Mustardseed Cochrane

vampires_vs_zombies I suppose it’s a matter of preference when you ask which is better: the Zombie or the Vampire. Both have origins in superstitions and folklore, and both have seen their respective mythologies evolve with the needs of storytellers. The original zombie stories originated in Vodou stories, where witch doctors or priests known as bokors would revive and control the dead. Some of the old vampiric folktales involve bloated corpses visiting their old neighborhoods. Zombies now eat flesh, or brains, or what else? And Vampires dress in leather and vinyl and drink blood?

But who would win in an all out battle between the two? Many would say the Vampire. This makes sense. They have sentience and therefore may understand themselves, thus possessing the ability to influence their enviroment. Zombies as they stand now, well, they are rather one track-minded, aren’t they? Brains, or flesh. The movie “Interview With The Vampire” utilizes conversation for its frame story. Ever sat and listened to a zombie in a movie reflect about themselves? Or sunsets?

Sentience makes the monster. The only zombies that I’ve come across that retain their intelligence are the Marvel Zombies, with guilt-ridden Peter Parker carrying even more angst now that he’s eaten his aunt and wife. Will other storytellers take a note from this cue and explore the possibilities of sentient flesh eaters? I’d like to think so.

In the meantime, who would win between the mindless zombies and the sentient vampires? There are factors to consider here. First, is the battle being decided on who wins supremacy over the food supply? (yes, that’s us folks, being thrown under the bus by yours truly) In a practical perspective, this should be the only battle worth fighting. Which leads me the next scenario: who would win in a world with either an exhausted food supply? (yup, we’re not there anymore, folks)

Zombies, let’s face it, you are the underdog. Your lack of self-awareness and your inability to communicate with one another and thus cooperate in a sustained group effort might be sending you the way of extinction as the Vampires coordinate your demise. Of course, whether or not vampires are successful is irrelevant, as they’ll be starving. See, your bad meat with very contaminated blood, dear zombie. I suppose both of you will lose in the end, since eventually there won’t be any food for either one of you. Yet, therein lies your victory, zombie. Your lack of intelligence will make you unaware of this, while the vampire will get to reflect on every last spasm of hunger pains in their bodies.

For those who have seen Zombieland, which rule was it that said you should always enjoy the little things?

With that, Killian offers us a series of confessions which I guarantee you, folks, I will personally ensure he does not forget the error of admitting this to anyone.

D. Composition meditates on both the vampire and the zombie in pop culture.

And while I might have something else to add later on, I now turn the discussion over to you, the Normalinauts. I’ve briefly explored one Zombie VS. Vampire scenario, but I say let’s open this up for discussion. As a matter of fact, I say let’s have a contest.

D. Composition, Killian, Mustardseed Cochrane, Random Normality, vampires, zombies, Zombies VS. Vampires

Zombies VS Vampires $5 AMAZON GIFT CARD Throwdown!

Oct 16th

9 comments

amazon-box That’s right, ladies and gentlemen. Post your best Zombie VS. Vampire scenarios in the comments of this page between now through October 31, and a winner, chosen by the crew here at NR, will receive a $5.00 Amazon Gift Card in their e-mail. Unfortunately, the contest isn’t open to any of the NR staff.

There we go, now let’s have it! Give us your best!

Contests, Zombies VS. Vampires

Looking Up In The Sky With My Mind’s Eye

Sep 20th

A panel from All-Star Superman, with pencils by Frank Quitely and colors by Jamie Grant.

I feel as if I forgot about Superman until I came across Grant Morrison’s interpretation in his All-Star series that debuted in 2005. It crystalized what I loved about this character the first time I saw him racing against a train in Richard Donner’s “Superman: The Movie.” What made the character resonate for me in both was that Morrison and Donner didn’t necessarily reinvent the character. Rather they identified elements that were important about him and explored them. I’m not referring to his powers, which are magnificent of course, but they’re not enough to sustain an emotional journey of a character through a story. It was the character’s humanity. Donner focuses on how Clark Kent grew up and became Superman, while Grant Morrison tells the story of what the Man of Tomorrow does with the last days of his life.

Superman: The Movie (Extended Edition) and Superman II: The Donner Cut

When you watch Superman I and Superman II (The Donner Cut), you may find a superhero comic book movie on the surface, but underneath is the engine of a coming of age story. There’s a moment in the first Superman movie when young Clark Kent is talking with his father after he’s just finished beating a rival schoolmate back to his farm by outrunning a train. He expresses to his father that he’s frustrated because he can do things like kick a football seemingly into orbit. Yet he has to hide his abilities, and stand the ridicule and humiliation of his rival as he drives away with a girl he liked. He’s still that same kid who wants to show off all of the wonderful things he can do when he’s standing before his other father, Jor-El, telling him about the feats he did in his first night as Superman. Jor-El tells him he understands how good it felt to do this, and acknowledges his son’s vanity. He doesn’t judge him for it. Clark doesn’t yet understand consequences, though. When faced with the possibility of a life without Lois Lane after trying to stop two rockets, he turns back time. He can fix anything, that Superman can.

