A Battle Of Gastronomical Proportions!

On "Top Chef" most of the drama comes from the clash of contenders Betty and Marcel. Marcel is a boyish twenty-six-year-old with elaborate supervillain hair. Betty is an ostensibly perky forty-something gal with slathered-on makeup that looks fine indoors but transforms her into Baby Jane Hudson when exposed to direct sunlight. Marcel came onto the show with the self-fulfilling attitude that the other contestants were out to get him because he was so much more talented than they were -- his arrogance did indeed alienate him from almost everybody there (with the exception of one chef who had known him before the show) but in terms of talent he's firmly in the middle. The lower middle. Betty immediately charmed most of the chefs when she arrived. ("We're like sisters!" she chirped to the hapless first-eliminatee Suyai, who was at least twenty years her junior.) But soon enough she revealed herself to be prone to unwarranted, shrieky freak-outs... directed mainly at Marcel.

I started out liking Betty and hating Marcel. Now I think Betty is an unstable, paranoid, phony-ass bitch, while Marcel didn't turn out to be much of a villain. In fact, he helped Betty with her crappy desserts in the last episode, and when the judges criticized the desserts Betty pretty much accused Marcel of sabotage and called him "selfish." Whuh--?! However, Marcel is still far from a hero in my eyes. For one thing, he is far less mature, emotionally, than an educated, well-traveled twenty-six-year-old should be, as witnessed by his pathetic attempt to "stare down" Betty after her initial freak-out. And here's what I really despise about him: he tends to respond to any kind of confrontation with a goggle-eyed, smirking, infantile "Who, me?" look. That shit? Makes me want to punch him in the balls. So right now I can't stand either one of them. On the Television Without Pity boards, however, most people loooove Marcel. They've keyed into his self-imposed victimhood with the force of a thousand overprotective moms. They love his "adorkableness" (ew) and his wounded-puppydog eyes and his spindly, hairy body. "More shirtlessness, please!" they cry. I thank you, no. (Like I should talk--! But still.)

Thanks to his three-part bouffant hair-do and his convoluted facial hair, Marcel often draws comparisons to Wolverine. If you ask me, he's more like the Destructor, from "Ms. Marvel" #2 (February, 1977).

"Hat head" ahoy! Now, this is a more accurate representation of Marcel's hair than I've seen in any panel featuring Wolverine that was ever drawn. Or painted!

Arrogance? Check! Even though Wolverine often claims to be "the best he is at what he does" he never really comes off as arrogant about it. And unlike Marcel, Wolverine can actually back that statement up. Marcel consistently makes mediocre or even downright terrible food but he acts like he's the most talented chef in the competition. I guess that explains the hair. He's never encountered a reflective surface in his life!

Never jeer; the underdog is here! This is the kind of background detail a Marcel booster would pounce on in a nanosecond. "WHY do those jerks at L.A.M.E. always have to show up the Destructor? D. just wanted to relax in his comfy green chair and then that one guy plops his ass down in a freakin' THRONE! HATE!! I hope that L.A.M.E. scientist guy's kid reads this comic book and then he stabs his dad in the leg with a butcher knife." ...And I wish I was exaggerating. I once read a TWoP posting about Project Runway's resident jerk Jeffrey Sebelia (after he made Angela's mom cry) wishing for his own child to "claw that ugly tattoo off his neck." That's not "bombastically stating an opinion for humorous effect." That's psychotic. And please, let's leave the children out of this, okay? Christ almighty.

Inappropriate cuteness! Huge gaping mouth plus happy eyes minus nose equals "anime face." Marcel also looks like an anime character, what with his huge, pretty eyes and his goofball hair. And he has the exact same bodily proportions as Cloud Strife.

Conflict with a duplicitous blonde lady with a split-personality? Bingo.

And just like Ms. Marvel and the Destructor at the end of "Ms. Marvel" #2, Betty and Marcel are still hanging in there, their respective awfulness colliding like matter and anti-matter, leaving neither one as the victor. Of course, Ms. Marvel is sure to win the day. It's her book, after all! But Betty and Marcel? Which one of them will be sent home first? It's anybody's guess at this point. ( I can only say: TO BE CONTINUED!)

*Updated 12:17 PM with links to pictures of Marcel and Betty. Thy will be done, cozmic!

Joyeaux Nipple

As you know, I've been wearing the same old-timey Western outfit for several weeks and it finally occurred to me that I was being a bit ridiculous. So now I've decided to wear this Santa costume twenty-four hours a day!

Ho, ho, homoerotic! Who could have guessed that "Santa's beard" would turn out to be Mrs. Claus? Oh, I sleigh me! ...Sorry. I'll stop now.

