Monday Morning Commute: Frankenstorm’s Monster

October 29th, 2012 by Rendar Frankenstein

Hello there! If you’re reading this it means that Frankenstorm hasn’t totally rocked you. Not yet, anyways. Or, if you took the proper precautions as I did, you’re safe in a bunker, leisurely tapping away on a hard-shelled laptop produced in 1995 and powered by a Soviet-surplus generator.

Mother Nature is a powerful woman of antiquity, but I’m a crafty miscreant in the digital age.

Anyways, welcome to the Monday Morning Commute, the weekly meeting at which we confess our darkest entertainment secrets. Can’t tell your boyfriend about that comic book you bought? Come to the MMC! None of your coworkers will appreciate the Japanese import you just got in the mail? Come to the MMC! Pretty sure your wife doesn’t give two buttery squirrel shits about the fact that you’re going to beat Super Mario Bros. 3 without the use of a single warp or whistle? Come to the MMC!

I’m going to get things started. But then it’s up to you to share what you’ll be doing this week. C’mon, it’s electronic show and tell!

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[Interview] Giannis Milonogiannis – New to the Hunt

October 9th, 2012 by Rendar Frankenstein

There’re few things more depressing than watching creators lose the passion by which they were once driven. We’ve all seen it happen – the old dog, worn down by years spent chasing artistic success and financial stability and personal greatness, loses its love of the hunt. Instead of drawing fowl into the hunters’ scopes, these hounds are content with gum-delivering the birds that’ve already been blasted out of the sky.

And thus, we get comics and movies and music that get the job done, but without the zeal that we crave.

On the other hand, there’s nothing more beautiful than the sight of an up-and-comer in love with the creative process. This is the young pup who’s been told he’s too small for the hunt, but is just too damn scrappy to stay with the litter. So he puffs out his chest and snarls and barks as fiercely as he can. And just as he’s about to be dismissed by the tired hounds, the pup pounces on a swan from behind and rips out its goddamn jugular.

This is the image that comes to mind when I think of Giannis Milonogiannis.

Milonogiannis is a comics creator who’s making no small work of proving his worth to the pack. After being blown away by his contributions to PROPHET, I decided to investigate the other creations of the artist with the wonderfully-multisyllabic name. I was led to Old City Blues, the “cyberpunk police adventure” set in New Athens, 2048. I quickly devoured the first volume, and then went to the OCB website to feast upon the issues available online.

Gritty noir detectives, cybernetic mechs, car chases, discussions of consciousness – I just couldn’t get enough.

Hoping to satiate my rapacity, I contacted Giannis Milonogiannis and he was kind enough to answer some questions. Hit the hyperspace jump to check out this incredible young talent’s thoughts about his work, the current state of Greek comics, the digital/print discussion, and the process of seeking inspiration.

C’mon! Let’s join the hunt!

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WEEKEND OPEN BAR: childhood memories

September 28th, 2012 by Rendar Frankenstein

[WEEKEND OPEN BAR: The one-stop ramble-about-anything weekend post at OL. Comment on the topic at hand. Tell us how drunk you are. Describe a comic you bought. This is your chance to bring the party.]

Hullo there, chums!

It’s the weekend again, and as such we all need to take some time to enjoy ourselves. Pop open bottles of beer! Blast some tunes! Squeeze some ass! Sure, we all have obligations that need attendin’ – voyages to the supermarket, respect-payings at the in-laws’, survival-games at karate class you signed up for because the lady-sensei has an incredible rack and you’re hopin’ she’ll beat the ever-livin’ shit out of you! But you have to enjoy these days, too!

`Cause what’s the point of havin’ a life if you aren’t goin’ to enjoy livin’ it?

This weekend, I want us all to take the time to think about just how wonderfully foolish we’ve been. Hell, actin’ like an idiot from time to time is a symptom of the perception-granting disease known as human existence. And it’s an important one too, `cause it enables us to learn from our mistakes. Since we’re all guilty of being momentary schmohawks, we might as well call ourselves out on it.

At best, it’ll help us become more actualized human beings. At worst, we’ll get some laughs.

To gain entrance into this weekend’s OPEN BAR, you need to share an embarrassing story from your childhood.

Did you barge into the bathroom to find your Uncle Rojo disinfecting his nether-regions? Care to retell how you asked your mom’s barren friend why she didn’t have any children? What about the time that you told your older sister’s boyfriend that he was hunkier than Hulk Hogan?

Allow me to start the tab at this OPEN BAR.

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Monday Morning Commute: moonbeam death-child

September 24th, 2012 by Rendar Frankenstein

He’d read all about Transcender’s journey to Saturn, and the havoc that was wreaked upon that that hotel. It upset his constitution to think that the System’s savior, the genetically-perfected designed to fend off nether-threats, could be derailed so easily. And by such trifles, nonetheless. Alcohol. Women. Drug-beams. All of the vices that, according to many, had done in Earth in the first place.

