Gender Reassignment Challenge: Dazzler to Sundog

With the Gender Reassignment Challenge, I take a reasonably feminine costume and reimagine it for a male version of the character. This week I chose everyone's favorite 80's Disco Queen... the Dazzler! The Dazzler's comic outlived Disco -- by quite a few years, actually -- and her formerly fabulous sequined togs had to be dropped in favor of something more "rad." In between the two costumes was a long stretch where she just wore plain clothes... assuming you consider ankle warmers and off-the-shoulder sweatshirt-dresses "plain."

My He-Dazzler (and no, Scipio, I refuse to call him that) is no Disco King. As amusing as that might be, I figure Marvel would have positioned a male Dazzler (Ellison Blaire!) as a rocker. Sure, he'd be one of those ill-defined fictional rockers favored by out-of-touch, aging Baby Boomers in the early 80's. You know the type I mean -- he'd front an allegedly "Punk Rock" band, but his attire would be mostly Glam, Funk, and Alice Cooper/KISS face-paintin' metal. But he'd wear bracelets with spikes on them! Certainly that would be "Punk," right, you granola-chugging, social-security-gobbling dinosaurs?

Here's Dazzler in her original outfit:

And here's the "edgy" "hard core" "bad-ass" version... Sundog!

Why "Sundog?" Because "Dazzler" just isn't ROCK 'N' ROLL!!! Also, it gives me the excuse to change Dazzler's goofy facepaint butterfly into something more like Peter Criss (or Eric Carr) might wear. I changed the one-piece into a tailored vest and slacks with no shirt. It's very Glam Rock. And/or Chippendales. The disco ball pendant is now a sun pendant, and the rollerskate boots are now stylized boots with teeth on the bottom. And he has Ozzy Osbourne's hair. Now, this is a guy who might debut in a gender-reversed "X-Men" comic, at a rock concert attended by She-clops, Wolverina, and Colossess.

Six issues before her book's cancellation, Dazzler got a snappier, more superhero-y costume, with assymetry gone berserk and, apparently, Supergirl's old headband.

Sundog's version would reflect, and maybe even foretell, metal trends of the 80's... and 90's!

The headband is a bandana, worn low over the eyes, a la Male Pattern Baldness-Era Axel Rose. Not that Sundog has any such problem, natch. The Aztec-style sun symbol from his pendant is now writ large on his chest. And on one of his calves, for reasons unknown even to myself. Except Dazzler did it. Most importantly, the assymetrically exposed skin is now hankerchiefs, and plenty of 'em! That's a very 80's rock thing to do. Hey, it was either that or Swatches. And Swatches were waning in popularity at that point. I think. Aw, what the hell do I know, I live in a glorious future paradise that you primitive losers can't even begin to comprehend! Oh, I'm sorry. I'm lashing out again. It's just that Weight Wizard and I had another fight, and I think he's broken up with me because he faked his own death again. That's always a warning sign, right? Anyway, enjoy the costumes!

Previous Gender Reassignment Challenges:

• Saturn Girl
• Scarlet Witch
• Looker (and a slight revision)
• Storm
• Marvel Girl
• Black Canary
• Phantom Lady
• Snowbird

Next week: Moral Realignment Challenge: Wonder Girl and Mammoth!

Jettison My Heart From the Airlock At Wounded Knee

Jeremy still won't let me in his apartment. I tried to reason with him, helpfully pointing out that he'd acted like a hysterical sissy-mary but for some bizarre, unknown reason this actually made him angrier. He said the problem was I was "inconsiderate" and had "a vicious tongue" and that I "never pay anything towards rent" and that I "eat all [his] food." At that last accusation I stuck my finger through the narrowly open door and poked him in the belly and with my most charming smile, said "We both know that one's a baldfaced lie, Bouncing Boy!" But Jeremy wasn't having any and maybe I shouldn't have used the word "baldfaced" on account of Jeremy's hairline. Then Jeremy said I should give him "some kind of warning" when I'm "going at some guy on [his] bed" so he doesn't just walk in on us after "a hard day at work" and that maybe I should try covering the bed with "towels." And I said, "What, am I living in Iran all of a sudden?" and that's when he started to close the door in my face. "Wait, wait!" I pleaded. "Can I have my shaving kit?" (which is technically a steamer trunk filled with various moisturizers and exfoliants) and he said he'd already thrown it out! Holy balls! The door closed. "Can I at least borrow some more comic books?" I shouted. From behind the door I could hear him say, wearily, "I'll think about it."

