The phantom hides in the pantry, waiting for the child to awake. Always in the pantry. Always behind the cookies. The child, bleary-eyed and delirious with dream-dust, makes his way into the snack cabinet. His belly, constantly satiated by parents who know not of discipline, grumbles. Obeying, the child opens the cupboard door and reaches in to retrieve the chocolate-chip delights.

SNATCH!

Snack time.
For the phantom.

–-

Welcome, my babies, to the Monday Morning Commute. This is the place where we detail our agendas for the upcoming week. Avoid the drudgery of existence. Beat boredom into a pulp. Repel the Snack-Phantom. Let’s fuggin’ do this.

–-

Listening / A Jolly Christmas from Frank Sinatra

In case you haven’t noticed the fleet of minivans parked at the mall indefinitely or the neighbors who think their front lawns are reasonable facsimiles of Times Square, let me clue you in: it’s Christmas time. Or holiday time. Or whatever. From my completely secular standpoint, I kind of wish we could all give up the bogus religious connotations of the Winter Solstice Festivals and agree on something new. One holiday to rule the all.

Anyways, I use a few different activities to get into the holiday spirit. Spending time with friends. Pounding eggnog by the liter. And most importantly, listening to seasonal music. Over the years I’ve run the gauntlet when it comes to Christmas tunes, from Jimmy Buffet to Savatage. Hell, if you don’t give yourself a chance to try the kookier coldcuts from the Christmas music antipasto, you’re really doing yourself a disservice.

This year, however, I’m going the route of the traditionalist. I took it upon myself to download a vinyl rip of A Jolly Christmas from Frank Sinatra.

Holy Jesus-Birth, Santa, a digital transmission of a piece of plastic that was listened to by someone fifty-three years ago?!?! Somebody with hopes and dreams and a consciousness that has probably since faded back into the Universal Collective?!?

Yes, I even try to make my holiday activities about temporality-defiance.

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Welcome aboard Omega-Level — the world’s most feared nerdcore pirate ship! We’re currently raiding the Pop Culture Seas! To stomach these turbulent waters, it’s advisable to consume caffeine and discuss the nonsense that your coworkers/family members/probation officers just don’t get. That’s why we’re here.

ALL HANDS ON DECK! Announcements are underway!

PATRICK COOPER
Astute passengers of Omega-Level have no doubt noticed that there is a third contributor amongst our ranks. Who is this enigmatic fellow? Well, if the Brothers Omega are the co-captains of the vessel, Mr. Cooper is the official first mate. In addition to posting whatever the hell he wants (we scoff in the face of structure), Patrick is gracing us with two weekly features: Cage Match and Omega Sinema.

Unless you’re a total lamebrain, you are going to love him.

RENDAR FRANKENSTEIN
Just in case you’re wondering, I’m not new to OL. I am, in fact, the man/creature/invention formerly known as P-Bones Krueger. Why am I now R. Frankenstein? Is this new moniker actually necessary? Isn’t it ridiculous that I have assumed yet another identity?

I don’t know. Maybe I’ll ask Superman…or Clark Kent…or Kal-El.

Ha, that’s a twist to the secret identity trope that even Bill missed.

THE HOLIDAYS
Don’t worry about OL closing up shop during the holiday season. We believe that everyone should celebrate the holidays any way they see fit. For us, it means hanging with friends, eating too much food, and discussing the malarkey (as always). So if you’re feeling slightly subversive, feel free to stop by and revel!

At the top of my holiday to-do list: watch Black Santa’s Revenge:

[images & words is the comic book pick-of-the-week at OL. equal parts review and diatribe, the post highlights the most memorable/infuriating/entertaining book released that wednesday]

When I started reading comics in the early 1990s, I was diehard fan of the X-Men. Was it because of the riveting dichotomy of Charles Xavier and Magneto, analogues for the contrasting perspectives of civil rights activists Martin Luther King, Jr. and Malcolm X? Or was it the fact that the mutants of the Marvel Universe represented the repressed others of society, forced to live under conditions not dissimilar to our own rampant homophobia? Or could it be the introduction of new characters like Gambit?

Fugg that noise, bub. I loved the X-Men because of Wolverine.

Even as a four-year in ratty sweatpants and a mustard-stained B.U.M. shirt, I understood the wonder of Weapon X. He’s a mysterious, beer-guzzlin’ Canadian who beats ass as he sees fit but secretly has a heart of gold. His costume is bright yellow and blue, with some seriously sick earflaps. And if you ever need someone to clear out a room of bad-guys, just cheese him off enough and let him do his thing.

Unfortunately, I feel as though Wolverine’s become a bit watered down over the last few years. In the comics world, Logan’s been given a lame-ass son and an unnecessary origin. In the larger world of pop culture, a Wolverine received a cash-grab origins flick. The truly great additions to this Canuck’s mythos have been few and far between.

But I think Wolverine: The Best There Is gives the character his just due.

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[DEFEAT. is Rendar Frankenstein’s truest attempt at fiction.   Presented in weekly episodes, the novella tells the tale of Daryl Millar – a hero who dies at the intersection of pop culture, science-fiction, war epic, and fantasy]

November 17, 1943

To My Beloved Betty,

As I write to you I sit aboard a vessel that, despite being a giant in its own right, is dwarfed by the mammoth that is the Pacific. If it weren’t starting to turn crimson with the blood of good, honest (and not so honest) men, I’d swear this ocean is the embodiment of God himself.

All of the supposed comforts provided by this battleship are revealed as mere feats of human ingenuity – designs of imperfect and selfish beings – when one understands the magnificence of its supporting body of water. I spend a lot of time on deck, staring out into its vastness, wondering how it is that I’ve ever managed to feel important.

