to say. Normally, they give insightful comments like "I like this part" or "That was funny." Often, they will simply narrate what is going on. "This is where Frodo drops the ring. Let's watch!" They add nothing of interest, but they're in the commentary because they're someone of importance to the work.
While film commentary will often have the bigger named stars, I'm more often drawn to listening to TV commentary. This is basically because I've come to learn that, if one season of a show has good commentary, the entire series will have good commentary. The Office continues to have good insight. One episode of Season 5 had BJ Novak and the catering crew, and I still found it excellent.
Family Guy has commentary on almost every episode, with Seth MacFarlane in every track.
While 30 Rock's commentary is mostly Tina Fey and her husband, who does music for the show, the commentary is as stunningly brilliant as the show. Occasionally you'll get Alec in there, but mostly it's quiet Tina. But that's fine with me.
Sadly, not all commentary is amazing. Commentary will almost always be interesting to the diehard fan, but to outsiders, it can be a waste.
Avoid commentary with less than three people. It gets slow or dull. Also, avoid commentary with a whole party of people. It's usually hard to tell what's being said, and it sounds like the commentators are just having a keg party back there.
How I Met Your Mother's commentary mainly consists of the show's creators, Carter Bays and Craig Thomas, pimping their band and narrating the show. While I'm a huge fan of this show, I don't really have a stomach for the commentary.
Others, while not outstanding, are definitely worth the listen. Tropic Thunder features Robert Downey Jr. doing his character voice throughout the entire film.
Yes, it's for the nerdiest of the nerds, but it's awesome. At least, I think so.
9.18.2009
Writing Exercise: "The Five Dollar Bill"
Again, another exercise I cannot take credit for. I found this one on C.M. Mayo's website of 5 Minute Writing Exercises.
"The Five Dollar Bill"
A five dollar bill changes hands five times in one day. Make a list of where, when, who hands it over, and for what. For example:
~Where: Starbucks, New Jersey Turnpike
~When: 7:30 am;
~Who: Bob, a truck driver;
~What: a cup of coffee (black) and a bean burrito.
If you can complete this exercise in less than five minutes, go back and add more detail to describe the places and the people.
Where: Movie Theater, Manhattan
When: 10:00 p.m.
Who: Chris Rogers
What: 2 tickets to the newest chick flick
Where: 7-11, Queens
When: 12:13 a.m.
Who: Hank Greer (who pocketed the $5)
What: Diapers
Where: First National Bank, Midtown
When: 9:10 a.m.
Who: Mario Oliveri
What: Deposit of Yesterday's Cash
Where: Back Alley, Bronx
When: 7:03 p.m.
Who: Jenna Hiteman (who robbed the bank)
What: "8 Ball"
Where: Joe's Floral
When: 8:30 p.m.
Who: Chris Rogers
What: Dozen red roses
(Note: I took the guideline of "changes hands 5 times in one day" to equal 24 hours. Also, my five dollar bill is most times part of a larger transaction. For example, clearly the deposit at the bank is not just $5.)
This is one I really had fun with when it was all over. I had a little difficulty finishing within the 5 minutes, as I really thought about plot as I made the dollar change hands. Once finished, I was kind of amazed how the plot twisted and actually had a meaning behind it, although somewhat shallow.
"The Five Dollar Bill"
A five dollar bill changes hands five times in one day. Make a list of where, when, who hands it over, and for what. For example:
~Where: Starbucks, New Jersey Turnpike
~When: 7:30 am;
~Who: Bob, a truck driver;
~What: a cup of coffee (black) and a bean burrito.
If you can complete this exercise in less than five minutes, go back and add more detail to describe the places and the people.
Where: Movie Theater, Manhattan
When: 10:00 p.m.
Who: Chris Rogers
What: 2 tickets to the newest chick flick
Where: 7-11, Queens
When: 12:13 a.m.
Who: Hank Greer (who pocketed the $5)
What: Diapers
Where: First National Bank, Midtown
When: 9:10 a.m.
Who: Mario Oliveri
What: Deposit of Yesterday's Cash
Where: Back Alley, Bronx
When: 7:03 p.m.
Who: Jenna Hiteman (who robbed the bank)
What: "8 Ball"
Where: Joe's Floral
When: 8:30 p.m.
Who: Chris Rogers
What: Dozen red roses
(Note: I took the guideline of "changes hands 5 times in one day" to equal 24 hours. Also, my five dollar bill is most times part of a larger transaction. For example, clearly the deposit at the bank is not just $5.)
This is one I really had fun with when it was all over. I had a little difficulty finishing within the 5 minutes, as I really thought about plot as I made the dollar change hands. Once finished, I was kind of amazed how the plot twisted and actually had a meaning behind it, although somewhat shallow.
9.01.2009
The Disney/Marvel Team-up!
Undoubtedly, you have all heard of Disney's buyout of Marvel Entertainment for the low, low, bargain bin price of a mere 4 billion cool ones, but I thought I'd take the time and address this matter from the point of view of a fan who is not (yet) a fanboy.
(The key difference between "fan" and "fanboy" is in the intensity with which one approaches the material. For instance, when I read Wolverine, I always give a Joe Cool thumbs-up whenever Logan pops his claws, inevitably causing a SNIKT sound effect. This is the sign of a fan.
A fanboy, however, reads Wolverine while wearing a Wolverine costume - at least the mask and hairdo - and yells profanity anytime SNIKT is not drawn in exactly the same style as his first in costume appearance in GIANT-SIZE X-MEN #1. A fanboy also follows up this lovely reading experience by going onto the interwebs of doom, finding a comic book message board, and creating a thread called "WOLVERINE IS SO TEH LAME NOW, I HATE HIM FOR MAKING ME WASTE MY ALLOWANCE!!!1!!")
Disney buying Marvel, in my opinion, is nothing short of a good opportunity. For one, we can now get a Beast/Beast crossover.
Really, though, if you check message boards and poll the opinions of comic book fans, they will tell you this is the apocalypse. Trees are dying, the oceans are drying up, and Mickey is responsible.
Most people in the biz will tell you this is actually a good thing. More outlets for Marvel characters to be seen - more TV shows, more movies, more video games. I don't really see how this is negative. I doubt Disney will decide that "Disneyfy" (the newest buzz word to come out of this whole deal) and make things more kid-friendly than necessary.
But, in the end, why should I, the consumer, be concerned?
Namely, a Silver Surfer/Buzz Lightyear mini-series!
I kid, I kid.
It's an honest reaction to worry about a hobby some of us have enjoyed every Wednesday since we were 7. I get that. Comics have defined our lives. You don't want to see Spider-Man suddenly become 10 years old and fight mean old Dr. Octy-puss. But I don't think we have to worry about that. Really I don't.
The prime example being used lately is Pixar, owned by Disney since 2006. They've been doing just fine, as Disney pretty much let them keep doing what they've been doing. Now, the flip side is that Pixar was doing kid-friendly stuff at the time, and Marvel is currently focused more on an adult market.
Should we worry? I would say no. Disney won't do anything drastic. Marvel has clearly defined its market, and I don't think Disney is looking to change it. Expand it, maybe. But not change.
But, only time will tell, I guess.
Oh, one more!
Snow White and Emma Frost: Disney Divas!
OK, I'm done. I think.
