Yes, that’s Sam Rockwell as a thug in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I would rank the performance as his third best of all time, falling behind the first-place Moon and the second-place Iron Man 2.

Seriously though, Rockwell is one of the most underappreciated actors currently working. Hopefully Iron Man 2 brings him some cash. Maybe we could pass around a collection plate?

Summer is on the way and I couldn’t be happier.

There was once a time in which I didn’t care for the summer. I grew up as a fat kid and the heat of the summer drove me insane. And rightfully so. If you’re within reasonable shape and want to know what it’s like to be husky in the summer, just imagine wearing a sweat shirt and jacket during a ninety degree day. Also, you are unable to get cool because you refuse to drink anything besides OK Soda.

Yeah, the summer of `94 turned even the most urbane of fat kids into sweaty messes.

But luckily, I’m now a scrawny weakling that teaches high school. What fucking reason would I have to dislike summer? Is it the fact that I don’t have to work? Could it be that I finally don’t have to worry about my joke-of-a-disease? Or is it the prospect of grilling burgers and drinking beers on a regular basis?

Clearly, I’m a fan of summer-summer-summertime.

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[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]

Spoilers Ahead. Forreal.

I truly, genuinely and eagerly love comic books. Not just the tales of heroism and superpowered romps against villainy, but the medium itself. I find it inspiring that such a simple means of communication can convey fantastic ideas. Take some pictures, add some text if you feel up to it, stir it around in a bubbling creativity-churn and then you end up with whatever it was your brain was trying to squeeze out.

With nothing more than images and words an individual can do anything.

And this is exactly how I felt as I read the “Waterbreather” — the fourth issue of DEMO.

But let’s step back for a second. What exactly is DEMO? Well, originally it was an independently released twelve-issue miniseries by writer Brian Wood and artist Becky Cloonan. Each of these issues is a self-contained story, sometimes focusing on the supernatural but always highlighting the personal lives of young people. The series was a success, garnering a ton of critical acclaim (and therefore, commercial options) for both creators.

Six years later, DEMO has returned for its second volume; this time around, it’s a six-issue miniseries put out by Vertigo. Despite being published by a major imprint, the premise is essentially the same — each issue is a quirky, character-driven tale and is accompanied by notes, sketches, and commentaries by both Wood and Cloonan. It’s a sick format through and through, as the reader is treated to not only a great story but also some insight into what the creative mindsets were as it was being crafted. Maybe it’s the aspiring writer in me, but I love to read about what music creators were listening to or what personal trials they were dealing with while trying to maintain imaginative productivity.

This is only the second comic (the first being Doktor Sleepless) I have read in which the “Backmatter” is less about promoting the next issue and more about giving an authentic behind the scenes feature. As a result, the very structure of DEMO qualifies it as a praiseworthy book.

Luckily, DEMO also presents incredibly strong stories which use unique circumstances as vehicles for presenting relatable sentiments. “Waterbreather” tells the story of Colin, a down-on-his-luck preteen who has the misfortune of spending a summer vacation at a ramshackle campground. Terrorized by a pack of redneck/townie bullies, Colin is eventually beaten up and tossed into the lake. However, minutes go by and the victim never surfaces, which of course causes the bullies to freak out with the thought that they are now murderers.

What they don’t know is that Colin (as he is just learning himself) can breathe underwater. In fact, after finally resurfacing the youth feels as though inhaling air is now lackluster. He narrates,

And breathing air again felt thin and insubstantial. Like wasn’t getting…enough.

That feeling would stick with me.

The reader spends the remainder of “Waterbreather” with Colin as he explores the possibilities provided by his newfound skill. In the process, some weighty questions are dealt with. What happens when an individual uses an inherent ability for personal gain? Does being above average make it difficult to live amongst the humdrum? Is hindsight always 20/20 or will we always be presented with questions that have no answers?

And as well-crafted of a script as Woods presents, it really succeeds because of Cloonan’s dynamic art. At some points the artist fearlessly conquers every square inch of the page, filling in minute details wherever a blank space hopes to prevail. On the other hand, some of the most poignant panels of “Waterbreather” feature a single image that is bathed in a sea of negative space; this approach is especially effective as the artist limits herself to black-and-white.

