Happy 12th Birthday Nicolas!

Today is a cool day for my pseudo-nephew, I just feel silly calling him a godson given my non-religious stance. Twelve years ago he was born on Leap Day. Now many of you are going, “Feh! So what, having a birthday on February 29 isn’t such a super unique thing.” True, I’m sure we all know or have met someone who shares a plot point from The Pirates of Penzance. Nic is a more unique case because he was born on February 29, 2000 which is a Leap Day that only occurs every 400 years. Huh? It’s a little something I learned in high school Astronomy but I’m going to the explanation to Dr. Phil Plait who is own Craig Ferguson tonight!

Meanwhile, I’m awaiting to hear from his dad about what to give him.

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The Lent Special from my childhood in the Seventies

The silly, pointless tradition of Lent kicked off yesterday in the Eastern Orthodox Church (it was last week with the Roman Catholics) so we unintentionally celebrated by having dinner at MacDo’s. We didn’t go for the food. We went because I found out that MacDo’s decided to have their infamous Shamrock shakes in all of their 14,000 restaurants! It wasn’t until I moved to Texas did I realize these unhealthy treats were a regional delicacy.

How were they? Somara couldn’t finish hers and I’ll go with that as her judgment. For me, it was just as I remembered…a vanilla shake with green food coloring! Before you ask, yes the side effects kicked in the following morning.

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DC reboot part six: The Batman Family

I finally picked a good time to get off my ass to cover what is traditionally called The Batman Family. It’s debatable when the term was exactly coined, various Internet sites can’t seem to give a definitive answer and since this is my site, I’ll go with the first time I heard the term…the Seventies. Back then DC Comics published a comic that focused on Robin & Batgirl’s adventures around Washington while they were going to college. I’m probably wrong on what it was about, I was a little kid and probably more into Marvel.

The term remains popular and unique because there isn’t any Superman Family anymore (blame John Byrne) and Marvel has “families” by default through its team books, aka X-something. For Batman, the current titles under this umbrella would be Nightwing, Batwoman, Batgirl, Catwoman, Red Hood & the Outlaws, Batwing and Birds of Prey. In a couple months Batman, Inc. will be joining as it replaces one of the first six books being axed after the 52 Reboot. Out of the seven available, I chose to just buy four for various reasons I will explain below. The other three didn’t appeal to me due to the writers, the characters and/or how some key element was “re-imagined.”

Catwoman: I’m going to start off in the order of ascending quality and at the bottom is Batman’s old foe/love interest. Thanks to Frank Miller’s Batman: Year One, Catwoman continues to be stuck in the anti-hero rut. Making her an outright villain borders on impossible nowadays yet I hold out some hope there will be a clever writer who will succeed. Until that day arrives, Judd Winick has the job and he is my least favorite author at DC. Why? Winick’s run on The Outsiders sucked. All the heroes practically did was argue and hump. When Justice League (1986) focused on the inter-team bickering, DeMatties and Giffen took a humorous angle: to them the Justice League was a private club. Winick just made another version of MTV’s crappy The Real World or a superhero frat sans booze. It was no coincidence regarding my former reference; Winick starred in the reality series in the Nineties. Somehow the appearances boosted his career more undeservedly than Jenny McCarthy and Carmen Electra combined.

Obviously, I don’t care for the writer so why do I buy Catwoman? Somara expressed some initial interest and I scored it to encourage her to join me in my DC plunge. I’m awaiting her assessment before deciding if we’ll continue but Winick will always be on thin ice with me.

Right now Catwoman lacks a larger story line beyond Selina messing with various organized criminal elements of Gotham City, ripping off dirty cops and screwing Batman. Maybe DC can convince a better author to take over soon or have the courage to cancel this to make room in round three. Then Catwoman will jump to Birds of Prey to stay in the limelight.