(The key difference between "fan" and "fanboy" is in the intensity with which one approaches the material. For instance, when I read Wolverine, I always give a Joe Cool thumbs-up whenever Logan pops his claws, inevitably causing a SNIKT sound effect. This is the sign of a fan.
A fanboy, however, reads Wolverine while wearing a Wolverine costume - at least the mask and hairdo - and yells profanity anytime SNIKT is not drawn in exactly the same style as his first in costume appearance in GIANT-SIZE X-MEN #1. A fanboy also follows up this lovely reading experience by going onto the interwebs of doom, finding a comic book message board, and creating a thread called "WOLVERINE IS SO TEH LAME NOW, I HATE HIM FOR MAKING ME WASTE MY ALLOWANCE!!!1!!")
Disney buying Marvel, in my opinion, is nothing short of a good opportunity. For one, we can now get a Beast/Beast crossover.
Really, though, if you check message boards and poll the opinions of comic book fans, they will tell you this is the apocalypse. Trees are dying, the oceans are drying up, and Mickey is responsible.
Most people in the biz will tell you this is actually a good thing. More outlets for Marvel characters to be seen - more TV shows, more movies, more video games. I don't really see how this is negative. I doubt Disney will decide that "Disneyfy" (the newest buzz word to come out of this whole deal) and make things more kid-friendly than necessary.
But, in the end, why should I, the consumer, be concerned?
Namely, a Silver Surfer/Buzz Lightyear mini-series!
I kid, I kid.
It's an honest reaction to worry about a hobby some of us have enjoyed every Wednesday since we were 7. I get that. Comics have defined our lives. You don't want to see Spider-Man suddenly become 10 years old and fight mean old Dr. Octy-puss. But I don't think we have to worry about that. Really I don't.
The prime example being used lately is Pixar, owned by Disney since 2006. They've been doing just fine, as Disney pretty much let them keep doing what they've been doing. Now, the flip side is that Pixar was doing kid-friendly stuff at the time, and Marvel is currently focused more on an adult market.
Should we worry? I would say no. Disney won't do anything drastic. Marvel has clearly defined its market, and I don't think Disney is looking to change it. Expand it, maybe. But not change.
But, only time will tell, I guess.
Oh, one more!
Snow White and Emma Frost: Disney Divas!
OK, I'm done. I think.
8.18.2009
A Brave New World?
For those who might not know, American comic books are in a bit of a Renaissance. Along with everything else, comics are going digital.
Now, people in the comics industry have been thinking about how to make this "work." Like books, people prefer to have comics in their hands. Though Amazon's Kindle is a nifty little toy, not many people are screaming about how wonderful it is to curl up in bed with a nice e-book.
Marvel Comics currently has the Digital Comics Unlimited program, where, for a small sub fee, you can read scanned copies of old and new comics on your computer monitor. Though this is nice, and cheap, it doesn't use the advantage of a digital medium.
Less than a year ago, DC Comics began its Motion Comics line. The releases of these comics have been scattered - a few here, a few there. Mostly, these are popular and award-winning miniseries that have been tweaked here and there for motion as well as sound, making it a cross between an audio book and a bad cartoon.
DC started with Watchmen, using the Motion Comic to build hype for the film, and has since moved on to Batman: Black and White and Superman: Red Son. These aren't bad attempts at going digital, but these stories weren't written or drawn to have motion.
Scott McCloud, the ever-experimental comics guru, has fooled around with the medium as well, working on pieces that use the Internet or motion to move the comic around spatially. But his experiments never really use the concept of motion, per se.
Tomorrow, Marvel Comics will release (via iTunes) its first original Motion Comic, Spider-Woman: Agent of SWORD. Since the book's artist, Alex Maleev, and writer, Brian Bendis, are working on this book with the intention of giving it motion, I can only hope that this book will really prove what a "digital comic" can do.
However, all of these attempts at moving comics into the digital realm begs one question: Do comics need to be digital? I believe that Spider-Woman may answer that question with a resounding "YES" if, and only if, Spider-Woman is capable of telling a story in a way no comic ever has before, while still retaining the essence of an American superhero comic. Otherwise, it's just a cartoon.
Now, people in the comics industry have been thinking about how to make this "work." Like books, people prefer to have comics in their hands. Though Amazon's Kindle is a nifty little toy, not many people are screaming about how wonderful it is to curl up in bed with a nice e-book.
Marvel Comics currently has the Digital Comics Unlimited program, where, for a small sub fee, you can read scanned copies of old and new comics on your computer monitor. Though this is nice, and cheap, it doesn't use the advantage of a digital medium.
Less than a year ago, DC Comics began its Motion Comics line. The releases of these comics have been scattered - a few here, a few there. Mostly, these are popular and award-winning miniseries that have been tweaked here and there for motion as well as sound, making it a cross between an audio book and a bad cartoon.
DC started with Watchmen, using the Motion Comic to build hype for the film, and has since moved on to Batman: Black and White and Superman: Red Son. These aren't bad attempts at going digital, but these stories weren't written or drawn to have motion.
Scott McCloud, the ever-experimental comics guru, has fooled around with the medium as well, working on pieces that use the Internet or motion to move the comic around spatially. But his experiments never really use the concept of motion, per se.
Tomorrow, Marvel Comics will release (via iTunes) its first original Motion Comic, Spider-Woman: Agent of SWORD. Since the book's artist, Alex Maleev, and writer, Brian Bendis, are working on this book with the intention of giving it motion, I can only hope that this book will really prove what a "digital comic" can do.
However, all of these attempts at moving comics into the digital realm begs one question: Do comics need to be digital? I believe that Spider-Woman may answer that question with a resounding "YES" if, and only if, Spider-Woman is capable of telling a story in a way no comic ever has before, while still retaining the essence of an American superhero comic. Otherwise, it's just a cartoon.
8.13.2009
Writing Exercise: "What Time is It?"
Right now, look at the clock. The current time will determine what kind of story you are going to write.
The current HOUR will determine the MAIN CHARACTER of your story.
If the HOUR is 1 - a robot.
If the HOUR is 2 - a hopeless romantic.
If the HOUR is 3 - a masked vigilante.
If the HOUR is 4 - an elected official.
If the HOUR is 5 - a dinosaur.
If the HOUR is 6 - an imaginary friend.
If the HOUR is 7 - a widow.
If the HOUR is 8 - a tiger cub.
If the HOUR is 9 - the Troll King.
If the HOUR is 10 - a police officer.
If the HOUR is 11 - a college freshman.
If the HOUR is 12 - a god.
The MINUTE (in the tens place) will determine the GENRE of your story.
If the MINUTE is 0X - war.
If the MINUTE is 1X - science-fiction.
If the MINUTE is 2X - horror.
If the MINUTE is 3X - romance.
If the MINUTE is 4X - fantasy.
If the MINUTE is 5X - psychological thriller.
Finally, the TIME OF DAY will determine the TONE of your story.
If it is A.M. - comedic.
If it is P.M. - dramatic.
For example, if it is 2:18 p.m., I would write a DRAMATIC SCIENCE-FICTION story with my main character being A HOPELESS ROMANTIC.
Benjamin strolled the streets the night before it happened. He knew he wasn't supposed to. In fact, he could have been arrested simply for setting foot outside of his apartment stoop, but he was tired of being forced into his little cell every night after 19:00. He was tired of looking out his apartment window, watching the MPs force everyone inside while the curfew bell tolled.
