 |
| Visitors - |
|
| Visitors - |
 |
|||
|
| toasted.zine VOLUME 03 – ISSUE 02 "the one with the comic book mafia and an ode to chuck austen" COME OUT SWINGIN' I like the idea of Superman. I mean, seriously, what's not to like about Superman? He's like... this man... or well, alien, specifically, but really, all things considered, he's just this guy, this average guy, who has insurmountable abilities. Super strength? Yes please. X-Ray vision? Dirty, but really, what guy isn't? Booty that just won't stop? I mean... I don't notice things like that, because that' would be "ew". But I digress. I like the idea of Superman. Unfortunately, I just don't really like the actual Superman. He's just too damn super for his own good, and seriously, how do you write the adventures of an invincible superhero that can do no wrong and keep people interested? It's really hard, I'd wager, especially when all possible stories you can tell with such a character have been exhausted. And don't argue with me. Every original Superman story that needs to be told has been told. DC knew this, and so they killed him off. That's what you do with a character that has run it's course and lost its luster. You plug them. Boom. Finite. That way, you don't bog down a great character with unneeded drudgery of half-baked stories that don't measure up to former grandeur. But like all things in comics, everything comes down to money. Superman, for DC, equals money. With no Superman, there is less money, and when there is less money, the bigwigs get cranky. Thus, Superman returns, and the stories are horrible, and it just makes me yearn for what could've been. I mean, how perfect would it be to show the world a hero, the hero, dedicated to protecting the innocent and truth and justice and the American way and the like whilst laden with powers that make him seemingly invincible, fall to make sure all those ideals that he held so dear, remained intact and whole? It would've been quite the feat. Let's all mourn that loss. AND BY THE WAY... It should be obvious. I'm in a very angry place these days, for who knows why. I've probably been reading too much of Brian Wood's angry comics, like Channel Zero and Couriers, but you know. The man is a brilliant writer, proof of this being his status in my backpack. Yes, I know that sounds a little strange, "status in my backpack". But fear not, there is an explanation. There's always an explanation. You see, way back in grade eight, I wasn't designated a locker, so I had to do without for the year. Everything I needed was carried in my backpack, and so in my later years, I really felt awkward without my backpack full of crap on my back. So, to this day, I carry a backpack full of crap, even though I don't really need to. But since (at the moment) I'm not attending any kind of school or learning facility, I need something to fill that space. Enter, items that merit "backpack status". Things that for some reason, somehow, I'm faced with the slightest possibility of boredom, I have certain things with me for entertainment. The only constant "backpack status" thing, is my writing books, filled with pages upon pages of (pencil only!) hand written stories, some of which will never see the light of day, because they are so embarrassingly horrible (yes, more so than "the regulars"). Another item that is slowly becoming a constant item is Blake Petit's first book: Other People's Heroes. Why? Well, because it's a brilliant piece of superhero satire and worship, really, and if I were to somehow find myself under a giant pile of rubble, I'd probably feel like reading it. And, as you might be able to tell, I keep some of Brian Wood's comics in there. Specifically, the mini-series of done-in-one kind of stories called Demo, which feature a wide range of writing styles that are so achingly perfect in their presentation of different situations and niches, I would be remiss not to share them with anyone who looks bored around me. So. What does this have to do with me reading his more angry work and finding myself being a more angry person myself? Well, that's simple. When you find someone whose writing you admire so completely, you immediate set out to find everything they've ever done, and buy them. So I did, and I was glad, because both Channel Zero and Couriers are great stories. It's just their very angry, and they've made me as such, which means, you, dear readers, were treated to an angry introductory piece as I began this edition of toasted.zine. However, you will note that I was very punctual and on schedule this time around, so I don't want to hear any complaining about the anger. Maybe some argument on the points made (I know you want to), but no "I wish you were nicer when you started". If I were nicer when I started, you would've seen this column this week. So. Enough of this crankiness. We have a column to get to. Have fun trudging through this issue, and as always... Stay lightly toasted. -b. BEHIND THE 'ZINES – THE COMIC BOOK MAFIA "Sweet cuppin' cups, you aren't actually going to send that to Blake, are you?" "Gah!" Brandon explained with shock, his attention being wretched quickly from busily typing the column to Darren Clarke, who had mysteriously appeared behind him, "What the... how did you get in here without me noticing?" "With the subtle reflexes of a superhuman powered ninja," Darren said shrugging, "So. Answer my question." "Yes, I'm planning on handing this into Blake. He's the column's editor. He edits the columns. Actually does his job, unlike some people I know." "Dude," Darren smiled, slapping Brandon on the back, "You shouldn't been so hard on yourself. You have your column back on schedule now." Brandon's eyes fumed with anger. "Don't let him get to you," Amy