I started with the silhouette -- I knew I wanted a reindeer head embossed in leather over my unjelly-like belly and I knew I wanted the top half of my torso to be exposed and to be framed by the white fur trim on the jacket. At first this design involved a big wrestling belt. But I've worn one of those before, so I modified it into a leather corset/unitard deal. I paired it up with tall pirate boots to help focus the eye on the reindeer symbol. The boots have a stylized Christmas tree with branches that mimic the reindeer's horns. I toyed with several different lengths on the jacket, but I settled on mid-length because, again, it wouldn't distract too much from the reindeer head. (I thought about matador-length, but dismissed it as too cutesy.) Instead of my usual goggles, I went with a domino mask. It doesn't obscure my gorgeous green eyes and it doesn't get in the way of the Santa hat. The gloves are flared in a 17th century Russian style.

And to finish the look, I "fell off the wagon" and changed my hair color. All my hair is bleached out to pure white now. You heard me. All of it. I had to get Jeremy to help me with some of the hard-to-reach areas. The poor lad passed out at one point -- presumably overcome by my raw sexuality, although I wouldn't rule out the bleach fumes or my gassiness from all that turkey I'd consumed... I sounded like a Phillip Glass score, played on a tuba.

Oh, and FYI I won't be posting again until Tuesday. Jeremy is visiting his folks in Arkansas this weekend and like usual I'm banned from using his computer while he's away. That's okay. I think I'll hop in my time bubble and go mess with Clement Moore's head.

Have a great weekend, everybody!

How To Duplicate Iron Man's Armor Without Really Trying

In "Iron Man" #1, a standard-issue mad scientist named Mordius (as opposed to Biff, Ernie, or Jo-Jo) manufactures some knock-offs of Iron Man's armor.

Ever go shopping for, say, a DVD player and wind up going with the Goldstar instead of the Sony because it's cheaper?

Yeah, this was kind of like that.

Other problems with the Mordius versions?

1. Sound effect made by the repulsor rays: "ZACHBRAAF!"
2. In some models, repulsor rays replaced by more economical but less helpful "delouser rays."
3. They're padded with comfy asbestos.
4. The shoulder joints utilize the finest in Snaptite technology.
5. No roller skates, but a unicycle pops out of the codpiece.
6. The helmets distort the wearer's voice so he sounds just like Paul Lynde.
7. Due to a flaw in the electromagnetic shielding, long-term use can cause brain damage. The symptoms: addictive behavior, priapism, and suddenly turning into a complete asshole for no good reason.
8. When you walk around, the segmented underwear makes a really loud "zhizzhh zhizzhh zhizzhh" noise, like corduroy pants do.
9. When disassembled, they somehow manage to take up even more space than before. They can't be stored in anything smaller than a steamer trunk.
10. If you have to pee, forget about it.
11. Can't recharge using American outlets unless you get the special voltage converter (sold separately).
12. One of the helmets stinks like rotten eggs. Probably because Mordius put an egg salad sandwich in there this one time and he forgot about it for like a week, man.
13. The boots all have a sort of low-rise heel and pointy toes that make them look a bit girly in my opinion.
14. Never feed them after midnight, and never get them wet.

On a personal note... since I'm from a far-flung era where all mankind lives in harmonious cooperation I don't celebrate this "Thanksgiving" everybody keeps talking about. So instead I'll be enjoying an intimate turkey supper at Clive Barker's house!

Legion Of Substitute Costumes: Animal Lad

Animal Lad was rejected for Legion membership right after Polecat (ouch) and even worse, he was rejected by Dynamo-Boy. You remember Dynamo-Boy, don't you? He's the kid who used a piece of technology to simulate superpowers. Which is against Legion regulations. Not that they bothered to check. Funny, they're usually so thorough about that sort of thing. And Dynamo-Boy didn't tell them, either. Why would he? He was evil! As a "mole" for the Space Pirate Pack he contrived to kick all the other members out of the Legion and start afresh with a 100% criminal roster. Eventually things got sorted out, but not before the Legion of Super-Villains (don't ask) stuck their nose into things. They banished Dynamo-Boy to the (even more) distant future, when Earth was uninhabited and the Sun was dying. Hardcore! So it was in the middle of all this hullaballoo that Animal Lad tried out for the Legion. It was horrible timing. And a real shame, too. Check out his powers!

You know, I also have the ability to transform a man into a Bear but it involves a lot more leather, free weights, and fatty foods. *ahem* Er, anyway, let's get to the reason why Animal Lad didn't make the cut.

Because he's too good! *swoon* Aww, the poor fella! I want to do something nice for him. Like redesign his costume. 'Cause the shit he has on now? Coveralls with a Dave Cockrum belt? Not doin' it for me.

But this is! It's workin' for me like an illegal Durlan. On Sunday, baby!

My concept? Animal Lad's powers straddle the line between man and beast. My design follows suit by contrasting the modernity of a figure-hugging spacesuit with barbaric fur elements. I think blue is a fine color for blondes so I kept it. I added a wolfish gray for the fur pieces. The clasp on the cape is a stylized "A" which intentionally harkens back to Aquaman's belt buckle. And the hard-edged "Lorna Dane" headpiece is softened by his bushy goatee and his tousled shock of hair.

