It's Shxt Like This That Distances Me From Comics

I know this isn't Marathon #3.

I wanted to write something that wasn't pastepunk stuff and the Marathon pieces take a lot out of me. It's something to knock out the cobwebs and get me off my intellectual butt. This is about...Necrosha. Necrosha is a story about reanimating the dead that got published today that isn't called Blackest Night.


There's a preview page of the Necrosha one-shot in the X-Men universe (from Marvel Comics) which took me out of the world the authors had created and brought me back, kicking and screaming to this one.

It's a shot of Selene, the Black Queen, an X-Men villianess. She's an important member of the Hellfire Club's inner circle and she's a powerful character. She's a 15,000 year old psychic vampire, for heaven's sake. She can grind people to dust with her mind or dominate them to her will. This is a woman with considerable powers and prowess of her own.

She's teaming up with some other death related villains to launch an attack on the X-Men, because she believes she can ascend to godhood for no adequately explored reason, but do villains really need reasons? Answer: No. It's usually better if they don't.

And yet, she's dressed up like an bondage model. That breaks the fiction for me. That pulls me out of the narrative. I don't feel like a reader when I see that. I feel like a target audience. I feel like I'm being titillated, insulted and kept on a leash to make sure I'm paying attention. Take a look at it yourself.

I feel like I'm being reminded that these designs are made to influence buyers. And yes, I know that her costume is based on an older costume, which is just as flattering. But this is 2009. We've learned, right? We don't have dress up the women in those kinds of outfits to get readers to understand the woman is meant to be alluring, destructive and nefarious. It's an image thing. It's her image. It's the image Marvel wants her to have.

The problem is that there's another image and that's Marvel's image of the buyers of which I am one. (That said, all of this could also be said for DC, at random, I could show you Green Lantern Corps #35, but that's tangential.) I recognize that this is an old argument. I recognize I'm profoundly new to this criticism that's been going on for a while now.

It's hard for me to believe that a woman who is 15,000 years old chooses to dress that scantily in on a cold night. I mean, okay, she's a vampire. That requires an abbreviated wardrobe, I grant, but the bondage theme is the straw (or tail) that broke the camel's back.

Maybe I'm just roid-raging. I felt like a kid again and the experience wasn't pleasant. For all the time I've invested in my understanding, all the different perspectives I've tried to wrap my mind around and all the fighting I've done with how I'm supposed to act, pages like this remind me that I'm still just viewed as a person to be insulted with "sultry" women.

I don't believe I'm unique in that I'm college graduate reading comics and am willing to try new universes and characters. Maybe I am. I'm going outside to take a walk and figure out how deeply I feel about this.

It makes me feel powerless and reminds me of the production of comics. The big fear in my mind is that I'm just naive. That of course these comics are aimed at dudes (used colloquially) that define the lowest common denominator. That the patina of storytelling is just that. That I'm putting too much intellectually on something that was never meant to carry it.

Maybe this feeling of being taken advantage of is in my head. I hope it is, but frankly, I never should have left the story in the first place and the fact that even after typing through this, the original problem still remains is the troubling part.

Obama! Spring Break! Whoo!

I really like Obama. Honestly and deeply like him. I like hearing him speak. I like his story, his policies, his platitudes. I like him in a way that is counter to my cynicism, that is objectively, very foolish. And I am not naive, I know that he is an American politician, which is to be a huckster and a liar and a snake-oil salesman. But in Obama, I am okay with the deceptions and compromises. I can live with them, because he is at the very least self-aware. He knows who's going to vote for him and he knows what they want to hear and how to say it, how to perform and present himself to them as the vehicle for their frustrated optimism and vestigial idealism. Unequivocally, the "youth vote" (as it were) is his major strength, the true devotees and zealous converts. The Baby Boomers and the Union Workers and the Frustrated Republicans are being swayed, seduced and shown the light, but slowly and with the passionate guidance of these college students. Anyone over the age of 17 and under the age of 30 is chomping at the bit to vote for the Obamanator. We're ready to go. Get us to a booth, and we know what to do.

Unfortunately, the most common criticism is also the fairest observation: Obama really doesn't have much to say. Not yet, anyway. He has some outlines. Some ideas. A clear and (to me) fairly comforting voting record. But Hilary's had her marching plan ready since the impeachment days. That is irrelevant, and I feel that he (or at least, his incredibly clever staff) understands that. That the youth vote would not be won with a PowerPoint presentation and a pragmatic attitude. For better or worse, this (perhaps more than any) is to be a race won by image.