told him, whispering in her ear. "Oh be quiet," Brandon muttered, "You're not supposed to be talking." "I'm sorry, I wasn't aware of this rule," Darren smiled, "Not that I would've followed it if I had, but-" "I wasn't talking to you," Brandon said offhandedly, continuing to type on the keyboard. Darren looked around the room and saw nobody else. "Oh... kay, enough keyboard for you," Darren told him, pushing the monitor button off. "Hey!" "Look, man, you're starting to go nuts in here. Talking to non-existent people, writing smack about Superman..." "What's so bad about talking bad abut Superman? I'm only telling the truth," Brandon shrugged. "Well, you might think it's the truth, but the comic book mafia will think otherwise, man." Brandon raised an eyebrow and gave an incredulous look to Darren, "The comic book mafia? You think there is a comic book mafia? Darren, if there were a comic book mafia, Chuck Austen would've been given death by paper cuts from his own comic books. There is no comic book mafia." Darren waved a finger in Brandon's face, "Oh, that's where you're wrong, my friend, there is a comic book mafia, and Blake runs it man." "Darren, that's redicu-" "Knock knock!" Blake exclaimed, emerging through the entranceway of the office. He was wearing a black suit and tie, complete with a fedora. "Well gee, thank god my life is a bad sitcom again," Brandon muttered sarcastically to himself. "Stop complaining," Amy breathed, "You wanted your life to be a bad sitcom again." "Go away," Brandon hissed. "Brandon, Brandon, Brandon, is that any kind of greeting for your boss?" Blake asked, face riddled with disappointment. "I wasn't talking to you," Brandon grumbled. "He's spent too much time at the computer," Darren offered. "I can see that," Blake said, "Good touch on turning the monitor off. You've earned my respect." "How would you like to earn my pants as well?" "...and now it's gone," Blake shrugged, "Listen. Brandon. Word has gotten around that you're doing a little piece on Superman, and my sources say its not all sunshine and roses." Blake raised an eyebrow, "You might want to rethink that strategy." Brandon blinked and dropped his jaw, "How did you, uh... what did.." Blake's face broke and twisted into a smile. He turned around, "See, I told you I could entirely play the part of an enforcer." Ronée walked through the door, "Hon, you scared Brandon into thinking you could be mean. I'm still not feeling your motivation." Brandon blinked, "Okay... I'm confused now." "What? Oh sorry, Brandon," Blake smiled, "I'm rehearsing for my newest play, in which Super Blake goes undercover in an underground mafia to take down a one legged simian mob boss from within. I calls it, 'Super Blake VS. The Dilapidated Mafia Monkeys'." "Oh. Heh," Brandon looked at Darren, "See? Rehearsing for a play." "Anyway, Brandon, your column is due on my desk in six hours, so after you have a break and stop having your little hallucinations, get a typin'. Kapeech?" "Hon," Ronée patted him on the back, "Stop trying so hard." Both Blake and Ronée left the room. "Wow, that was almost surreal," Brandon smiled awkwardly, "I mean for a second there, it was almost as if he knew, and he didn't like it, but..." Darren raised an eyebrow at Brandon. "What?" "You don't think he was trying to tell you something?" "No, I don't think he was trying to tell me something." "Well I think he was trying to tell you something." "Me too," Amy added. "No, people who want to tell you something come back from the freakin' dead and start to whisper things in your ear," Brandon yelled, "As soon as Blake starts doing that, I'll start to believe you." Darren blinked at Brandon. "Right. How about we walk away from the computer now..." AN ODE TO CHUCK AUSTEN The life of a comic book columnist is hard sometimes, especially one with a format such as mine. Every week, you need to come up with something fresh and interesting for people to read, and hope that they come back for subsequent editions. I'm pretty sure I'm not good at that whole "getting people to come back" part, but hey. I still came back here every week (or bi-week, or tri-week, depending on what point of my tenure you popped in on) to try again, and by golly, I'd be lying if I didn't say I didn't owe a bit of my persistence to a man by the name of Chuck Austen. You know the guy. Writes (or wrote) X-Men comics, reviled by comic book forum posters around the world. Yeah, you know him. Anyway, I owe that guy a lot. Him, and Bill Jemas both, really, have made my life as a columnist easy up until now. Stuck for a joke? Say something about Chuck. Want fanboys to start posting a bunch of their thoughts? Ask 'em something about Chuck and let 'em loose. Yes, he's been good to me, and now, he's going to go away, and in a way, it makes me kind've sad. So Chuck? Ol' buddy ol' pal? This one's for you. I call it: An Ode to My Chuckles by b. schatz From X-Men to Superman, Your words do astound, Some fitting, most not, Fans want to beat you to the ground. But you press on and continue, Adding JLA and more, And some days it looks as if you're One big comic book wh-umm.. bore. From Havok's urination To Supe saying "dude" A lot of people think of words That are fairly crude. So Chuck, though you're leaving Don't ever feel bad Because even though you're gone None of us will be sad. Thank you. BURNT TOAST Well, that's another toasted.zine in the bag, and another two weeks of my freedom! But hey, if you're craving more toasted.zine, you can pop over to Still on the Shelf on Monday, August 16th, 2004 for the ultra fun variant edition of this column, and then come back here in two weeks (August 24th, 2004) for a fresh new toasted. Until next time... Stay lightly toasted! -b. |
