The day before Halloween, and I still don't have a costume. Not that anything I pick will ever be as cool as my 50's robot costume from the first grade [see above photo].

My brother stood alert as my martian overseer - complete with green paint all over every visible patch of skin. My costume consisted of a cardboard box, dryer ventilation tubes, silver fabric, and a used ice cream bucket (for the head).

That's when I became a Little Lost Robot. If I were a superhero, then I guess this would kinda be like my origin story. Sorta like Iron Man; he's just a normal guy, but he's encased in that kick-ass armor suit. Except that this photo looks all sad, so maybe it would be a better origin story to say that my parents were just gunned down in an alley and I now wear the robot suit to avenge their deaths.

Perfect!

"Don't worry, Mom and Dad, I will see that your killers are brought to justice."

I love it when Halloween falls on a weekend. There's no confusion about what day is appropriate to wear a costume. Not that I can wear a costume to work, or anthing. It'd look bad if i showed up to a press conference dressed like a chainsaw murderer or a Care Bear.

Anyway, last year was a total mess. Halloween was on a Thursday - a 'work/school night.' So, everyone had their parties on the weekend BEFORE, or the weekend AFTER. Which meant that you would, without a doubt would have to dress-up and to go a party on a non-Halloween day. And, it never fails that I'm in a retarded costume when someone pulls up next to me at the stop-light and I get all embarassed and weirded-out.

So, this year I've made the pledge to only dress up on Halloween. I almost got dressed up last night (a week early), but fought the temptation, by just wearing various "hello, my name is..." name tags. Don't even try to talk me out-of-it, I've made up my mind.

And, with all that said...I don't have the slightest clue about my costume. Maybe I've spent too much time over-analyzing all this.

I've spent the whole weekend moving into my new apartment, so I'm completely out-of-my-mind. Today is the big holiday antique show at the expo center. I rush there with a terrible hangover before work. I fly through all the rows of booths becuase there is rarely anything i absolutely need. Well, I get to the last row of booths and come across a ton of tin robots! They're pretty expensive, and I take a ton of pictures of them, but just down the aisle something catches my eye. I rush over to the booth and there it is!

The 1950's robot, and in perfect condition! I check the price and I about pass out becuase it's $200 less than it should be. I rush to the nearest ATM, and guess what? I left my wallet at home.

[expletives deleted]

I felt so sick over the whole thing that I had to leave. At least I got this photo first. Mark my words 1950's Robot, you will be mine.

I have a feeling this time. I'm gonna maintain a web site for more than a few weeks. Maybe it's because I got blogger on my side.

Where have I been? Well, it's been a long and eventful summer. If I were to pick a single moment that defined this summer, it would have to be when Seanbaby drank a cocktail from the hypodermic needle container in our Las Vegas hotel room. And afterwards exclaimed that it "tasted like AIDS!" Angelo, and the rest of us, watched in disbelief (except me, because - believe it or not - he did it once before too).

That was like my summer. It was really wild, but something about it didn't taste entirely...right.

My mother had been searching the schnapps section for the last twenty minutes.
I slammed a few bottles of Vanilla Coke into the shopping cart. I hate Vanilla Coke, but it had only been out a week and I was determined to give it another chance.
“Careful!’” my mom snapped at me.
“Sorry.” I said, shifting the items around in the cart.
“What are those for?”
“To go with the Vanilla Stoli. I wonder if they’ll mix together okay. They should, they‘re both vanilla.”
“Oh.”
My explanation seemed to be enough, and she went back to browsing.
I noticed people watching us, but I didn’t really care. One can’t be much of a teetotaler in a liquor store. Or even better: a liquor SUPER store.

