Monday, February 28, 2005

AND THE SUPER-HORSE YOU RODE IN ON

In a previous entry, we've looked at the strange sexual hijinx surrounding Superman, Batman, and various other superheroic icons of the early 1960s, and we even gave a passing glance to Superman's adorable little teenage cousin from Krypton, Supergirl. Now I think it's time to take a closer look at the Last Daughter of Doomed Krypton, and a couple of her more deeply disturbed relationships:

Superman & Supergirl -

That's right, you non-comics geeks, you read it here first. Much though you may wish I'm making it up, the June 1962 issue of Action Comics (#289) made it pretty explicitly clear that Superman, the Man of Steel, is warm for the form of his barely nubile jailbait cousin, Supergirl. (And let's be clear, here; Supergirl's origin story in ACTION COMICS #252 tells us quite explicitly that Supergirl's father is the brother of Superman's father, so they are first cousins by blood, related in exactly the same way as you are to that total babe of a first cousin you used to practice making out with and caught total hell for from your and his/her parents when they walked in on you when you were 12... like they never did it when they were kids, the hypocrites).

Of course, there are some states of our fine Union where first cousins can legally marry and even gestate together (and I think Florida may well be one of them) but incest isn't the only issue here. (There's some fine wordplay potential in the phrase 'State of the Union' as combined with the concept of regional laws allowing first cousins to marry, but it's early and I'm too tired to come up with it. Sorry.) All through the 1950s and 1960s, National's super-characters were pretty much frozen in age. Superman, in fact, remained thirty-something from 1939 on up through the late 1960s, when someone declared he was 29 (an age he remained at until around 1985), and Supergirl, while her age was never really specified, was pretty clearly around 13 or 14 years old in her debut, and in the manner of comic books, she remained pretty much that age for most of a decade, until the early 1970s, when abruptly she was old enough to go to college (an age she remained, apparently, until 1985, when she died heroically during the pretty much appalling CRISIS ON INFINITE EARTHS).

So even if the whole kissin' cousins thing doesn't trouble you overly, let's keep in mind that ACTION #289, in which Superman offhandedly remarks that he "could only marry a lovable superwoman like [Supergirl]", and then sighs heavily as he mentions that 'unfortunately', Kryptonian law forbids first cousins to marry (yeah, buddy, Metropolis law, too), Superman is basically making a pretty direct pass at a 14 year old.

Between this and all the super-powerful jewelry Supes kept giving to Jimmy Olsen all through the Silver Age, you really have to wonder exactly what weird lizards were living in The Head of Steel. You also have to wonder why neither Superman nor Supergirl ever happens to mention what Kryptonian law thinks about a 30 something year old man putting the wood to a vulnerable, dependent 14 year old girl, but maybe Krypton is like Colorado, where you can legally have sex with a 12 year old as long as you marry her first. (This is actually true; and I think it's true in Georgia, too.)

Now Supergirl, perhaps thrown into a panic attack by the notion of her groaty dirty old perv of a cousin hauling her into the coat-room at the next Legion of Superheroes reunion and feeling her up thoroughly, instantly decides, in the manner of meddling female relatives since time immemorial, that Superman desperately needs to get himself a non-Kryptonian date, and lickety damned split, too. Since the Silver Age super-types could pretty casually travel in time, she first lures Superman back to Ancient Greece in the hopes he might get a raging woody for Helen of Troy. When that doesn't work, she apparently reasons that if Clark likes her, he must prefer blondes, so she then gets him to fly into 2972, where their future pals the Legion of Superheroes have grown up into adults, so she can try to fix him up with the now fully mature Saturn Woman. (Supergirl just doesn't seem to understand that Superman likes 'em young, or she'd have sicc'ed him on the 14 year old Saturn Girl back in 2962. But then, I'm sure she loves her cousin and she's doubtless trying hard to give him the benefit of the doubt.)

Supergirl's plan seems to work at first, as Saturn Woman and Superman commence to mug it up quite steamily underneath the mistletoe... only to be embarrassed when Lightning Man (hey, I don't make up these names) comes roaring out of the next room to demand what the hell Superman thinks he's doing, making out with his wife for twenty minutes, druidic herb sprig or no frickin' druidic herb sprig. (A better question might have been exactly what the married Saturn Woman was doing playing tonsil hockey with the Metropolis Marvel for nearly half an hour, but Lightning Man never asked that, I suppose because the defense "Well, if Superman wants to stick his tongue down my throat, what can I do to stop him" is pretty irrefutable... plus, Saturn Woman has telepathic powers, and if I were married to her I'd try pretty hard not to piss her off overmuch, too.)

