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Last Saturday night, I hung out with two wonderful friends of mine. They have a seven week old daughter, which makes them real people, unlike me, who dresses up stuffed animals and lets them sit at the dinner table when my roommate isn‘t home. It was a delightful weekend. I held the baby, we watched the old version of “Fright Night,” then after a lovely homemade dinner, contemplated exactly how the gruesome 1980s prosthetic vampire makeup from the movie would scar their little girl for life. I know it scarred me!
Post dinner, I had a nerd attack. Going through my friend’s comic collection, I discovered “Runaways,” a Marvel comic series created by Brian K. Vaughan and Adrian Alphona. Being the gracious host, my friend lent me the comic and I drove back to West Hollywood fully intending to be a productive human being for the next several hours after arriving home.
Wrong, Steinho! Wrong! It was the equivalent of a fat lady taking out an entire chocolate cake after licking a bite of frosting off her finger. I read all 18 volumes of it between about 8:30pm and midnight. I couldn’t stop. Not since I finally kicked my World of Warcraft habit back in 2008 have I been so drunk on nerdly delight.
This is a little how my experience reading “Runaways” started. Fifteen pages in, you find out that something is up with the parents of six regular teenagers. Gee Mom and Dad, why are you all gathering around a table in a secret library wearing cool costumes? I think, “Because they’re super heroes, right? Awesome! I wish my parents were super heroes! Yay comics!” Five pages later, the kids watch their parents murder a teen prostitute in human sacrifice. I think, “Human sacrifice? Teen prostitutes? Even better!” Oddly enough, the kids in the comic turn on their parents pretty quickly after this, vowing not to stop until they’ve brought about their wicked group’s downfall. No waiting around to see if it was all just a misunderstanding for these boys and girls! Maybe the writers were banking on the thought that deep down all teenagers already think their parents are evil, and wish they’d turn out to be diabolical magicians so their feelings would be justified.
“Runaways” is the type of story I love, where the focus is on a group of characters, all with a very distinct personality and ability. I think it’s a throwback to my days of D&D. There’s just some satisfaction knowing that you’ve got the whole set … strong dude, wizard, rogue, technomancer from the future, hot elf chick and so forth. In “Runaways” it’s a little more like, nerdy leader, goth wizard girl, hot hippie alien, jock with robot hands, super strong mutant kid, and sarcastic geek with psychically linked velociraptor. What a team!
My favorite was the dinosaur girl, Gertrude. Her parents are inter-dimensional time travelers, which explains how they got the dinosaur to give to her in the first place. There simply aren’t enough stories about evil time travelers. I think what I liked most about the idea of having a dinosaur for a weapon is that you can just hang out, tell your raptor to fetch/kill whoever you want, and then watch the magic happen. But that’s not all. Gertrude names her dinosaur Old Lace, after deciding that her code name will be Arsenic. Get it? Arsenic and Old Lace? No? Did your high school not have a theatre department?
Okay, so maybe not everyone is a theatre geek as well as a fantasy nerd. BUT for anyone who’s ever wished to be a superhero, or who just wished a dinosaur would eat their father, “Runaways” is sure to satisfy. And unlike chocolate cake, it will not give you diabetes.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Monday, February 14, 2011
You Can Never Go Home Again... Because Your Home is Full of Crime
It may be hard for some of you to believe, but I was not always the media mogul I am today. No, no. Years ago, back before I lived in this undersea mansion off the coast of Malibu, California, I was just an awkward, anorexic-looking teenager who thought not owning a pair of jeans or tennis shoes somehow made me better than the common folk. What sort of upstanding citizen wears denim trousers anyhow? What, are we all a bunch of farmers and lumberjacks?
It’s been almost ten years since I graduated high school, which means its also been almost ten years since I last lived in a charming little city called Flint, Michigan. See, being from Flint allows me the privilege of talking crap about it. If you are not from Flint, however, and you choose to state your opinion on what it’s really like to grow up there, I would advise you to purchase some sort of face protecting shield, as my shoe will likely be flying across the room in your face’s direction at any moment.
Up and coming author Connor Coyne has lived in Flint, Michigan. He is also my friend. These are two very good reasons for me not to throw a shoe at his face. Connor has written a novel, set in Flint, and entitled “Hungry Rats.” It’s about a teenage girl named Meredith, trying to find a shred of sanity in some of the most difficult living situations. Also there is a serial killer called the Rat Man, named so for the dead rats he leaves around his victims bodies. Gross? Yes. Intriguing? Definitely. If you’d like to hear a pretentious sounding review I wrote for Hungry Rats, look it up on amazon.com. Feel free to also buy Connor’s book while you’re there. No pressure or anything, but he does have an adorable child and it’s not like we’re wizards who can just rob banks using our mind powers.
