Category: Columns

Mindy Newell: Depression Really Sucks

“…Depression… is a storm indeed, but a storm of murk… slowed-down responses, near paralysis, psychic energy throttled back close to zero…the body…feels sapped, drained.” Darkness Visible: A Memoir of Madness, William Styron 

Sorry for the skip last week, everyone, but I wasn’t up to it – I was down. As in my depression said “Hello, again!” last weekend. No, I didn’t lie in bed for 48 hours, I’ve never given in to that, even back in the day before I was properly diagnosed with this goddamn thing. So on Saturday, though I could feel it banging on the door of my psyche’s house, I did get dressed and made the usual weekend runs to the supermarket and to the laundromat…but by Sunday Elvis was in the house, and even though I got up and put on my workout gear, I blew off my free personal training session that my gym offers to all members for their birthday, decided that I didn’t want to expose my grandson to his fucked-up grandma Mindy, and so just sat around in my workout gear, surfing the web and eating waaaaay too many potato chips. And I kept watching the clock tick away the hours thinking that I had to write my column, but I just couldn’t get the energy up and finally I let Editor Mike know I was sick, though I didn’t specify with what in my e-mail to him.

See, the thing about depression is that it drains the battery and warps the mirror. When it hits me I feel old and ugly and fat and powerless and oh! so! damn! alone! and my thoughts are all about the mistakes I’ve made and the lover(s) I’ve lost and the roads not taken and the…well, it gets pretty nasty and self-destructive, folks. And, for me, at least, it’s embarrassing, because…well, you know that old saw about how when animals are sick they hide away from the herd or crawl under the bed? I don’t know if it’s entirely true, but I always think that if it is, it’s because the animals feel shamed. And I get that, I really do, because, even though I know it’s completely illogical, I feel ashamed and embarrassed.

Which is why, I think, I try to be so open about my depression. It’s my way of fighting it. It makes me so! God-damned! angry! that I have had to deal with this shit for 25 years… anyway, it’s another old saw about how shadows disappear in the light, and I just wanted to let you guys know where I was last weekend.

But that was last weekend. It passed, as all things do….

Everybody stand up and cheer that our friend and fellow columnist John Ostrander came through his cabbage with flying colors! Yeah!!! And yes, we medical folk really do pronounce the acronym CABG that way. I do owe you an apology, though, John. I forgot to let you know about the shave job. Just be glad it wasn’t a body wax!

I’ve been binging on Star Trek: Voyager this week. Totally forgot how absolutely marvelous Kate Mulgrew (currently playing “den mother” Galina “Red” Reznikov on Netflix’s Orange Is The New Black) was as Captain Katherine Janeway. The lady had a lot hanging on her performance as the first woman to head a Star Trek series, though technically she wasn’t the first woman we saw command a starship – I believe that honor goes to Tricia O’Neill as Captain Rachel Garret of the U.S.S. Enterprise-C in “Yesterday’s Enterprise,” which aired on Star Trek: The Next Generation in 1990. But it’s clear in her execution that Ms. Mulgrew embraced and cherished the opportunity and the role.

All the actors were superb, but one thing I’ve always questioned is why Voyager creators Rick Berman, Michael Piller, and Jeri Taylor chose not to have Robert Duncan McNeill replay his “fallen Starfleet cadet” Nicholas Locarno in TNG’s 1992 episode “The First Duty,” instead of “bad boy” Tom Paris. It may have been just synchronicity that McNeill read for the part and won it; it may also have been that it would have been very expensive to resurrect the Locarno character, as the writers of “First Duty” would have had to receive royalties every time Locarno appeared on the screen, which would have been every episode of Voyager.

Can’t say I’m happy about the results of the midterm elections last week. I don’t understand why the Democratic candidates ran away from President Obama. Hello, Allison Grimes, did you not learn your lesson when Al Gore distanced himself from Bill Clinton? Jesus, woman, you were a delegate for Obama at the Democratic convention! Who the hell did you think you were fooling? I don’t understand any woman who votes the Republican ticket. No one’s forcing anyone to have an abortion, lady. And what business is it of yours, anyway, if another woman chooses to do so? I don’t understand why someone who is against the minimum wage, denies global warming and climate change and wants to eliminate the Environmental Protection Agency (created by Republican President Richard Nixon, by the way), gets into office. Oh, I know. She can slaughter hogs.