It's about this time that Superman makes his rueful confession regarding how he could only ever really marry someone like his sweet little cousin (good thing Lana and Lois aren't around listening to THAT or they'd just jump off the Daily Planet building in despair) and so, Kara (Supergirl's real name, non-comics fans) then proceeds to try to get Superman shacked up with her final candidate... a totally hot blonde super powered chick who lives on a distant planet and who is pretty much a dead ringer for, as the story notes, Supergirl herself, with a few more years of maturing secondary sex characteristics under (and over) her belt.

This particular candidate, Luma Lynai, Superwoman for her entire world, does indeed fall madly in love with Superman, and he with her, while Supergirl clenches her hands together next to her cheeks and beams at the success of her wily manipulations, in which she has finally managed to get her older cousin fixed up with a woman who, well, looks pretty much exactly like his younger cousin, albeit with somewhat larger boobs. (And yes, the phrase 'what the HELL were the editors and writers THINKING' does indeed leap firmly to mind at this point.)

However, the romance is eventually thwarted because Luma Lynai can't live under a yellow sun (she SAYS the radiation will slowly kill her, but I think she just doesn't like the color it turns her hair) and naturally, Superman, being a complete control freak who always has to be the master of his own domain, can't even consider moving to HER place.

At the end of our reasonably twisted tale, having utterly failed to successfully foist her randy old cousin off on some other unwitting dupe, Supergirl decides to 'let him handle his own love life from now on', a phrase I myself tend to think is probably a pretty straightforward euphemism for 'fine, then, if he doesn't like any of the girls I found for him, the sonofabitch can just jerk off!'. Which, when you think of it, brings a whole new meaning to the term 'Fortress of Solitude'.

However, it should be noted that if Supergirl occasionally decided to give her poor horny old cuz the occasional mercy hand or blow job while they were both all alone in their insanely isolated arctic retreat, who would know? And if anyone ever found out, who's going to bitch at the most powerful humanoid beings in the entire universe about it, or anything else, for that matter?

Besides, if you take Larry Niven's "Man of Steel, Woman of Kleenex" seriously, you'd have to admit that Supergirl is pretty much the only safe lay Superman is ever going to have access to... at least, until DC buys up Fawcett's characters in the 1970s and Mary Marvel suddenly appears on Earth-National.

Now, disturbing though this particular romantic near-relationship was, it doesn't hold a candle to perhaps the sickest chapter in Super-romance ever published by a mainstream comics company, which is to say, the time that Supergirl dated her own pet horse, Comet.

You think I'm kidding, but honestly, we're not that lucky. Comet the Super Horse, who was one of Supergirl's favorite pets, was in fact a centaur from ancient Greece who had, through magical misadventures, been transformed entirely into a horse, and then, to kind of make up for it, had been given the 'powers of the gods', which were pretty much the same powers as Superman and Supergirl have. Biron (his original name as a centaur) was then trapped on a distant planet for a few thousand years and only freed when Supergirl's Kryptonian escape rocket came tearing by and serendipitously shattered the radiation bands holding him imprisoned. He then followed her rocket back to Earth and decided to team up with her and help her fight crime, in gratitude for her saving him.(See Adventure Comics No. 364, January 1968, "The Revolt of the Super-Pets").

What makes this even weirder and more potentially sicko is that in a later story, Comet gets the ability to regain his human form whenever a comet is visible in the Earthly sky. Naturally, they had to do one Supergirl story where a comet comes buzzing through, Comet (the horse) regains his human form, takes on the name "Bronco" Bill Starr, rodeo rider, accidentally runs into Supergirl, and the two of them fall in love. (See Action Comics No. 301, June 1963, "The Secret Identity of Super-Horse", later reprinted as "Supergirl's Cowboy Hero" in a Supergirl All Romance Stories 80 Page Giant, which was where I first read and goggled at it incredulously when I was around 10.)