Thinking on it now, I suppose the best phrase I can think of to describe Becky Cloonan’s visuals is applied appropriately. Every image that is laid onto the page has a proper place, as though it is a piece of a puzzle and nothing else would fit in that spot. Often, these puzzle-pieces are rather simple, allowing for the momentum of the plot to push the reader through the narrative. However, there are also many moments in which busy illustrations are necessary, such as a swirling underwater scene in which panic is the primary sensation. Every emotion is perfectly represented, and as a result the reader cannot help but become enthralled.

“Waterbreather” is a twenty-four page collection that introduces a character, makes us care about him, and then resolves his story. Clearly, Wood and Cloonan are a pair comfortable collaborating with one another, as both the story and its presentation are executed with a flourish of which dysfunctional couples are incapable. It is comics like this fourth issue of DEMO that should put on the pedestal, placed in plain view, and presented as evidence of the medium’s true value.

Because comics can help us do anything. Even breathe underwater.

[Suggested pairing: Thrice — Alchemy Index Volume II]

Hey, remember the Micro Machines Man? Yeah, me too. Question, though: Why the fuck did he feel the need talk so goddamn fast? I’m fairly certain he could’ve calmly said, “Hey, these are miniature cars and planes and boats,” and I would’ve still been interested.

Just a thought.

Just in case you forgot, Marty Friedman is *really* good at guitar.

Watch him unleash Street Demon on a Japanese crowd:

I’m back to drinking beer. And it is fucking glorious. For weeks I was plagued by a mysterious illness that forced me into spitting out beer and drinking whack substitutions. It was one of the toughest times of I’ve ever faced, as I was essentially forfeiting one of my favorite life-activities so that I wouldn’t die.

Worth the sacrifice? Yes. Am I glad it’s over? Double fuck-yes.

So this is the Friday Brew Review, once again at maximum operation status and ready to party. For this return to form, I threw out my usual self-imposed rules and regulations and instead decided to purchase whatever beer seemed most genuinely appealing. As I walked into the liquor store, I made no consideration about the brewery, style, brand, price or volume. The bottom line, the only important question I asked myself was, “Which damn brew most deserves a spot in Studio Apartment Krueger-Gut?”

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[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]

Spoilers Ahead. Forreal.

Holy shit. I really am a goddamn fanboy.

This is the realization I came to when doing the prep-work for this week’s Images & Words (see: reading comic books). While I believe in the power of comics as a medium first and foremost, I can’t help but willingly belly-flop into some of its pitfalls. Dudes with capes battling nefarious evil-doers. Womenfolk with impossible boobs and butts. Over-the-top splash pages. It’s all so damn glorious.

And the reigning king, the master of the dominion that is Nerd Manor, is Mark Millar. And that’s why we’ve written about him once or twice at OL. The man knows how to take the time-tested characters and put just enough spin on them to make them interesting again while retaining those properties we fell in love with in the first place. In short, Millar rules.

So I really shouldn’t feel bad about awarding yet another Millar book a spot on Images & Words. I shouldn’t. Seriously. But when I concluded that the pick of the week would be Ultimate Avengers 2 #1 I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had just given a Mark Millar comic the weekly feature…oh wait a second…I did…just last week.

Fuck it, this is my post and I make the damn rules. I am the arbiter of the OMEGA-COMIX-ZONE! I rule with a turkey drumstick in one hand and a paneled page in the other! Fear my lack of hygiene! Admire my useless knowledge! Now, step off my Nikes, you’re going to smudge them you prick!

*Ahem* Sorry. It’s been a long day.

Anyways, this introductory issue of Ultimate Avengers 2 shakes the narrative ropes like the Ultimate Warrior. The first caption reads “The Punisher gets busy” and is followed by eight pages wholly dedicated to various murders committed by Frank Castle. While most Marvel readers know that the Punisher’s methods often border on pure sadistic savagery, this first third of the comic takes the uninitiated and throws them into the deep-end without any floaties. “Swim kid, swim for your life!”

Millar’s Punisher is a man whose heart has truly been blackened and swept away by the wind. Without remorse, he guns down not only the targeted criminals but also anyone unfortunate enough to be (even loosely) affiliated with them. It’s unadulterated brutality.

In one instance we see Castle shoot a potentially innocent man. Hoping to be spared, the man pleads, “…I have two young sons. I do not even know these people. I am just their driver, man.” In another scene, the Punisher is reminded that one of his most recent targets, though a criminal, was still only in high school. For all intents and purposes, this is an exaggerated, hyperbolic version of the character. Which is interesting, because his status as a hero (or, I suppose, anti-hero) has to be called into question.