Footnote: Yes, I realize that the loincloth violates my "no overpants" rule. I made an exception because -- unlike every other example out there -- it strengthens an underlying concept instead of just being superfluous. Okay, enough blather. I hope you all like it!

Legion Of Substitute Costumes: Fire Lad

As rejected Legion applicants go, Fire Lad actually has some decent powers, and they make for a neat visual; he breathes fire. The Legion turned him down because his power was "too dangerous and might cause accidental holocausts." I think that was just a nice way of telling him his costume sucked.

Designed by the Archduke of Squares, John Forte, Firelad's duds hit the viewer over the head with a "FIRE!!!" theme, including a fireball belt buckle that looks more like a pretty yellow carnation. My suggestion: dial that shit back a notch. Or two!

I've balanced out all that yellow, orange, and red with an equal amount of cool white. And I designed a nice, graphic torch symbol for him. I also like the contrast of the head-wrapping cowl and the punky haircut. It's an edgy look to go with his carnival sideshow powers.

Dumb Kind Of Monster

Last Thursday's "supersized" episode of "The Office" finally brought the Stamford staff into the Scranton office. For me, the happiest surprise of the night was the blossoming of Ed Helms' Andy Bernard into one of the best characters on the show. At Stamford, Andy was mainly a pathetic annoyance, with alternating bouts of a capella singing and temper tantrums. ("The game is over... I'm going to kill you for real," he tells Jim, after Jim's woeful performance in a "team-building" office video game.) His manager Josh seemed to ignore Andy's attempts to score brownie points. At Scranton, however, Andy immediately ingratiates himself to the clueless Michael through "personality mirroring" and "name repetition." And his aggressive personality has put him at odds with heirarchy-conscious Dwight, who shares his refusal to be the first person to "break off a handshake." Thus, when the two meet and quickly run out of things to say to each other, they wind up just standing there, still vigorously shaking hands. In fact, the demented duo clashes continuously throughout the episode. Andy even charms Dwight's frosty secret squeeze Angela. Noting her love of cats and costumed babies, he wins her good will in one fell swoop by selecting as his new screensaver a photo of a kitten wearing a pink cowboy hat. I anticipate a battle royale between Andy and Dwight over the coming weeks. In fact, the handshake scene inspired me to draw a cartoon of the two combatants. Initially it was just going to be a simple caricature, but the singular shape of Ed Helms' cranium led me to recast the duo as those legendary foes, Frankenstein's monster and the Wolfman.

Hey, speaking of flattened noggins, today I watched Trent Green (who only a few months ago suffered a concussion that turned his skull into a Lotto tumbler) return as KC's starting quarterback in the Chiefs/Raiders game.

• KC gets a turnover in the first three minutes. Sweet! Even sweeter: Larry Johnson scores the first touchdown of the game. Which means, given Kansas City's luck, he'll be killed by a meteorite tomorrow.
• Oakland's secret weapon? Well, from the looks of him, they hired former Doobie Brother Michael McDonald as their defensive coordinator. God help us all if they get Patti LaBelle.
• In the stands: a Chiefs fan indulges his Furry tendencies with a wolf costume. And his wife told him he didn't have the balls to wear it in public...!
• Tony Gonzalez is on the sidelines due to his shoulder injury. But his brain is perfectly fine. Couldn't they have transplanted Gonzalez' brain into Green's body? That makes sense, right? C'mon, where's their team spirit?
• I know this is a commercial but I just have to get it off my chest... hey, Lipitor! "Inventor of the Jarvik artificial heart Dr. Robert Jarvik" my ass! That guy's obviously Clint Howard and you and I both know it.
• 2nd quarter: announcer Rich Gannon notes that Green can "ill-afford" another shot to the head so he's not going to hold onto the football for too long. Well, thank God Herm Edwards put him back in the game, huh? What, couldn't he find a quarterback with hemophilia or brittle bone disease?
• With 19 seconds left in the first half, the Raiders get their first touchdown and lead KC 12-7. And the Raiders are entirely too excited about it. Hey... group celebration! Group celebration! That deserves a penalty! I'm making a citizen's arrest! And of course they get the extra point after that. Of course.
• 3rd quarter: Gannon says that Green's forte is to "get back there in the pocket, spin his head around...!" Wait, I thought that was the problem.
• Midway through the third the Raiders' Gallery is injured, and for a while he lays on his stomach with his calves sticking straight up in the air, and he kicks them around in such an oddly casual way he looks like one of the teenage girls in the telephone number from "Bye Bye Birdie."
• 4th quarter: KC's Tynes has a chance to tie the game with a field goal. Doesn't happen. Goddamn it. Oakland doesn't score on their next possession but they take five minutes off the clock while not scoring, leaving KC less than five minutes in the game to even tie. To update an old Lithuanian proverb, the Raiders are stupid like a pig but clever like a serpent.
• Still, KC pulls it off, making the score 16-13 in their favor with 1:32 left in the game. And it's due in large part to Trent Green, who makes a lot of stunningly precise passes. Oh, and Larry Johnson helped too. Extra point? Sure, why not! So KC leads Oakland 17-13. It's a great day!
• ...Until a 40-yard reception places the Raiders at the 8-yard line with 32 seconds left in the game. Motherf--! Oh, we're screwed!
• But wait! KC's Page intercepts the ball in the endzone! Aw, HELL YEAH! I love this game!

