Happy Birthday...to Me!

Kudos one and all!

Today is that magical day that comes around only once an Earth revolution. The day I was born. I've sort of been celebrating all weekend, but I'll post pictures of tonight's fun after all is said and done.

This won't affect my normal sporadic posting schedule. I'll have a new comic review up on Wednesday with any luck.

In the meantime, some photos of the weekend:

Some pickled grilled chicken I made. Shared a little with Iric.

Listened to a bit of "The Whisper House" by Duncan Sheik

Had girly Peanut Butter and Jelly shots with Iric and Nick. (don't knock it till you try it)

My favorite beers, a seasonal brew, and this was the last sixer they had. Yum!

That's about all. Well, take it easy then!
-Steve

Wolverine: First Class

Bienvenido a la Madhouse!

So in the spirit of better comic reviews, I'm dedicating all of my attention to one comic each week, instead of "my sad life of comics in 1500 words or more." Here is the first post in the new tradition.

This week's comic is Wolverine First Class #18.

Now I hate Wolverine. I hate him. The most overused two-dimensional character Marvel has and here he is this week, in the hands of one of my favorite comic writers, the legendary Peter David. This was entirely an impulse buy, because when I saw "David" and a swarm of Jamie Madrox (my favorite Marvel character, the Multiple Man) on the cover, I had to give it a try.

I was pleased to find this was an issue revolving almost exclusively around Shadowcat and Madrox. Wolverine was used mainly as comic relief, which is how I prefer him to be used, much like Joss Whedon's Wolverine in Astonishing X-Men.

(This issue takes place long before the first appearance of X-Factor. It's bright colors and Madrox's original costume help set the scene in the past)

In summary, Madrox visits the X-Mansion in search of a renegade dupe who has taken asylum there. He explains to Shadowcat and Wolverine how dangerous it is to have a part of yourself doing things that you will eventually have to answer for. Shadowcat however, believes that the dupe is a person too, and as such has a right to live his own life. This leads to issues of morality, mortality, trust, and knowing yourself and what you're capable of.

(Peter David can write Shadowcat's plucky sense of humor and her Jewish heritage really well. It's not over the top, but in good taste. Thanks in part, I assume, to David's own Jewish heritage)

I really enjoyed this issue for its whimsical yet philosophical analyses of Jamie Madrox's unique ability. He doesn't even know exactly how it works. Are his dupes 100% perfect copies? Are they merely aspects of his personality? Are they truly each individual people? Madrox in this issue compares them to locks of hair or fingernails, each one being an extension on himself. This is a funny rationalization for why he has the right to reabsorb them, but also highlights his youth and suggests he may feel guilty for ending dupes' lives.

As an added bonus, if you're a fan of Peter David's current near-50 issue run of X-Factor, lots of parts of this issue will carry a little more meaning and be just a little funnier since you know how things turn out for Madrox in the future. Or the present. Damn continuity.

Nobody writes Madrox better than Peter David, but failing to mention how well suited this artwork is to the themes and tone of this book would be a crime. Bright colors, clear lines and expressive faces make the story pop. Aesthetically, this is a fine book.

While I can't recommend Wolverine First Class on the whole, I can suggest looking at issue #18.

That's all for this week. Have a good weekend!
-Steve

Poetry for what it's worth

Hello happlejacks and susannas!

So I didn't get around to writing my review of Ed Brubaker's Sleeper, Season 1. In short, it was really damn good. It's like The Departed with superpowers. Creative, fun, and I should stop before I write the review.

What I did do was attend my first day of Poetry and Fiction classes, and got my first assignments. Here's the poem I wrote for a prompt asking for a description of a "thing." My thing is a tree, or more precisely the fruit of a tree I saw in a dream. A little lame I know to say "I saw this is in a dream," but if you know anything about me, you know my dreams are more fantastic and entertaining than an acid trip could ever be. (side note: I may start up a dream journal section of this blog...)

Here's my poem, a rough draft to be edited in class Tuesday, entitled "The Light Trees"

I was walking

In the open woods

By Cortico Bay.

A low fog obscured

Distant landmarks

And civilization.

Only cricket chirps

To let me know

I wasn’t alone.

There it stood,

The Light Tree.

Tiny fist-sized bulbs,

Dozens, no

About a dozen hung from

Willow-like branches.

Each one glowed

With a pearly white

Core caged by varied

Color coats.

A red one, a purple one

A green one, a yellow one.

The hanging lights shined

Through the fog

That nearly made the branches

Unreckognizable. They looked

Like a nighttime car wreck

Suspended in mid-air.

Twelve feet off the ground.

The air around the tree was warmer

Than the damp cool air

Blowing in from the bay.

The smell of oak bark

Rotting made the fruit of the

Light Tree so much more

Seductive.

I reached up but

The tree seemed to meet me

Halfway, offering a cool pink bulb,

The one shining brightest.

It was here I found the fog didn’t

Blur the lights of the fruit,

But their brightness was milky and

Out of focus all its own.

My lips were wet.

I was salivating before I knew it.

My eyes fixated on the perfectly round form in my hands

Smooth, but dry.

A strange sensation of fear

And excitement rushed through me.

I wouldn’t wait any longer,

Thrusting the bulb fruit to my face

And tearing its soft tissue with my teeth.

Its flesh was bitter,

Unsatisfying and unexpected.

Creamy juices ran through my fingers

From the wound I had inflicted.

I lifted the fruit again, pouring the juice

Down the front of my lips,

Tasting only with the tip of my tongue.

Sweet.

Like somewhere between strawberries and

Tart apples, but juicier.

My hands trembled and

I dropped the chalice I had

Supped from. A half sphere,

Half-full, rolling on the greenest grass

I hadn’t even noticed was there.

My feet were bare, another detail I failed to note.

My toes seemed to dig into the soft soil

Under the grass.

Cool dirt sifted through my feet,

Nourishing in a way,

Like washing down my dessert

With earthy vegetables.

I felt tall and timbering.

My limbs grew weak so I stretched

Them to get blood back in my veins.

My arms were extended out high and wide,

As if I were trying to catch a planet

Falling from the sky,

That looking up now,

Was darker and mistier than

It had been before.

Suddenly I found I was

Eye to eye

With the fruits of the Light Tree.

I couldn’t step back.

I couldn’t walk away.

I would shine my own lights

Over Cortico Bay.

Tell me what you think.

Have a swell weekend.