Batgirl: Barbara Gordon returns! After 20-plus years in a wheelchair as Oracle, DC used the reboot opportunity to bring her back. Her paralysis still happened (the Joker shot her in Alan Moore’s The Killing Joke and it was made canon) but she recovered over a period of three years. My guess would be surgery and physical therapy. The downside, Batgirl sometimes worries or second-guesses herself, fearing she’ll be permanently paralyzed if she isn’t careful. This concern gets expressed by her key ally Batman.

I’m guilty of subscribing for two reasons:

  1. Batgirl has a writer I respect and applaud, Gail Simone. Not since Kim Yale has there been a female, superhero comic book author who has impressed me…since they are (unfairly) few and far between! I wish DC and Marvel would defer to women writers as often as possible with books starring female leads, otherwise, they frequently act like weird men. It’s the same reason why I don’t allow players in my D&D campaigns to be other genders; guy gamers are 100 times worse than Mark Gruenwald ever was.
  2. I developed a crush on the character through Yvonne Craig playing her TV while I was a kid (I graduated to Mrs. Peel on The Avengers). The actress played Batgirl so well, I think comic artists tend to her in the costume as their foundation.

Batgirl’s inaugural adventure is a straightforward battle to stop some villain seeking revenge on people who avoided horrible accidents/deaths while his family died in a car fire. Now Batgirl is dealing with her estranged mother coming back to Gotham City while fighting another revenge-driven killer.

It’s not Simone’s best work I will readily admit yet I think Batgirl will find her footing within the year. Besides, I’m curious about how the writer will make this character different from the other family members; Gotham has no shortage of people running around in batsuits, beating up mobsters.

Nightwing: His latest issue opened with fighting a goofy villain wearing an exo-suit (think Ripley in Aliens) in Austin! How often does the DC Universe visit my adopted home?! Never from my recollection. James Bond did in a novel and the Chuy’s in Round Rock has the excerpt posted.

Overall, the storytelling quality is on par with Batgirl so the character gets a positional boost due to my childhood bias; I was a bigger fan of Robin (Dick Grayson) than Batman and he was my favorite Mego doll (or action figure). Robin had a colorful outfit compared to my Spider-Man, Tarzan and Captain America, what wasn’t there to like!

Back to the nitty gritty concerning Nightwing…

With the reboot, Bruce Wayne is back as Batman and Dick Grayson can go back to being his own persona again. For those out of the loop, Bruce was believed to be dead and Dick wore the batsuit to keep Gotham’s criminal element scared. I guess mobsters never noticed how Batman shrank a few inches; these days Dick Grayson is 5′ 9″, Bruce is 6′ 2″ (or is he 6′ 1″?). Anyway, Nightwing has returned and he’s yet another vigilante running around GC kicking criminal ass instead of leading a team of bickering-humping aliens, cyborgs and meta-humans (see Judd Winick’s awful run of The Outsiders). This is short lived when Haly’s Circus comes to town. Dick is always happy to see his parents’ former employer and “family.” He drops by, reminisces and does some imperfect trapeze moves on purpose, gotta’ protect his secret identity. Then the circus owner Mr. Haly is murdered by Saiko, a professional assassin Nightwing tangled with earlier. Before the investigation moves any further, Dick discovers that Mr. Haly willed the circus to him much to the other performers’ consternation. Since Bruce made him independently wealthy years ago, he decides to go on tour with Haly’s circus to prove the opposition wrong. Dick thinks this will draw Saiko out too. Unfortunately, the hero has become emotionally involved with a woman he had a crush on before his parents were murdered.

Much like Batgirl, there isn’t anything happening to get excited about. It’s rather routine superhero stuff. Nightwing popping up in Austin gave it a little more mileage for me. Too bad the artist made downtown resemble San Antonio’s Riverwalk in a few panels.

Batwoman: This title has been the strongest of the quartet in terms of storytelling and artwork. The novelty over her being a lesbian is old news for me plus I don’t find it terribly relevant. Betty Kane’s sexual persuasion does give her a plausible backstory until the days of DADT become “ancient” history like inter-racial marriages or divorce did a generation ago.