To the moonbeam death-child, Transcender Yonder had lost his way. Which may have been true. But as seven-year old, there ain’t no way he could understand Transcender’s appreciate of fine pussy and bourbon.

Headphones clamped on tight, the moonbeam death-child tried to tune out his negative thoughts. Rather than dwell on the various ways he’d like to torture Earth’s mightiest drunkard – testicle-electrocution, force-fed glass sandwiches, and atomic bombings at the top of the list – he made his peace with the omniverse. Heck, three songs in, the moonbeam death-child laughed at the thought that people didn’t always realize that music aligns the brainwaves to the same frequencies that neutrinos use to slip between dimensions.

How comical!

So relaxed by the music was the child that he fell into a deep slumber. So relaxed was this slumber that he didn’t notice the blanket being draped over his listless frame. And so gentle was the draping that he smiled the hearty grin of the runt who’s looked after by the alpha male.

Transcender Yonder was finally home, and was glad to see that his moonbeam death-child, whether or not he’d admit it, didn’t hate him.

—-

Thanks for checking out the Monday Morning Commute! This is the spot where I ramble about the make-believe and the real-believe alike, sharing with you the various ways I’ll be entertaining myself throughout the workweek. After you peep my means of destroying ennui, hit up the comments section and share yours. C’mon, you know how it is – work sucks, life rules, let’s party until we’re dead!

Are you ready to rock?

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Omega-Level @FanExpo Toronto 2012 – A New Hope from South of the Border. Not that Border.

September 10th, 2012 by Budrickton

Summer 2012 has blown through the nerd universe with a thunderous fury, and OL rode the wave to its first major convention appearance.  We rocked FanExpo Canada in Toronto, home of yours truly, and generated some fantastic buzz on the show floor.

The essential blow-by-blow follows.  Brace yourselves.

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WEEKEND OPEN BAR: movie theater cherry-pop.

August 18th, 2012 by Rendar Frankenstein

[WEEKEND OPEN BAR: The one-stop ramble-about-anything weekend post at OL. Comment on the topic at hand. Tell us how drunk you are. Describe a comic you bought. This is your chance to bring the party.]

Ain’t any narrative experience quite like watchin’ a movie in the theater.

Some’ll tell you that it’s the communal aspect, the fact that everyone has come together for the sharing of a story. From this perspective, the big-screen is the electrically-charged descendent of the fire that our cavemen ancestors gathered `round. Stories are means of sharing ideas with one another, and film accomplishes this unlike any other medium.

Others suggest that the infatuation with the movie-theater experience has actually been rekindled by the recent advancements in home video technology. Sure, it’s easy to stay home and watch a movie on Blu-ray or Hulu or YouTube or Netflix streaming. But at home, it’s just as easy to get distracted by text messages or emails or the baby that just won’t stop crying. But at the theater, there’s no pause button — time and attention are consciously dedicated to the narrative at hand.

And still others attribute the appreciation for the cinema to the fulfillment of a deeply-rooted psychological desire. These folks, who read Freud and Lacan and textbooks that I’ll never understand, draw parallels between wombs and movie theaters — dark, comfortable, and designed for the unilateral providing of sustenance (life-giving and consciousness-altering, respectively). According to psychoanalysis, theaters are uniquely affective.

I won’t try to figure out why, but I know for sure that goin’ to the movies has been the basis for some of the most memorable experiences of my life.

Feel free to twist it, rephrase it, or ignore it, but here’s the jumping-off point for our discussion: What is the first movie you remember seeing in the theater?

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Monday Morning Commute: Brain-Rot Glo-Screens, Synthesized Bubblegum Audio

August 13th, 2012 by Rendar Frankenstein

“Ain’t even close enough to get me where I need to go.”

Rodrigo scrutinized the cup in his hand, sighing at the fact that there weren’t even enough coins to cover the bottom. Four hours at this goddamn shuttle station, and he’d earned no more than two dollars in assorted change. Which was a shame considering the lengths to which he was going to elicit the goodwill of the ticket-wielder passengers. He’d offered up the absolute cream of his milky anecdotes, skimming off the grimiest details about the mission to Saturn that’d first dented his sanity.

Gravity-maladjustment brain-bubbles killing crew members. Robotic death camps. Radiation sickness. A three-vagina’d Siren that forced herself on him and bore a son he’d later kill with a curling iron.

But nobody believed Rodrigo.

At this point, he was a week without a shower and even further from a clean shave. His fingernails were the color of rust and his breath smelled of sushi prepared in a bathroom stall overflowing with excremental exuberance. It didn’t matter that he still wore the boots from the Saturn mission and held onto the remnants of his helmet, without his DigID Card no one’d ever believe that he was Rodrigo Graham.

To the people walking about the Deimos Interplanetary Shuttle Station, he was just another space urchin.