The Hollow Supermen

In "Secret Origins" #46 (December, 1989) the Justice League's costumes are appropriated by invisible aliens.

This is during the post-Crisis, pre-Infinite Crisis era when Black Canary had taken Wonder Woman's place on the team's founding roster, by the way. Thank God that miscarriage of justice has been rectified, huh? Kidding. I actually don't give a rat's ass! Psyche! Although I did like the notion of the League being started entirely by second-stringers, and Wonder Woman, Batman, and Superman (a.k.a. the Cool Table) only bothering to join after the team had garnered some name recognition. It was a little more like real life. Ah, well.

The team rounds up the renegade costumes in one of Green Lantern's force bubbles, although if you ask me a couple of drycleaning bags would have worked just as well. And thankfully, the League members all have duplicate costumes to wear. Except for Aquaman. "This was the best I could manage," he sheepishly explains. He'll use the same excuse during his One Big Metal Shoulderpad phase. Although if you ask me, he looks better in just the trunks! (And I'm apparently not the only one thinking that; check out Barry's line of sight in that panel.) And I'm having a little trouble believing that Black Canary has duplicate wigs just laying around her house. Who is she, Eva Gabor?

As it turns out, the aliens are benevolent (but of course, since this is a Grant Morrison story, and I'm sure if he could have shoehorned in the American Military-Industrial Complex as the actual villain I'm sure he would have) and at the end everyone learns a nice lesson about not jumping to conclusions, and the League would never have another battle based on a misunderstanding ever, ever again. (What?! Why are you looking at me like that?) But the main thing I learned is that some of those costumes are more interesting than the heroes wearing them! Here's my personal tally:

• Martian Manhunter: wildly uneven characterization ranging from boring standard superhero to boring J.M. DeMatteis hippie pacifist to boring Kelsey Grammar rip-off in the Bwah-Ha-Ha League to boring angst-ridden nearly-omnipotent Mopee stand-in in the Ostrander series to his currently boring 10-years-too-late badass personality. His costume: regulation superhero trunks 'n' boots, plus a red X-shaped harness, a cape with a high stiff collar, and a belt buckle shaped like a delicious French pastry. Advantage: costume.
• Black Canary: flower-sellin' gal with a butch brunette haircut who whores it up with a sexpot costume and her loudmouth Commie boyfriend. But she does know karate and she drives a chopper. Her costume: bustier with built-in panties, fishnets, high-heeled boots, teeny toreador jacket, velvet choker, and a gorgeous blonde wig (or two, apparently). Advantage: this is a tough one, but I'm going to have to give it to the costume, mainly because it's never blown Green Arrow.
• The Barry Allen Flash: are you kidding me? Advantage: costume. That said, I wish it had died with Barry. And no, changing up the lightning-belt doesn't count.
• Green Lantern: Jerky commitment-phobe racist murderer with a thing for teenage girls. His costume: for a while, it was the standard in super-garb. Classic lines, especially once the green part extended over the shoulders. Plus the chest logo is graphically clean and easy to comprehend. Advantage: in an upset, Green Lantern. I mean, sure, he's a terrible human being. But you must admit that he is interesting!
• Aquaman: again, a victim of inconsistent characterization but the prevailing one seems to be "standoffish monarch" which is way too Sub-Mariner for my tastes. His costume: shirt handcrafted from the skins of a thousand goldfish, trunkless green tights with built-in calf-fins, matching green gloves, and a logo-themed belt buckle. Advantage: aw, how can I say "no" to those broad shoulders? The costume, of course! I've based my entire design career around its neckline! How could I let it down now, in its time of need?

Your turn! Are there any other heroes out there with costumes that are more engaging than they are? Or vice-versa? Tell me about them!

The Sith Sense

After I posted my kicky uniform design for for Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator, fellow commenter Darth Nepharia asked me to concoct a costume for her. Since she's a Sith Lady I didn't really feel like I could say no. (Plus she's just super-nice.)