Yet again Clark is still that same kid from Smallville when he’s standing before Jor-El in the Donner Cut of Superman II, complaining about the unfairness of not being able to have what he wants. He doesn’t wish to be alone, another essential human quality Donner focuses on that drives Clark’s choices. A life with the companionship of Lois Lane is possible now, if only he weren’t Superman. Yet he’s warned that there will be consequences if he gives up being Superman.

(SPOILER ALERT, in case you’ve never seen Donner’s Cut)

He discovers those consequences when he returns, powerless, to his fortress to beg his father to restore his powers, which his father does. At a price. If you’ve never seen the Superman movies, you must know that crystals are a key component of his Fortress of Solitude. All of the knowledge of his civilization is stored in these crystals, including the artificial duplicate of Jor-el he speaks with. Jor-el tells his son that restoring his powers will wipe out the remaining energy in the main crystal, rendering it inert. They will never speak again, and Clark will have essentially lost his connection to a second father. There is a poignant scene towards the end, the one in which I feel demonstrates the complete arc of Clark’s growth. He stands looking at the Fortress of Solitude from a distance, with Lois Lane behind him. Without saying a single word he destroys the Fortress of Solitude. It’s a lifeless structure, and he lets go of it. Is it an act of acceptance and letting go, therefore a sign of maturity? I think so.

There is one warning I have to give you about the Donner cut, though. For those who aren’t familiar with the film and its history, a lot of key scenes were never filmed. This included an ending to the movie. When faced with the option of using the ending filmed by Donner’s replacement Richard Lester or simply recycling the ending from the first movie where Superman turns back time again, the latter was chosen. Yes, it does betray the thematic arc of the story. Therefore, I prefer to leave the movie at an earlier scene. It’s one where Superman has brought Lois back to her apartment, and she stands crying because she knows they can’t be together. And she also knows who he is and it will break her heart to see him every day at work but never be able to reach out to him. She asks if she got the man she wanted, and he affirms it. Then they part ways. I say I prefer to leave the movie at this point rather than continue on to the next sequence because what are our heroes and the lessons they learn if they can simply wipe away the lesson as if it never happened?

(End SPOILER)

All-Star Superman

Superman saves the day one more time only to discover that doing so has killed him. What you find in the stories that follow this discovery is an introspective Superman, taking the measure of his life and focusing on what is important to him. There are so many things to settle, decides The Man of Steel. There is his affection for Lois Lane. There is the question that haunts him: what will happen to the human race without a Superman? How can he save the day from beyond the grave? He asks himself what a world without a Superman would be like? (And I might add that it’s an inpspired approach he takes to find out the answer to this in the latter half of the series, made possible by the realms of speculative fiction.)

In trying to find the next Superman he turns to Lex Luthor, telling him in the guise of Clark Kent that Superman and him could have done great things together. In trying to reach out to his greatest enemy, a man who can cure cancer with a cell phone and a safety pin, he finds it’s not Luthor that is his greatest foe. It is Luthor’s ego.

Yet there has to be a way. “There’s always a way,” as he reminds himself numerous times throughout the series. Even when he finds himself powerless and trapped on a planet, slowly being crushed by the heightened gravity around him and trying to find a way to communicate with a race that doesn’t quite speak his language, he still tells himself there’s a way. Even when his final hours are approaching and he reflects on how much he’s accomplished and yet how much more he has to do, there’s still away.

All-Star Superman is essentially Everyman meets Superman. Grant Morrison’s choice to have Superman face his mortality and decide what he values in his life also allows us to have a set of stories that incapsulate why the character has been around for so many decades. I found some of these stories moving, such as the one that explores an episode with his father, Jonathan Kent, from Superman’s days in Smallville when he was Superboy.

After looking up

I think about all of this and come to wonder if perhaps it’s not Superman that is my first love? Perhaps it’s the hero’s quest and coming of age, as I look at other stories I’ve come to love over the years. I think about Huckleberry Finn torn between what he feels is right and what he’s been told is right when it comes to the matter of rescuing the slave Jim and learning to make up his own mind. Or Gilgamesh, seeking out the secrets of immortality after the death of his friend, Ekindu. Perhaps it’s myth? Maybe it’s all of it. Superman was first, though.