Connor’s book was so interesting to read, not only because he whipped up such a darn fine story, but also because it felt like going home in a way. A dilapidated, grimy, crime-filled home.
This is usually the part of the conversation where I turn to someone and say, “Seriously though. Flint’s not that bad. There are so many things that could be worse about Flint. Like a typhus outbreak or a zombie apocalypse. Same as any big city, really.”
Now, I was never a bad kid. I didn’t have the proper wardrobe for it. So while the other more popular teens were out snorting cocaine or having under-aged sexual relations, I was hanging out with Connor at Atlas Coney Island, drinking coffee. Back then, before my liver and kidneys had to be replaced with robots, I drank my coffee black and by the gallon. Connor and I would also go for walks. Sometimes it would literally be in the middle of the night, when our friends were partying it up. We’d just walk and talk about our writing, about muppets, about any random thing. It was nice to have a friend whose thoughts were as scattered and imaginative as mine were. In the middle of reading “Hungry Rats,” the main character goes for such a midnight walk. My first instinct was to think, “Oh, God! She’s gonna get murdered! What is she, crazy?” And then I’d remember. Oops!
Most of the time, the memories I have of growing up in Flint are not the rosiest in hue. Ironic as this may be, it took my friend’s novel about serial killers in my hometown to remind me of the good times. I felt superior every time I recognized a street or building, and as you know, superior is my favorite thing to feel. Mostly, I guess I’m just proud of my friend, both for his accomplishment and for including Flint into something really positive and amazing. See? Good things can come out of Flint! It’s not that bad. Really.
So shut your flipping pie hole.
It’s been almost ten years since I graduated high school, which means its also been almost ten years since I last lived in a charming little city called Flint, Michigan. See, being from Flint allows me the privilege of talking crap about it. If you are not from Flint, however, and you choose to state your opinion on what it’s really like to grow up there, I would advise you to purchase some sort of face protecting shield, as my shoe will likely be flying across the room in your face’s direction at any moment.
Up and coming author Connor Coyne has lived in Flint, Michigan. He is also my friend. These are two very good reasons for me not to throw a shoe at his face. Connor has written a novel, set in Flint, and entitled “Hungry Rats.” It’s about a teenage girl named Meredith, trying to find a shred of sanity in some of the most difficult living situations. Also there is a serial killer called the Rat Man, named so for the dead rats he leaves around his victims bodies. Gross? Yes. Intriguing? Definitely. If you’d like to hear a pretentious sounding review I wrote for Hungry Rats, look it up on amazon.com. Feel free to also buy Connor’s book while you’re there. No pressure or anything, but he does have an adorable child and it’s not like we’re wizards who can just rob banks using our mind powers.
Connor’s book was so interesting to read, not only because he whipped up such a darn fine story, but also because it felt like going home in a way. A dilapidated, grimy, crime-filled home.
This is usually the part of the conversation where I turn to someone and say, “Seriously though. Flint’s not that bad. There are so many things that could be worse about Flint. Like a typhus outbreak or a zombie apocalypse. Same as any big city, really.”
Now, I was never a bad kid. I didn’t have the proper wardrobe for it. So while the other more popular teens were out snorting cocaine or having under-aged sexual relations, I was hanging out with Connor at Atlas Coney Island, drinking coffee. Back then, before my liver and kidneys had to be replaced with robots, I drank my coffee black and by the gallon. Connor and I would also go for walks. Sometimes it would literally be in the middle of the night, when our friends were partying it up. We’d just walk and talk about our writing, about muppets, about any random thing. It was nice to have a friend whose thoughts were as scattered and imaginative as mine were. In the middle of reading “Hungry Rats,” the main character goes for such a midnight walk. My first instinct was to think, “Oh, God! She’s gonna get murdered! What is she, crazy?” And then I’d remember. Oops!
Most of the time, the memories I have of growing up in Flint are not the rosiest in hue. Ironic as this may be, it took my friend’s novel about serial killers in my hometown to remind me of the good times. I felt superior every time I recognized a street or building, and as you know, superior is my favorite thing to feel. Mostly, I guess I’m just proud of my friend, both for his accomplishment and for including Flint into something really positive and amazing. See? Good things can come out of Flint! It’s not that bad. Really.