Nepharia sent me a ton of links to other Star Wars character designs, and for additional inspiration I went to one of Jeremy's books on Japanese folklore. A print showing a fox-demoness reclining on a stylized thundercloud gave me the idea to do a fox-themed facial tattoo, and I stole the cloud pattern wholesale for the fabric. The kimono-like elements are a nod to the Japanese styling in the films, and of course I gave the ensemble a lot of black leather and a high collar to echo the near-sadomasochistic severity seen in a lot of Sith costumes. The combination of white skin and long red hair are reminiscent of Kabuki plays and anime, to further my Japanese theme.

Prankly Speaking

Because I'm a fun, light-hearted sort (concealing a black little heart just boiling over with hate and resentment) I thought it would be a hoot to prank-call one of my many arch-enemies, Captain America. To catch him at the height of his squareness, I set the wayback machine time bubble for 1968.

Using the kind of inside knowledge only a time-traveler can obtain, I conviced the big dope I was his long-lost partner, Bucky Barnes, all growed-up and living "underground" in a deep-undercover mission amongst anarchist hippies. I told him I'd never fogotten our days in World War 2 Europe, and especially the "training sessions" he'd treated me to in our personal tent after the rest of the troops had dozed off. I got some entertainingly filthy sex-talk out of the old war-horse, which I recorded for use in a later prank on Iron Man. I was just about to let Cap in on the joke when this happened:

( I should probably take a moment to explain that he'd gotten the notion I was a cocaine addict.) At this point I had two options:

1. Prank him by having him go to a false address with nobody there.
2. Prank him by having him go to a false address with me there in disguise and we'd have punch-throwing, kick-boxing, bombastic super-soldier-serum-powered sex (therefore living out a secret fantasy of thousands of Marvel fanboys).

Naturally I chose the latter. I mean, I can't stand the guy on a personal level but hey! It's Captain Freakin' America!

So I gave him the address of a cheap hotel, the kind where they keep old dressers in the hallways and where everything on the room service trays is composed of jade. Now if you'll recall, the only other time Cap saw me I was in my sweet-ass goatee-and-muttonchops phase, plus it was dyed bright red. Right now I've got my killer biker 'stache (in my naturally handsome chestnut brown) and my psychodelic goggles, so those would help me look the part of an anarchist hippie. Still, it wouldn't be enough. So I dug into my "quick-disguise kit" (which I carry on my person at all times) for something else that would support my flimsy ruse. I donned a long blonde wig and some love beads, unbuttoned my paisley shirt another couple of inches, and I was ready to go.

A gentleman never kisses and tells, so they say, but I will admit that the sex was mind-blowing. (Although I never would have guessed he was a bottom.) It lasted a solid five hours, destroying much of the hotel room in the process, and leaving me with some deep bruising which still hasn't healed. And to think he gave a stirring filibuster on tolerance the whole time! Finally we just lay there, and Cap told me "I've missed this, old chum. You always were the best!" I figured that was a good cue for me to reveal myself, so I started to take off my blonde wig, when suddenly Cap chuckled, "Boy-oh-boy, I'm hungry enough to eat the nuts off a Nazi! What say we have dinner at that little Italian place down the street?" And then I got the idea for the perfect way to end my prank.

As Cap wolfed down his lasagne, I casually mentioned that I had access to secret government time-travel technology. "Like Doctor Doom's time platform?" Cap asked. With some annoyance I answered, "Yeah, only it's like, a billion times better, so there's really no comparison! Gah!" And then I let drop the fact that in the year 2006, same-sex marriage is legal in many parts of the world.

And then he proposed to me.

And then I yanked off the wig and said "Because I'm not Bucky, you idiot! I'm actually the guy you told to shave off his sweet-ass facial hair back in '44! Also? I've had better. Who looks ridiculous now, Cappy? Who looks ridiculous now?! SUCK IT! AGAIN!" And then I flipped him the double space-bird. And, um, then he punched me square in the kisser, dislodging four teeth and shattering my super-cool goggles.

But it was totally worth it.

Cat Yack Fever

On Sunday morning, one of my cats vomited into my cable box (through the ventilation holes) so I missed seeing the Chiefs lose to the Dolphins. And now Tony Gonzalez is sidelined? With the number of injuries the Chiefs have sustained, I'm starting to wonder if the NFL commissioner is actually Dan Didio. (Next week: Anttaj Hawthorne-Prime punches Damon Huard's head off!) Monday afternoon I waited in line with a bunch of check-bouncing losers down at the cable company so I could exchange my vomitty old cable box for a not-so-hurled-upon new one. The swap went smoothly and I was able to catch Monday night's "popamatic" Buccaneers/Panthers match-up. (I'm thinking some prankster filled the ball with Mexican jumping beans. It had a mind of its own!)