All Star Superman, Christopher Reeves, DC Comics, First Loves, Frank Quitely, Grant Morrison, Jamie Grant, Mustardseed, Richard Donner, Superman

On Grease Paint and the Negatives of Chronic Stress

Sep 6th

Ian McKellen as King Lear.

It is essential to find past-times to help one relax during a semester, as the negative effects of chronic stress may not only affect school work, they may also have long lasting effects on emotional and physical health. Studies have shown that chronic stress may be linked to anxiety, deppression, weight loss, insomnia, and may affect concentration and memory. One needs diversions. Relaxing evenings with friends, or sitting down to enjoy a book, a good story. I enjoy live theater. I saw Ian McKellen, Helen Mirren and David Strathairn in Dance of Death on Broadway in 2002. It was an amazing experience, as these were highly skilled performers. There is a theater a few minutes from my house. The dilemma, though, is that we live in an age of instant gratification. CDs, DVDs, the Internet. Anything we want and when we want it. Except none of it is live. What do we do then if we want our theater to be live and instant? Compromise. We kidnap a thespian. Depending on taste, we might need to make room for two.

We must first identify our preferences. Musical theater? Classics, from Lope De Vega and Shakespeare, to Brecht? Ballet? Farse and tragedy and tragicomedy and operettas? Also, while your thespian can play multiple parts, and in some cases perform an entire show for you, this can wear your thespian out faster than if you had two. This is especially true if you’re a Shakespeare aficionado, as I am. I once went through seven thespians in a four month period, as Hamlet can kill almost anyone. For musical theater, Sondheim and Fosse might only cripple or cause them initial discomfort.

There is also thespian maintenance. You will want to keep them in a room on a second floor, preferably with a balcony, which will allow them to have contact with visiting friends and family members. The thespian is an emotional creature, as you’ll become fully aware of during their first weeks of captivity while they sob in lamentation. Therefore these balcony visits will be essential. Sliding recent write-ups of their work may also help, whether fictitious or not. See your local community college journalism department for assistance.

Also consider diet. Don’t feed your thespian too much within two hours of any planned use, as they will be weighed down. A few more things to consider for maintaining your thespian include decorating their rooms (a little stage in one corner can go a long way to making your thespian feel cozy) or cages if you’re under budget constraints; their voices are delicate, therefore much like cigars, you want to keep them in a temperature controlled enviroment; keep little statues covered in gold foil as “awards” you can give them as treats; if you have a method actor and you ask them to take on the part of an animal, you may want to lay down newspaper; and exercise. The little stage in the corner works great for step aerobics.

Remember that when we talk about kidnapping your own thespian, we’re really talking about a guarantee of your future, and of your health. While the costs might appear steep, remember to weigh them against the cost, as well as discomfort, which you might have to face in the long run from chronic stress. To health and happiness.

Back To School, David Strathairn, Helen Mirren, Ian McKellen, King Lear, Mustardseed, Stress

To War Against The Decline Of His Meridian

Aug 29th

Posted by Mustardseed Cochrane in Books

3 comments

The Phantom Cart by Salvador Dali (1933), used as the cover image for the first edition of Blood Meridian, Or The Evening Redness In The West.

Blood Meridian could have been nothing more than a catalog of violence, rather than a terrifying meditation on the atrocities committed by the Glanton Gang. Save for one, its characters revel in the murders they commit, and while writer Cormac McCarthy imbues their acts with a certain warped eloquence through his use of beautiful and highly descriptive prose that reflects this macabre celebration, he does not do so to merely glorify the violence. Nor does he judge it as a mindless act. His central proponent for violence, Judge Holden, informs us that war is the only true game, for risking death, it is the only game that “swallows up game, player, and all.” His meditations and explanations of the methodology he uses to vindicate himself and the rest of the scalp hunters’ acts, thereby liberating them from any apprehension they might have in committing them, is perhaps the most terrifying part of the book.

The book is based on the true story of a group of men led by John Joel Glanton, a former member of the U.S. Army during the mid-19^th century, who was hired by Mexican governors to kill and scalp Indians on the borders of the United States and Mexico during 1849 and 1850. It follows a nameless protagonist only referred to as ‘the kid’ after he runs away from rural Tennessee at the age of fourteen, meeting up with the Glanton Gang two years later. McCarthy tells us that the kid can “neither read nor write and in him broods already a taste for mindless violence,” something we see in the second page as he has nightly fights with sailors in a bar until he’s shot in the back, just below his heart. He is essentially the perfect initiate for Judge Holden’s philosophy. Yet, that is the central conflict of the book, for while the kid rides and murders with the gang, his conscience is not completely free when he performs these acts. When given the duty of killing an injured member of the gang after everyone else has left, he cannot bring himself to do so. His reluctance undermines everything the Judge believes in.