Of course, there’s a sting operation and right when Frank Castle thinks he’s going to nab some Russian mobster, Captain America pops out and fucks his shit up. Ah, good `ole Stevie Rogers, always willing to arrest people convicted of murdering “over two hundred people.” Once in custody, Castle is informed by Nick Fury and Black Widow that the only way he can stay off of Death Row is to lead a black ops team tasked with doing the dirty work that Captain America and his buddies aren’t willing to deal with.

Right now, I’m not 100% sure how I feel about this whole bad boy working for the good guys plot. If it turns into nothing more than Frank Castle and Steve Rogers punching each other out in the name of conflicting ideologies, I fear I’ll be a bit disappointed. But if we get to see these two heroes look past their differences for the sake of beating villainous ass, well then I’m all in. Either way, the first issue of Ultimate Avengers 2 instills enough faith to remain optimistic and so I plan on doing so. Remaining. Optimistic, that is.

Thus far, the true beauty of Ultimate Avengers 2 is found in its art. Leinil Francis Yu rocks a pencil with a precision and detail that would make surgeons weep. When Frank Castle brains someone, blood is expelled not in a single horror-movie stream, but with miniscule droplets and tiny rivulets streaming all about. When a body is flung into a car window, it really seems as though millions of shards of glass are going to fly off of the page. Hell, he even makes a black eye fold over with multiple creases the way they actually do.

Another thing I love about Yu’s pencils (and an open source of debate between Caffeine Powered and me) is that not all of the lines are cleaned up or erased. In fact, a lot of them remain and are inked right over. I love this shit. I think it hits the reader’s subconscious, reminding him that what is being experienced is a fucking comic book. Not a photograph. But a comic book, a series of real drawings that were crafted by an artist.

Again, I’m not sure where Ultimate Avengers 2 is going. It has the potential to be campier and more ridiculous than its predecessor, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. But so far, the big violent roller-coaster of a sequel has come out of the gate and ascended the first peak. Arms up, motherfuckers.

I used to work in a run-down mom & pop video store. Without any real customers, I had more than enough free time to watch some really awesome shitty movies. One of my favorites was MVP 2 – Most Vertical Primate. The premise is pretty simple; in the first MVP the monkey was really good at hockey but now he’s good at skateboarding. It’s amazing. I mean think about it, it’s a fucking monkey on a goddamn skateboard! What’s not to love?

I tried to find the trailer and was successful…but it’s in German (I think). In a way, I think watching this movie in another language (and high) would only make it better. Which, I had previously thought was impossible.

I had heard about this project some time ago, but it looks like it’s finally going to see the light of day. Mike Patton’s Mondo Cane (due out May 4th) is an Italian language release, in which the singer is backed up by a forty-piece orchestra. Just when ya think the dude can’t do anything crazier, he goes and proves ya wrong!

Check out a live rendition of Il Cielo in Una Stanza:

I love beer.

There is something about the experience of drinking a beer that is quite unlike anything else I’ve experienced on this planet. A beer is cool, carbonated, slightly bitter and yet still palatable. It raises spirits in a way that other beverages just can’t. I’m no stranger to caffeine-binges, but there’s no way that those drinks outclass beer. They just don’t. Non-negotiable.

And, of course, beer should be praised for its alcoholic properties. There’s nothing wrong with catching a bit of a buzz after drinking a few beers; as long as you’re not an asshole about it, that is. No one likes a belligerent drunk and no one wants to be around someone who’s a threat to their safety, but there’s nothing wrong with sitting on a couch and riding out a buzz.

With that being said, drunkenness is the last thing on my mind when I crack open a beer. If I happen to become a bit inebriated, great! If not, that’s fine too! The bottom line is that my love for beer is deeper than its ability to alter my perceptions. Again, at the risk of redundancy, it is the beer experience that I enjoy. The taste itself, the camaraderie generated from sharing a beer with a friend, the process of picking out a brew — these are things that make this class of beverage so damn worthwhile.

So it is with this sense of multi-pronged appreciation that I approach this edition of the Friday Brew Review. Truthfully, I’m finally getting over what was undoubtedly the worst illness I’ve had in years, perhaps ever. And although I’ve made no qualms about drinking while sick in the past, I don’t want to curb my recovery. Ain’t no way they’re sending me back to the clink!

This week, I’m sipping on O’Doul’s Amber.

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