Benjamin had heard earlier that day, just like everyone else, about the news on the radio. It was coming, and not even the Supreme President and his Royal Army could stop something like this. Benjamin felt infuriated at the hours upon hours he had spent, sitting in front of his radio at night after curfew, listening to the Supreme President's address, full of boasts and promises of an invincible army of gears and levers and processors. It was all lies, Benjamin now knew. His world was nothing but lies.
And so it was that thought that forced Benjamin out of his apartment fifteen minutes after curfew. He couldn't even see the moon that night. It was undoubtedly gone, nothing but a specks of dust being sucked into the heat of a star or some such. The sky glowed red, like the lipstick of Benjamin's mother. Or so he thought.
He wasn't supposed to visit the Low District, but laws, like lies, didn't matter anymore. What would they do, throw him in a cell? The MPs must be with their families by now, Benjamin thought. The idea of these men, the only men still in the service of the Supreme President, without their armor or whips, but instead holding tightly their little ones - it warmed Benjamin's heart.
But the thoughts of holding someone, an act he had never been allowed to do because the Council for Procreation still had sixteen months before getting to Benjamin, infuriated him. The only family photo Benjamin had left was a snapshot of his parents, sitting pristine and still in front of a white curtain. His father is holding his mother around the stomach. Benjamin liked to think he was in her stomach at that moment; he liked to think that, at some point in his life, he had been present for a moment of warmth.
Benjamin left the paved street and began marching down the dirt path into the Low District. He had heard rumors of men from the High District venturing down into the Low for black market activities. He had always considered himself above such things, but what difference did morality make anymore? A code of ethics surely wouldn't stop what was coming for them.
Benjamin was surprised to hear the laughing and whooping of merrymaking, and soon he found himself just outside a dancing circle, arms interlocked and feet kicking for the sky. Small fires lit the way deeper into the District, and Benjamin descended into the belly of the lowly village.
How much longer did he have, Benjamin wondered. Long enough for a night together? Long enough to learn the intimate curves of another's body? He could only hope so.
On the front porch of a shanty house, Benjamin found three young women, perhaps only a year or two younger than himself. He caught the eye of a lady and smiled at her. She smiled back, but raised her eyes to the dancing circle now some distance away.
"Ahem, excuse me, miss?"
"Yes?" answered the lady.
"Might I -- I mean, I was wondering if you were one of the ladies I have heard about."
"And what kind of lady might that be?"
"Perhaps, a lady of intimate relations?"
The lady laughed. She sounded so innocent to Benjamin's ears, he found it hard to believe she was anything but a newlwed housewife.
"Tonight, sir, we are all the same. There is no business tonight, only goodbyes."
"Oh," Benjamin said. He had not thought of that. He had not thought that, of all the things to no longer be of importance, that money might be one of them.
"What is your name?" the lady asked.
"Benjamin 54 Charles Place."
"Well, Benjamin 54 Charles Place, my name is Velvet. I am sorry, but your money will be of no good here tonight."
He paused for a moment, trying desperately to remember her face before he went. His eyes fell to his feet, and growing under the shanty porch he found a single rose. He plucked it, minding the thorns, and handed it to Velvet.
"I apologize, miss. Enjoy your night."
"Perhaps, we might enjoy it together?"
He looked up at her and saw her smile of pearls. "But, you said --"
"Money, tonight, is of little value. But there are other things to be gained before the end of the world." Velvet took his hand and led him into the shanty.
The current HOUR will determine the MAIN CHARACTER of your story.
If the HOUR is 1 - a robot.
If the HOUR is 2 - a hopeless romantic.
If the HOUR is 3 - a masked vigilante.
If the HOUR is 4 - an elected official.
If the HOUR is 5 - a dinosaur.
If the HOUR is 6 - an imaginary friend.
If the HOUR is 7 - a widow.
If the HOUR is 8 - a tiger cub.
If the HOUR is 9 - the Troll King.
If the HOUR is 10 - a police officer.
If the HOUR is 11 - a college freshman.
If the HOUR is 12 - a god.
The MINUTE (in the tens place) will determine the GENRE of your story.
If the MINUTE is 0X - war.
If the MINUTE is 1X - science-fiction.
If the MINUTE is 2X - horror.
If the MINUTE is 3X - romance.
If the MINUTE is 4X - fantasy.
If the MINUTE is 5X - psychological thriller.
Finally, the TIME OF DAY will determine the TONE of your story.
If it is A.M. - comedic.
If it is P.M. - dramatic.
For example, if it is 2:18 p.m., I would write a DRAMATIC SCIENCE-FICTION story with my main character being A HOPELESS ROMANTIC.
Benjamin strolled the streets the night before it happened. He knew he wasn't supposed to. In fact, he could have been arrested simply for setting foot outside of his apartment stoop, but he was tired of being forced into his little cell every night after 19:00. He was tired of looking out his apartment window, watching the MPs force everyone inside while the curfew bell tolled.
Benjamin had heard earlier that day, just like everyone else, about the news on the radio. It was coming, and not even the Supreme President and his Royal Army could stop something like this. Benjamin felt infuriated at the hours upon hours he had spent, sitting in front of his radio at night after curfew, listening to the Supreme President's address, full of boasts and promises of an invincible army of gears and levers and processors. It was all lies, Benjamin now knew. His world was nothing but lies.
And so it was that thought that forced Benjamin out of his apartment fifteen minutes after curfew. He couldn't even see the moon that night. It was undoubtedly gone, nothing but a specks of dust being sucked into the heat of a star or some such. The sky glowed red, like the lipstick of Benjamin's mother. Or so he thought.
He wasn't supposed to visit the Low District, but laws, like lies, didn't matter anymore. What would they do, throw him in a cell? The MPs must be with their families by now, Benjamin thought. The idea of these men, the only men still in the service of the Supreme President, without their armor or whips, but instead holding tightly their little ones - it warmed Benjamin's heart.
But the thoughts of holding someone, an act he had never been allowed to do because the Council for Procreation still had sixteen months before getting to Benjamin, infuriated him. The only family photo Benjamin had left was a snapshot of his parents, sitting pristine and still in front of a white curtain. His father is holding his mother around the stomach. Benjamin liked to think he was in her stomach at that moment; he liked to think that, at some point in his life, he had been present for a moment of warmth.
Benjamin left the paved street and began marching down the dirt path into the Low District. He had heard rumors of men from the High District venturing down into the Low for black market activities. He had always considered himself above such things, but what difference did morality make anymore? A code of ethics surely wouldn't stop what was coming for them.
Benjamin was surprised to hear the laughing and whooping of merrymaking, and soon he found himself just outside a dancing circle, arms interlocked and feet kicking for the sky. Small fires lit the way deeper into the District, and Benjamin descended into the belly of the lowly village.
How much longer did he have, Benjamin wondered. Long enough for a night together? Long enough to learn the intimate curves of another's body? He could only hope so.
On the front porch of a shanty house, Benjamin found three young women, perhaps only a year or two younger than himself. He caught the eye of a lady and smiled at her. She smiled back, but raised her eyes to the dancing circle now some distance away.
"Ahem, excuse me, miss?"
"Yes?" answered the lady.
"Might I -- I mean, I was wondering if you were one of the ladies I have heard about."
"And what kind of lady might that be?"