Judge Holden is described as being about seven feet tall, lacking any hair growth and with the complexion of an albino and the face of an infant. He has traveled the world, speaks numerous languages, including an understanding for ancient and cryptic ones. An accomplished fiddler and dancer, it appears there isn’t anything he cannot subjugate and nor master; even time, as he hasn’t appeared to age when years have passed. He carries notebooks into which he sketches and makes notes of a variety of things he finds along the gang’s journey—a piece of armor, birds, insects—and after he’s done with them he destroys them. When asked why he does so, he explains that he wishes to remove the existence of these things from the “memory of man.” Only the Judge will hold the knowledge and understanding of their existence. As he explains later on, “Whatever in creation exists without my knowledge exists without my consent.” His desire is to be suzerain, or overlord, of the world. Nature is the only thing that can undermine him, because it is the only thing that exists independent of man’s will and desire. Nature, and as McCarthy demonstrates, the kid’s refusal to be seduced by Holden’s views and be carried off like a bride, as one of the characters remarks. Since it’s implied that the Judge rapes children, this is perhaps not to be taken as a flippant remark.

If you wish to be disturbed, then in the spirit of our “bring the pain” theme, here is a book whose characters not only “bring the pain,” but are also acutely aware of why they do so. Of some who enjoy it, and of some who are faintly disturbed by the prospect of it. A conversation with violence, so to speak.

5/5 - Punched in the face by AWESOME!

Blood Meridian or The Evening Redness In The West, Bring the Pain, Cormac McCarthy, Mustardseed, Mustardseed Cochrane

Nights on Mary Street: Summer 1997-Spring 1998

Aug 21st

stage_lights_background2 The seating capacity is listed at three-hundred and twenty five, and even if only half of that attended that night, there were still plenty of witnesses. A little over one-hundred people, if not more, who remained silent. There had probably been that many the week before who watched a seventeen year old boy whose leg was trembling in his jeans as he stared beyond the stage lights and into that void from which he was drawing laughter every few moments. I had prepared the material for that previous week.

I had a notebook with the spiral binding smashed down. I poured ideas into this notebook at school, on the bus in the mornings and afternoons. I would try out the material by slipping it in to conversations with friends, strangers. I would make note of what worked and try to understand why the rest didn’t work. Would a slight change in phrasing clarify the punch line?

SUMMER-FALL 1997

I sat outside of the Improv Comedy Club Miami every Monday night for about two months when they hosted Open Mic Night. I don’t remember going home after school. I don’t even remember eating dinner. I would get off the Metro-Rail at the Coconut Grove or Douglas Road stations, then board a smaller bus that went back and forth between the two stations, dropping off passengers on the sidewalks of Coconut Grove.

289780837_725f6dfa37 There had been an opportunity before the waiting, and before the club owner and the event coordinator for the open mic night discoverer I was seventeen. I had heard about an open mic night event and after talking about doing something like that for a while I decided to go to this club and reserve a spot. I arrived early, I gave my name and the young lady at the counter at the front of the club put me down. Then I entered the club and I could see the small stage and the crowd seated at their tables. My group and I found a table at the other end of the club and we sat and waited. Performers started going on and I waited my turn. How would they know to find me? Performers went on, and some received laughs while others found reasons never to come back. I don’t know which would feel worse when you’re standing up there and the material isn’t working: silence or booing? When the last performer left the stage and the host for the night announced the winner of the open mic night, I realized I had missed my opportunity. Don’t think it passed me by, now, because it didn’t. I didn’t once see any of the performers stand up from any table and walk up to the stage. I could have stood up and walked back to the front and asked if Iwas right to wait for my turn out in the audience as I watched each performers’ set. I was afraid. I sat at my table while my friend Idolka held my hand, and the numbing feeling in my stomach spread through the rest of my body. Then the night was over, and the two month wait outside of the club every Monday night began. They had found out how old I was and wouldn’t let me back in. There was even one night where the event coordinator, as a calm as he could remain, told me to leave as I was interfering with the patrons. My two months ended when neither the owner of the club nor the event coordinator were present, and I was allowed to go on. I didn’t get booed off the stage. There were giggles and a few small laughs, and then I was off the stage. While it wasn’t a spectacular set, I didn’t faint, I didn’t freeze up, and I wanted more.

SPRING 1998

My Mom and my brothers took a trip to Disneyworld during springbreak in April. I had already been to Disneyworld, and I wanted some time to myself, therefore I chose to stay behind. This is something I did a few times whenever the family took trips, and it took quite an effort the first few times to convince my Mom to let me stay.