• Tony Kornheiser's combover is revolting on a quantum level and the sheer ridiculousness of it makes me angrier by the week. At this rate, by the time the Superbowl rolls around, the merest glimpse of it will transform me into a Hulk-like creature.
• Astroturf now comes in plaid, and Michelle Tafoya is wearing it.
• In the stands: a freaky Panthers fan in something approximating a sky-blue wizard costume (assuming the wizard is named Don King) and... an angrily thin blonde Lady Of A Certain Age. Ann Coulter? Or just an upended rag mop with some bite marks on the handle? Also, there were enough freaky panther-people in the stands I started to wonder if I'd accidentally tuned into the premiere of a new Andrew Lloyd Weber musical on Bravo. And speaking of musicals...
• 1st quarter: a lost football results in a bizarre "standing pile" (I just made that term up. You're welcome.) where a bunch of players from both teams form a perfect circle shape that looks like the beginning of a Busby Berkley routine. All it needed was Ruby Keeler rising from the center of it on atop a giant football.
• Near end of 1st half: Ronde Barber's interception is followed by a "group demonstration" penalty because maybe three or four guys half-heartedly rocked their elbows back and forth.
• 2nd quarter: Kornheiser pronounces the word "dispirited" as "de-spurted" which makes me think of depleted ball sacks or, similarly, Kornheiser's head. Effing Kornheiser...!
• In last four minutes of 4th: Carolina's Steve Smith makes a decisive touchdown, helping the Panthers to win the game, 24-10. Not bad considering he'd been puking with frightening regularity on the sidelines for most of the night. Bulimic wide receivers... tomorrow on Springer! (Just stay away from my cable box, Smith.)

This weekend I rented "Doppelganger" because it was directed by Kiyoshi Kurosawa, who'd directed one of my favorite horror films of all time, the original "Pulse." Not to be confused with last summer's crappy Kristen Bell version. (That's right; she both wrote and directed it. No-talent hack! Kidding. You know what I mean.) "Doppelganger" was marketed as a horror film, right down to the DVD menus, but it's really not. It's just kind of goofy and boring, instead. The premise is good -- a driven but introverted man's life is invaded by his duplicate, who acts upon impulses the original would never dare to. There's a scene where the main character watches hunkered down in his car as the double suddenly grabs the arm of a woman who had a crush on him, and drags her off for God knows what. Not much else in the film has that level of suspense or horror. In the final act, the film transforms into basically a screwball comedy with gunplay and beatings, which isn't nearly as entertaining as it sounds. Needless to say, I felt ripped-off. However, I strongly recommend renting "Pulse" a.k.a. "Kairo" if you get the chance.

Also this weekend, I went to a company function at a bowling alley and got roped into entering a karaoke contest. (I think I had a decent shot, but I was outsung by two squeaky belters who were like the pre-makeover Clay Aiken. Kudos, Poindexters!) My repertoire included "Brick House," "Bad To The Bone," "Losing My Religion" and "Love Potion Number Nine." Like Ralph Wiggum, I was a pop sensation! Also, some unidentified person signed me and some other guys up to sing "American Pie" without asking us, and the only part of the song any of us knew was the chorus. And that's one long-ass number! We were trapped in front of that microphone for what felt like an hour with our eyes glued to the lyrics scrolling up on the monitor and trying to remember how the goddamn melody even went. ("Mmmn, um, mmph, uh, la la laaa la mmph mm AND THEY WERE SINGIN'! BYE BYE MISS AMERICAN PIE! (ten seconds later) THIS'LL BE THE DAY THAT I DIE-YI-YIII! Hmmm, mmmph, um, la la la...") Hear me now: If I ever find out who did this to me I will stone-cold murder their ass.

Nude Fight!

I don't consider myself to be a petty individual, but I mightily enjoyed the subtle bitch-slapping the Wasp received in "Micronauts" #42 (June, 1982).

The set-up: Doctor Nemesis (Who? Precisely.) trains his super-shrink-ray on the Wasp's person but only manages to zap her dress into some microscopic nether region. Using her power to dwindle down to Mischa Barton-size wasp-size, she realizes that underneath the dress she wasn't wearing a costume. Or a bra. Or panties. (Oh, God, I just realized -- the Wasp is the Marvel Universe version of Tara Reid!) And to top it off, she has to deal with the stuttering, verdant horniness of alien insect-man, Bug. Who isn't nearly as creepy as this Bug. But still. I assume he's really into plastic surgery scars.

*SPROING!* Immediately after using her vast knowledge of alien erogenous zones to give Bug an instant hard-on, the Wasp takes off, smiling cruelly (panel not found, but trust me on this one). And she's wearing a cocktail napkin. Glorious. You know what might have made this even better? If it had been one of those novelty cocktail napkins with the dirty jokes on them. Ah, well. *sighs wistfully* And might I ask how she managed to get that ragged piece of paper to stick to her bulimic body? Is her perspiration wildly out-of-control, like Whitney Houston's? Is the spray-on tan not dry yet? Or did some wads of spit-out quiche inside the napkin act as a makeshift adhesive?

