Tuesday, November 18, 2008
"Just as The Dark Knight closes in on $1 billion worldwide gross, DC Comics is ready to have Bruce Wayne "die" — or at least give up the cape — in his monthly comic.
Batman #681, due Nov. 26, wraps up writer Grant Morrison's Batman R.I.P. story line, in which the crimefighter is so shaken by a secret from his past that a new Batman must be found.
What makes this "death" go beyond the usual circulation booster is the talent involved. Helping to bury Batman will be best-selling novelist Neil Gaiman, who created the goth-cult Sandman comic 20 years ago.
Gaiman is writing a two-issue tribute to the character, starting with Batman #686 and tentatively titled Whatever Happened to the Caped Crusader?, due in February."
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Ang sabi mo kasi kailangan mo ng kasama.
Sumama naman ako kasi crush kita noon pa.
Kung sabagay gusto ko na ring magka…alam mo na.”
I don’t know if you know that song but since you asked me to join you that day several months ago my dreary life becomes even bleaker. Oh you do not know how you made me miserable. It’s like I was suddenly thrown into the eternal fires of Sheol.
Good thing I met San Miguel. Suddenly, I have someone to dance with, although, it is a very slow and shitty death waltz.
It is not that I blame you for this jam I’m in. No, no, no. It is not your fault. I guess, I was just too naïve in spite of the fact that I’ve been walking this savage garden for three decades now. I just thought you were the one. But I was mortally wrong
I never knew I would fall for this crap again. Caesar, my best friend, said it was a good thing: that I am still capable of that dreadful thing called love. But how can it be good when it brings so much pain?
Loving you is lethal. It’s madness. Was it the Dominatrix of the Universe who said we all go a bit cuckoo when we fall in love? The worst part is listening to Frank Sinatra’s “In the wee small hours of the morning.”
Who would want to drown in sorrow when one could seek comfort from San Miguel? So, I did the one thing that I know would help me: to drink my anguish and swallow the bitter taste of my grief. Dionysus tried to stop me. She said it would not help me at all but I ignored her.
So, everyday, I dance. Hidden from the prying eyes of everyone I reach for San Miguel and we dance! I would embrace his slender and bluish body and grip him so tight so he would not escape from me. We would sway to the music of Smashing Pumpkin’s Landslide or to Supercar’s Wonder Word. We would stomp our feet, pluck the strings of our air guitars and scream out the lyrics until I would lose consciousness.
I know I have to stop mooning for you. So, I am exorcising you out my system. I am casting you out. Now.
By the power of San Miguel, I compel you! Swig.
By the power of San Miguel, I compel you! Gulp.
By the power of San Miguel, I compel you out of my life. Belch.
Sunday, October 05, 2008
I was thinking it must be that good for that to have an effect on Rain or it must be the freaking weight of the book because he could not sit still. One moment he was holding it while sitting cross legged on his stool and then another moment he was putting it on his desk then on his lap while wriggling his enormous derriere.
I think that it must be one of the reasons why he lost so much weight. Boy, if you would be carrying that stuff everyday to work then I guess you would lose 5 kilos a week! Hey Rain, why not use that monster to work on your biceps next time eh?
He was really into it so I guess it might be a very interesting read. So I went over to his station and asked him what was the book all about. He said it was by this relatively new writer named Stephanie Meyer and that it was about vampires.
"Whoa! Wait a minute. Did you say bloodsuckers?" I asked a bit too loud I guess because I noticed everyone was looking at me like I was about to pounce on Rain and throw him across the floor.
He looked at me, his mouth agape and said. "Yes, so?"
My head started to spin and suddenly I heard music by Cocteau Twins, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Bauhaus, Sisters of Mercy, Dominion, Prominence of Cathedral and The Mission. It was a mishmash of different songs actually but what stood out was Bela Lugosi's dead by Bauhaus.
"White on white translucent black capes,
Back on the rack,
Bela Lugosi's dead,
The bats have left the bell tower,
The victims have been bled,
Red velvet lines the black box,
Bela Lugosi's dead,
Undead undead undead."
I thought I was going to faint so I hold on to the post near his station and licked my hundred-year-old denture. I know it is absolutely hideous but hey it is still working. Anyways, I did that because I was trying to feel for my fangs. I thought those choppers suddenly grew long but then it was just my overactive imagination.
You see, I am a huge Anne Rice freak. Back in the 1990s when I was working for FDA/FMA and earning a paltry sum of four digits for a salary I was throwing away money on anything Anne Rice or Poppy Z. Brite. I started with Vampire Lestat then Queen of the Damned and Tale of the Body Thief then worked my way back to Interview with the Vampire before the movie which starred Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt was shown in theatres. I wanted to read the first book in the series (Interview) first before I would watch the movie. We all know that most films could not hold a candle to their original book versions.
Who could forget the saga of Lestat De Lioncourt, a truly immortal character? He is a legend among Anne Rice's preternatural monsters. From the moment I touched the first pages of Vampire Lestat, I was mesmerized by this bloodsucking fiend who was inducted to the dark world by Magnus. Anne Rice made this exquisite and prancing devil into a 'hero' for many lost souls in the 1970s up to the 1990s. How many of us can relate to his existential drama, his questions about life: "Am I in His plans?", "Are my actions good or bad?", "What happens after death?" What about the other unforgettable demons in the Vampire Chronicles: Armand, Louis, Marius, Akasha. Didn't you feel the pain of Louis when Claudia died?