I’m not sure what my exact thought process was that led me to get dressed and grab my bus card to stand outside on Le Jeune Road and catch the bus to the Douglas Road station, there to transfer to the bus into the Grove. It was one of those moments where I wanted something and had wanted it for a very long time, and I failed to see any reason why I shouldn’t try one more time. The timing felt right. I was on my own away from my family, I would be turning eighteen in about three weeks. This needed to be done. I couldn’t have just one brief interlude on that stage.

I think it was one of my friends who called my name for me to come to the stage that night. I had pieced together a rough set over all of those months. It was all rough material, one of the bits being about talking about President Bill Clinton entering Congress as if he was walking to the BeeGees “Staying Alive” while Al Gore and Hillary Clinton stood behind him providing the chorus. I remember looking down at my leg and being surprised that I couldn’t see it visibly shaking as I could I feel it doing exactly that. I remember the man they told me was an FBI Agent, who would sit in the front tables close to the stage and heckle the performers. I remember being surprised when some of the material received a good laugh.

Then I remember the next week. I had used up all of the material in my notebook the previous week, but I wanted to go back again. I figured I could put something together quickly. That was vey naive, as I didn’t have the experience to do something like that. Professional Stand-Up Comedians gather a large body of material from which they can draw from at a moment’s notice and piece together a quick set. I was not a professional.

There’s a sense of hyperawareness when an audience is quiet and there are lights blinding you. It’s almost like a zen experience. I remember walking up to the stage, excited, and walking up to the microphone. I remember the silence of the audience after I said my opening bit (which I refuse to recount to anyone who wasn’t there that night). In that silence came the realization that I was in trouble, and there proceeded a strange calm over my body as I accepted there was nothing I could come up with at that very moment that would save me. My friends tried to console me afterwards. They performed there on a regular basis. They understood.

Coconut Grove, Improv Comedy Club Miami, Mustardseed, Train Wrecks

What would you do with a shinbone? – Thoughts on “IN THE LOOP”

Aug 14th

Posted by Mustardseed Cochrane in Film

Peter Capaldi and Chris Addison as Malcom Tucker and Toby Wright in Armando Iannuci's "IN THE LOOP."

The characters in Armando Iannucci’s IN THE LOOP eventually talk about war, though always as something distant that they have either read about in books or seen movies of. It’s even implied that the United States’ General Miller (James Gandolfini) doesn’t really have the amount of war experience he claims to have. No one is even sure if he’s ever even killed a man, much less seen any combat. Yet there is talking, as I mentioned. I can’t recall a pause for silence in this film that lasted for more than a few moments. Most of the conversations center around who will look bad and what not to say and what should be said to keep careers afloat. Or even sex. Or a tumbling wall in Northhamptonshire. When someone decides to have a serious conversation about the logistics of going to war in the Middle East, it doesn’t occur in any of the government facilities we see. Instead, it happens in a child’s bedroom, with General Miller using the child’s talking calculator to sum up how many troops are available to send in. 12,000. And that’s just how many they would send in to initially die. You still need a few around afterwards so you can say you won.

There are two sides to the debate on whether or not to go to war led by the British Prime Minister and U.S. officials. On the U.S. side for war, there is Linton Barwick (David Rasche), who keeps a live grenade on his desk as a paper weight. He plays squash and is followed around by his assistant who “hopes to play squash one day.” When Barwick sees statements he doesn’t like in a colleague’s minutes, he changes the statements in the minutes. That colleague would be the other side of the debate, Karen Clarke (Mimi Kennedy) who worries about dental problems and sits in a bathroom as her assistant Liza (Anna Chlumsky) helps her stuff tissues in her mouth to stop her bleeding gums. Liza is also ambitious. She wrote a report detailing the pros and cons of going to war.

Then there is Simon Foster (Tom Hollander) , the British Secretary of State for International Development, and his newly hired assistant Toby (Chris Addison), who find themselves in the middle of this conflict after Simon inadvertently told a news outlet that war was “unforeseeable.” Simon means well, but is ineffectual. Thr Americans refer to him as a “meat puppet.” When things get hard for Simon, he retreats to a box of mints. As the Prime Minister’s Communications Chief Malcom Tucker (Peter Cappaldi) who tries to keep Simon’s statements in line tells him, it’s best if he not speak.

Tucker is a man who works so hard he claims at one point to sweat spinal fluid. As played by Peter Cappaldi, I laughed because I actually expected said fluids to start pouring out of his body. Tucker performs his duties on behalf of the Prime Minister with a combination of tenacity and verbal abuse that includes threats to stab someone to death with their own shinbone, which he would of course pull from their body himself.

While the current war in Iraq is never mentioned directly, only a war in the Middle East, the movie clearly draws parallels with events leading up to the Iraq conflict, down to an interesting manifestation of reliable intelligence to lead the nations into a conflict. The humor in each character’s lines works because they naturally come out of each characters’ clearly defined personality, from Simon who is terrified of taking a stand and constantly fumbles his words in public, to Tucker, who is like a freight train of fertilizer about to run down a school bus full of nuns.