And now for the capper:

"One costume's as good as the next!" That's exactly right, honey, because they all suck. I also like how she realizes she's "put on a pound somewhere" and the very next panel is centered squarely on her ass. Thank you, Gil Kane!

Clay, Pigeonholed

I thought you might like to see some interesting clippings from the Marvel Universe version of "People Magazine."

From 1996: "There's an exciting new tyrant in town, and his name is Vince Vaughn! The lanky dictator recently forced critics to bow to his iron will with the indie feature "Swingers." Currently Vaughn is dominating the set of "Jurassic Park 2" where none shall oppose him -- not even the accursed Spielberg. When asked about his plans for the future, Vaughn haughtily replied (in a voice like a cold steel hand closing around this reporter's throat) "The staff of 'People' shall know the wrath of Vaughn if they do not appoint him 'Sexiest Monarch Alive' within the fortnight! Soon Vaughn shall topple all box office records and unleash a wave of postmodern, self-aware sex appeal crashing down upon America -- nay, upon the world! Every knee shall bend before Vaughn!" Vaughn is also a terrifying force in the nightclub scene, annexing the territory of a different starlet every night. Although some insiders worry that the non-stop partying will make short work of Vaughn's face and figure, it's the opinion of this reporter that Vaughn is a god amongst mere mortals and that his glory shall never diminish. All hail Vaughn!"

Aaaaannnd from this year: "The Fantastic Four recently ejected embattled despot Vince Vaughn from the set of his latest film, 'Fred Claus,' after he arrived for work looking puffy and melted. Vaughn's dissipated appearance has long drawn the ire of human rights groups and many teenage girls. (Although he looked relatively fit in 2004's 'Dodgeball' that individual was later proven to be a Vaughnbot.) The popular megalomaniac's whereabouts are unknown at this time. In a related story, Vaughn's former partner in screenwriting and evil, Namor Favreau, has been forced by his growing obesity to give up battling superheroes and to instead focus on directing invasions of the surface world from behind the scenes."

My Dinner With Antron

Hey, guys! Don't panic... I know I usually only show up to deliver messages like "Jeremy's computer crashed and there'll be no more blogging for three-and-a-half years" or "Blockade Boy went out line-dancing with Battallion and that was a week ago and we haven't heard from him since" but this time I'm just here for fun. Blockade Boy thought you might like to hear about my visit with my cousin, Antron, "the" Antron, the one from "Micronauts" #36 (December, 1981).

Antron was in town on a sales call -- he works as a rep for a company that sells those vinyl deals that separate ceramic tile floors from carpet in office buildings -- and he invited me out to dinner. It was great seeing my cousin, especially because I don't often get the chance. When we were larvae, my parents and his parents got in a huge fight over a liverwurst sandwich someone had dropped on the ground at a picnic and that led to a lengthy estrangement. At age twelve, Antron witnessed both his folks getting stepped on by a fat guy at the beach. Antron quickly found himself homeless. Unable to find employment both because of his speech impediment and the racist propoganda put forth by the Royal Family, he developed an addiction to sugar water. To support his habit, he fell into a life of crime. Swept along by the revolutionary tide of the new Baron Karza administration, Antron cleaned himself and joined the military. I only saw him once during this period. I was shocked by how much he'd changed. Formerly a very solemn but sweet young man with bright twinkles in his eye-facets, he had become a grim, strident fundamentalist who had even taken the extraordinary measure of shaving off his sweet man-perm (the traditional hairstyle of our people) and painting his carapace dark gray in order to emulate his hero, Baron Karza. He was like a stranger to me.

Since the collapse of Karza's regime and the new spirit of egalitarianism and economic freedom that has spread over our land, my cousin has abandoned his Karzist philosophies and reinvented himself once more. Now a happy and successful vinyl... um, thing salesman, he divides his time among work, charitable causes, his wife and egg-sacs, and, of course, maintaining his kick-ass man-perm. He looks back on his days as a revolutionary with both pride and bemusement, and he had some interesting tidbits about the famous counter-revolutionaries known to your planet as the Micronauts, and especially about their leader, Commander Rann.

"Rann was a racist dickweed-dickweed," said Antron. "Sure, he was a big-big astronaut hero but his political views were as provincial as they could get-get. He just couldn't believe someone-someone with our background could engage him in a fair fight. I remember a Microverse Today article where he said he thought all the insectoids fighting-fighting for Karza were grown in a test-tube or something. Jackass-jackass. I could hold my own with that brain-dead space-jockey because I got educated-educated -- something that was illegal when the Royal Family was in power. Karza did-did everybody a favor when he wiped out those throwbacks. And then we were left with their skanky-skanky daughter, what's-her-name with the hooker wig... bah!

"I remember when I had a shot-shot at Rann. Just the two of us-us, mano-a-pincer. It was sweet-sweet. My squad-squad had followed the Micronauts to Earth and had them cornered in a school, which was I thought was delightfully ironic-ironic. I pinned him against a wall-wall and grabbed a spiky Earth artifact to finish him off.

