Fucking Comic Book Movies!

If you didn't guess by the title this one is about comics and movies and when the two collide. Before I get into it though I want to give you a short timeline of my comic book fandom. This should allow you to take the rest with an appropriate grain of salt.

1993: Was given a box of old Marvel and DC comics by my uncle and read them all (mostly shite).

1994: Started to buy shitty 50 cent comics at the Quick Stop Mart by my house.

1995: Discovered Spawn, a comic my mother hated and did everything to keep me from (i was 8) and one I loved and started to collect.

1995-2003 Kept reading comics and Collecting Spawn.

2004: Decided comic were for kids and lamers and Sold my Complete Spawn collection (including #1-6 in pristine condition) to help pay for my first car (a shitty red Ford Escort).

2007: Met one Mr. Ryan Jones and read my first couple of comics in 3 years.

2008: Kept reading comics occasionally liking them but feeling like I should not

2009: I came out of the "Nerd Closet" started reading like crazy and trying to catch up on a lot of lost years.

2010: I proudly buy comics every week and love to talk about them and try to convert people who don't read them.

Now,

FUCKING COMIC BOOK MOVIES!

Over the past 10 years the movie industry has seemed to have a huge boner for comics. Each summer at least one or two of the most highly anticipated and highest grossing movies of the year are straight from their pages. Spiderman 1 & 2 and The Dark Knight even managed to be in the top ten highest grossing movies since 2000. But why?

Don't ask a comic book nerd I can tell you that. By in large there are few, if any comic book movies that are universally accepted as good by "true comic fans". This may be in part because fans of comics are the most ravenous and steadfastly loyal fans there are in the world. When they like something they LOVE it. They memorize every nuance and detail. They buy the shirts, the toys, the posters and the trades (for those who don't know a "trade" refers to a trade paperback version of a book that compiles the single issue comics).

These fans can be some of the best and the worst fans in the world . They will support you for years and make you very rich (sort of, I mean we're talking about comics) But on the other hand if you mess with that thing they love, no fans hate more passionately then comic book fans either. A simply change of artist or character decision (say you decide Thor has 40 fucking hammers now. Am I right Jones?) This can insight true and undying rage.

This brings me to comic book movies. The major issue all filmmakers run into when they are deciding what to do with the juicey new comic licence they just picked up is (I'm guessing) finding how to go about making a movie that the general public will eat up and love but that will not piss off too many nerds. This is IMPOSSIBLE. You see, by in large, the things that make comics appealing to their fans are things that also set them apart from mainstream consumption. Whether through ideas or content comics express themselfs in a unique way that rarely can be transfered to another medium.

Another problem is that comics ARE books and because of that fact a huge amount of the what a person gets from them comes from how an individual interprets them. Whether it is as simple as how a character sounds (Batman?) or the intended tone, a book is often much more open for individual experiences than a film.

The final problem with comic book movies is even if someone makes a perfect interpretation of a fans favorite comic, down to every last detail, they will have already seen it.

Oh shit! I almost forgot here's my lame-ass video review of Kickass

Multi-Blog

So I have been trying to write a blog for a while now. First I had writers block issues and then I was sick. Now I sit down to write and I still can't decide what to write about. In light of that I have concluded that this blog will be composed of a few mini blogs all with different subjects. Enjoy or whatever.

The New Rebel

It been happening over the past few years. All over the world what was once considered edgy and cool is being co-opted by the mainstream. The things that set true independent thinkers and revolutionaries apart can now be seen on MTV or even worst, Disney channel. I'm talking about things like tattoos and piercings, thrift store clothes, even things like punk rock are being reduce to a fine gray powder for the whole idiotic world to snort. How is a person supposed to set them selfs apart without risking becoming the new poster child for mediocrity? Even the "nerd culture" is being somewhat invaded by the mainstream. Suddenly the people who used to beat me up are calling them selfs nerds and talking about how the used to play NES all the time. No you fucking did not!! You threw my back pack in the ditch everyday and then I went home crying and my mom let me play video games to cheer me up while you went to football practice.

Anyway my point here is this (I think) Having tattoos and piercings no longer makes you a rebel and being good at Call of Duty Modern Warfare 2 or Halo does not make you a "nerd".