Of all members of the Batman Family, Batwoman is the most compromised and probably the weakest link in Batman’s loose organization. Betty’s father remains an active member of the US military so shady covert groups are trying to prove the connection between them (they have a hunch). Through Batwoman they figure they can discover Batman’s identity and neutralize the Dark Knight.

Meanwhile, Batwoman’s opening conflict is more of a supernatural foe which is a slight departure; most opponents are rarely metas. What made it work was the art. DC went with somebody who doesn’t follow the style the previous books have. For me it has a slight Mucha/Adam Hughes look and amplifies the horror element to the Weeping Woman who is drowning children in Gotham’s Hispanic neighborhood. I am puzzled over Betty’s skin being porcelain while everybody is darker. Hopefully it isn’t some kind of stereotype thing as her glaring back tattoo is…I could see Batman chewing Batwoman out on this, never have identifying marks on your body for enemies to remember. Still, of all the Batman Family titles, I recommend this the most due to it being the most adult-oriented, which means it’s for more intelligent readers, not pervs.

Next up with DC, the more Horrific-themed titles in the reboot.

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Happy 80th Birthday Johnny Cash

In honor of the Man in Black, Mental Notes posted the story behind his hit “A Boy Named Sue,” which I recall hearing occasionally on WMAQ; if it wasn’t WGN, Dad would have this Chicago-based Country station on when he dropped us off at school. I was surprised to discover who the song’s writer was too.

As for Johnny Cash, he was alright be me in my book. During my more rigid years with music, Johnny earned a grudging pass unlike other Country performers because Blondie and Wall of Voodoo covered his hit “Ring of Fire.” Plus he was admired by artists in my camp: Nick Lowe, Elvis Costello, etc. I had a weak spot for Johnny’s talented daughter Roseanne too. Not sure why with the latter since her Seventies and Eighties material has the Nash-Vegas factory sound all over it. Then comes his rather weird appearance on SNL during the early Eighties. Cash had appeared in movies so he was a natural to be pulling the rare double duty as host and musical guest, Sting and Paul Simon are the only guests coming to mind, I’m confident there are many others.

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RIP Steve Kordek

Stern brought his passing to everyone’s attention last week. Arcades, video games, geeks, nerds, bowling alleys (or bowling centers according Chris Hardwick’s dad), convenience stores, airports, general stores and The Who all debt of gratitude to the man. I have seen earlier “pinball” machines in old movies/Bugs Bunny cartoons but I didn’t know how unplayable they used to be. They seemed to have more in common with pachinko or slot machines. It’s a good thing somebody listened to Kordek because pinball really exploded in the Seventies (maybe sooner) which gave birth to the cool arcades I grew up with, namely Aladdin’s Castle at White Oaks Mall in Springfield, IL.

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Not as gross as the source

I’ve never seen the original, only references and second-hand accounts. Contrary to other experiences, I think I can do without catching something I cannot “unwatch” like the ongoing Futurama joke goes.

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Changing e-mail addresses

Not like this is a big deal since people rarely communicate by such means anymore, seems some rather callous text-message now counts as correspondence or conversation. Yeah, yeah, I can hear the Internet diehards’ litany of “get off my yard” mockery as their clever rebuttal but there is something to be said about the dying art of letter writing. Hell, I think it also equates a certain intelligence level.

You can continue to contact me by what you have on file since the forwarding capability does work and was tested. I’m not sure when or if Apple will turn off the “at me” or “dot mac” account so start getting into the habit of using this for simplicity, it’s spelled out to prevent spambots, these days it probably has been figured out by the Russians…

smaggi68 at gmail dot com.

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A little Sci-Fi humor

Gets you ready for Prometheus this Summer!