As you'd expect, Comet in his human form couldn't quite bring himself to tell the Maid of Steel that he was actually... er... her horse... (not to mention a tiny leetle bit older than her, like, a few millenia) and although they did a fair amount of tongue wrestling given the editorial constraints of the era, eventually the comet (the one in the sky, fella) continued on its path and Supergirl's latest paramour went all four legged again. Supergirl never knew what became of the poor goop and I fairly distinctly recall the story ending with a panel showing Supergirl snuggling up to her big white superhorse, stroking and petting his silky mane while sighing something like "Gosh, I wonder if I'll ever see him again", in response to which Comet thought something like "If only I could tell her... but even if I could, it could never be!"

Or if it could, it would be the sort of thing you can only ever find footage of on underground European websites.

THE ALL NEW, ALL DIFFERENT X-BOX

Well, it’s the last day of Spoil Darren Month, and the UPS guy has come and gone with my last official Spoil Darren Package from my wonderful Friend Who Must Not Be Named.

This one… contained an X-Box.

Along with the X-Box, I have three games: Hulk, which I remember my brother Paul playing with some enjoyment, and two others I don’t know anything about except what I’ve seen on the cases: Time Splitters 2, and Goblin Commander. But they both look pretty cool.

I also have a $15 Blockbuster gift card my cousin and his wife gave me for Christmas, that has languished unused in my wallet since then as I never go to Blockbuster. I’m thinkin, though, that it might be good to go up there and see if they have a nice cheap used copy of Knights of the Old Republic I can scarf up.

The box also contained a DVD of Pretty Woman and three Marvel Treasury Editions -- Howard the Duck, The Sensational Spider-Man (reprinting the story where Spidey tries to cure himself of his super powers and ends up giving himself four extra arms instead), and the very first Superhero Holiday Grab Bag, which I remember buying back in 1975 or so, with some absolutely amazing Gene Colan rendered pictorials of Natasha “the Black Widow” Romanoff climbing out of the shower and drying off (pics that seared themselves into my adolescent brain cells way back then and that I’m very pleased to own copies of again), as well as some other reprinted stories I remember pretty fondly as well, including Daredevil’s first encounter with the Sub-Mariner, gorgeously drawn by Wally Wood, and the first Avengers/Fantastic Four crossover, as well as a reprint of Marvel Team Up #1, which is historically interesting despite the fact that it’s written in typically mediocre fashion by Gerry Conway and drawn by Ross Andru in a manner nearly guaranteed to put anyone to sleep within a few panels.

A note of passing interest, if only to me, on the Black Widow story previously referred to (from Amazing Adventures #5, if you just have to know): while the story itself is pretty forgettable, other than the utterly lush and astonishingly gorgeous Colan art, the dynamic between the Widow and Ivan, as well as Natasha’s then very plush luxury apartment at the top of a Manhattan high rise, are undeniably reminiscent of the dynamic between Modesty Blaise and Willie Garvin. Given that Roy Thomas later names one of the bad guys “Willie”, one has to assume this isn’t a coincidence. It’s odd to think that Modesty Blaise was this influential, but, well, I guess she was.

Back to the X-Box – I’m pleased to report that I have managed to dispel a couple of X-Box myths I’d heard from my brother (or perhaps my X-Box is just better than his, I don’t know). First, he’d told me that you could only have up to 100 separate tracks in a music collection. After putting a couple of hours into it, I am currently listening to a collection that has 102 tracks in it, and it seems to work just fine. This is good, since I’ve only done about half of the music I own on CD that I’d like to be able to play on a random basis, and I’m sure I’ll be borrowing CDs right, left and sideways from everyone else I know to cram tracks from onto this thing, too. The really major reason I wanted one was so I could use it as a jukebox, and I’m pleased to find that that particular limitation Paul had told me about apparently isn’t one.

Secondly, Paul had assured me the X-Box would not play, or copy, tracks from a burned disc. I have a couple of burned discs, one given me by Paul, and one given me by Scott Shepherd. I had no problem pulling the four tracks I wanted (“Peace Love & Understanding” by Elvis Costello, “Hard Candy” by Counting Crows, “Relating to a Psychopath” by Macy Gray, and “Drinkin’ In LA” by Van Bram 2000) off the disc Paul gave me, so I anticipate adding a few tracks from the CD Scott sent me with no difficulty, as well… along with a lot of other stuff… maybe tomorrow afternoon, or later tonight.

I enjoy the end results, but copying music onto the X-Box is kind of a pain, so I think I’ll give it a rest for now and just enjoy what’s already on there.