Sweet!

For now, I still have his copy of "Wonder Woman Annual" #5 (1996). It'll do. Let's take a gander at the book's heroine: a futuristic, noncommitally Native American-esque lass living on one of those ancient spaceship worlds that use to be all the rage. You know the kind -- the original passengers are long dead, and their descendants have no idea they're on a spaceship anymore? Blech. That nonsense is so 2660's.

Her name is AlyXa, and she dresses like a slut. But her hair and jewelry are to die for.

Spinabifidalicious! I guess her people have evolved past the need for an intestinal tract.

Anatomical abnormalities aside, isn't she the cutest thing? I wish I'd seen this ensemble back when I was in my Space Goth phase. I would have been simply dripping with handmade bangles and clasps and clusters of dangly earrings and shit. Oh well.

It's just too bad about her outfit. Slutty? Oh, just a tad. But the bigger crime in my eyes is that it's so damned impractical. There's so little material, and it's all fastened together so tenuously, it's not worth the trouble of putting it on. One strong gust from an air duct and WHAM! It gets knocked right off. And the cut of that skirt... yikes. It makes the current Supergirl look positively Victorian.

The guys on the ship don't wear much either but at least they have an excuse: they're hot! Well, besides that, they're warriors. So they dress kind of like gladiators in a "Mad Max" kind of way, with copious doses of "New York art student" and just a dash of Glam Rock.

And the winner for "Most Ridiculously Convoluted Spear" goes to--! (And now I play The Waiting Game. Sooner or later I'll get a pissy e-mail from some martial arts nerd informing me about exactly what kind of ancient Thai weapon or whatever this "spear" is based on. Ah, the internet!)

By the way, have you guessed who the penciler is? No? Here's a helpful clue:

Nobody else draws muttonchops like that. They're so pert! So full-bodied! This can only be the work of... Dave Cockrum! *thoughtfully strokes killer biker 'stache* Man, I miss my sweet-ass muttonchops. And my red hair. *sighs*

But never mind all that now. I've found a new boyfriend! Not that he knows it yet. Check him out, yo.

His name is ValXan. Which I've decided to pronounce like "Valjean" (from "Les Miserables"). Because it's French. Ooh-la-la! God damn but he's gorgeous! And he's sensitive! I can tell. Because he's wearing mascara -- oodles of it, in fact. He has a lot on his mind. Poor fella. Let me relieve you of your burden, ValXan.

Not that he spends all his time brooding, mind you.

Slap fight! So ValXan's voice is "a roaring bellow" and he prefers to resolve conflicts through violence? Gosh, but we have a lot in common!

Okay, now let's skip through all the blah-blah-blah in the middle of the comic and get to the end, where AlyXa mediates a conflict between ValXan's rugged band and the grotesquely-mutated humans who also live on that ginormous spaceship.

Yikes. That is the homeliest chick I've seen wearing a Wonder Woman costume since Cathy Lee Crosby. But back to my future boyfriend...

Aw, ValXan! Even humiliated, you're a cutie-pie! (And that's an important qualification in my boyfriends, believe you me.)

Legion Of Substitute Costumes: Polecat

Polecat is the whole reason I started redesigning the costumes of rejected Legion applicants. I've made no secret of the fact that I don't like the smelly little bugger, but I did accidentally crush him and I'm sorry for that. And I've often wondered, why don't I like him? Is he really that bad? Is it just my problem? Y'see, one of my many enchanting foibles is a tendency to overreact to things I find aesthetically displeasing, especially if they are obnoxious or tacky -- and Polecat is basically a walking fart joke! Upon deeper consideration, I've found a lot to admire about Polecat. He's very proud of his culture, which is important, and he's not afraid to be himself. It's just a damn shame he's hideously unattractive, has no taste in clothes, and has a laugh like a car alarm. So if I ever manage to get back to my specific timeline (not that I'm in a rush, mind you) I'll present him with the greatest gift I could ever give: a makeover! And maybe a gift certificate to an orthodontist.

So, here's the "before":

Law & Odor: Fashion Victims Unit! The biggest "don't" in his outfit is the pairing of bare thighs and long sleeves. He looks like a gymnast. A girl gymnast. On top of that, the design is boring with a capital bore. Black with a single racing stripe. He looks like a Camaro, only nobody wants to take him for a ride if you know what I mean. And that greasy bowl cut isn't doing him any favors.