Red Dead Redemption

This game looks FUCKING awesome. Like some kinda Grand Theft Auto in the old west. I'll be in line at midnight on May 18 for sure. For more videos check out the Rockstar Games Offical Site

My Brazilian Adventure

I tried to write a short story with that title a few weeks ago but found my own writing boring (more boring then usual?). Basically it was meant to chronicle my fictional trip to the amazon in which I was killed my head hunters. It Sucked. The whole story basicly boiled down to one statement: "Never hire a cheap river guide". Fuck I suck sometimes....(always?)

I Would Punch A 12 Year Old If No One Was Looking

Seriously. There are so many little teenagers that come into the Octopus' Garden and walk around like they're hot shit (and then steal things). They always act like I just kicked their dog whenever I ask if I can help them find anything. Then later (after they have giggled at some fart joke or something) they come up and ask "Where's the rasta bracelets?" or "Do you guys sell Bob Marley stuff?" First off, little assholes, you had your chance to procure my help and refused it and secondly what the fuck go you want with Rasta and Bob Marley "stuff"? Most of you tiny clowns have no idea why Bob Marley is famous let alone what Rasta even is. So please fuck off or I will punch you.

My Next Post

Since I had some trouble finding something to write about last time I decided to get my readers involved and let you guys help me decide what to write my next blog about. Below are a few ideas. If you have some different (better) ideas let me know via Twitter @CameraManSteve or via my new Facebook Page

Last I Remember

Last i remeber i lay in bed

doctors surround me

shaking heads

clipboards reviewed

familiar eyes filled with

tears

then darkness

deep and comforting

sensations fading

experience fails

nothing takes hold

does not let go

my eyes open as

if they have never before

the world

view is blurry

in every way

where am i?

what has happened?

muscles contract

bones crack

i move without

a choice not to

my body lurches forward

i have no sense of the ground

or my feet touching it

my walk is cumbersome

i try to correct it

but have not the control

my body acts

compelled

by some force

unseen

i try to speak

still nothing

the words are trapped

in me

whatever form i am

and they echo there

i see from

what wereonce

MY eyes

others

people or souls

i am not

sure as to which

they wander as

my body does

Hell?

is this my fate?

do the damned

become confined

in their bodies

to roam eternally

trapped in evil thoughts

Then there are

more still

they run

mouths agape

to me

soundless

screaming faces

are some punished

more harshly?

The others seem to pursuit

These silent screamers

as does my shell

my former temple

lumbering ever closer

i see one fall

and struggle to

regain feet

i approach

surrounded by

the other damned roamers

we descend

my world seems

to vibrate

my body lunges

my former hand grabs

at any thing it can

i only watch and try to resist

alas there is

no resistance

I watch as my proxy

rips flesh

blood flows

i feel nothing

no bloody warmth

no tactile sensations

what once was me

destroys

ravages

murders

then as my empty screams

echo to haunt only me

i eat

flesh and blood

without taste

without reason

surrounded by red

the vibrations calm

i am left in my hell

limping and lumbering

once more

onward

To Whom It May Concern

Dear Strangers,

How are you? I don't really care actually. I'm just writing to tell you that I would prefer that you never, ever, have huge cell phone argument near me in public. That is both annoying and inappropriate. If I cared that you and your boyfriend are having a fight about him going to jail and never being there for you I would probably just kill myself. Seriously what makes you think that you can start yelling all matter of idiotic shit into your phone in the middle of a store and then expect no one to look at you. You obviously have made a lot of poor life decisions and have no social tact at all but please do not slam your stupid into my head by force. Next time you are in the middle of a store or restaurant and you get a call from that meth riddled, herpes infested, jerk off boyfriend, maybe just let it go.

Sincerely,

Steven

PS: I hate you.

A Word About Dungeons And Dragons

Last summer I started to play Dungeons and Dragons (DnD). I had seen it played and heard about how fun it was but had no real understanding of how to play or what precisely what it was. I bought a Players Handbook (PHB), a set of Role Playing Game (RPG) dice, and made my first character. An Eladrin (think super Elf) Paladin (think religious warrior and healer). The next week we had our first game. The DM (my buddy Ryan) was running the game. We took our characters into his world and never lokked back. After the game, I knew I was throughly hooked. The game basically involves a group of friends and a fantasy story that you all sort of write throughout the game. Something that I, as a budding writer loved, I had so much fun that first game that is was all I could think of for the next week, until we played again as matter of fact.