Later on tonight, I’ll have to put in a game and re-familiarize myself with how the controller works. I’ll probably try Time Splitters first, as it looks like the kind of first person shooter game I tend to enjoy.

In other news, I have a HeroClix game set up on my card table. I basically just wanted to try out a few clix I haven’t used yet, so I’ve got Team Spider-Man on one side, featuring my promotional Spider-Man, my black suited Spider-Man, my six-armed Spider-Man, my web-shield sporting Spider-Man, my cool Critical Mass Spider-Man jumping over the roof cornice, my Ultimates Spider-Man with the book bag, and my Mutant Mayhem Spidey with the double Incapacitate. Against them, I have a mish-mosh… Count Nefaria, a rookie Witchblade, vet Johnny Alpha, Saurian Trooper, Rasputin, and Hellboy, along with my Unique Arwyn. The points came out nearly equal, with just enough discrepancy to give Witchblade an AutoRegenerate.

I’m also trying out my 3-D objects for the first time. Count Nefaria scored first blood, racing up to the mailbox and positioning himself to attack with it on the next turn. Web Shield Spider-Man, who has Super Strength on his opening click, had positioned himself adjacent to the lamp post, which turned out to be a bad idea. Since HyperSonic Speed under my house rules allows multiple attacks at full power, Nefaria simply ran up to him, bludgeoned the bejesus out of him with the mailbox, then snatched up the lamp post and belted him with that, too. So much for Web-Shield Spider-Man. Arwyn, having been TKed to the roof where Promo Spidey and Mutant Mayhem Spidey were lurking on top of a chimney, used her Running Shot to dart out from behind cover, hit Promo Spidey for 3 clicks of damage (with Knockback), then duck back out of line of fire. (Again, this is all under my house rules; I know that can’t be done with the normal rules unless a fig has HyperSonic Speed.)

Hellboy snatched up a generator that was on top of that roof and threw it at Mutant Mayhem Spidey. He hit, solidly… or would have, if Spidey’s spider-sense hadn’t warned him in time to let him get out of the way.

Meanwhile, Rasputin dodged shiftily over to some construction debris on the ground and lashed out with a Psionic Blast at six armed Spidey, striking deeply into poor befuddled Parker’s mind with a shrieking bolt of telepathic terror. Doubtless Rasputin felt quite secure in his hiding spot, given how improved the Stealth ability is under my house rules, but when you’re fighting Team Spider-Man, a whole lotta enemies have Super Senses, and once again, under my House Rules, that renders Stealth moot.

On the following turn, Promo Spidey and Mutant Mayhem Spidey saw little reason to stay up on that roof with all the bad Indy people who were slinging and arrowing them, especially given how much spider powered ass Rasputin and Count Nefaria were kicking between them down on the ground. So they dropped down off the roof and went to work. Mutant Mayhem Spider-Man shot a web-blast at Rasputin, but missed, forcing six armed Spidey to move up and put an extra action token on ol’ Razzie with his own web fluid. (Rasputin, drat his commie ass, has Willpower and didn’t take any damage from the Incapacitate attack, but at least he can’t do anything next turn.) Critical Mass Spidey, screaming “YOU KILLED WEB SHIELD SPIDEY!!” in one of those jagged edge word balloons that always denotes vehement and emotional exposition, then picked up the 3-D Dumpster and hopped over to Count Nefaria with it, belaboring the Count about the head and shoulders with it quite vigorously, sending Count Nefaria flying backwards with a fresh set of lumps (Spidey rolled a 12, meaning his 2 damage became a 3, and the heavy dumpster did another 2, so Nefaria took 3 clicks of damage total when he failed to roll it off with his Impervious, and flew backwards 3 squares as well due to knockback).

At the same time, Ultimates Spidey bounced over to Rasputin, picked up a large chunk of the construction debris Rasputin was trying to hide behind, and beat him over the head with it.

And that’s where things stand at the moment – and perhaps for quite a while, as I seem to have video games to check out…

I can’t feel bad about people not posting comments when I don’t give them time to, right?