SPOILER ALERT! STOP HERE IF YOU MISSED THE DOCTOR WHO FINALE! “Bowties are cool.” But Osgood is dead. Or is she?

Danny Pink is dead. Worse, he’s a Cyberman. Or is he?

The coordinates for Gallifrey are wrong, a lie told to the Doctor by the Master – uh, the Mistress. Or are they?

Clara and the Doctor have ended their relationship – or did they?

Is that really Santa Claus?

Ho! Ho! Ho!

Hey, at least I’m not depressed anymore.

 

John Ostrander 2.0

Gentlemen, we can rebuild him. We have the technology. Better than he was before. Better… stronger… faster. – The Six Million Dollar Man

So – where were we?

I’d had a 7 mm. golden nugget lodged in my right kidney. That got removed but then I went into the hospital with sepsis and acute urinary infection. That led to the discovery that I’d had a heart attack, much to my amazement. I’d felt nothing; it was revealed in chemical markers. Further investigation showed that while the heart itself was okay, I needed a triple bypass.

Well, that was a stunner.

The procedure is called a coronary artery bypass graft, known as a CABG, sometimes called a “cabbage.” Which is a little disconcerting. Working on my heart is a cabbage.

It’s a relatively recent procedure, starting up in the ‘60s. It’s not uncommon now and they’ve gotten pretty good at it but nonetheless it is major surgery. In the literature they give you before the operation, they tell you that heart attack, stroke, and death are possibilities. It’s open-heart surgery and, among other things, they can stop your heart while you’re hooked up to a heart/lung machine. Think about that. Usually, when your heart stops, you’re dead. Here they stop it and then fix you and then bring you back from the dead. That’s pure science fiction a century ago. Or maybe Frankenstein.

My day started with a requirement to be at the hospital at 6 AM. I’m sort of a morning person but not that early a morning person. Still, I figured I’d make it up later when they knocked me out. So I’m in operating prep, lying on a gurney in my very attractive open-backed hospital gown, and this female attendant comes in and announces that she is going to shave the front of my body from the neck line to my ankles.

Huh.

Didn’t see that coming.

I assumed they would remove my chest hair because, after all, that’s where they’d be working, but shave my entire front? I wound up naked as a babe or a male porn star.

Not that I would know what a naked male porn star would look like. I’ve … heard reports is all.

Then I was wheeled into surgery and the deed was done. Actually, I sort of had the easy part at that stage. I was out of it. My Mary and members of her family as well as members of mine had to sit in the waiting room for about five hours to find out if I survived it all.

Spoiler Warning: I survived.

I woke up in the CCU (Cardiac Care Unit) with tubes down my throat and wasn’t that uncomfortable. Necessary but uncomfortable; the goal was to keep my lungs open. My Mary says it looked like I had a face-hugger from Aliens on me.

Actually, I had lots of tubes sticking out of me, draining this, siphoning away that. I felt like I was in Young Frankenstein. I almost (but not quite) broke into a chorus of “Putting on the Ritz.” With the tubes down my throat, I probably could only have managed “Rargle gurk guk rozzick.”

I’m making good progress in my recovery; all the nurses and doctors are pleased and I’m appreciative to them and to the friends, fans, and acquaintances who have sent prayers and good wishes. They do mean a lot.

So, from here, I work at getting better and figuring out something else to talk about next week other than myself.

Wish me luck.

Editor’s Note: Loathe as I am to add material to somebody’s column, but John left out the very best part – he returned home mid-week, safe and sound.

And, of course, that’s when the furnace exploded. Afternoon temperature yesterday was 42 degrees. Ahhh… good times!

 

Marc Alan Fishman: Dear Marvel and DC…

Dear Marvel and DC,

It’s been too long since I’ve written you, and for that I am very sorry. I’d think it awkward, given that I was once a weekly reviewer of your monthly publications, but I’ve essentially all but given up on them over the last six months. And it’s not because of financial concerns, or even a matter of proximity. Certainly sparing ten to twenty bucks a week for a decent load of your wares from one of the fine comic shops mere blocks from my office was once a weekly delight. But over time, my pull list dwindled and dwindled. Each book in your respective repertoire began to feel repetitive, dull, or forced. And as insult to the injury… the shop I frequented only carried indie books they “knew would actually sell” unless I specifically sought them to be ordered and held. It was a dark time, and I flew a white flag.

