Holy smokes.

Boston Comic Con 2013 turned out to be a couple of wonderful, wild, days. In the course of slingin’ t-shirts, debatin’ the message of said shirts, and snappin’ photos with cosplayers, the crew of Spaceship OL had an absolute blast. We got to meet up with some of the ever-faithful OL readers, we met Rich from Toucher and Rich, and at one point our very own Riff Simian started playin’ a goddamn guitar at the booth. Yowza!

I’m sure that in the days to come we’ll have some sort of BCC`13 recap that highlights some of the insanity that we just survived. It’d be lame of us not to give you such an insight. But right now, we have to get through the Monday Morning Commute!

That’s right, the weekend’s officially over and now it’s back to the tasks that put paper in our pockets. But as always, we have the MMC – the spot specifically set aside for sharin’ the strategies that’ll get us into the next weekend! Are you going to watch all of the Friday the 13th movies this week? Or is this finally the moment that you record your acoustic concept album about time-traveling so that you can save a young Michael Jackson from insanity? Oh, I know! Are you going to homebrew some beer and then drink it too early and then swear at the cat?!

How’re you planning to murder ennui?

I’ll get us started, but then hit up the comments section!

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HEY GUYS. CAFF HERE. I WASN’T SUPPOSED TO DO AN OPINIONS VARY THIS WEEK. HOWEVER, EDUARDO PLUTO STUBBED HIS FUCKING TOE AND NOW HE’S IN THE ER. I DON’T WANT TO SPEAK TOO SOON, BUT THEY’RE TALKING AMPUTATION. LISTEN. I WASN’T ANTICIPATING WRITING ANYTHING TODAY. THE FIRST THURSDAY OF EVERY MONTH IS THE SWEAT LODGE FOR ME. I BUMP A BUNCH OF DIET PILLS DOWN WITH THIRTEEN DIET MOUNTAIN DEWS, THEN I COMMUNE WITH NATURE. AND THE OMNIVERSE. AND THE SPIRIT-LORDS. NEEDLESS TO SAY I’M TWEAKING A BIT AT THE MOMENT.

ANYWAYS.

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There’s no denyin’ that some creators are only interested in treadin’ water.

Once a successful formula has been stumbled upon – whether it’s a character arc, chord progression, or secret ingredient – it’s relied upon indefinitely. To some minds, there’s simply nothing wrong with rehashin’ the same material over and over and over again. In fact, some creators suggest that to stray too far from the tried and true is to do a great disservice, that the fans’re expectin’ something that resembles the work with which they originally fell in love.

These sorts of creative types grow like weeds in the comic book community. Think of how many careers have been made on the backs of characters created in previous decades. Again, some culpability may rest in the readership, which devours comics more for its comfort-food properties than its potential for innovation. But at the root of this issue is that there’s no shortage of creators who only want to relive past glories.

Fortunately, there’s always Warren Ellis.

Warren Ellis has the reputation of being a mind-pilot who of self-navigates the course of his own career. In addition to penning some of the most aspirational pieces in the comics medium (Planetary is just one example) and presaging scientific innovation (Spider Jerusalem was rockin’ Google Glass back in `97), Ellis has always made a point to explore other media forms. Most notably, Ellis has followed paths that have led to essays, novels, and television projects.

With this week’s release of Dead Pig Collector, Warren Ellis has given zero fucks unrelated to forward-thinking.

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I’m a liar.  A dirty, rotten scoundrel!  A nerf-herder of the highest proportion.  To find out why, hit the jump and let’s talk this week’s funnybooks!

“What the hell is Señor Hotsauce on about this week?” is the question pursed on everyone’s lips.  Or, it should be.

Simple.

I’ve been seeing my “ex” behind OL’s back.  In fact, I never left my ex.  I know I told you guys we could come here and talk comics in lieu of  going mobile and hitting up your local comic shop, but I just couldn’t stay away.  I love my comic shop, but I dig you guys, too!   So, if you’ll still have me, I’m gonna try and spread that love (and opinions on my favorite books this week) at both joints, and I urge you to do the same!  Sally-fucking-forth, comic nerds!

In fact, do me a favor and give a shout out to your LCS.  They deserve the attention.  Comic Book University in Greenwood, IN is where I hang my pull list.  Good folks who keep the new releases well stocked and the snark to a loving 11.  (Also:  ComiXology has a “virtual store” for participating joints, so that they, too, can get in on the digital-age action.  So make sure you ask your LCS if they’re involved.  It sends some coin their way and is at no additional cost to you, the consumer.)