As such, Rodrigo begged for change and the they kept on walkin’, content to gaze into their brain-rot glo-screens for updates every nano of the second.

shuttledelays.rodrigograhammemorial. civilunrestonearth. honeydon’tforgettopickupaquartofsynthmilk. livenudesfordeadsouls. superbowlreturnstohomeplanet. brutalstormsravagevenutiancolony.

And those that glanced up long enough to see Rodrigo’s desperate lips jabbering about still couldn’t hear the pleas. How could they? They were deaf with sound, ear-chewing on the synthesized bubblegum audio that piped into their brains without reprieve.

Rodrigo Graham was a hero of a human race that’d lost its humanity.

—-

Welcome to the Monday Morning Commute! I’m going to detail some of the ways I’ll be getting excited about life during the next week. Then, you hit up the comments section and share your own strategies for defeating boredom!

Let’s do this!

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OL Store: When will then be now? Soon.

August 13th, 2012 by Rendar Frankenstein

Whoo! Do you see that? It’s Spaceship OL, and it looks like it’s gone to plaid! There can only be one reason for traveling so quickly to the OL STORE!

—-

Crack open a can of Perri-Air, pop in the newest instant-cassette, and enjoy the feeling of passing right by then. That’s right, everything that happens now is happening now. And as it happens you’re going to want to make sure to wear the sickest of all Spaceballs-themed tee shirts. Hell, I know that Lone Starr even keeps one packed in his suitcase labeled What I Need to Survive.

How do I know this? Simple – I figured out his luggage combination.

—-

Head to the OL STORE and snag one of these fine shirts!

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[Interview] Jordie Bellaire – Color Your World!

July 31st, 2012 by Rendar Frankenstein

At its core, the comic book medium can be thought of as the combining of words and images so as to produce a cohesive narrative. As such, it’s easy to understand why most comics are created not by a single individual, but by a team of creators. But even with this understanding in tow, most comic fans only acknowledge the prowess of their favorite writers, pencillers, and (occasionally) inkers.

Which is a damn shame, `cause colorists are the ones who truly bring the paneled pages to life.

In an attempt to better understand the role and responsibilities of a comics colorist, I reached out to Jordie Bellaire. As the colorist for MANHATTAN PROJECTS, HULK: SEASON ONE, and a slew of other projects, Jordie is making a name for herself as a sought-after and respected comics artist. Hit the hyperspace jump to check out her thoughts on her career thus far, the search for inspiration, and the challenges of being the last artist on a comic book’s creative assembly line.

Put away your Crayolas and come read the thoughts of a genuine talent!

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Monday Morning Commute: Transcender’s First Headache.

July 23rd, 2012 by Rendar Frankenstein

Transcender knew he was in for a world of shit.

He’d woken up from his Post-Lunar nap a bit early. Which wasn’t unusual. But rather than waiting for Larissa – the lab assistant with the big smile and bigger bust – to help him out of his pod, he crawled out on his own. Everyone on the Station knew that rule number one is that Transcender was never to be left to his own devices.

Especially after a nap.

Running a hand through his beard, Transcender gazed out the bay window and laughed to himself. “Sweet Man-Jesus, where’ve they sent me now? Is that Saturn? Oh, if Rodrigo could see this, he’d prolapse for sure!”

Had he studied the mission plans as thoroughly as he told Doc he would, Transcender would’ve known that they were far, far past Saturn.

Transcender Yonder’s attention was fully directed out the window, on the satellites and comets he’d soon be smashing to pieces, when a breeze of bitter wonder wafted into his nose. He immediately spun around, balancing best he could while his muscles readjusted to the artificial gravity, and began searching for the source of the smell. Other than his pod, all that was in the room was sterility – medical instruments, monitors, a vacuum.

And, much to Transcender’s delight, a coffee pot.

Fast as he could, the Meta-Man approached the coffee pot, threw back its lid, and poured the contents into unhinged gullet. Having never tasted coffee before, Transcender basked in the wonder of simply experiencing something new. Coffee! Aha! So this is what they drink when they wake up! A fine concoction! Chemically stimulating and socially facilitating!

But then Transcender’s hyper-sensitive neurons kicked into gear.

Larissa walked into the room just in time to see the six-foot-six ubermensch fall to his knees. He clutched at his left eye and screamed, “I have the pressure of a dying star within my skull! Sweet-mammaried  Larissa, save me! I beg of you!”

Without hesitation, Larissa picked up the phone on the wall and dialed zero. “Doc? Yeah, it’s me. Looks like he got into the coffee. Yeah, Transcender’s having his first headache.”

Already knowing the answer, Transcender Yonder looked up and asked sheepishly, “Am I in trouble?”

—-

This is the Monday Morning Commute. I’m going to run through the things I’ll be doing to entertain myself during the week. Then, you hit up the comments section and do the same. Hell, ain’t this the whole damn point of the Internet?

Let’s rock.

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