I’ve done this in the past. Like a jilted lover, sometime absence makes the heart grow fonder. I figured I’d soon see the new announcements stemming from successful dalliances on TV and the multiplex. With a growing fan-base learning about Hydra and Kree maps, or hearing the name Black Adam whispered with Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson being cast, there was no doubt in my mind you knew that the world was set to look at your publishing ventures as potential incubators for those next great ideas.

And then, as if you’d not learned from past mistakes, you started announcing one major-huge-epic-don’t-miss-it-or-by-Rao-you’ll-be-out-of-the-loop-for-decades event after another.

I believe in tough love. It’s never easy to swallow, I know. In my life, it’s always followed by a period of reflection and growth. My high school art teacher said I couldn’t draw my way out of a paper bag. I went to art school and learned how. My college professor said I’d only get out of my art what I put into it. In response, I completed an 8′ x 10′ woodcut with a 1mm gouge. My first employer after graduation said I’d never amount to an art director. I’ve been one now for going on eight years. So trust me when I say that this comes from a place of kindness:

Your events, by and large, really suck.

Yeah, I know you’ve got sales data to prove me wrong. But you know what I have? I have an informed opinion. Civil War was cool. How did The Initiative do for you shortly after? Identity Crisis was excellent, until it got rapey. Fear Itself was novel for a hot minute until I realized it was a D&D campaign from 1996. Flashpoint, Countdown to Final Crisis, and yeah Final Crisis were worth more as toilet paper than as solid fiction. Oh, I’m sorry, I was supposed to read them in 3-D, and backwards because Grant Morrison said it’d make more sense that way? I said the same thing when I tried to convince my wife sweatpants were a viable option for date-night.

And here with both of you announcing and announcing cryptic apocalyptic coinciding crises sometime in the spring? It’s reminiscent of The Producers. I mean, how many dancing Charlie Xaviers will we need before we start guessing it’s all one big joke to you?

The fact of the matter is no amount of adjective-dropping will entice me away from my most glorious hibernation. You’ve both cried wolf far too many times now. Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me thirty-two times with multiple X-Men deaths and rebirths, time-bullets, time-vampires, ret-conned continuities, and multiple-multiverses… shame on you. You seem to forget that after every one of these universe shattering events comes fallout. Canceled series of stalwart brands. Bold new books that will be canceled long before their given a chance to find a rhythm and fan base. Not to be lewd about it, but guys, you can’t shit the bed and then expect us to clean it up with a smile.

I don’t care if Tony is going to be a power-sharing super-douche. Or that Alexander Luthor never really died. Or that Wolverine is dead until Shadowcat phase-pulls his rotting corpse out of his statue-self followed by a trip back through time using Booster Gold’s leftover suit. I don’t even care if you’re exploring new What-If universes with Spider-Gwen. It doesn’t get me hot and bothered that you’re potentially ret-conning away the New52. No matter your proposed gimmick, I’m not buying it.

At the end of the day, I smell your desperation a mile away. It wasn’t like this when Mark Waid was batting 1000 on Daredevil. It wasn’t like this when Geoff Johns was expanding the Green Lantern and Flash mythos without traveling outside the borders of their respective books. You know you can be better than this, but instead are trying to win over everyone with a grand sweeping motion. It’s just not necessary.

And when you realize that? I’ll be back in the shop with my money in hand.

Sincerely,

Marc Alan Fishman

Ex-Pat. Indie Creator. Bridge Burner.

The Law Is A Ass

Bob Ingersoll: The Law Is A Ass #333: SHE-HULK’S TRYING THE CASE AND OUR PATIENCE

SheHulk3Let’s see now, where were we before we were so rudely interrupted? Interrupted by me when I realized last week’s column was long enough, so decided to split it into two columns. Oh yes, She-Hulk V 3 # 9.

She-Hulk v 3 # 9 is Part Two of the three-part story, “The Good Old Days.” The titular good old days refer to a dock riot in Los Angeles in November of 1940, if that’s “good,” I think someone needs to invest in a new dictionary. The good old days also refer to the fact that during the incident Sam Folger died and now the grandchildren of Sam’s brother, Harold, are suing Steve (Captain America) Rogers for the wrongful death of their great-granduncle. Again, “good?” If you can’t afford a new dictionary, then at least bookmark dictionary.com.