This is fairly abhorrent, and I apologise for my fellow 20-somethings. But hear us out: We've got a lot on our minds. We've grown in dark times, many of us only just remember the milk and honey days of Clinton's presidency, and the rest suffer the pain of fallout. And yes, compared to these latter days of the Shrub, I do think Clinton's time in office has a comparative sylvan quality. That's neither here nor there, though. We've seen tragedy and bloodshed at an astonishing rate, defended by bloodless and cowardly people. We've seen photographic evidence of government-sanctioned torture. We're in a post-Nixon America. We were born suspicious and we were born cynical. We never had ideals to compromise. Remember, the last election. How many of you out there loved making the distinction: "I am voting against Bush, not for Kerry". C'mon, let's see those hands. I confess.

But Obama. He stands up so tall and speaks to clearly. He's so...well, he's so fucking presidential. I can understand why America misses Camelot still. It's not an accident that several members of JFK's family, including his daughter, have passed the torch to the present candidate. Obama is the president in an action film. He is a pretty picture, and please forgive us for being shallow. But that's all we need from our candidate. We're sick of reality, and Obama has promised we'll never see it. We've seen too much embarrassing human-ness in our leaders: aggressive idiocy of Bush2 and the sleaze of Clinton. Obama promises with each step of his campaign that he'll keep his skeletons, his perversions and his spelling mistakes out of the evening news. He'll never cry or freak out at a primary. No blue dresses. Don't worry kids, Obama's here and he's got it taken care of.

That's just what we wanted to hear.

Be Not Unhappy, Child of Bosnia

Hello, gentle readers. Have you heard about the war on bloggers? Take arms, gentle readers, and hoist the flag of our feisty fiefdom high - war approaches. Do we have a flag? Is our Latin emblazoned upon a saucy tabard? Do we have merchandise? Oh ho ho. Patience, my pets.

As you are so concerned with my health, it behooves me to inform you that I have resumed my strict exercise regimen, which basically consists of me throwing myself forward on a treadmill until my lungs clench up and I vomit. Not really, but, Rocky-like, I must force myself through the struggle of tiger eyes (in my case, remixes of the Still Alive song from Portal) or whatever to beat up a Russian. Fuck that, I'll just eat myself skinny. This plan makes total sense. MMM CELERY, THE DIET HELPER THAT SPRANG FROM THE BLOOD OF SWIFT KADMILOS.

Speaking of conflict (not so much of swift Kadmilos), have you heard any of the strange meta-debate going on over that photo of Barack Obama where he is apparently cosplaying as Fireflower Mario. It's not a debate about the debate that might be debated if the photo (linked to) were debatable. And all of this, mind you, is for the primaries - I begin to wish that I'd registered democrat back on that sunny day that I registered to vote, just so I'd say that I participated in this slapdash chaos. Also, since we're dishing about candidates, I would just like to say that I do not hate John McCain. He is a welcome change from the "Let's nominate the most vile cretin available" modus operandi of the republican party. While still a vile cretin, he is at least able to talk for ten minutes without making me want to punch him in the face. So. There's that.

Regardless of how the upcoming election goes, I will hereby commit only to this statement - I voted for the other person who would doubtlessly be doing a better job of being president. It is a brave stance to take, one that requires careful research and planning, of estimating how each candidate will perform if elected. You have to know their stances on the war in Iraq, the economy, health care, and what they are doing with our tarnished reputation, at home and abroad. And you have to be cynical - this is, perhaps, the worst part. While everyone else is participating at their rallies and having fun, I have to be skulking, jackal-like, on the very edge of their warm bonfires, ready to leap upon the winning party with my clucking tongue and furrowed brow. The other candidate would have done so much better. Our politics have gotten to the point where presidential preference has become an indicator of personal merit - any nincompoop who voted for Bush in either election must be properly apologetic, or risk being labeled a dangerous inebriate - and that as soon as any candidate actually becomes president, their greatest flaws are immediately seized upon and exaggerated. Kinda depressing. Thankfully there is beer. OR IS THERE? We stand at the precipice of a bold new future, one where we must face our failures without the aid of sweet sweet beer - planning ahead and making careful decisions are the only way that we can possibly hope to avoid regret.

I kind of want to punch myself in the face. Until next time, gentle readers - there will be a theme week! It will be terrible!