RULES OF THE ROAD

In one of his many invaluable essays on life in Hollywood, Mark Evanier described his first meeting with legendary TV comic and icon Milton Berle. Upon being introduced to Uncle Miltie and shaking hands with him, Mark, who is a pretty witty guy, blurted out without even thinking about it, "Wow, I didn't recognize you in men's clothing". According to Mark, this soured Uncle Miltie on him from that point forward, because Mark had broken Rule Number One When Hanging With Milton Berle, namely, Never Be Funnier Than Milton Berle.

I'm reminded of that anecdote now.

Recent experiences at Electrolite being pretty much entirely similar if not completely identical to my previous experiences at Uppity-Negro.com and TampaTantrum.com, I thought I'd take the time to extrapolate whatever wisdom there is to find in the whole mess. Here's The Deal, as far as I can see:

If you want to make friends and influence people when you head out onto the blogging trail, at least, as regards your posting comments on other people's blogs, you MUST NOT:

Rule E comes mostly out of my experiences with Aaron Hawkin's Uppity-Negro blog. He gets a lot of female posters and like any of us male geeks would be in that admirable position, he is thoroughly whipped by them. If a new reader comes along and does anything whatsoever to offend the babes on Aaron's blog, that new reader can expect a cold shoulder from Aaron roughly the size of the Greenland glacier. I don't really blame Aaron for this; for a male geek, positive female attention is a jewel beyond price, and if I ever had any women posting to my blog who weren't related to me by marriage, I'd most likely dance and sing like a puppet on a string when they cracked the lash, too.

I should add to this that I've learned, from Electrolite, that one Must Not Be Whimsical, Oblique, or Overly Geeky When Posting To A Big Important Political Marketplace of Ideas Type Blog, because those guys just have no time for Theodore Marley Brooks or Cornelus van Lunt references, regardless of how amusing or entertaining you and some others may find them.

Now, I am posting this to point out that while these may be the universal Rules of the Road on other blogs (and as far as I can see, they are, indeed, pretty much universal) you can ignore them here. I don't care if you:

Oh, and I like geeky references and would just adore whimsical, cleverly elliptical posts to my comment threads, although I suspect I'd get annoyed if someone started posting a whole lot of Harry Potter-speak here, just for one example.

If there is a universal rule on this blog, it is quite simply, Do Not Be A Bigger Asshole Than The Blogger. In fact, if you can avoid it (and most of my small number of regular posters avoid it with style and panache) Don't Be An Asshole At All. I am quite a big enough asshole myself to supply all the assholiness necessary for any blog, and I will continue to keep this blog well furnished with stupid remarks, doltish mistakes, whiney rationalizations, and defensive recriminations by the ton lot, there can be no doubt. You need bring none of your own asshole nature with you, I have plenty and am always willing to share.

THE INEVITABLE DISCLAIMER

By generally accepted social standards, I'm not a likable guy. I'm not saying that to get cheap reassurances. It's simply the truth. I regard many social conventions in radically different ways than most people do, I have many many controversial opinions, and I tend to state them pretty forthrightly. This is not a formula for popularity in any social continuum I've ever experienced.

In my prior blogs, I took the fairly standard attitude: if you don't like my opinions or my blog, don't read the fucking thing.

Having given that some more thought, though, I'm not going to say that this time around, because I've realized that what this is basically saying is, 'if you don't like what I have to say, tough, I don't want to hear it, don't even bother to tell me, just go away'.

And that's actually a pretty worthless attitude. It's basically saying, 'I don't want to hear anything except unconditional agreement and approval'. And that's nonsense. This is still a free country... for a little while longer, anyway... and if you really feel you just gotta send me a flame, or post one on my comment threads (assuming they actually work, which I cannot in any way guarantee) then by all means, knock yourself out.

Unless your flame is exceptionally cogent, witty, or stylish, though, I will most likely ignore it. You do have a right to say anything you want (although I'm not sure that's a right when you're doing it in my comment threads, but hey, you can certainly send all the emails you want). However, I have an equal right not to read anything I don't feel like reading... and I'm really quick with the delete key... as various angry folks have found in the past, when they decided they just had to do their absolute level best to make me as miserable as possible.

So, if you don't like my opinions, feel free to say so. However, if I find absolutely nothing worthwhile in your commentary, I will almost certainly not respond to it in any way.

Stupidity, ignorance, intolerance... these things are only worth my time and attention if they're entertaining. So unless you can be stupid, ignorant, and/or intolerant with enough wit, style, and/or panache to amuse me... try to be smart, informed, and broad minded when you write me.