Jennifer (She-Hulk) Walters was representing Cap and Matt (Daredevil) Murdock was representing the Foglers. Matt began his trial with the testimony of Officer McKinley, who told the jury what Harold Fogler said on his death bed sometime in 2014. Here’s Harold’s deathbed confession, as recounted by Officer McKinley.

In 1940, Harold left his mother and brother back in Brooklyn http://brooklyn.com/index.php and moved to Los Angeles. He fell in with a bad crowd. In early November, 1940, the bad crowd met in a warehouse near the Los Angeles docks to plan some trouble they were going to cause there. Harold stepped outside for some air where he was confronted by his little brother, Sam, who had left medical school and come across the country to accost Harold. Sam urged Harold to come back home to their heartbroken mother. Sam brought a friend with him, Steve Rogers, who was still in his pre-Captain America days.

Steve also started in lecturing Harold. And wouldn’t stop. Not even when the bad crowd hauled them into the warehouse. The boss tried to shut Steve up by pointing a Luger at Sam and threatening to kill Sam, if Steve kept talking. Steve kept talking. The boss killed Sam.

Now based on this account of what happened in Los Angels in 1940, Harold Fogler’s grand children were suing Steve Rogers, A.K.A. Captain America, for the wrongful death of their great-granduncle. They said Steve’s “wrongful act” and “neglect” caused Sam’s death.

I say what wrongful act or neglect?

In all U.S. jurisdictions including California, a negligence suit such as wrongful death has four basic elements which must be proven. The defendant must have owed the plaintiff a duty. The defendant must have breached that duty. The breach must have been the proximate cause of some injury to the plaintiff. And the plaintiff must have been damaged by said injuries.

I’ll tackle the injury element first, because it’s the easiest. Sam was killed. He suffered an injury. Death. Death’s the ultimate injury. But did Sam’s family suffer any damages from that injury?

But Sam’s not suing. He’s dead. I’m not so sure how Sam’s injury translates to Sam’s great-grandnephews. The family maintains that Sam would have become a doctor, a successful surgeon and provided for Harold’s family. But can they prove that?

Yes, Sam was in medical school but no one knows Sam would have become a doctor. He could have flunked out. It was 1940, so he could have been drafted and died in World War II. If Sam survived the war and became a doctor, maybe he would have practiced in some rural community in Appalachia where his patients paid him in pigs. Even if Sam had become the greatest and richest surgeon in the history of the United States, he had no legal obligation to provide financial assistance to his brother, his brother’s children, or his brother’s grandchildren. Any financial damages in this suit were speculative. At best.

Speculative damages was only the bad news for the Fogler family. The worse news was that as difficult as proving damages would be, that’s the least of their worries.

The Foglers had to prove Steve had a duty to Sam Fogler and that Steve breached his duty. We know Steve didn’t breach a duty by killing Sam, because the boss killed Sam. The Fogler’s theory of breach of duty was that Steve had a duty to stop talking when the boss threatened to kill Sam and by continuing to talk, Steve negligently caused Sam’s death. As far as I understand the law, Steve had no such duty and, thus, didn’t breach such duty.

The bad crowd committed several crimes against Steve and Sam. Kidnaping. Criminal Threats. Probably more. But those are enough for our purposes, I say in a blatant attempt to limit the amount of research I have to do. No one has a duty to submit to a crime.

If criminals running a protection racket threaten to bomb a store unless the owner pays them money, the owner has no duty to pay the criminals money. If the owner refuses to pay and the criminals bomb the store killing one of the store’s employees, the owner is not liable to the employee’s family for wrongful death.

The owner had no duty to submit to the criminals’ extortion demands. And, because he had no duty to submit, he did not negligently cause the employee’s death by breaching a duty. One can’t breach a duty one didn’t have in the first place. Indeed, most jurisdictions would call the owner a hero for standing up to the extortionists, not a tortfeasor who caused a wrongful death.

The owner’s refusal to pay protection may have resulted in the employee’s death, but it didn’t cause the employee’s death. The only people who caused the employee’s death were the criminals who committed the superseding, intervening act of intentionally bombing the store. They’re the only ones who should be sued for wrongful death.