So shut your flipping pie hole.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Bring Me Wil Wheaton!
Wil Wheaton, if you’re out there, and if you ever perchance google yourself and find this blog, just know, that to me, you are perfect, and I will love you forever. More even, than I love Elijah Wood, and let me tell you, that is a lot of love, because he played Frodo Baggins.
If you don’t know who Wil Wheaton is, I’m ashamed of you. Not only did Wil Wheaton star in my favorite movie ever, “Stand By Me,” based off of the novella “The Body,“ which was written by my favorite author, Stephen King, BUT, he also was in a little television series in the late 1980s - early 1990s called “Star Trek: The Next Generation.” He played Wesley Crusher, a child genius and was the love of my eight-year old life. Well, he was co-love of my life along with Neil Patrick Harris in the role of another child genius, on the show “Doogie Howser, MD.” Oh, how our childhood dreams get shattered.
But back to Wil Wheaton.
What’s Wil Wheaton doing these days? Making hysterical guest appearances on “The Big Bang Theory,“ that’s what. His first cameo revolved around one of the lead characters seeking revenge on Wheaton after failing to show up to a Star Trek convention.
But that’s not all he’s been doing. Wil Wheaton writes books now. Several actually. I only recently discovered this after stumbling upon his blog. You heard me right, Deafy McDeafpants! Wil Wheaton has a blog, just like me! Only his has way more people reading it. The blog is hilarious, and I highly encourage you to check it out at http://wilwheaton.typepad.com. When I was a tween, like every other tween girl I knew, I had pictures of all the five million actors I was in love with on my bedroom walls. Wil Wheaton was one of them. Too often though, I’d pick up some magazine like GQ or Vanity Fair or even Entertainment Weekly, not realizing that just because these magazines had my current soul mate on the cover did not mean they were appropriate reading material for a twelve-year-old girl. I remember having my bubble burst upon reading an article on John Cusack, and he said something slutty to contradict his ‘nice guy’ image. I was horrified. How dare you be a real human male with non-romantically comedic sexual urges, John Cusack?! How dare you?!
Then I grew up, and realized that most actors are probably jerks anyway, because who else would choose a career where they get to have people stare at and worship them every second of the day?
But not Wil Wheaton. He is a hero that all geeks should praise and strive to emulate. Not only does he have a super hot wife, but he’s also an exceptionally clever and witty writer, in addition to being a talented actor. Seriously, have you seen “Stand By Me?” That movie defined my youth. My childhood best friend Sarah and I used to act out the scenes where Wil and River Phoenix each break down crying on each other, lamenting how messed up their young lives are. I remember sitting on a bench at summer camp, and suddenly bursting out in a tearful rendition of Wil Wheaton’s monologue where he admits his father wishes he’d died instead of his brother Denny (also played by John Cusack. See how this came full circle?) I’m sure we freaked out more than a few of our fellow campers. It was fantastic. And so is Wil Wheaton.
Let it be known, Wil Wheaton is officially added to the list of “Dudes I really want to meet before I die.” I’ve been reading his blog pretty consistently now, and this past Sunday I started reading one of his books, “Just a Geek.“ It’s a memoir about his struggles to find a career and support his family after quitting “Star Trek.” He has another collection of essays called “Dancing Barefoot,” and I hear he’s begun to dabble in fiction as well. Unfortunately, it seems right now that most of his work is only available in ebook form, and you all know how much I shake my fist at technology. Maybe for Wil Wheaton, I’ll make an exception.
If you don’t know who Wil Wheaton is, I’m ashamed of you. Not only did Wil Wheaton star in my favorite movie ever, “Stand By Me,” based off of the novella “The Body,“ which was written by my favorite author, Stephen King, BUT, he also was in a little television series in the late 1980s - early 1990s called “Star Trek: The Next Generation.” He played Wesley Crusher, a child genius and was the love of my eight-year old life. Well, he was co-love of my life along with Neil Patrick Harris in the role of another child genius, on the show “Doogie Howser, MD.” Oh, how our childhood dreams get shattered.
But back to Wil Wheaton.
What’s Wil Wheaton doing these days? Making hysterical guest appearances on “The Big Bang Theory,“ that’s what. His first cameo revolved around one of the lead characters seeking revenge on Wheaton after failing to show up to a Star Trek convention.