"Perhaps, a lady of intimate relations?"
The lady laughed. She sounded so innocent to Benjamin's ears, he found it hard to believe she was anything but a newlwed housewife.
"Tonight, sir, we are all the same. There is no business tonight, only goodbyes."
"Oh," Benjamin said. He had not thought of that. He had not thought that, of all the things to no longer be of importance, that money might be one of them.
"What is your name?" the lady asked.
"Benjamin 54 Charles Place."
"Well, Benjamin 54 Charles Place, my name is Velvet. I am sorry, but your money will be of no good here tonight."
He paused for a moment, trying desperately to remember her face before he went. His eyes fell to his feet, and growing under the shanty porch he found a single rose. He plucked it, minding the thorns, and handed it to Velvet.
"I apologize, miss. Enjoy your night."
"Perhaps, we might enjoy it together?"
He looked up at her and saw her smile of pearls. "But, you said --"
"Money, tonight, is of little value. But there are other things to be gained before the end of the world." Velvet took his hand and led him into the shanty.
8.10.2009
Irredeemable, Part Deux
In this review I wrote for ComicNews, I mentioned how interesting it is that there is a story out there that really focuses on the villain and his seeming invincibility. I mean, sure, there are tons of stories where the villain is pumped up to impeccable heights, but there is also a hero in that story who proves his merit by knocking said villain down.
In Irredeemable, there is no hero. Well, let me rephrase. There are heroes in the story. In fact, there is a renegade team of them, but none of them are the focus. If anything, they are really the villains, because the villain is really the hero.
Let me explain and spoiler alert for those who have not yet read the book:
Irredeemable is about The Plutonian, a superman of sorts. He puts on the costume, the cape, the alter ego; he does it all. But the world isn't as nice to him as it is to the Superman we know. This world is, sadly, more like ours.
Example #1: After saving a baseball stadium filled with people from a rampaging robot with a nuclear bomb, one bystander criticizes The Plutonian for being a freak.
Example #2: After The Plutonian reveals his secret identity to the woman he loves, she completely flips out and purposefully spills his secret identity to a group of people who work for the local radio station.
Now, these are but two examples of how The Plutonian is treated, and it comes as no shock to me that this character becomes a mass murderer. And that, dear friends, is scary.
I hate horror films. Not because they keep me up at night, sitting in my bed, chewing on my blankey, hoping for the sun to rise five hours earlier than expected. No, I hate horror films because they don't know how to make a truly scary villain. A guy who chops up every off-duty cheerleader he sees with a machete isn't scary. It's just violent.
This isn't a villain who woke up one morning with a twirly mustache and black top hat with the sudden craving to tie pretty ladies to railroad tracks. No, this is a man who woke up every day, trying to do the right thing, and only got flack for it.
The Plutonian is scary, because he's possible in our society. Falling Down proved such a case. Fatal Attraction is another, perhaps explaining why Alex Forest is one of AFI's Top Villains, despite her lack of machete, evil powers, or gruesome mask. All of these characters are scary, because they could be anybody. They could be us.
In Irredeemable, there is no hero. Well, let me rephrase. There are heroes in the story. In fact, there is a renegade team of them, but none of them are the focus. If anything, they are really the villains, because the villain is really the hero.
Let me explain and spoiler alert for those who have not yet read the book:
Irredeemable is about The Plutonian, a superman of sorts. He puts on the costume, the cape, the alter ego; he does it all. But the world isn't as nice to him as it is to the Superman we know. This world is, sadly, more like ours.
Example #1: After saving a baseball stadium filled with people from a rampaging robot with a nuclear bomb, one bystander criticizes The Plutonian for being a freak.
Example #2: After The Plutonian reveals his secret identity to the woman he loves, she completely flips out and purposefully spills his secret identity to a group of people who work for the local radio station.
Now, these are but two examples of how The Plutonian is treated, and it comes as no shock to me that this character becomes a mass murderer. And that, dear friends, is scary.
I hate horror films. Not because they keep me up at night, sitting in my bed, chewing on my blankey, hoping for the sun to rise five hours earlier than expected. No, I hate horror films because they don't know how to make a truly scary villain. A guy who chops up every off-duty cheerleader he sees with a machete isn't scary. It's just violent.
This isn't a villain who woke up one morning with a twirly mustache and black top hat with the sudden craving to tie pretty ladies to railroad tracks. No, this is a man who woke up every day, trying to do the right thing, and only got flack for it.
The Plutonian is scary, because he's possible in our society. Falling Down proved such a case. Fatal Attraction is another, perhaps explaining why Alex Forest is one of AFI's Top Villains, despite her lack of machete, evil powers, or gruesome mask. All of these characters are scary, because they could be anybody. They could be us.
8.04.2009
Writing Exercise: "So, what is it you do?"
I can't take credit for this one, but I found it on the Bendis Board and after participating in it myself, I felt extremely satisfied with the result.
Write a scene where one character asks "So, what is it you do?" within the first 5 lines.
FRANK stands in the corner of a living room during a dinner party. He rifles through the owner's book collection. TED saunters up to FRANK casually.
TED: Ted.
FRANK: I'm sorry?
TED: Ted. My name is Ted. Yours?
FRANK: Frank.
TED: So, what is it you do, Frank?
FRANK: Really?
TED: Pardon?
FRANK: I don't know you from atom, kid, and you think you can just walk up to me and ask what it is I do? Some fuckin' balls.
TED: I'm sorry, I'm new to the company.
FRANK: Really? Never woulda guessed. Let me ask you first. What is it you do, Ted?
TED: I'm not really sure yet, sir. They recruited me straight from Harvard. My thesis was on Transtemporal Displacement Theory. I can only guess it has something to do with that.
FRANK: Oh, fuck me. You're Theodore Hausman, aren't you.
TED: Uh, yeah.
FRANK: Shit.
TED: Is there a problem?
FRANK: You're my new partner, kid.
TED: Sorry?
FRANK: On Monday, the big boss is gonna come down to your little shit cubicle and send you to me. I'm Frank Trinkle.
TED: The Time Cop?
FRANK: Lesson #1: Don't ever fuckin' call me that.
TED: Sorry, sir. I had no idea they were putting me in the Enforcement Division. So, what is it we'll be doing?
FRANK: Huh?
TED: In the Enforcement Division? What is it we do exactly? No one's told me the specifics. Do we arrest people for manufacturing unlicensed time-jumpers, or do we just regulate time steam travel?
FRANK: Kid, you got no fuckin' idea what you're even talking about. There is no time travel.
TED: But...
FRANK: It doesn't exist, kid. You want to know what I do. Really?
TED: Uh...
FRANK: Anyone who tries to build a time-jumper, anyone who even thinks of how to make a goddamn flux capacitor work, I go and put a bullet in their teeth, kid.
TED: Why?
FRANK: 'Cause of Lesson #2: if anyone ever did time travel, even one second into the past or future, we'd all fuckin' die, kid. And I don't just mean West America, or Earth. The entire fuckin' universe as we know it would shatter into a million different pieces: past, present, and future. That's why.
Write a scene where one character asks "So, what is it you do?" within the first 5 lines.
FRANK stands in the corner of a living room during a dinner party. He rifles through the owner's book collection. TED saunters up to FRANK casually.
TED: Ted.
FRANK: I'm sorry?