The ocean is natural and timeless. Humanity’s current path seems to be anything but.

However, when I think of you and the love you’ve given me I can’t help but remember why it is that I continue. In the long term, I truly believe that we — people, human beings, civilization — will be but a flash in the pan. With that being said, there’s no reason to settle for less during our moment.

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Those two fiendish goblins Boredom and Apathy are running amok, hoping to infiltrate the brain-bone of any unsuspecting humanoid. In the current system, the one that drags us down and demands we work far too long for far too little of a reward, they are highly successful. After all, Bordeom and Apathy sit outside of offices and follow workers home, striking just as TV-dinners are microwaved. But there is a refuge, a small oasis in the desert of the modern condition. And you know what?

You’ve arrived.

Welcome, my babies, to the Monday Morning Commute. This is the place where we share our ideas about the upcoming week. Here, we stave off malaise and depression and lack of enthusiasm! Join me!

–-

Mourning / Irvin Kershner

Irvin Kerschner is dead. You know what that means, don’t you? That’s right, the last director to helm an amazing Star Wars flick is no longer a passenger on Spaceship Earth. The Empire Strikes Back isn’t just a credible sequel or a fantastic piece of science fiction, it’s one of the most affective stories I’ve ever experienced.

What makes the movie magical isn’t the mind-blowing special effects or the incredible battles – although they are appreciated – it’s the abundance of relatable elements of humanity. Friends are torn apart. Lovers seek passionate infernos, only to have complications extinguish the embers. An individual pushes himself to the limits of his capabilities, only to undermine his progress by leaving early. Hell, there’s even a suave black dude with a cape.

I have no doubt in my mind that without Irvin Kershner, The Empire Strikes Back would not be the masterpiece we know it as today. Hopefully he’s chilling in Heaven blue-ghost style, chatting it up with Richard Marquand. Hell, maybe they’ll even take it upon themselves to haunt Lucas on Christmas Eve, showing him the error of his ways.

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It’s being reported that Leslie Nielsen has died after a brief bout of pneumonia. As a child of the early 1990s, I’ll always remember Nielsen as Lieutenant Frank Drebin of the Naked Gun franchise. However, Leslie’s filmography extends far beyond those three masterpieces and he should be praised for producing an entire body of work – most of which was geared towards slapstick-abuse and crafty-wordplay.

If God lets Canadians into heaven, I have a feeling that Mr. Nielsen might be chilling with Chris Farley and Patrick Swayze.

[images & words is the comic book pick-of-the-week at OL. equal parts review and diatribe, the post highlights the most memorable/infuriating/entertaining book released that wednesday]

It’s Wednesday! And today is an especially wonderful Wednesday as it is the day before Thanksgiving! In an effort to prepare for our annual harvest festival of reprehensible origins, many of us have been given a half-day of work. Numbered among these fortunate folks, I have made the best use possible of my newfound free time: reading comics.

So what’s this week’s best release, the single issue that entertained and thrilled and intrigued more than any other? This honor belongs to THOR: The Mighty Avenger #6. If you’ve been following this series, you’re probably not surprised. In its short run, THOR: The Mighty Avenger has established itself as an incredibly well-rounded rounded book, providing humor and action and visuals that maintain a universal appeal. If I had to guess, I would say that this series will not only rack up a ton of Eisners but secure a dedicated readership for many moons.

What’s that? Oh. Well. Goddamn.

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[DEFEAT. is Rendar Frankenstein’s truest attempt at fiction.   Presented in weekly episodes, the novella tells the tale of Daryl Millar – a hero who dies at the intersection of pop culture, science-fiction, war epic, and fantasy]

At just about the same time that the battered son of Lieutenant Larry Buckley was regaining consciousness and Daryl Millar was returning home with the most important gift of his entire short life, 8-Bit was shooting ducks out of the sky.

In his darkened basement.

With a plastic gun.

That was hooked up to his Nintendo Entertainment System.

The game was Duck Hunt and without it 8-Bit would have had absolutely no idea what it means to exert control over another living being. The simulation allowed him to feel a sense of power, twirling the Light Gun on his finger like Eastwood in A Fistful of Dollars and blasting pixilated ducks out of the televised sky. Being shrugged off by almost everyone in his life, 8-Bit relied on Nintendo’s processing power to help convince him that there were instances in which he was empowered.

He was the big-bad-man with the motherfucking gun.

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Hello there, my name is Rendar Frankenstein and I am a real science fictional being. Living in the year 2010, I am endowed with a number of futuristic powers, including instantaneous global communication, access to digital television, and the ability to ward off disease with a pill. I have a portable computer and after I consume enough caffeine it extracts stories from me.

I feel sorry for the chronically nostalgic.

Monday Morning Commute.   With the workweek rearing its ugly head, we all need movies, books, music, comics and other distractions to stay strong. On Mondays I’m going to tell you about the various ways I’ll be spending my time in the upcoming week. Give my list a glance, then tell me what you’re using to curb the 9-5 blues.

–-

Listening / My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy
I have had a real up-and-down relationship with Kanye West. On the one hand, his first three efforts (The College Dropout, Late Registration, and Graduation) are three of my all-time favorite albums. But 2008’s 808s and Heartbreak was a truly depressing collection, as it not only demonstrated the fickle nature of inspiration but the public’s mindset of putting the cart before the horse. Then, of course, there is the fact that Mr. West has serious mental problems and is an arrogant bastard.

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The line art for ELECTRIC ANT, an adaptation of the PK Dick short story of the same name. EA is published by Marvel Comics and scripted by David Mack. This was one of those simple drawings– it literally took about three hours from start to finish. They’re not always this easy. I love drawing animals.

[pulphope/blogspot]