I promise to lay off this meme after Mr. Spock

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Thoreau (probably) would’ve agreed

Many of Somara’s female friends are jealous about one thing in our marriage…I do my own…unlike many other husbands. I think men who wash their own clothes have been a steadily growing population but I’m puzzled whenever I hear my female friends mention how their spouses don’t contribute in this department.

What’s this have to do with Henry David Thoreau? Well, whenever I wash my socks, I end up procrastinating on putting them away. Over the years I’ve acquired different brands and/or lengths as previous pairs get orphaned (solo socks eaten by the dryer monster) or worn out. So this means the dreadful process of matching them up.

I decided to take the author’s advice last Sunday…simplify, simplify, simplify. I washed all the socks I owned, paired them up the best I could and donated them to Goodwill. Then I bought 30 new pairs in one swoop (three packs of 10) which were all the same size, style and color; white of course, only clueless Europeans, annoying Hipsters and my dad wear dark socks with shorts! Why it took me about 25 years to finally do this is beyond me.

The bigger thrill for me was finding a brand still made in the States. I was willing to compromise with Canada, the Caribbean or Latin America if necessary.

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Really? These are the stupidest album titles?

The so-called experts at the Chicago Tribune (aka the Illinois GOP’s apology machine) need to take a few lessons about music in general from the Guardian before they spit out another list. This weak attempt at the stupidest album titles is very flawed. It may be an opinion piece but it’s equally lazy, especially when a Cracked link was incorporated.

Then again, their sloppy attempt at journalism reminded me about why I usually roll my eyes whenever other Midwesterners talk about music in general. It’s the birthplace of the crappy, regressive Classic Rock format and Billy Corgan’s waning, yet not dead, career. One shouldn’t expect many of them to move forward culturally, let alone musically. My 13-year-old nephew appears to be infected too. I once asked him what he was into. He said AC/DC and Guns n’ Roses. I wasn’t sure if he was a entry-level teenager or Jim Anchower’s younger brother.

What’s truly the stupidest album title you know? For me? Hands down, the self-titled debut of failed supergroup GTR. Obviously this set up the punchline for a thousand rock critics using other words sans vowels to describe what they thought.

Boom! That’s how you do it FIB Trib writers.

Meanwhile, I eagerly await other entries. I’m confident a couple of you can top mine.

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The Simpsons hits 500

During the table read for what was then the 200th episode (“Trash of the Titans” if you care), showrunner/producer David Mirkin remarked the show was half way there. It seems he was off by 50 but knowing Fox, it will be more.

I find it pretty amazing how long the program has lasted. Then again, few thought the Fox network would endure into the Nineties. The late Dr. Grams once remarked in my history (of broadcasting) class that the proliferation of cable TV in the early eighties made a “fourth” network possible. I use scary quotes because Fox is technically the sixth American network. The original fourth network title belongs to the short-lived Du Mont (WGN is a famous former affiliate!) and fifth goes to PBS which few consider a network, never mind Dr. Havice (another broadcasting professor) told me it had the most affiliates in the Seventies, hence earning the ire of Tricky Dick.

Enough of me digressing, trying to fill the history void left by the great Dr. Grams.

Unlike so many others who dogpile on the show, eager to talk crap with tired gems such as, “The Simpsons was better back in <insert season here>.” I have no opinion about the current quality since I haven’t seen a first-airing in seven years. I probably won’t catch many until the DVDs arrive. In many ways, I really look forward to this. Seriously. A major reason why involves how the passing of years sometimes improves the episodes. When the ninth season kicked off in the Fall of 1997 (“The City of New York v. Homer Simpson”), I remember thinking, “Boy did this suck!” After seeing it again in syndication two-to-three years later, I changed my mind; many jokes I glazed over we apparent and enjoyable. I doubt it had anything to do with my brief trip to Manhattan in 2000.