And here's my "after":

I designed a symbol for him (stylized skunk in the shape of a "p") and, more importanly, gave him some freakin' pants. I shaved his head to show off his horns. And to show off his entire head (I know, risky) I gave him a huge fur collar and matching trim on the gloves and boots. I think it looks pretty tough, albeit in a Bob Fosse sort of way.

Rock on, stinky!

Hot Town, Cimmerian In The City (Part Two)

Concluding Conan's time-traveling misadventures from "What If" #13 (February, 1978).

First panel: Conan looks down at the dog and thinks "Hey, dinner!" Also? It's nice to see that even the most jaded, hardened Greenwich Village hipster isn't above wearing a tasteful string of pearls. Hey... wait a minute! Those are my gramma's! Stop! Thief!

Second panel: the mellow musical stylings of GROPE! Honestly, Roy Thomas and John Buscema (Ernie Chua, you're just the inker so I'll leave you out of it) -- "punk rock?" I think not. I'd buy "glam" but in no universe do these pretty boys and their frilly frocks qualify as "punk." And I doubt any punk rocker tried to intimidate a rival with a "double-hex whammy smile." Christ, Conan himself is more "punk" they are.



See?

Anyway, that's what happens when middle-aged folks try to depict a current musical fad, Madonna. Or to put it another way, Grope is the Marvel equivalent of Ernie Bushmiller (of the comic strip "Nancy") drawing any and all hippies with ukuleles and flower necklaces.

Whoa. Looks like the alley cat got to the dog before Conan did! (New York is rough.)



Too bad this story wasn't in-continuity, huh? 'Cause I really wanted to see Conan wearing that beret in, like, every story published after this one, forever. I wanted to see Arnold Schwarzenegger wearing a beret in the Conan movies. I wanted to read Conan novels that described the character as "black-haired, sullen-eyed, sword in hand, a thief, a reaver, a slayer, with gigantic melancholies and gigantic mirth, and a kicky little beret." Is that so much to ask?

I leave you with this piece of advice:



Never offer to help Conan move. He'll be stressed out and drunk and belligerent before you even get there, and to top it off he won't even spring for pizza afterwards. (Conan the Dickweed!)

Rescue Me: The Basilisk

Here's the Basilisk in "Fantastic Four" #289 (April 1986) and it's the first time I ever saw him. I thought, "Hey, this guy's kinda cool!" And on the next page, Scourge blasted him through a window on one of the higher floors of Four Freedoms Plaza.

Apparently a lot of people -- or a very small group of people with great influence-- thought it wasn't worthwhile to keep the Basilisk around. I'm not sure I understand why. According to Wikipedia, the Basilisk had superhuman strength, stamina, and reflexes, and could project beams of intense heat, cold, and force from his eyes. He could fly. Hell, he created a volcano in the Hudson River! Seems like a decent enough supervillain to me.

I can only think of a few things wrong with the Basilisk, from what I've read:
1. His real name: Basil Elks. Pure comic book, that, but it plays better in DC comics instead of the arguably more realistic Marvel Universe where the names are mainly alliterative. You don't generally get a lot of characters walking around with civilian names like Hugh Mantorge or Will Verene.
2. His powers, at first glance, seem generic. What's worse, he got them (in an accident, natch, this being Marvel) from a Kree gemstone. And then he boosted them by using a second Kree gemstone. Criminy. First Moonstone, then this guy. I don't know what the problem is with the Kree that they can't keep their power-bestowing gemstones on their own freaking planet. That shit's like the Marvel version of Kryptonite. But don't forget he's got the eyebeam gimmick, people! And he's called the Basilisk! That's his hook!
3. His costume, which features the World's Largest Ascot. Thurston Howell III only dreams of owning an ascot like that. But the costume is not a huge obstacle. I could have fixed it. Behold!



Keep on truckin', Basilisk! In some legends, the basilisk has yellow scales. So for the Marvel capital-B Basilisk I designed a golden/bronze-y glam rock armor for him. Dig the KISS boots. Since he's green and scaly, I wanted to show off a lot of his actual skin. That's why I didn't give him a helmet or cover up his shoulders. Also, you may notice that I didn't draw in any nipples. That's because, since he's reptilian, I figure he wouldn't have any nipples. Nice, huh? It's a real win-win situation, since I enjoy drawing topless males, and a lot of my readers hate seeing (male) nipples.

Tomorrow: Megatak!