TED: Ted. My name is Ted. Yours?
FRANK: Frank.
TED: So, what is it you do, Frank?
FRANK: Really?
TED: Pardon?
FRANK: I don't know you from atom, kid, and you think you can just walk up to me and ask what it is I do? Some fuckin' balls.
TED: I'm sorry, I'm new to the company.
FRANK: Really? Never woulda guessed. Let me ask you first. What is it you do, Ted?
TED: I'm not really sure yet, sir. They recruited me straight from Harvard. My thesis was on Transtemporal Displacement Theory. I can only guess it has something to do with that.
FRANK: Oh, fuck me. You're Theodore Hausman, aren't you.
TED: Uh, yeah.
FRANK: Shit.
TED: Is there a problem?
FRANK: You're my new partner, kid.
TED: Sorry?
FRANK: On Monday, the big boss is gonna come down to your little shit cubicle and send you to me. I'm Frank Trinkle.
TED: The Time Cop?
FRANK: Lesson #1: Don't ever fuckin' call me that.
TED: Sorry, sir. I had no idea they were putting me in the Enforcement Division. So, what is it we'll be doing?
FRANK: Huh?
TED: In the Enforcement Division? What is it we do exactly? No one's told me the specifics. Do we arrest people for manufacturing unlicensed time-jumpers, or do we just regulate time steam travel?
FRANK: Kid, you got no fuckin' idea what you're even talking about. There is no time travel.
TED: But...
FRANK: It doesn't exist, kid. You want to know what I do. Really?
TED: Uh...
FRANK: Anyone who tries to build a time-jumper, anyone who even thinks of how to make a goddamn flux capacitor work, I go and put a bullet in their teeth, kid.
TED: Why?
FRANK: 'Cause of Lesson #2: if anyone ever did time travel, even one second into the past or future, we'd all fuckin' die, kid. And I don't just mean West America, or Earth. The entire fuckin' universe as we know it would shatter into a million different pieces: past, present, and future. That's why.
7.28.2009
This Just In: Time Machines Always Suck
Time machines are cool, right? Who wouldn't want a flux capacitor and a giant clock attached to a chair and an electrical orb that encircles your body taking you back and forth through time and space like your own personal time chauffeur?
Me. I wouldn't. How come? Because time machines, no matter how cool they seem, don't make sense.
In 1895, Jules Verne completely screwed over all of fiction by inventing the concept of the "time machine," forever destroying common sense.
Right now, you might be asking yourself, "But Phil, Back to the Future was so awesome!" I know, I know. It was awesome, but let's think about it for a second.
The premise of the film is thus: Marty McFly, procurer of orange vests, accidentally travels back in time, where he is stuck without help from his mentor, Doc Brown.
So far, so good.
However, at the end of the film, Marty decides to plan his arrival back to the future at exactly five minutes before the death of Doc Brown, so that Marty may prevent said death.
Again, so far, so good, right?
No! Marty has a freakin' time machine! He can place himself anywhere within time, and he chooses to do it only a mere five minutes before the death of this friend and mentor? Why only five minutes?
See where I'm going with this?
Just in case you don't, let me give you another example.
Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban is not only a story of magic, but also time travel. Hermione Granger, forever straight-A student, borrows a time machine simply for the use of taking several classes at the same time.
Putting aside the fact that this must be the most insipid use of a time machine to date, Hermione, Harry, and the entire wizarding community completely miss the fact that this time machine could be used for the most banal mission ever: to kill Voldemort as a child and completely skip the torturous series of events that puts this entire story into motion.
Simply, why don't we see Harry jump into the past, find baby Tom Riddle (a.k.a. Lord Voldemort) in his basinet, fast asleep, and melt his face off with his wand?
Or, why doesn't Harry go back in time, find said baby, and deliver him to a set of adoptive parents who treat little Tom Riddle like the bestest child in the whole world, perhaps leading Tom Riddle to become the next Dumbledore instead of the Merlin equivalent of Hitler?
As you can see, ladies and gentlemen, time machines are fully capable of solving their own problems. Perhaps Terminator is the only film to ever get it right, by using a time machine to prevent something from happening, rather than something happening because of a time machine.
However, Terminator presents a-whole-nother problem with time machines - how can something happen because someone went back into the past and told you it happened? Example - John Connor is born because his father traveled back in time to impregnate his mother, yet the father only went back in time because John Connor told him to.
Huh?
Exactly. Time machines suck.
Me. I wouldn't. How come? Because time machines, no matter how cool they seem, don't make sense.
In 1895, Jules Verne completely screwed over all of fiction by inventing the concept of the "time machine," forever destroying common sense.
Right now, you might be asking yourself, "But Phil, Back to the Future was so awesome!" I know, I know. It was awesome, but let's think about it for a second.
The premise of the film is thus: Marty McFly, procurer of orange vests, accidentally travels back in time, where he is stuck without help from his mentor, Doc Brown.
So far, so good.
However, at the end of the film, Marty decides to plan his arrival back to the future at exactly five minutes before the death of Doc Brown, so that Marty may prevent said death.
Again, so far, so good, right?
No! Marty has a freakin' time machine! He can place himself anywhere within time, and he chooses to do it only a mere five minutes before the death of this friend and mentor? Why only five minutes?
See where I'm going with this?
Just in case you don't, let me give you another example.
Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban is not only a story of magic, but also time travel. Hermione Granger, forever straight-A student, borrows a time machine simply for the use of taking several classes at the same time.
Putting aside the fact that this must be the most insipid use of a time machine to date, Hermione, Harry, and the entire wizarding community completely miss the fact that this time machine could be used for the most banal mission ever: to kill Voldemort as a child and completely skip the torturous series of events that puts this entire story into motion.
Simply, why don't we see Harry jump into the past, find baby Tom Riddle (a.k.a. Lord Voldemort) in his basinet, fast asleep, and melt his face off with his wand?
Or, why doesn't Harry go back in time, find said baby, and deliver him to a set of adoptive parents who treat little Tom Riddle like the bestest child in the whole world, perhaps leading Tom Riddle to become the next Dumbledore instead of the Merlin equivalent of Hitler?
As you can see, ladies and gentlemen, time machines are fully capable of solving their own problems. Perhaps Terminator is the only film to ever get it right, by using a time machine to prevent something from happening, rather than something happening because of a time machine.
However, Terminator presents a-whole-nother problem with time machines - how can something happen because someone went back into the past and told you it happened? Example - John Connor is born because his father traveled back in time to impregnate his mother, yet the father only went back in time because John Connor told him to.
Huh?
Exactly. Time machines suck.
7.21.2009
Writing Exercise: Road Trip
Two characters are in a car together, making a road trip from one side of the country to the other. One character knows a secret about the car that the other does not. Write a scene between these two characters in the car.
INT. CAR - DAY
NOAH enters the car, having just filled the car's gas tank. He looks haggard, tired, defeated by...something.
In the passenger seat is KATIE, asleep and with her forehead against the window.
Noah starts the car and begins driving on a highway in the desert.
NOAH
Hey, Katie, you awake? Katie?
No response.
NOAH
Look, I know you're not sleeping. You can't sleep in cars. Even with some Dramamine, you suck at it. So don't try to fool me, right? Katie?
No response.
NOAH
Honey, I know these moves haven't been easy, but this will be the last one, I promise. You hear me? Last. One. I promise.