My opinion on the war in the movie? Send Tucker in to the war zone with a megaphone for two days.

4/5 - Nearly classic!

Anna Chlumsky, Armando Iannucci, James Galdofini, Mustardseed, My Love is Inexplicable, Peter Cappaldi, Tom Hollander

Einstein and thoughts on a possible U.S. Patent

Aug 7th

blue_marble_globe_west_wall1 Whether or not it’s true, there are still theories that on December 21st, 2012, something drastic is going to happen to our planet. One of the theories I find most interesting is that our poles might drastically shift, making the North and South Poles trade their locations. Performing only cursory research on the internet, I discovered that even Albert Einstein, the intellect who redefined our understanding of the fabric of gravity, predicted in 1959 that something might happen on the Winter Solstice of 2012. I was once in the Scouts, and while disaster wasn’t always going to befall at every turn, we were still taught to be prepared.

With an intellect like Einstein’s guiding me, therefore, I’ve decided how to prepare myself just in case the poles do shift and our planet starts spinning in the opposite direction: I’m getting handlebars.

Test Day.

I bought a set of metal push-up bars. I knew palm comfort would be hhp-001 an issue, therefore I paid a little more for a set of bars with foam grips. Then came the question of how to fasten the bars to a sturdy surface, as well as what that surface should be. In the end, I decided that I would like them cemented directly to a concrete surface. Unsure how to go about mixing cement and incorporating the bars to the sidewalk outside of the house, I decided to search for alternative fastening methods until I could ask the first construction crew I come across on the freeway. The receipt on the bars said I had a 14-day window to return them in, and I wanted to find out if they could withstand the ordeal. That’s when I began to ask if I had enough strength to last through the shift.

I called my friend Joel and told him what I was trying to do, and then asked him if he would meet me at a park a few blocks from my house. I needed to find out where my strength stood, and then take that information and formulate a strength building routine that would help me reach my goal by 2012.

“How are you going to do that?” Joel asked me when he got to the park.

I asked him to follow me to the monkey bars.

Joel played football in high school, and also worked as a furniture delivery man for some time after that. I estimated, therefore, that he had enough strength in him to give me a fair representation of the cosmic force I would be conditioning myself to go up against. I reached my hands out to the monkey bars, and when I felt I had decent grip, I asked him to grab my legs around the shins.

There was a fire station next to the park, and the firefighters would sometimes exercise by taking walks in groups through the park. The presence of fully trained emergency care personnel was a good thing for me, since there were two of them on one of these walks who saw me hanging horizontally in the air as Joel pulled me by the legs and I screamed when I heard something pop in my shoulder, losing my grip and falling face first into the sand around the monkey bars.

Einstein, Mustardseed, Under the Radar, Winter Solstice - 2012

Selina’s praise, and a few thoughts on storytellers

Jul 31st

1118741b6a7b6825b96089ce115a97b6 If we had schoolwork to attend to when we returned to our classrooms, it didn’t matter. Was he telling the factual truth? It doesn’t matter at this point. I think about this young man, in his jeans and his t-shirt, who stood for an hour, probably less, on the stage in our school cafeteria and mesmerized us with a story about a pet snake he had owned as a child. I’ve learned that storytellers used to paint images of story elements on their cave walls, to remind them of their place in the story…like post it notes. From those origins, where storytellers would chant and dance and share stories with an audience, we have evolved as a species to where we now articulate these stories with verbs and nouns and the occasional use of proper grammar. I sat there mesmerized, thousands of years of evolution culminating into such a short span of time. Who would think a good time would take so long to perfect? I wanted to be a part of that heritage one day. Then I found myself sitting in the grass with the rest of the class outside of the classroom about two weeks later.

Everyone was talking about the man with the snake story, and about the pets they owned. Most of the kids had goldfish, or dogs, or cats. There was this one boy, I’ll call him Soda Truck because that’s the nickname he gave himself in the classroom yearbook that was passed out at the end of the year. He really called himself Soda Truck, which I didn’t understand because I always saw him drinking milk. There were four of us, myself and three girls; Jessica, Lisa, and Selina. Selina lived in the same building I did. I liked Selina, and I had stayed quiet while the other girls told what pets they had. I was biding my time. Goldfish all around, which was exciting for me because I had a parakeet. I thought this would impress her. Soda Truck had been listening and looking over, and I had kept making eye contact with him, which I didn’t want to do. Just when I was about to jump in and say I had a parakeet, to which I expected to receive a reaction of awe, Soda cuts me off and starts talking about this chinchilla he has. He tells us about how it’s this little ball of fur with these huge eyes and this long and fluffy tail. The girls were eating this up, and I didn’t want to be outdone.