But that’s not all he’s been doing. Wil Wheaton writes books now. Several actually. I only recently discovered this after stumbling upon his blog. You heard me right, Deafy McDeafpants! Wil Wheaton has a blog, just like me! Only his has way more people reading it. The blog is hilarious, and I highly encourage you to check it out at http://wilwheaton.typepad.com. When I was a tween, like every other tween girl I knew, I had pictures of all the five million actors I was in love with on my bedroom walls. Wil Wheaton was one of them. Too often though, I’d pick up some magazine like GQ or Vanity Fair or even Entertainment Weekly, not realizing that just because these magazines had my current soul mate on the cover did not mean they were appropriate reading material for a twelve-year-old girl. I remember having my bubble burst upon reading an article on John Cusack, and he said something slutty to contradict his ‘nice guy’ image. I was horrified. How dare you be a real human male with non-romantically comedic sexual urges, John Cusack?! How dare you?!
Then I grew up, and realized that most actors are probably jerks anyway, because who else would choose a career where they get to have people stare at and worship them every second of the day?
But not Wil Wheaton. He is a hero that all geeks should praise and strive to emulate. Not only does he have a super hot wife, but he’s also an exceptionally clever and witty writer, in addition to being a talented actor. Seriously, have you seen “Stand By Me?” That movie defined my youth. My childhood best friend Sarah and I used to act out the scenes where Wil and River Phoenix each break down crying on each other, lamenting how messed up their young lives are. I remember sitting on a bench at summer camp, and suddenly bursting out in a tearful rendition of Wil Wheaton’s monologue where he admits his father wishes he’d died instead of his brother Denny (also played by John Cusack. See how this came full circle?) I’m sure we freaked out more than a few of our fellow campers. It was fantastic. And so is Wil Wheaton.
Let it be known, Wil Wheaton is officially added to the list of “Dudes I really want to meet before I die.” I’ve been reading his blog pretty consistently now, and this past Sunday I started reading one of his books, “Just a Geek.“ It’s a memoir about his struggles to find a career and support his family after quitting “Star Trek.” He has another collection of essays called “Dancing Barefoot,” and I hear he’s begun to dabble in fiction as well. Unfortunately, it seems right now that most of his work is only available in ebook form, and you all know how much I shake my fist at technology. Maybe for Wil Wheaton, I’ll make an exception.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Little Things Hitting Each Other
The world of fantasy literature is oft a repetitive one. Unless your last name is Grimm, Tolkien or “Anonymous Poet From Before We Wrote Shit Down Because Clay Was Expensive,” than you probably stole your story from somebody else.
“What madness is this?” you exclaim. “Oh, that vile wordsmith Steinho is making wild accusations once more! What about Harry Potter, you fiend? For goodness sake, what about Harry Potter?” By the way, in my head everyone talks like Charles Dickens.
Well guess what, popular children’s fiction lovers! Things like boggarts, mandrake roots and the philosopher’s stone were part of English mythology long before the fabulous J.K. Rowling ever included them in her wondrous tale. To her credit, it’s the way in which Rowling wove together existing folklore and original ideas that have made her books so enticing, and her earnings so extensive she could probably fill a giant bin with gold coins and swim in it.
No, it’s all those other fantasy writing hacks that I detest so; the ones who fail to get past the familiar triad of human, dwarf and elf. (Or the current and more repulsive trend of vampire, werewolf and teen moron.) Why must there always be dwarfs and elves? Why must the dwarves always be miners and carry axes and talk with Scottish accents? I’m waiting for the hilarious fantasy novel about the dwarf who got sick of living in a dank cave, and moved to Hawaii to become a pearl diver and teach surfing to tourists.
Until that day arrives, I am thankful for the few original discoveries I have made in the fantasy genre, such as David Petersen, and his graphic novel series, “Mouse Guard.” Once upon a time, in a magical land known as Michigan, a lad named David Petersen was born and watched a lot of cartoons, and grew up to draw his own cartoons about heroic warrior mice, who fight bears and hawks and wear smashing little capes. This is the gist of “Mouse Guard.” While it follows the general guidelines of a typical fantasy epic, with ruthless nobles and legendary swordsmen, terrified villagers and vicious monsters, the key difference is that every character is a badass mouse. Currently, there exist three books in the Mouse Guard world, including “Fall 1152,” “Winter 1152,” and the six issue mini-series in comic stores at this very moment, “The Black Axe.”