On the road, a car cuts in from of Noah and starts honking incessantly. Noah slams his fist against the steering wheel in anger.
NOAH
I'm going the speed limit, asshole! God dammit!
Katie still doesn't stir.
NOAH
Kate, what the hell was I supposed to do, huh? I'm not my father. I can't just run out and be the hero. That's not who I am.
Noah tries to collect himself. He runs a hand through his hair, jostled by his angry outburst.
NOAH
This guy - I just don't...I mean, I aced high school. College was a breeze. I even got you, eventually. But this guy - he's a problem I don't know how to solve. My dad always told me, if you study them long enough, you'll always see where they falter. Normally, Dad just picked up one of the thugs and got them to talk. 'Thugs are just bread crumbs to the witch,' he always said. But this guy, there's no bread crumbs. I can't find him when I try, and then he pops out of the blue and, well, you know. And it's not like we can go to the cops.
Noah looks over at Katie, longingly, tears almost in his eyes.
NOAH
I'm tired of moving. I am. I want that house we always imagined. White picket fences are cliche, but, dammit, let's be cliche. I can't even get that collie I always wanted, cause I'm afraid this guy will snap its neck.
Noah reaches a hand over to Katie. She startles, but doesn't look at him.
NOAH
Katie, I can't do this without you. If I lost you, or if I've already lost you, I won't keep running. I'll just give up. I love you, Katie.
Finally, Katie turns to look at him. She moves her lips to talk, but only muffled sounds come out. From between her lips, Noah can see a gag in her mouth. Katie emits a muffled scream.
A black gloved hand reaches up from the back seat and grabs Katie by the neck. In the rearview mirror, Noah can see the gnarled, old face of THE PHANTOM.
THE PHANTOM
Just keep driving, little Skipper. We're almost there.
The car drives deeper into the desert, where there are no other cars around.
7.15.2009
I'm in Love with Plastic
When I was a wee boy, I collected action figures. Ninja Turtles, Power Rangers, Batman, Superman, Star Wars. I had them all. Not to mention their vehicles - Turtle Van, Batmobile, Landspeeder - and accessories - Batcave, Megazord, Hoth Rebel Base.
Every time I got a new toy, unless it was Christmas, my birthday, or some other holiday involving the giving of gifts, I went through the same routine of acquiring them. The routine always began with me scurrying through the aisles of whatever store we were in - if memory serves correct, it was often the now-gone-and-dearly-missed Hills department store. I knew immediately where the toy aisle was, as I had visited it a hundred times before. I always passed the WWF action figures, and I faintly remember wondering whoever bought the Star Trek: The Next Generation action figures. I would head straight for the "superhero-type" figures, though this sometimes included Luke Skywalker or Han Solo, and I would find that one figure that my collection would be incomplete without.
Step Two of the routine would be opening the velcro flap of my junior wallet and counting the crinkled ones I had placed inside. Every dollar bill meant one completed week of chores, and as the dollars increased in my wallet week after week, it meant opportunity. Opportunity for something exciting.
After seven weeks, I was normally able to afford the basic action figure - solid plastic body, movable arms and legs, and usually an accessory of some kind, be it ray gun or missile launcher. After nine or ten weeks, I could afford a deluxe model action figure, which might include a more detailed body design, removable helmet or chest plate, and several accessories or weapons. Batmen came with removable cloth capes. Jedi knights came with blasters and lightsabers. The key was remembering which accessory went with which figure, though they all ended up sharing anyway.
The thing about my scrimping and saving was, I wasn't very good at it. I would save for maybe three or four weeks before the twitching in my leg kicked in. I would feel restless, and no amount of running and jumping outside would satisfy me. After another week, the dreams would start. I would see Hasbro commercials in my sleep. I could see myself playing with these new toys in some wonderland of soft carpet and multiple ledges, giving Arctic Chill Batman an advantageous jump on the Penguin.
If I was into this phase by the time I reached the department store, I knew I wouldn't be able to walk away from these wonderful toys that stared out at me from their cells of thin plastic and cardboard. I would have to rescue one of them, two if I could, and give them the freedom that only my toy box could provide.
Really, when I was looking at the toys on the shelf, and then counting my money, I was figuring out how much my mother would have to pay. I was figuring out the difference in my head, and hoping the remainder would not be too much. After ten minutes or so of staring at these toys, my mother would find me. As I think back on it, I'm pretty sure she knew the routine as well as I did, but never let on. She'd always ask the simple question, What do you have there? I'd look up at her, with the best puppy dog eyes I could muster, and reply, Nothing. I'd put the toy down and just stare at it for a moment.
Ten minutes later, I'd be walking out of that store with the toy already freed from its package and in my hands. Depending on how expensive the figure was, as well as how long it had been since I last got a toy using the same tactic, I might or might not owe my mother some of my future allowance money. But I didn't care, because I had acquired it. I had acquired the plastic.
I don't have these toys anymore. I wish I had kept one or two, just as reminders. I know I had about fifteen or so different versions of Batman, including one that changed color in water, and one that had a thick vinyl cape and a medieval mask, and one that shot a grappling hook from its back. I had a Robin with a karate chop, and a Superman with a magnet inside that repelled another magnet, hidden in a kryptonite ring. I know I had Tupperware bins filled with others, but I can't remember who they were or what vehicle they could fit into.
All I really remember is the plastic. The feel of a fresh figure's plastic body was a drug to me. It was smooth, clean of blemish, and bright. The deluxe figures always had the most detail inlaid in the plastic, like an insignia or control panel, and I felt like I was touching the work of a master craftsman. Even at that age, I knew these figures were made in factories, poured hot into molds and assembled with joints, but they still felt special.
Nowadays, I still have my love affair with plastic. When I purchased a Nintendo Wii several years ago, I held the remote in my hands and marveled at the pure white of it. I did the same with my iMac two years later. There's just something about plastic, how solid the color looks. It's not like wood that changes shades within the same piece. Plastic is pure. It's whole.
Maybe this is just a symptom of my generation. Maybe this is just a sign that I am defined by my stuff. Or maybe I still seek out those plastic treasures because they remind me of the one thing I held so dear as a wee boy, the one thing I sought out in those cloth capes and plastic missile launchers with missile-launching, spring-loaded action. Maybe it's all about adventure.
Every time I got a new toy, unless it was Christmas, my birthday, or some other holiday involving the giving of gifts, I went through the same routine of acquiring them. The routine always began with me scurrying through the aisles of whatever store we were in - if memory serves correct, it was often the now-gone-and-dearly-missed Hills department store. I knew immediately where the toy aisle was, as I had visited it a hundred times before. I always passed the WWF action figures, and I faintly remember wondering whoever bought the Star Trek: The Next Generation action figures. I would head straight for the "superhero-type" figures, though this sometimes included Luke Skywalker or Han Solo, and I would find that one figure that my collection would be incomplete without.
Step Two of the routine would be opening the velcro flap of my junior wallet and counting the crinkled ones I had placed inside. Every dollar bill meant one completed week of chores, and as the dollars increased in my wallet week after week, it meant opportunity. Opportunity for something exciting.
