I wonder what was going on in my father’s head when I was ten years old: in which of the early 20th-century European Bildungsroman he’d next indulge; where he’d meet the adoring student for whom he’d eventually abandon his family and follow across the country; or more charitably, how they’d manage to afford a private middle school for an impressionable lad whose education couldn’t possibly be derailed among those without the same concerns about tuition—but most certainly there wasn’t a thought to peruse the comic books at a local newsstand and familiarize himself with his son’s interests so that they might bond over more mature insights or different perspectives into them.
I strive for the latter, of course, maybe because I’m older than he was and every run could be my last, or quite the opposite and I never grew up. (Fuck, I’m sipping on 2020 VooDew at 1am trying to justify more Lego from the mortgage refinance Mommy arranged, while suffering through the US remake of Utopia.) Hopefully the next generation will find a better balance of parenting and the meaningless pursuits over the course of one’s life, because I wouldn’t otherwise commit to a P2W lootbox grind, even after my disenchantment with Animal Crossing. And while I doubt I’ll ever take the place of the teammates that the new school year displaced, there’s sure to be a moment on the playfield to remember.
I don’t blame the Biden campaign for reaching out to the gaming generation, but seeing as how Bernie would’ve done it with Medicare for All instead, yeah, not too thrilled. In fact, fuck them. I’d rather have had AOC visit when the game was fresher, just what we needed to get away and didn’t turn into a daily chore of checking turnip prices, gathering fruit and fossils and grinding rocks.
The show strays too often from the main character’s heroic struggles to delve on his psyche, which will never make him likable (see Hugh Laurie’s Chance), but there is the father-son aspect to it to which I can relate our recent stop on the way to the library to join a Groudon raid. You’ll remember the details, watching all our underleveled Pokémon fall to the giant legendary and eventually winning with the group’s help, catching him with the very last of ten sucky Premier Balls, but did you imagine the disappointment had I failed after you cheered me on?
Sure, I was disappointed by the invunche effects and not quite sold on the whole “rising darkness” (nowhere like True Detective last year), but it was thrilling while it lasted, the prospect of the DC world of magic and mystery unfolding every week. Too bad it had to be Friday nights at 10.
Oh well, I suppose this is more suited for network television, anyway.
I don’t care if this idea for a superhero was received without so much as a “meh” from Will & Dayz; I like it, and continue to hone it on my runs, usually before I even reach Shoemaker. A low-brow small-time crook gets the jump on a scientist in his lab, and shoots him in his haste to make off. But before succumbing to the attack, the man unleashes a swarm of nanobots, which take up residence in his killer. There, they begin making improvements, upgrades like in that episode of The Outer Limits, bestowing superhuman strength, durability, healing, the works—catch is, they also make his brain work more efficiently, he grows smarter, and in turn, he understands the nature of his crime, becomes guilt-ridden with remorse, and assumes the mantle of do-gooder to atone. A little reminiscent of 악마를 보았다, too. But is it this the true course of the better person, or is it only the ghost in the machines that’s motivating him? There’s some conflict for ya. Will he use his now-photographic memory and advanced intelligence to recreate the incident and discover that his victim originally intended to inject himself with his inventions, and immediately benefit from them? Almost with minds of their own, they chose the host with more potential. (Or will he instead learn, as in Morrison’s Doom Patrol, that the whole thing was engineered all along, and he was deliberately chosen for the project? Meh.)
The Flash is set to be the new Spider-man, as I’ve always felt he deserved. I would’ve gone nuts for this as a wee lad—and consistency being my thing nowadays, my favorite incarnation of the wall-crawler really is the 70’s TV series—as cool as I thought even the laughable effects were at the time:
A being who can move so fast as to put everyone else in slow-mo, essentially freezing them from his perspective of time, then speed back up at will, is basically a god, isn’t he? I don’t think I really could appreciate this in 3rd or 4th grade as I drew up plans for my own career as a superhero, relying on running (I must’ve won a race or two in PE against my African-American classmates to inspire such confidence, which is more than I can say about my recent performance at the Mother’s Day picnic) with “magnesium flares” in my shoes.
Time-delayed from the actual 50th anniversary of the show—referring, of course, to the time a broadcast takes to be uploaded to a PB torrent, then for me to get around to it—which meant so much in middle school, but now seems like any other Hollywood hokum. (This, from a middle-ager who digs what they’re doing on Arrow. It’s all Alan Moore’s fault.) Still, it’s nice to see Tom Baker acknowledged for his contribution, not only to the character’s universal appeal, but in the end, to my childhood imagination. “Who knows?” he asks.
Was on my way to Taco Bell when I began working on an idea I had for a Wonder Woman movie (which would explain why I forgot again that I could’ve eaten much better with $8.92 at Chipotle), coming to me, I suppose, after this screencap from Smallville and the portrayal of Diana as a Themysciran ambassador as in The Hiketeia. Oh, and the Black Canary character on Arrow focusing her fight for all women in trouble. Doesn’t seem to be that way in the New 52, but oh well.
Anyway, apart from a dalliance in WW2 where she got her Captain America-like style, she doesn’t bother much with the Western World nowadays. Why would she? There’s millions of women being raped in the Congo, and in comparison, being sexually discriminated at Prada hardly merits her or her Amazonian sisters’ attention. Instead, they show up in places like South Africa, nations under Sharia Law, and bring major whoop-ass on the evil men do, and are treated as goddesses by the survivors. Amy Adams’ Lois Lane (the sole DC crossover for this solo outing) decides to track them down and does, welcomes the princess to the United Nations as a symbol of women’s rights everywhere. She’s disdainful at first, but of course while she’s in town, discovers suffering even on a personal scale and gets to work bouncing bullets off her bracelets and what-not.
I don’t blame the Biden campaign for 
The show strays too often from the main character’s heroic struggles to delve on his psyche, which will never make him likable (see Hugh Laurie’s Chance), but there is the father-son aspect to it to which I can relate our recent stop on the way to the library to join a Groudon raid. You’ll remember the details, watching all our underleveled Pokémon fall to the giant legendary and eventually winning with the group’s help, catching him with the very last of ten sucky Premier Balls, but did you imagine the disappointment had I failed after you cheered me on? 
