My sickness is growing. After seeing Iron Man 2 today, I came across this Double-Gulp cup at 7-Eleven. Yeah, I came across it. There’s a pun in there.

Scarlett Johansson tucked into form-fitting skirts and pleather for two hours almost broke me. She gives my erection an erection.

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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The cover for this month’s Game Informer is out, and it proves one thing: chicks can be jacked freaks of nature too! Go post-apocalyptic equality! I’ve made my feelings on the Unreal Engine abundantly clear.

Multiple times. But I love it.

I can’t wait for Gears of War 3. It’s going to make my balls hurt with testosterone, and apparently estrogen fury.

It’s fucking 10:40 on a Thursday night. And I’m feeling relieved for the first time this week? Why? I’ll tell you why. Because I just finished outlining the second half of my first of two final papers this semester. What a sad fucking state I’m in, no?

I actually don’t mind it. It’s just amazing, I’ll put my head down to outline something, and the next thing I know, there’s a wasteland of pens and soda cans and novels strewn about.

It’s this madness that is responsible for a lack of updates lately from me on the most Omega of Levels. Classes finish next week, the first paper (which I have gleefully half-written, completely outlined) is due a week from tomorrow. And then I have until the 20th to churn out the last paper.

It’s cool.

Right?

Sure!

[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.

Ohhh shit! How do you feel about the LOST finale getting another half an hour? I feel fucking fantastic!

via slashfilm:

Tonight it was revealed that ABC has agreed to extend Lost’s series finale by an extra half hour. The final episode will air on Sunday, May 23rd 2010, from 9:00pm to 11:30pm. The overrun will push back the local news, and the previously announced “Jimmy Kimmel Live: Aloha to Lost” post-finale special will now air at 12:05 a.m. ABC will also be airing a two-hour retrospective on the series titled “Lost: The Final Journey” before the finale.

I’ve accused the LOST writers of dragging their feet this season. And yet, I’m happy they’ve been granted this extra half an hour to tell their story. Sure maybe they fucked up, wasted too many episodes. Or maybe they’re painfully deliberate and I don’t enjoy it. What I do know is that I’m glad they’re being given this extra time to tell the story they want to.

Also —-

I can’t believe this shit is really over soon. Sad face. Tears in eyes.

A couple of people have mentioned that I didn’t talk about Lapidus in this week’s LOST recap. It’s honestly my bad. When you’re shitting out 1,400 words, sometimes you get a little LOST in the woods. LAWL.

Seriously though, he’s the fucking man. And forget Sayid’s death, if Lapidus died last night, the dude was done a serious disservice. One moment he’s kicking ass, the next moment he’s getting blasted with a door and then there’s no mention of him. He’s a sexy old bastard, and I while I liked him most with shit-stains on his wife-beater, I appreciated his skeevy 1970’s flight attendant look just as much.

If you think Lapidus can’t survive a sinking ship, you’re short-changing him! He’s alive. Probably straight chillin’ in the Foot. Mackin’ on mackerel.

[via slashfilm]

Oh shit! And away, we, go! You know that shit means fucking business on a show when they kill off like thirty-percent of the main cast in one episode. They call it “Last Season-itis”, and it’s typically something I enjoy. There are certain restrictions relaxed for mainstream television during a final season. You can do all sorts of bonkers crazy shit like kill people, or uh, introduce Flash-Sideways, or have Billy Adama puke all over himself in a gutter. Maybe that’s what is so exciting about the final season of LOST, or any other television show: you have no idea what the fuck they’ll do.

At all!

Sure, you can say that every show should do whatever they want whenever they want, but c’mon! Let’s be practical.

Okay, I’m not going to stunt. The death of Jin and Sun got me a little emotional. I was transfixed, yo! My friend Tommy was staring at me as I watched the scene, because apparently I was making retarded faces and had bulging eyes. I can’t help it, I’m a romantic, yo!

Even though I don’t care about the two characters: it got to me.

Even though it was overwrought: it got to me.

Even though once they started speaking the dialogue was terrible as usual: it got to me.

I think it resonated on a certain level because I felt the dilemma of watching the person you love the most in the world drown to death. Like, what do you do when you’re watching your husband or wife drown to death? Can you leave them? Would you leave them?!

Who fucking knows!

Man, it sort of bummed me out. After the episode I was sitting there with Tommy and his Better Half and I was like “OH man! What the fuck would you do! I mean, I know that they had a kid, and it was probably smart for Jin to have left, but can you leave your drowning wife?! Can you! Can you?! I mean, I don’t know what I would do!”

I really don’t.

So it worked. Fuck you LOST writers, you got to me. All I wanted to do after the episode was go over my girlfriend’s house, and creepily whisper in her ear as she slept “never put yourself in the position to drown to death as I watch.”

I wonder what sort of dreams that would give her.

Anyways.

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