Anyways, I am ranting. This is not about Anne Rice. This is about that other author, that Meyer girl. So I used all my persuasive powers and asked Rain if he could lend me his copy of Twilight, supposedly, the first installment in Meyer's trilogy about her bloodthirsty fiends. For about two weeks, while Rain was carrying that adobe of a book to work I was salivating like a rabid bulldog. I kept on pestering him to finish the book so I could lay my hands on it. I even restrained myself from googling the darn book.
Finally last Monday, Rain approached me and said he was done with the book. As he was handing the book to me I quickly snatched it off his hand and snarled. A low growling sound escaped my mouth. I made darting glances around me as I knew that Amazon also wanted the book for herself. Quickly, I shoved the book into my backpack and murmured my thanks to Rain who was slowly backing away from me.
Five minutes before clock out I was already itching to go home. When the clock struck 2:00 I rushed to the door and pushed my way into the elevator full of blundering humans. I did not even bother to say goodbye to my friends as I dashed my way out of the building. It didn't even bother me that my back was aching due to the monstrous weight of the book.
I was ecstatic. Alas, the book is with me. I primed myself to enjoy this experience. Hell, this might be the start of a new gothic romance between me and this Meyer girl. But I was wrong, dreadfully wrong. But more on that later.
When I reached home I opened the kitchen cabinet where I keep my stash of gin and some chips. I went to my CD rack and pulled out Four-Calendar Cafe by Cocteau Twins and then lugged the DVD/CD player and two speakers to my dungeon upstairs. I turned on the music, lighted some incense on the altar, jumped on my mattress, put some gin on my glass (no ice! btw), chugged my first shot and slowly opened the book.
Twenty pages into the book and the unthinkable happened, I was dozing off! No it was not the gin. I can drink ten shots of that poison and I can still sing "I see you, You see me" by The Magic Numbers without slurring. Hell, I can even recite lines from The Breakfast Club. Besides, I only had three shots of gin at that time. I was thinking that I was distracted by Elizabeth Fraser who by that time was wailing "Are you the right man for me, Are you safe, Are you my friend, Or are you toxic for me" so I turned the CD off and resumed reading the book.
I was reading the part where Bella, the human girl, was being chased by lowlifes near the mall when he was grabbed by Edward and shoved into the car and then he attacked her! He had slit her throat open and drank her blood.
Wait! "This can't be real," I said to myself. Rain told me she wasn't made into a vampire in this first book but then why did he bite her?
I turned the page to find out and the next scenes were too graphic. After drinking all her blood, Edward smashed Bella's head on the dashboard which had cracked her skull open. Then, he twisted her neck, pulled off the whole head from her body and threw it outside the window.
"Jeez, this guy is a maniac alright," I whispered. Damn, this is twisted stuff but then I realized that I am on the last page of the book.
"What the..? What happened to the other pages?” I said.
I was supposed to be just halfway into the book. But this last page was a real shocker. After throwing Bella's head out of the window, Edward reached into the glove box of his car and pulled out a silver dagger and plunged it into his heart! While the blood was oozing out, he cupped some and smeared it on the windshield. Because he could not see anything the car slammed into an electric post. Edward, weakened and with the dagger still lodged in his chest, tried to get out of the car but it was too late. The car by then was engulfed by fire and the freaking fiend was roasted.
Suddenly, a kick landed swiftly on my butt and I saw my sister glaring at me. She looked absolutely frightening! Her eyes were burning and her mouth was twitching. Her long hair covered most of her face except those two malevolent eyes! She looked like she was possessed by daemons from the deepest pit of hell!
Slowly, she reached for my shoulders with her claws and I screamed my lungs out! Then two slaps landed on my face and I awakened. She looked at me, smirked and said: "Yung incense mo nalaglag sa unan ayan nasusunog na!"
"Ha, alin?" I muttered.
I then realized that I dozed off again. I reached for the book and saw that I was still on the part where Bella was trying to get away from the horny toads from the mall. Damn. It was just a dream then. A pity really since the dream was more exciting than this frightful bore of a book.
So how did the book fare you might ask. Well, it is a freaking waste of pulp. While I was still reading it, I was hoping that Meyer would give me something to look forward to but alas, I was disappointed. I was waiting for the punch but it never happened.
For me, a good book is like a portal to another world. It should allow us to wander into the other realms; it should take us into a parallel dimension where we can pretend to live the lives of the various protagonists. But this one, this book just opens the door to Disneyland; wait no, to your local 'perya' where the major characters seem to be in perpetual state of inanimation. Nothing seems to happen in this cursed book.
Edward is a wimp. He is Louis in a straitjacket. Why can't he just pounce on the girl and get it done and over with? And Bella? Well, I want to shake and slap her until she realizes that this vampire whom she loves so much might be gay! I freaking loath the book so much that I was hoping that Meyer would just kill the two main characters so I could close the book and chop it into pieces. Now I know why I had that dream.
I know a lot of tween girls and other fans of Meyer will hate me but hey, your idol is a fake. If you're writing about vampires you should write with more blood and gore. And what's with the anonymous CD, you freak! And you're supposed to be a fan of Muse?!! To Meyer, why don't you just bite me, eh?Image from Mistress of Sorrows.