Now anyone who has never played or has played with assholes can not understand how those of us who love the game feel. It can confusing to the uninitiated and that alone is enough to steer some people away. Then there's the "nerd stigma" attached to the game that even keeps the majority of people away. Even some real geeky types. I was there. I understand.

But that all changed last July when I came out of the nerd closet.

I decided to embrace the things that I always secretly liked.

Comics.

Action Figures.

Toys.

And, with some coaxing from my friends Ryan, Beefy and, Logan, DnD.

You see I finally realized that I didn't have to put up some facade and hide away things I like that others think are uncool. I have never been "cool". As a kid I had glasses and liked to read, never played sports and got my ass kicked frequently by bullies.

Oh by the way...

FUCK YOU COREY HILL YOU FUCKING JOCK-STRAP-ASS-CLOWNING-SHIT-FUCK-ASS-BITCH.

Sorry.

Anyway I have embraced the things that made me different as a child. The things that i was naturally drawn to. I have decided that if something make me happy, why not do it. No matter what it is. right now i'm running my own DnD game. That makes me the Dungeon Master or DM.

Quite frankly I've never been happier.

PS: Eat a fat dick Corey.

I might be psychic

Now I don't mean Miss Cleo psychic or Medium psychic. I have no yearning to make money from my powers nor do I want to talk to dead people to solve murders. I also don't thing I'm that kind of psychic. I don't talk to dead people or hear thoughts or feel that any of that shit is real. I can't feel any presences or "psychic feelings. I also can't make shit happen with my mind.

I know what your thinking "So how are you psychic then, fatty?"

First off, fuck you.

Secondly, I have a tendency to constantly worry about the future. I can rarely live in the moment. My mind is continually processing the possibilities that may or may not be about to happen. I can't help but running over and over the consequences of any actions mine or others, big or small.

This occasionally leads to a situation where I think about something that then ends up happening. It's a little unnerving when I'm really really accurate. For example last week at work I was doing inventory and thinking/worrying. I thought that it would really suck if someone came in and wanted to return something that they bought eith a gift card. I would have no idea how to do that. They would probably be some stupid hot girl with a shirt that didn't fit and who would make me incredibly nervous while I tried to figure out what the hell to do.

The very next person to come in was a young woman carrying a black bag. She was 19 or 20 and stunning. She had a tie-dyed shirt that she bought with a gift card and wanted to return it.

Now I don't think this is actually some super natural power and I can see the future. That is stupid as fuck. More likely it's just a product of a active imagination and a slightly paranoid personality. Slightly relative to totally bat-shit crazy that is.

Fuck. Shit. Sigh. Hell yes.

I recently decided that I really needed to quit my job. I spent a few days getting up the courage to tell my bosses that I felt it time to move on. After doing so I realized the only thing that was stopping me from going now was myself.

Fuck.

There are only 2 things in the world I dislike more than my job right now, The Twilight movies/books and looking for another damn job. You see job hunting brings to light that which I try to keep under wraps deep in my "uncomfortable thought" part of the brain. You know down there with "What happens when I die?" and every memory involving going into a mens locker room.

The question that comes to me during job hunting is one that tends to screw with my head big time: What is it that I want to do with my life?

Shit.

That is a question that if i am actually asked by another person I might respond with "Write and direct movies" or "become a filmmaker" But when I think harder on it I ask myself why do I want to do these things. Is there some story need I to tell? Do i simply need to feel like I'm being heard? Does it have to do with the fact that during childhood I live in such secluded self induced isolation that I created a personality that can only see the world through the eyes of cinema?

*Sigh*

I really don't know. What's worst is these sort of thought tend to make me question if that is truly what I want to do and again I don't know. I do know that I have trouble communicating my feelings and thoughts through face to face interactions. I would much rather write a tweet text, blog, or short story. I would rather have a character tell my life story in a movie than tell someone myself.

Insecurity?

Hell yes.

The fact that I am at once confident in who I am but have no idea who I want to be is a great source of anxiety in life. I often wonder if this is a universal human problem. It ties in to a fear of what's to come. The future whether it's the prospect of a new job or prospect of trying to find your identity will alway be frightening.

But for now I need to focus and remember that perhaps I can get a new job without the untold emotional trauma of answering lifes most difficult questions.

Here's hoping.