After seven weeks, I was normally able to afford the basic action figure - solid plastic body, movable arms and legs, and usually an accessory of some kind, be it ray gun or missile launcher. After nine or ten weeks, I could afford a deluxe model action figure, which might include a more detailed body design, removable helmet or chest plate, and several accessories or weapons. Batmen came with removable cloth capes. Jedi knights came with blasters and lightsabers. The key was remembering which accessory went with which figure, though they all ended up sharing anyway.
The thing about my scrimping and saving was, I wasn't very good at it. I would save for maybe three or four weeks before the twitching in my leg kicked in. I would feel restless, and no amount of running and jumping outside would satisfy me. After another week, the dreams would start. I would see Hasbro commercials in my sleep. I could see myself playing with these new toys in some wonderland of soft carpet and multiple ledges, giving Arctic Chill Batman an advantageous jump on the Penguin.
If I was into this phase by the time I reached the department store, I knew I wouldn't be able to walk away from these wonderful toys that stared out at me from their cells of thin plastic and cardboard. I would have to rescue one of them, two if I could, and give them the freedom that only my toy box could provide.
Really, when I was looking at the toys on the shelf, and then counting my money, I was figuring out how much my mother would have to pay. I was figuring out the difference in my head, and hoping the remainder would not be too much. After ten minutes or so of staring at these toys, my mother would find me. As I think back on it, I'm pretty sure she knew the routine as well as I did, but never let on. She'd always ask the simple question, What do you have there? I'd look up at her, with the best puppy dog eyes I could muster, and reply, Nothing. I'd put the toy down and just stare at it for a moment.
Ten minutes later, I'd be walking out of that store with the toy already freed from its package and in my hands. Depending on how expensive the figure was, as well as how long it had been since I last got a toy using the same tactic, I might or might not owe my mother some of my future allowance money. But I didn't care, because I had acquired it. I had acquired the plastic.
I don't have these toys anymore. I wish I had kept one or two, just as reminders. I know I had about fifteen or so different versions of Batman, including one that changed color in water, and one that had a thick vinyl cape and a medieval mask, and one that shot a grappling hook from its back. I had a Robin with a karate chop, and a Superman with a magnet inside that repelled another magnet, hidden in a kryptonite ring. I know I had Tupperware bins filled with others, but I can't remember who they were or what vehicle they could fit into.
All I really remember is the plastic. The feel of a fresh figure's plastic body was a drug to me. It was smooth, clean of blemish, and bright. The deluxe figures always had the most detail inlaid in the plastic, like an insignia or control panel, and I felt like I was touching the work of a master craftsman. Even at that age, I knew these figures were made in factories, poured hot into molds and assembled with joints, but they still felt special.
Nowadays, I still have my love affair with plastic. When I purchased a Nintendo Wii several years ago, I held the remote in my hands and marveled at the pure white of it. I did the same with my iMac two years later. There's just something about plastic, how solid the color looks. It's not like wood that changes shades within the same piece. Plastic is pure. It's whole.
Maybe this is just a symptom of my generation. Maybe this is just a sign that I am defined by my stuff. Or maybe I still seek out those plastic treasures because they remind me of the one thing I held so dear as a wee boy, the one thing I sought out in those cloth capes and plastic missile launchers with missile-launching, spring-loaded action. Maybe it's all about adventure.
7.13.2009
Writing Exercise: Odaiba Park Gundam
As a creative writer myself, I have come to learn, love, and understand the fun and importance of writing exercises. They're like games for your pencil...or word processor. I hope to make it a routine of mine to post either exercises I have come up with myself or ones I have found useful, as well as post my own writing that resulted from the prompt.
So, without further ado, here is one of my own:
Writing Exercise: A character arrives in Odaiba Park in Tokyo and sees, for the first time ever, the 60-foot tall Gundam statue. Write for 10 minutes a stream-of-consciousness piece about what your character experiences, from a first-person point of view.
My Result:
I knew I was to come to Tokyo. I could feel it in the wind that fateful day three weeks ago. I woke up, and suddenly the world was different. It was more than simply the darkness that appeared in everyone's eyes. It was more than the dark shadows that clung about the everyday people like capes. It was in the wind, calling to me. Telling me to start my journey. To head west, to where I would find my destiny.
The boat rides were long. I watched women and children nearly starve, because they did not prepare like I had. My prepared daily rations of Mountain Dew and beef jerky lasted me nearly to the end of my trip, but in the last week I discovered the success of victory. I caught my first ship rat; it was fat and pampered by the ship's cook. His large body was easy to see hiding in the corners of my cabin that night, and he surprisingly tasted good. Perhaps the salt sea air had seasoned him. Perhaps I will find more in my journey home.
But I must not think of the journey home. I must think of this gargantuan standing before me. I have arrived late, and so I am nearly alone with the behemoth. I had dreams, day after day, of what might await me in Tokyo. One morning I awoke with the word "Odaiba" on my lips, and from then I was infatuated with what I would face there.
I thought perhaps a sea creature, born of volcanoes and the deep-sea abyss. I thought perhaps a shadow demon, like the one I expunged from the homeless man I battled weeks ago. I have come to learn the nature of the shadow demons - how they connect themselves to man, leeching off of his body; how they turn a man's compass away from his true north, perverting his duty from the light to the darkness. I have witnessed the fall of great men, because they unwittingly fell prey to the shadow demons. And, even though they can't thank me from their shallow graves, I know they are grateful the demon was removed, much like their heads.
But, in all of my pondering, I was wrong. I never thought a giant. I never thought a machine. I never thought my adversary would look so bright. He manipulates. He lies.
He wears white, like the most proud and ancient and wise of samurai, but he has no honor. Not like I! I shall use my great sword, the Whispering Thunder, to strike this steel giant down. I shall cut him into pieces, and then the townspeople will come to me and buy the pieces and hang them over their doorways to ward off the shadow demons. To warn them that a warrior still strides upon the mountains and the clouds of this earth. The shadow demons will be wary of these homes, for they shall call upon my protection. They shall call upon the great giant and demon slayer, Timothy-san!
So, without further ado, here is one of my own:
Writing Exercise: A character arrives in Odaiba Park in Tokyo and sees, for the first time ever, the 60-foot tall Gundam statue. Write for 10 minutes a stream-of-consciousness piece about what your character experiences, from a first-person point of view.
My Result:
I knew I was to come to Tokyo. I could feel it in the wind that fateful day three weeks ago. I woke up, and suddenly the world was different. It was more than simply the darkness that appeared in everyone's eyes. It was more than the dark shadows that clung about the everyday people like capes. It was in the wind, calling to me. Telling me to start my journey. To head west, to where I would find my destiny.
The boat rides were long. I watched women and children nearly starve, because they did not prepare like I had. My prepared daily rations of Mountain Dew and beef jerky lasted me nearly to the end of my trip, but in the last week I discovered the success of victory. I caught my first ship rat; it was fat and pampered by the ship's cook. His large body was easy to see hiding in the corners of my cabin that night, and he surprisingly tasted good. Perhaps the salt sea air had seasoned him. Perhaps I will find more in my journey home.
But I must not think of the journey home. I must think of this gargantuan standing before me. I have arrived late, and so I am nearly alone with the behemoth. I had dreams, day after day, of what might await me in Tokyo. One morning I awoke with the word "Odaiba" on my lips, and from then I was infatuated with what I would face there.