I told them I had a marsupial.

I’m pretty sure I had never seen a marsupial at that point in my life. It must have been a word I had heard one night while falling asleep with the television on. Yet there I sat with three girls and one guy in complete silence after I had revealed that I had a marsupial. I didn’t even know what one was, but I had all of their attention, including Selina’s.

I wasn’t completely sure what a marsupial was. I didn’t even know how many varieties there were of them at the time. From koalas, kangaroos, brushtail possums to the sugar glider, something that looks like a giant squirrel but with a smaller snout. Lisa asked me what it was like, and I just started talking. I said it was about a little bigger than a cat. I had my arms stretched out to illustrate the size of the animal. My teacher gave me this odd look, but she was smiling, and she asked me if it had a pouch, because that’s what marsupials have to carry their young in. I said it did. What’s its name, someone asked. Lord Jingles, I said back. And he definitely has a pouch, and sometimes my brother likes to hide things in it, so I have to keep him away from Lord Jingles. This went on for a few minutes until we went back inside and started to work on the math portion of the day’s lesson.

My brother Jorge and I sat in our room that afternoon while our Mom made us dinner. Jorge had been sick the last few days with a flu, and he had all of the windows closed because the light bothered him. Every time he had a flu or a cold or the chicken pox, the windows would be closed and I would have to turn on a small lamp to read anything in the afternoon. We sat there talking about my day at school, and I told him about Lord Jingles. When he asked me why I had done it, I told him, and he understood.

“Do you think anyone will ever figure it out?” he said.

I told him probably not. They would probably forget it in a few days. So the next day I went to school. It was a few minutes after I came back from recess that one of the security guards came to get me. My brother had been checked into the hospital at around nine that morning. They had to hold me down after that, and I cried in the corner of the room. I knew he had been sick, but I didn’t think he would have to go to the hospital. My Mom was sitting in the office when they brought me in with my eyes all red.

“Who is Lord Jingles?” she said to me.

Selina had been impressed when she thought I had a marsupial. She talked about it with her friends, and then her sisters, and then her sisters told their mother. Animal control had come by at eight thirty that morning. They informed our mother about reports of an illegal animal on the premises. They asked her to stand aside so they could check the house, and they started going through the house. When they went into my room, my brother made a squeak, and the room was so dark because the curtains were down, and the guy from animal control must have been new at his job because my mom says he just jumped up and my brother jumped out of bed after that. And the guy shot him with one of the tranquilizer darts, right in the left buttocks . The tranquilizer wasn’t too strong, the man from animal control had come prepared to deal with something the size of a house cat. However, my brother always had health problems. He had an allergic reaction to the chemicals in the dart. They had to remove part of his buttocks in order to prevent infection from spreading.

My brother and I don’t talk very often these days. I tried to make it up to him. I gave him my bike, I cleaned his dishes for years. I even made a little pillow he could put to the side and sit on so he wouldn’t be lopsided when he sat at the dinner table.

Mustardseed

Oh, have ye seen them sweet, fabled lands!

Jul 24th

stormtroopers1 Neil Gaiman came across Japanese Filmmaker Hayao Miyazaki outside of the the restaurant he was having dinner at. When I read things like that, I wonder what else happens at Comic Con? You see, I have never attended. Oh I’m sure it will happen one day. In the meantime, I dream about what the experience might be like. I sit here now and I picture what that itinerary might be like for a single day, from the moment I wake up until I’m laying in my bed back at the hotel.

Are the walls lined with the pages of every issue of my favorite comic books, pasted in proper sequential order so I can follow the story to my bed as I head to my room?

Do you get your own personal storm trooper who walks you to meet all of your favorite artists and writers, carrying your box full of signed memorabilia with his Standard Imperial Issue High Power Blaster Rifle, Quickshot model, hanging from his shoulder and whistling “Rain drops keep falling on my head?”

And when you’re tired and you want to unwind at the end of the day, before you go to sleep, is there a pub where a giant green man as tall as the ceiling and wearing a vest and a bow tie pours your drink and serves it to you at that perfect temperature that brings out the full flavor? “Two’s the limit here, friend,” he says to you, “the perfect amount you may have without the risk of losing your temper. This place wouldn’t be magical if you saw it when you’re angry.” Does he laugh and then direct you to look at the stage, and behold, Hugh Jackman is standing there dressed as Wolverine, with his claws sticking out as everyone claps while he kicks his legs from side to side and presents to the audience his work in progress, “Bell Kicks for Raging Cannucks!”

Does your storm trooper fluff your pillow before you go to bed at night, and set an extra mint by your pillow so you won’t have to worry that your breath smells like bantha fodder for too long after you wake up?