I’m going to wait and see how the show pans out to its planned finale of 25 seasons…at this time. I won’t pass judgment until I’ve seen the entire run too. However, I am cringing over Fox’s plan to possibly launch a cable channel dedicated to just them. A little advice Murdoch. About 30 years ago, a radio station in Houston tried to something similar by programming just the Beatles. It didn’t last very long. As annoying as Beatles fanatics are, I think they couldn’t endure the Kim Jong-Ils of Pop/Rock all the time.

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Buttercup’s owners found, her real name is Princess

Once we completed our Sunday-morning chores, aka injecting money into the Central Texas economy, I corralled the friendly kitty who has been squatting on the back porch into a carrier. She didn’t like this as she cried constantly. Then I walked over to the house behind mine to see if the residents recognized the cat. The three little girls did as they stated her name, Princess, immediately. I explained the situation, namely harboring her in the garage during last week’s freeze, and promised not to feed Princess so she will stay with the family who loves her. I threw in my offer to have Princess neutered. The oldest appearing girl said no thanks and someone mentioned Princesses recent offspring. While I walked home, rather sad about “losing” the kitty, I stupidly realized I should’ve politely asked to speak with the parents…maybe they would understand the need to have their cat neutered. However, I have a feeling it would be wasted energy. Too many people don’t understand the ecological damage domesticated animals do (hell, they have no clue about humans as they keep breeding a la Idiocracy), especially one which can breed very rapidly and lacks natural predators. There are coyotes around the outskirts of Austin but they don’t make a dent in the feral cat population problem.

And yes, I see the joke as Somara pointed out later…her name is Princess Buttercup.

Meanwhile, I can get back to working on the less friendly Tybalt. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was the father of Princess’ litter.

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My (relatively) recent trip to Chicago-Milwaukee, part two

Yeah, yeah…I know, this was almost a couple months ago. Maybe one of the positive side effects from really, really pushing on improving my health this year is having the means, time, motive and energy to furgin’ get timely stories achieved. I don’t want to dwell too much on the other good crap I’ve let slide, or will cannibalize with odd anniversaries. When I first transformed Picayune into a blog, I remember having nothing to write about some days. Hard to believe right?

Anyway, my first trip back to the Midwest in a decade shouldn’t be left hanging. I ended matters with a part one followed by an interruption involving the Stern pinball factory. Since last week was national Marquette Day (no clue what the hell it means), I want to wrap it all up, make the journey worth the hundreds of bucks spent by me, Somara, and Nelson for it to be possible.

Thursday rolled around which would be my last full day in the region. One thing Nelson and I had totally agreed upon was a trek to Milwaukee, get in a quick visit to our alma mater. Not too many years ago, Nelson lived there until he moved to Cleveland and my last visit was 2000 when he invited me to his oldest kid’s baptism; I was asked to be the godfather. It’s symbolic yet I agree, I’m a poor choice given my position on religion.

The original plan (or compromise) had us taking at least two kids in tow but for reasons beyond my clairvoyance, Tammy agreed to watch them all while we’d be gone the whole day. Those who aren’t familiar with Midwestern geography, Milwaukee from Chicago, especially the southern edge, is a day trip; similar to how Austinites view San Antonio. I am confident the eldest two children were relieved, they wouldn’t be stuck in the car listening to a pair of old farts bore them about their college days.

We left after the bulk of Chicago’s rush hour and arrived in Milwaukee around noonish. The city didn’t look terribly different from what I recalled over 20 years. When we got up close at the Marquette campus…there it was very noticeable, hell, it didn’t much like the same school. I immediate thing that came up once we started walking around, I don’t miss Milwaukee’s horrible weather. What was I thinking the day I applied?

The only thing we could find open around Marquette was the student union because it houses the gift shop! Isn’t it just like the Jesuits? Always finding a way to make money! No wait, there was the little art museum I never visited in my entire undergrad career. One time I should’ve though. This woman I had a huge crush on, attended an opening and Peter Bonerz (aka Jerry the Dentist from Bob Newhart) appeared, he’s an alumnus no one is ashamed of unlike Sen. Joe McCarthy, Chris Farley and dropout Scott Walker. I was a tad bummed. I would’ve loved to go back into Johnston Hall, see if there was a little memorial to Dr. Grams. Nelson and I struck out with his department, Straz (I think) Hall which is business.