In the same way, Steve had no duty to submit to the gang’s threats. So there’s no breach of a duty in his acts. Moreover, Steve’s refusal to submit didn’t cause Sam’s death. The boss, a superceding and intervening cause, caused Sam’s death by intentionally shooting him. The Folgers’ case is weak, on three of the four elements for negligence. Steve didn’t breach any duty to Sam by his actions. Steve’s actions didn’t cause Sam’s death. And any monetary damages Sam’s great-grandnephews may have suffered are, as I said earlier, speculative.

Personally, I can’t imagine why any lawyer agreed to take the case in the first place. I especially can’t see why Matt Murdock agreed to take the case. The world now knows that Matt is Daredevil. Matt was just disbarred in New York for, among other things, agreeing to represent a man who wanted to sue Daredevil despite the massive conflict of interests that’s inherent in suing yourself. I can’t imagine why Matt would set himself up for another potential conflict of interests complaint – not to mention a legal malpractice – by agreeing to sue one of his best friends. That’s hardly, as the Code of Professional Responsibility put it, avoiding the appearance of impropriety.

The story tried to explain why Matt agreed to take the case. It was because Steve asked him to take the case. According to Matt, Steve argued, “if I’d ever been his friend, if I cared about what he’d done as Captain America, then I wouldn’t pull my punches.” I don’t buy it. The explanation, that is. I bought the comic. Don’t go accusing me of shoplifting.

I don’t care if Steve and Matt were BFFs, field trip buddies, and even prom dates, Matt shouldn’t have fallen for Steve’s friendship guilt trip by taking the case. Matt should have told Cap, “I can’t take the case. It’s a violation of my professional ethics. And if you’ve ever been my friend, you wouldn’t put me into this situation by asking me to commit malpractice.”

Well that’s it for Part Two of “The Good Old Days.” I promise I won’t write about She-Hulk V 3 # 9 next week. But as it was only Part Two of “The Good Old Days,” I can’t promise that I won’t write about She-Hulk v 3 # 10 http://marvel.wikia.com/She-Hulk_Vol_3_10 and Part Three of “The Good Old Days” in a few weeks.

Can’t promise? I can practically guarantee it.

Martha Thomases: Would Batman Drive A Ford?

In a story in the business section of Monday’s New York Times, there was a discussion of product placement in self-published (or small publisher-published) e-books.

Naturally, my first thought was, How can this be applied to comics?

First, let me start with a few definitions. There is a difference between product placement, such as having a character on White Collar drive a Ford Taurus and so-called “advertorial content,” or specially produced web content about the Ford Taurus driven on White Collar. One is a lucrative part of the creative process, and the other is, essentially, a licensed deal.

Comics have a long tradition of licensing characters to advertisers. Baby boomers have fond memories of the one-page adventures that showed how something as simple and delicious as a Hostess fruit pie could help solve crime. More recently, DC produced a bunch of ads for Subway showing how the avocados in their sandwiches helped Green Lantern save galaxies.

As far as I know, there have been no explicit acts of product placement in mainstream comics. Perhaps I’m being naive. In any case, if there are, they are not very effective in that I have not noticed them.

Would they make any difference? Would you, average consumer, be more likely to be a Ford Taurus if you saw Batman drive one? At least on White Collar, we see an actual car drive through an actual city, even if it is Toronto. One can observe the product being used by a flesh-and-blood human being, albeit an attractive, well-dressed one.

Not every appearance by a real product in entertainment is the result of product placement. Stephen King will often mention plebeian items like Excedrin or Turtle Wax in his books, and these mentions ground the characters in some semblance of reality. No agency is shelling out money for this. If they did, they would demand approval.

In any case, product placement in mainstream superhero comics would probably be too expensive to be worthwhile. Warner Bros. is not going to let Batman drive the aforesaid Taurus in the comics without first making a hefty profit for letting him drive one in the movies. The same goes for Disney.

That’s not parallel to what the Times story was about. In the story, the author got paid to include mentions of Sweet’n’Low in her book.

I’m not a big fan of artificial sweeteners, but I know a lot of people who are. They often have strong feelings about which brand is their favorite. I could probably read that book without noticing the placements. At the same time, I probably wouldn’t think, “This character has such a rich and satisfying life, one I, too, would like to have. I suppose I should eat more Sweet’n’Low.”