Maybe I’ll find out one day. You’re welcome to tell me, but I won’t believe you until I see it for myself.

Mustardseed, San Diego Comic Con

Of Gods and Men of Tomorrow (Abridged): Thoughts on DC Comics’ FINAL CRISIS

Jul 17th

Posted by Mustardseed Cochrane in Comics

Cover artwork for Final Crisis #4

Grant Morrison should not be constrained. He called Final Crisis his ‘magnum opus,’ and if you stand back and simply look at the story, you would have to agree that was his intention. A story about the fight for either existence or non-existence. There is time travel. There is inter-dimensional travel. There are gods and deicide and even the sky cracking in limbo. However, the story reads like an abridged edition of an epic I wanted to enjoy. Even with the series being printed with extra pages per issue, character development is still rushed. Morrison cuts from scene to scene very quickly, which is something that can be used to affect a reader when working with a smaller cast. This is not a small cast, though. The DC Universe is replete with characters, each with their own complex and interwoven mythologies. I’ll admit I’m more of a casual fan of the DC Universe and, therefore, many of the character references didn’t register with me. Yet it’s not the history of these characters that I need to be familiar with, as far as who they fought in what issue and so forth. Morrison is also known for inserting mind-bending concepts into his work. It’s a difficult balance to strike between character and plot development, as well as finding room for concepts such as “quantum superposition used defensively.”

There is an issue that focuses on the “Tattooed Man” and “Black Lightning.” The former is a “villain” and the latter is a “superhero.” There are chases and action in the issue, yet the main focus is the interaction between these two characters and their views on themselves and on one another. The Tattooed Man holds a prejudice against superheroes. He’s been wrongly incarcerated. He reflects on this and his treatment by the superhero community. “Black Lightning” confronts these views and the narrative focuses on two men with different points of view trying to communicate with one another. The action doesn’t always upstage them. The series is at its best when the characters aren’t upstaged by the plot and the action and the need to fit all of this in a set number pages, and instead are allowed to breathe. Then they are allowed to affect us.

There were times where I wanted more of this. I wanted to be more invested in these characters and, therefore, be able to fully experience and enjoy all of Grant Morrison’s work. Perhaps there’s an expanded edition out there? That’s wishful thinking, I know. I also know Grant Morrison is capable of delivering this kind of experience to a reader. His run on X-Men was over thirty issues. His All Star Superman series about what the last son of Krypton decides to do with the last year of his life affected me in a way I didn’t expect. It made me remember who Superman was and why I cared about what happened to him when I was a kid. Final Crisis could have used more room for a man like Grant Morrison, with so much coming out of his mind.

3/5 - Might be worth a try...

DC Comics, Final Crisis, Grant Morrison, Mustardseed

Questions on July 10th

Jul 10th

For your comparison, courtesy of Leinil Francis Yu.

You thought about those days in winter when the humidity dropped and you didn’t feel like you were carrying the weight of some warm and invisible syrup on your skin as the sun evaporated all of the water on the ground from an earlier rain storm. Then it was time to open the front door and the glass door, and all of the windows in the apartment. A June breeze would funnel through, making Miami weather bearable while conversations were held in the open doorway or on the balcony. Patrick Stewart should play Professor X, and you would suggest Jack Nicholson for Wolverine after you had seen him in “Wolf.” Sometimes the discussions were held from bunk beds, with whoever held the top bunk at the time playing the mediator, adjudicating between two points. You remember the same questions being brought up on separate occasions, leading to the exact discussions. The responses were familiar, but still exciting. You thought about slightly different points to make. Perhaps. New directions with which to perpetuate that communion in the dark. That’s what mattered, though you weren’t conscious of it then. Yet didn’t those moments become dearer when you realized their rarity and inconstancy?

Can you see the Wolverine three young boys saw?

Perhaps you think about this whenever you find yourself in a group or setting that gives you that same feeling. That flow. Perhaps you look up from the panels on high gloss paper, begging Superman to hold that thought for just one moment so you may take it all in as you sit on the ground of a store or in a living room or whatever place is opportune.

Tomorrow will come, and what will you do then to commune? Will you run to a park with a bag full of comics and sit under a tree, or chase one another in the dark, past the swings with their foundations buried in the sand, through the bushes at the edge of the park, or behind the dumpster in the apartment building across the street?

Are you too old for that now? Are you not?

Then tell me, how will you commune while the humidity index climbs and you open your windows to let the air in?

Jack Nicholson, Mike Nichols, Mustardseed, Patrick Stewart, Professor X, Wolf, Wolverine

Bifrost Toll Up Ahead: $.75

Jul 3rd

Posted by Mustardseed Cochrane in Books