Anyone who has ever loved the adventures of Robin Hood or King Arthur, not to mention anyone who appreciates beautiful, rich illustrations, will enjoy these stories. It is such a mistake to assume the media of comics has nothing to offer other than tights-wearing mutants and hyper-violent mayhem. I recently perused the first volume in the “Preacher” series by Garth Ennis, and while I was intrigued by some of the mythology, the excessive visual nastiness kept me from reading further. Maybe I’m turning into an old woman, but I find myself less and less excited about seeing pictures of cartoon faces being blown off.
If you think just because these graphic novels are about adorable mice in cloaks, they will not appease your garish American appetite for violence, than you are most certifiably wrong, you villainous warmonger. In one story from “Mouse Guard: Legend of the Guard,” the wife and young son of two knights must watch as their respective champions stab the crap out of each other, knowing their opponent must die if they themselves are to survive. Another chapter tells of a young lady mouse who watches her fiancée die at the hands of an evil king, and must take up his weapon and blood-drenched armor to avenge the murder. If these mice ever sing, it is not on the shoulder of a cartoon princess.
So if you feel ill at the sight of another Gandalf clone with names like Aoyemandyer, or fantasy series where someone turns out to be the descendant/reincarnation/long-lost cousin of a Greek/Norse/Egyptian god, soothe your rankled soul and read “Mouse Guard.” Because watching a mouse stab a bear in the face is both hilarious, and cool to see.
“What madness is this?” you exclaim. “Oh, that vile wordsmith Steinho is making wild accusations once more! What about Harry Potter, you fiend? For goodness sake, what about Harry Potter?” By the way, in my head everyone talks like Charles Dickens.
Well guess what, popular children’s fiction lovers! Things like boggarts, mandrake roots and the philosopher’s stone were part of English mythology long before the fabulous J.K. Rowling ever included them in her wondrous tale. To her credit, it’s the way in which Rowling wove together existing folklore and original ideas that have made her books so enticing, and her earnings so extensive she could probably fill a giant bin with gold coins and swim in it.
No, it’s all those other fantasy writing hacks that I detest so; the ones who fail to get past the familiar triad of human, dwarf and elf. (Or the current and more repulsive trend of vampire, werewolf and teen moron.) Why must there always be dwarfs and elves? Why must the dwarves always be miners and carry axes and talk with Scottish accents? I’m waiting for the hilarious fantasy novel about the dwarf who got sick of living in a dank cave, and moved to Hawaii to become a pearl diver and teach surfing to tourists.
Until that day arrives, I am thankful for the few original discoveries I have made in the fantasy genre, such as David Petersen, and his graphic novel series, “Mouse Guard.” Once upon a time, in a magical land known as Michigan, a lad named David Petersen was born and watched a lot of cartoons, and grew up to draw his own cartoons about heroic warrior mice, who fight bears and hawks and wear smashing little capes. This is the gist of “Mouse Guard.” While it follows the general guidelines of a typical fantasy epic, with ruthless nobles and legendary swordsmen, terrified villagers and vicious monsters, the key difference is that every character is a badass mouse. Currently, there exist three books in the Mouse Guard world, including “Fall 1152,” “Winter 1152,” and the six issue mini-series in comic stores at this very moment, “The Black Axe.”
Anyone who has ever loved the adventures of Robin Hood or King Arthur, not to mention anyone who appreciates beautiful, rich illustrations, will enjoy these stories. It is such a mistake to assume the media of comics has nothing to offer other than tights-wearing mutants and hyper-violent mayhem. I recently perused the first volume in the “Preacher” series by Garth Ennis, and while I was intrigued by some of the mythology, the excessive visual nastiness kept me from reading further. Maybe I’m turning into an old woman, but I find myself less and less excited about seeing pictures of cartoon faces being blown off.
If you think just because these graphic novels are about adorable mice in cloaks, they will not appease your garish American appetite for violence, than you are most certifiably wrong, you villainous warmonger. In one story from “Mouse Guard: Legend of the Guard,” the wife and young son of two knights must watch as their respective champions stab the crap out of each other, knowing their opponent must die if they themselves are to survive. Another chapter tells of a young lady mouse who watches her fiancée die at the hands of an evil king, and must take up his weapon and blood-drenched armor to avenge the murder. If these mice ever sing, it is not on the shoulder of a cartoon princess.
So if you feel ill at the sight of another Gandalf clone with names like Aoyemandyer, or fantasy series where someone turns out to be the descendant/reincarnation/long-lost cousin of a Greek/Norse/Egyptian god, soothe your rankled soul and read “Mouse Guard.” Because watching a mouse stab a bear in the face is both hilarious, and cool to see.
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