Would product placement be good for independent comics? Maybe. At the very least, it could help some creators make a profit, something I strongly support.

Would it compromise artistic integrity? It probably depends on the product and the creative team, and the way the deal is negotiated. For example, I’m writing a story now, in which my protagonist, a knitter, struggles to find her true calling in a complex world. I wouldn’t accept a deal with the United States Army for her to enlist and find meaning in her life, not for any amount.

But hand-dyed cashmere? In a heartbeat.

Who am I kidding. I would do it just to look at the color guide.

 

Tweeks: Fragile Delights!

fragile_chapter_01_by_shourimajo-d4acxghEven though this month has brought The Tweeks sickness, they are still super excited about November.  You won’t find Maddy & Anya pushing an early Christmas (Snowflake red cups on Halloween, seriously, Starbucks?) but you will find them celebrating what is currently making them happy— stuff like the new Marvel movies announcement, the spoiler about Tom Hiddleston in Avengers: Age of Ultron, new movies on Netflix, Halloween candy, and the graphic novel, Fragile— which may have cured the girls of their aversion to Manga!

Box Office Democracy: “Nightcrawler”

It’s been a long time since I’ve gone to a movie as cold as I did for Nightcrawler. I hadn’t seen a trailer or even had it described to me. I think I’d seen a poster but it wasn’t terribly clear what kind of movie I was getting in to even as the lights went down. What I got was a film that was remarkably gripping and deeply affecting, a portrait of a remarkably disturbing individual, and a scathing indictment of the TV news business.

Jake Gyllenhaal is doing his best work since Brokeback Mountain here and maybe in his entire career. Lou Bloom feels like a sociopath who has read every pop-business book to grace the non-fiction bestseller list in the past ten years. That isn’t close to a good enough description but it’ll have to suffice because the performance really needs to be seen to be believed. He radiates menace while scarcely ever doing anything or raising his voice. He’s a bad feeling given physical form; he’s a demon of mundanity.

(more…)

Dennis O’Neil: Television Is Sacred

Well, I predicted it.

Mari and I sat in the living room until about nine, and then she turned out a front light and we returned to our sacred duty, watching television.

Before we continue… You’re vexed by that last statement? Teevee watching a sacred duty? Eh? Okay, consider: Almost beyond doubt there is a television in every home in our village. And almost beyond doubt, each of those television sets gets turned on and heeded each and every day except for those belonging to our townsfolk who may occasionally leave screens dark for religious reasons. Now, there is nothing else that is in every – every! – domicile. Mezuzahs, bibles, Boy Scout oaths, crucifixes, copies of the Declaration of Independence, scientology tracts, Buddhist sutras, the collected works of Ayn Rand – sure, you’ll see those here and there, but not everywhere. But we all own televisions and we all watch them once in a while, or oftener, and anything that’s done by everyone must be important and – correct me if I’m wrong – isn’t it a short step from “done by everyone” to “sacred”?

Glad we got that settled.

And no, I don’t know what we watched. Like that matters!

The faithful among you may remember that last week I attributed our lack of Halloween trick-or-treaters to the difficulty of trudging to the top of our hill, especially if you’re afoot and coming from the center of town, and the few dwellings on our particular block, and the utter absence of businesses.

I may have been mistaken.

Tomorrow, as I write this, is the day we good citizens vote. My lefty/hippie politics are no secret and so it’s reasonable to suppose that my Political Enemies (for surely they exist) decided to nullify whatever polling place influence I might have by diverting such costumed visitors who were bound for my front porch.

“Hey kid,” they might have hissed at some fledgling goblin (and don’t these types always hiss!), “those people at the top of the hill have sprayed their lawn with Ebola and are brewing up cyanide lemonade in their kitchen.”

The youngster would flee and Mari and I would be alone on our couch as the hours ticked by which, as a matter of fact, is what happened. Then, my Political Enemies might suppose, I would become so despondent at my being ignored that I would climb into the attic, hunker down between stacks of comic books, put my thumb in my mouth, and moan until well past voting day.

Not going to happen. (At least I don’t think it will happen, though voting day isn’t until tomorrow and who can predict the future? But no – I’ll probably steer clear of the attic.)