I thought perhaps a sea creature, born of volcanoes and the deep-sea abyss. I thought perhaps a shadow demon, like the one I expunged from the homeless man I battled weeks ago. I have come to learn the nature of the shadow demons - how they connect themselves to man, leeching off of his body; how they turn a man's compass away from his true north, perverting his duty from the light to the darkness. I have witnessed the fall of great men, because they unwittingly fell prey to the shadow demons. And, even though they can't thank me from their shallow graves, I know they are grateful the demon was removed, much like their heads.
But, in all of my pondering, I was wrong. I never thought a giant. I never thought a machine. I never thought my adversary would look so bright. He manipulates. He lies.
He wears white, like the most proud and ancient and wise of samurai, but he has no honor. Not like I! I shall use my great sword, the Whispering Thunder, to strike this steel giant down. I shall cut him into pieces, and then the townspeople will come to me and buy the pieces and hang them over their doorways to ward off the shadow demons. To warn them that a warrior still strides upon the mountains and the clouds of this earth. The shadow demons will be wary of these homes, for they shall call upon my protection. They shall call upon the great giant and demon slayer, Timothy-san!
7.11.2009
First Posts Are for Suckers
Welcome to The Minimalist's Journal. I could use this first post to tell you all about myself. In fact, I could probably spend days upon days telling you about my adventures to Europe after graduating from high school, whereupon I ran into Ferdinand, a university student form Spain, whom I spent three months with journeying across the great continent to my east, until I discovered he was really a Mexican hitman and was using my American good looks to avoid suspicion from Interpol agents.
I mean, I could tell you all about that, but I doubt you really want to hear it, so instead I'm going to jump right in and discuss some wild and crazy stuff I've been seeing around the news as of late.
First of all, Microsoft's Project Natal. I'll begin by asking, Why does Microsoft feel they can change the pronunciation of a word? If I were to write down the letters N-A-T-A-L and show it to any female, they'd ask me why I'm interested in child birth. But, Microsoft uses this word for a crazy, Wii-inspired, hands-free video game device, and suddenly it's "Nah-tall."
Anyway, I understand the appeal of this device. It looks neat. You can play games that require you to stand up, run around, swing your arms - all things you really want to do at midnight with your bros after eating three large cheese pizzas from Little Caesars.
Clearly, Microsoft is trying to siphon off some of the "casual gamer market" from Nintendo, but even the 9-year-olds learned that you can play Wii Sports while sitting down.
Now, I've watched several of the videos Microsoft has put out showing the power of Project Natal, and I can't help but think I'm being duped. I really think Microsoft is trying to pull a fast one here. There's no showing of any kind of interface. How does Natal know that I'm moving and not the person sitting behind me? How many games will this actually play? Are they on a disc or downloadable? How much will this cost? Microsoft hasn't released any answers, and I can't help but think they are hoping the Hype Monster will help sell their product.
Second, I'm a bit of a podcast nut. In the past year, I've put about a gagillion miles (I counted) on my car, The Tumbler, and I realized after the first several hundred or so that listening to radio can get boring. So, I got myself an iPod Touch and loaded it up with a smattering of different types of podcasts. In the last year, I've come to learn which podcasts consistantly deliver the awesome, while others are on iTunes only because the creators' mothers listen to them every week.
So, my current list of podcast subscriptions is as such:
1. Creative Screenwriting Magazine. I'm a film nerd and screenwriter, so listening to this is always a treat. Of course, since the host, Jeff Goldsmith, gets just about anybody and everybody for his screenings, you run the gammit of screenwriters, from Peter Morgan of Frost/Nixon to Alex Kurtzman and Roberto Orci of Transformers and Star Trek fame.
2. iFanboy. Josh, Ron, and Connor are like my ears' best friends. They're great guys who really know their stuff. They talk comics twice every week - once in an audio "Pick of the Week" podcast, and again in a video podcast where they discuss specific topics, titles, and creators in comics.
3. Maniacal Rage. Originally "The Garrett Murray Podcast," then renamed at the behest of co-host Shawn Morrison, these two guys talk about everything and anything. It's basically just listening to two guys with the occassional sketch here and there, but it's always hilarious. I came upon this podcast more recently than the other two, but I have already listened to all of the episodes at least twice, and it already has a special playlist on the iPod. Also, check out MRTV for their video podcast.
Third, Reese's Pieces are awesome. Seriously. I have had a bowl of these bite-size pieces of peanut-buttery heaven on my desk for the past week, and it's been the best week of my life. No wonder E.T. didn't want to leave Earth.
I mean, I could tell you all about that, but I doubt you really want to hear it, so instead I'm going to jump right in and discuss some wild and crazy stuff I've been seeing around the news as of late.
First of all, Microsoft's Project Natal. I'll begin by asking, Why does Microsoft feel they can change the pronunciation of a word? If I were to write down the letters N-A-T-A-L and show it to any female, they'd ask me why I'm interested in child birth. But, Microsoft uses this word for a crazy, Wii-inspired, hands-free video game device, and suddenly it's "Nah-tall."
Anyway, I understand the appeal of this device. It looks neat. You can play games that require you to stand up, run around, swing your arms - all things you really want to do at midnight with your bros after eating three large cheese pizzas from Little Caesars.
Clearly, Microsoft is trying to siphon off some of the "casual gamer market" from Nintendo, but even the 9-year-olds learned that you can play Wii Sports while sitting down.
Now, I've watched several of the videos Microsoft has put out showing the power of Project Natal, and I can't help but think I'm being duped. I really think Microsoft is trying to pull a fast one here. There's no showing of any kind of interface. How does Natal know that I'm moving and not the person sitting behind me? How many games will this actually play? Are they on a disc or downloadable? How much will this cost? Microsoft hasn't released any answers, and I can't help but think they are hoping the Hype Monster will help sell their product.
Second, I'm a bit of a podcast nut. In the past year, I've put about a gagillion miles (I counted) on my car, The Tumbler, and I realized after the first several hundred or so that listening to radio can get boring. So, I got myself an iPod Touch and loaded it up with a smattering of different types of podcasts. In the last year, I've come to learn which podcasts consistantly deliver the awesome, while others are on iTunes only because the creators' mothers listen to them every week.
So, my current list of podcast subscriptions is as such:
1. Creative Screenwriting Magazine. I'm a film nerd and screenwriter, so listening to this is always a treat. Of course, since the host, Jeff Goldsmith, gets just about anybody and everybody for his screenings, you run the gammit of screenwriters, from Peter Morgan of Frost/Nixon to Alex Kurtzman and Roberto Orci of Transformers and Star Trek fame.
2. iFanboy. Josh, Ron, and Connor are like my ears' best friends. They're great guys who really know their stuff. They talk comics twice every week - once in an audio "Pick of the Week" podcast, and again in a video podcast where they discuss specific topics, titles, and creators in comics.
3. Maniacal Rage. Originally "The Garrett Murray Podcast," then renamed at the behest of co-host Shawn Morrison, these two guys talk about everything and anything. It's basically just listening to two guys with the occassional sketch here and there, but it's always hilarious. I came upon this podcast more recently than the other two, but I have already listened to all of the episodes at least twice, and it already has a special playlist on the iPod. Also, check out MRTV for their video podcast.
Third, Reese's Pieces are awesome. Seriously. I have had a bowl of these bite-size pieces of peanut-buttery heaven on my desk for the past week, and it's been the best week of my life. No wonder E.T. didn't want to leave Earth.
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