"And then I don't-don't know what happened. He flipped me around in some kind of freaky ballet maneuver and stuck my ass in the wall and I do mean-mean my ass. It took-took Lobros and Centauria to pry me back out. It was-was humiliating. You know-know, I still get cramps back there when it rains?" Antron silently chewed some of the lima bean we'd been dining on, and I could tell his mind had drifted back, to another time, to another life, when he'd been a warrior. He didn't say much the rest of the evening. I may not see my cousin again for quite some time, but I have no doubt that I will see him again.

He's a survivor.

Legion Of Substitute Costumes: Color Kid

As part of my ongoing effort to redesign the costumes of anyone who's ever been rejected by the Legion of Super Heroes, I now turn my attentions to Color Kid. A.K.A. Ulu Vakk (a special cleaning attachment designed for getting lint off of insulated boots) the Kid has the almost useless ability to change an object's color. Yes, I said "almost." Because he can alter certain minerals, such as... (wait for it)... Kryptonite. Yup, that can come in handy. Sadly, however, he looks like Wolverine's twink cousin.

And that's before he started smearing white greasepaint on his face! My challenge here was to design a costume for a color-themed hero and make it fresh. I liked that his costume was mostly black-and-white. I wanted to stick with that motif, especially because it's almost impossible to pull off rainbow colors in large amounts... unless you're my favorite Flash villain. And then I hit upon the idea of putting all the color in his hair. I knew I wanted the hair to be long, for maximum visual impact, and at first it was just going to be long and straight like Fabio's. But I figured that would be impractical in a combat situation (which for the Legion of Substitute Heroes would probably consist of a really vicious slap fight) so I pulled it back in a high ponytail... samurai style! Only now he kind of looks like Rainbow Brite. Shit.

Oh well. Anyway, as you can see, the costume is harlequin-themed, with a little domino mask as an accessory. He was hardly a bad-ass before and I didn't think his new look needed to be bad-ass either. I just didn't want him to look quite so much like a mousy secretary from the 1950's. And hey, now he'll get a lot of camera time when he's in the crowd at sporting events!

(Rainbow Brite... goddammit...)

Daredevil: The Man Without A Decent Dry Cleaner

In case anybody is wondering, Jeremy is still watching football games, but he won't be posting on them anymore because according to him, having to sit there with a pen and a piece of paper trying to catch every secret dick joke turned the experience into a massive chore, and also he got the feeling the football posts weren't that popular anyway. The next time he posts it'll probably be a movie review or sumpin'.

Okay! So in "Daredevil" #11 (December 1965) we discover that The Man Without Fear is heavily into role-playing.

Oh Lord, the cops think Daredevil's inviting them to some sort of secret, costume-themed sex party. "Quick! Get the Captain! And help me think up a new 'safe word!'"

Here we have a key difference between Daredevil and one of his closest classic DC analogues, Batman: sure, Batman would go undercover as a supervillain, but would he be so uptight about the condition of his bat-suit? Of course not; that's what willowy English manservants are for! I'm also guessing Batman doesn't spend any time wondering how his costume would look on other people. Unless you count slash fiction. ("A low, gutteral sigh escaped Batman's cupid-like lips. He imagined his fearsome costume stretched across Ra's Al Ghul's mighty frame, the cowl beautifully framing the madman's bristling fu-manchu. His gloved fingers tenderly stroked the unconscious Green Arrow's handlebar mustache as he contemplated the sight...")

Legion Of Substitute Costumes: Chlorophyll Kid

The Legion of Substitute Heroes' roster is composed of dedicated young men and women with powers too lame to qualify them for the Legion of Super Heroes. (I know what you're thinking: they're lamer than Bouncing Boy? Sadly, yes. Hell, my power's lamer than Bouncing Boy's. It's a bitter pill to swallow, I must admit.) But so what if the subs are a bunch of goobers! With my help, they could at least be stylish goobers!

Take Chlorophyll Kid, for instance. Here's the Kid in action, displaying his own special brand of incompetence.

I know he's a mite chunky, but did he really have to dress in a green Hefty bag? With cutesy little leaf shapes on top? And a photo-realistic tree on his chest? Here's how I would have styled him:

(After putting the lad on a strenuous diet-and-exercise program, natch.) Did you know that the Kid has leaves for hair? It's true! I read it in "Secret Origins." If I were him I wouldn't hide that freaky shit; I'd cultivate it. So I'd give the kid a groovy sixties-style mop-top and matching muttonchops, and then I'd make him ditch that bag of lawn clippings he charitably calls his "costume" for a nice form-fitting number with leafy details on the chest, boots, and cape. See, I figured I could suggest a leaf with the vein-like ribbing and the shape of the cape, without resorting to just slapping a picture of a plant on the costume.