Johnston Hall was where I earned the bulk of degree and it's one of the oldest buildings on the campus.

Johnston Hall remaining was comforting compared to all the other buildings the “leadership” has leveled for better stuff: 1212, the Biltmore, West (an empty lot), the parking garage attached to Mashuda and the original student union. It explains why the tuition is outrageous. Marquette isn’t using their NCAA TV lucre on the students. I’ve always wondered why the Computer Science and Math department received a totally new monstrosity. Compared to the state schools and the Ivy League, Marquette was and still isn’t a powerhouse in this field of study.

On the left is the original library I used and on the right is an extension.

Having traveled over a thousand miles, I did buy some Marquette-wear for myself and Jose (I found a golf shirt I thought he’d like, he does). It took some effort to find something without Golden Eagles or swooshstikas. The Jesuits should be ashamed of having this stuff made abroad too. No luck on a hockey jersey. The helpful student clerks said the team must be contacted more directly. I settled on a more neutral T-shirt.

Upon leaving the union, I got a good view of my freshman residence. It was a dump 25 years ago too. Couldn’t remember immediately nor did I have the patience in freezing cold to find my favorite room, 1019, right next to Paul’s, 1018. I’m confident the students continue to drop crap out the window a la early David Letterman. No idea on what all the blue Komen ribbons in the windows were about. Marquette is a culturally-socially conservative school so we can rule out a Hipster dedication to Pabst Blue Ribbon. Nelson was fortunate to be spared the initiation of residing there, he was a Y-East Hall guy (usually the home of the few Goth girls). It isn’t the same now. Before I moved away, the school decided to make McCormick co-ed and the former all-ladies dorm of O’Donnell was switched to all dudes.

McCormick Hall, aka the Beer Can. Mainly for its cylindrical shape. Indirectly for the smell of vomit and urine during weekends.

Wells Avenue wasn’t recognizable. Firstly, the city changed it from a one-way street to two-way. Secondly, no bars and dive restaurants remain. My guess? The Greek system’s restoration thanks to Governor Thompson’s poor math skills and/or shallow morality. What used to be the Ardmore on 16th was present. In 2000 it was called the Gym. Now it’s a “whiskey bar” and closed during our visit. I noticed what appeared to be more apartments on the north side of Wells. Not all was lost! A favorite after-bars restaurant continues to survive…Real Chili. I wish I had two stomachs so I could eat there. Nelson humored me with a few photos. Check ’em out below!

A shining red beacon of hope during Milwaukee's dreary nights.

The inside is the way I remembered it in the Eighties, just fewer drunks.

Here's the area when Phil's fists-of-death failed us with a drunk frat boy…

…followed by the hallway where I received a thorough ass-kicking by said frat boy he intended for Phil.

Great. I’m running out of time and based upon my rough outline, I probably have another few hundred (or more) words plus several additional pictures. I’ll leave it here with the funny anecdote regarding Phil’s martial art prowess, conclude it tomorrow, time willing.

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Here’s the story…

…of a doctor named Venture!

I got nothin’ when it comes the remaining possible lyrics, this is best left to the masters, namely Weird Al Yankovic but there have been some up and comers on Dr. Demento.

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Princess Bride Feast booty!

Below, the awesome menu from last night’s showing/feast/quote-along at the Alamo Drafthouse. Man it was all good, especially the MLT to kick it off.

Then starting last night (and probably until they run out), I scored a couple bottles of the special wine Alamo is distributing for the anniversary. The Inconceivable Cab (red) is for Jose, an early Christmas present and/or gift. When he gets his butt down to Austin we are so going to Alamo, the dude loves movies so he’s in for a treat, the place does movies right, even with “regular” showings.

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