And what about you? Did you avoid the attic? Did you do your duty and vote?

I certainly hope so.

Unless you’re a Political Enemy.

Mike Gold: The Fifth of November

v for vendettaThis is a special day at La Casa del Oro. It’s my daughter’s birthday. Adriane Nash, also a ComicMixer (if you wonder how she got that job, I strongly suspect years and years of working at and managing comic book stores played a significant part), turns… ah, it’s not my place to say. But she’s one year older than she was yesterday.

Adriane was born on November 5th due, in no small part, to her mother Linda’s fantastic sense of humor. In case you didn’t know, November 5th is also Guy Fawkes Day.

If you’re not an anarchist you might not know about Guy Fawkes. According to Wiki (as well as a couple dozen books in my library, just in case you’re uncertain of my politics) he was a member of a group of English Catholics who planned the failed Gunpowder Plot of 1605. This was a somewhat complicated plan to assassinate King James I on November 5 1605, blow up the House of Lords, and put a Catholic monarch on the throne. Make no little plans, as Daniel Burnham liked to say. Guy was in charge of the gunpowder they stockpiled in Westminster Palace. Somebody ratted him out and the government did what they did in those days: they spent several days questioning and torturing the malcontent, and ultimately he fessed up.

On January 31, the day of his execution, Fawkes jumped from the scaffold where he was to be hanged and broke his neck, a far, far, far less painful death than being drawn and quartered and semi-hanged and disemboweled and all that stuff you saw Mel Gibson go through in Braveheart. Brits just can’t let go of this one: on this date, Guy Fawkes Day, he is routinely hanged in effigy or tossed on a bonfire (his effigy, not his bones). Fireworks and frivolity ensue.

   Remember, remember!

   The fifth of November,

   The Gunpowder treason and plot;

   I know of no reason

   Why the Gunpowder treason

   Should ever be forgot!

   Guy Fawkes and his companions

   Did the scheme contrive,

   To blow the King and Parliament

   All up alive.

   Threescore barrels, laid below,

   To prove old England’s overthrow.

   But, by God’s providence, him they catch,

   With a dark lantern, lighting a match!

   A stick and a stake

   For King James’s sake!

   If you won’t give me one,

   I’ll take two,

   The better for me,

   And the worse for you.

   A rope, a rope, to hang the Pope,

   A penn’orth of cheese to choke him,

   A pint of beer to wash it down,

   And a jolly good fire to burn him.

   Holloa, boys! holloa, boys! make the bells ring!

   Holloa, boys! holloa boys! God save the King!

   Hip, hip, hooor-r-r-ray!

Oh, yes. Guy Fawkes and his story served as the inspiration for the truly classic Alan Moore / David Lloyd graphic novel V For Vendetta, which also happens to be my all-time favorite graphic novel. The likeness David employed became synonymous with the contemporary anarchist movement, the anti-World Trade Organization movement, and was also adopted by many in the Occupy movement three years ago.

Last Friday, I had one trick-or-treater wearing a V mask. Then again, I had another trick-or-treater dressed up as Ebola.

Both received extra candy.

 

Michael Davis: The Milestone Contract

Michael Davis: The Milestone Contract

As luck would have it I now know why I’m not mentioned as a co-creator of Static, although I created the Static universe from my own life story. I’ve just found the original Static Shock TV deal Milestone did with Warner Bros. and it explains everything.

Here, in its entirety, is the 1993 Milestone television deal for Static:

In the unlikely event that someone here in Hollywood decides it’s a good idea to develop a live action Static show, said show can ONLY be broadcasted on B.E.T.

The show must air after Sanford & Son but before Good Times. It is to be broadcasted at 2am every MLK Day, but only during leap year. 

The role of Arnold Hawkins AKA Static must go to Gary Coleman and the role of Willis (formally Richie) must go to Todd Bridges. If one of those fine actors is dead or in rehab the network will wait until they are both available.

All the Milestone partners, save one, will receive credit. 

Let the name of Davis be stricken from every book and tablet, stricken from all press and news, stricken from every mention of Static.

Let the name of Davis be unheard and unspoken, erased from the memory of Milestone, for all time.

So let it not be written, so let it be done.

Bruce Seti I, V.P. Business Affairs, Jan.15, 1993

Yeah, we signed that deal. We were young, what can I say?