Enough with the handjobbery!  What’s poppin’ off today?

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Now that Patrick Bateman and Rendar Frankenstein have returned from squatchin’ in the Great White North, the Three Omega Idiots decide to tackle the San Diego Comic Convention Thing. Plus! Taking gnarly dumps, maybe two functioning microphones, how much better Thor is than The Flash, and cheap plugs of shitty t-shirts.

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Fred was certain that everything’d gone according to plan.

Sure, it was only the third time he’d been called upon to complete the procedure. But why should he worry? It was the first thing they’d taught him at the Neural Corps Academy, a matter of routine that even those struggling with the coursework could exact if necessary. And he wasn’t no goddamn wash-out, he was quick to remind himself while taking a deep whiff of the checkered material.

He was Fred DeCoup. First, a child prodigy. Then, the star student-cum-valedictorian. And at twenty-two, the youngest cadet awarded the position of Reprogrammer General .

Needless to say, Fred was more than a bit startled when the subject woke up screaming. Typically, subjects’ reentries into consciousness are marked by outward expressions of tranquility, sometimes even gratitude. But when XT-203 came to, he was writhing with hatred and spitting vitriol.

“You piece of shit! You raped me! I remember everything! Release these clamps so I can tear out your throat!”

Fred DeCoup dropped XT-203’s boxer shorts from under his nose. He froze. He knew that everything hadn’t gone according to plan, that he’d made an error of the most egregious sort.

In his perverted ecstasy, Fred had forgotten the most important rule: always run a mind-wipe.

—-

Welcome to the Monday Morning Commute! This is the weekly call-to-arms for all aboard Spaceship OL — crew and passengers alike — to discuss the various ways we’ll combat the Boredom Bastards! Rumor has that a few of these fun-suckers’ve been spotted in the very sector we’re headed towards this week, so we need to make sure that everyone’s armed and ready to face `em!

Murder your familial responsibility with movies. Crush your manager’s halitosis with comics. Piledrive your self-doubt with pizza.

I’ll get us started, but you hafta join me in the comments section.

Let’s do this!

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[Caff note: Pacific Rim spoilers in here.]

I. Preamble

One of the neat things about such a small, tight-knit community is that narratives can begin to grasp hold. Throughout this very summer, the lot of us have discussed the latest crop of Whiz-Bang Hollywood Fecaltainment. As the movies have arrived, we have all received them in a variety of manners.

More than anything, I think I could be typified as generally disappointed by this latest crop. As movie after movie has been released I have been somewhat entertained. But for the most part, I have found them to be ephemeral, forgettable piles of crap.

Butting heads with even my own brother who (whom?) I typically see eye-to-eye with, I began to ask myself why I’ve been so disappointed. I figured I’d use this Opinions Vary to articulate my feelings. Namely, that this summer’s blockbusters have been bereft of Goosebump Moments, and that I don’t (and shouldn’t) accept middling efforts when this very genre is capable of capstone experiences and inspirational wankery.

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Another Monday. Another Morning Commute. I ain’t complaining. I’m still sucking wind on the Big Blue Marble. For the moment. And for the moment it is still Big, and Blue. So while I’m here, let me lead the communion. This is the wonderful column where we share the various arts, farts, liquors, variety of cracker, and other nonsenses that are entertaining us in a given week.

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Here it is! The second Transmission from the Omega-Level has arrived. What lies within the rotting halls of this second podcast? Rendar. You wanted him, well now you got him. So much Rendar that you’ll never want more Rendar. And then you’ll find yourself missing his musk. Apologies for the shortness of the podcast, we cut one quickly off the cuff before Bateman and Rendar left for the Great North. They’re now among the Maple Syrup Bears, throwing hockey pucks at one another or some shit.

We will be back soon.

Until then, steel yourself.

Here. Or on iTunes.

For Rendar’s Revenge.

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Today’s Opinions Vary will touch on a subject near and dear to my heart.  I am talking about Conspiracies and Conspiracy Theories.

It’s hard to explain my relationship with conspiracy theories.  I love them.  I love listening to them, I love reading about them.  I also love poking holes in most of them as they are largely bullshit.  You see dear reader, I am a skeptic.  Pull up a chair, hit the jump, and let’s break this mother down.

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