It was the first stop we made after dropping off my grandparents. My mom waved goodbye to them from our rental SUV and said with a crooked smile (in case they can read lips), “We need to get some liquor or else I’m going to kill them.”
Alcoholism doesn’t run in our family, but alcohol certainly runs in our veins. And this vacation promised the need to keep up properly anesthetized.
“Apple schnapps. Peppermint Schnapps. Orange…” my mom says as she reads every single label out loud, “Butter schnapps. They have butter?” She tugs at my arm wildly.
“What?”
“Have you ever heard of Butter Schnapps?”
I stare at the bottle for a moment, “I think that they mean butterscotch or something. Not like margarine.” We both agreed that would be gross and get back to searching.
“You find it yet?” she asks.
“Nope.”
My brother wanted us to bring back Lemonade Schnapps - he’s never seen it “anywhere but there.” Rather than sending out postcards or buying trinkets, our family brings back food and liquor. We’re very particular in this respect.
My father has a five year supply of his favorite salad dressing in their pantry at home. Every time someone from the Midwest comes to visit they’re taxed at least 2 bottles of Dorothy Lynch salad dressing if they want to stay for the week.
We continue to search for another fifteen minutes, and I can’t help but notice the strange bonding moment this has become: Mother and son buying hard liquor together. It’s somewhat validating I guess, to have your parent consult you on what the best mixer for diet coke would be , while keeping her parents from noticing it.

We give up the search for lemonade schnapps, mainly because we both are getting very thirsty. Our cart’s filled with all sorts of ridiculous fifths of alcohol - as if we’re never going to be able to buy them again anywhere else. Maybe it was a quiet omen that the rest of our trip will be wrought with the slow, grinding torture that only a weekend at the grandparents house can invoke.
On our way to the door I pillaged the shelf of ‘sample size’ liquor bottles. I grabbed an assortment of Vanilla Stoli’s and Captain Morgans mini-bottles.
“What do you need those for?” my mom asked.
“To pour in my slurpees‘. Instead of rum and coke, I‘ll have rum and coke slurpee.”
She stared at me for a moment, her eyes widening with excitement.
“Good idea.” she said, smiling.
So, we spent the next ten minutes buying miniature versions of all the bottles of booze we already had in our cart.

The rest of our vacation was spent making sly glances at each other as we’d distract grandma so that the other one could take a shot, or make a quick cocktail. We drank, we laughed.
We drank.
And then, as almost as soon as it began, our vacation came to a close. On the last day we sucked down the rest of our booze, and deposited the evidence in a nearby dumpster. Grandpa and Grandma waved goodbye, and we drifted off into the sobering skies, slightly hung over.
I look back on that ‘lost weekend’ fondly, but never in a million years will anything ever make me like Vanilla Coke.

[ 04.17.03 - addendum: my brother finally sound lemonade schnapps…at the liquor store just under a mile from his house. Go figure. ]

[originally posted 04/02 - archived to blog 10/05]

This post was originally posted in 04/03, and later archived to blogger in 10/05. Looking back at it now, there's some things that I'd probably change - especially after catching some early Alan Moore stuff, and checking out Squadron Supreme. Also, I don't drink as much when I write, so that helps. ;)




THEY HAD THEIR WHOLE LIVES AHEAD OF THEM

Okay, I just saw the newest X-men movie. It was nothing short of awesome. I talked about it all day, and then went home and caught up on the last ten issues of Uncanny X-Men. Then i went to work and talked about it all night. My mind was racing with thoughts of adamatium claws, shape shifting super-models, and the impending Pheonix force sequel.

Nirvana.

And just when everything was right with the world, I felt the guilt. That horrible selfish feeling you get when one day you wake up and realize that you stopped thinking about a loved-one that died - even though, at one point, you swore they would be in your thoughts each and every day. While fawning over the Xavier and his misfits, I realized that I had slowly forgot about my first, true (comic book) love.

The Elementals.



I have every issue, special, annual, mini-series, trade paperback, and anything else they put out, I missed nothing. I even had a massive Elementals website back in ‘96 until I realized guys with dorky websites don’t get laid (hey..wait!). So now, I’m going to do something that I should’ve done a long time ago. Allow me to take a moment to properly eulogize them.

IN LOVING MEMORY OF THE ELEMENTALS

The Elementals didn’t fuck around. It was as simple as that. Right from the start this was a comic that kicked you in the balls and kept on going. The plot was simple, if not derivative: Four strangers, all from different walks of life, die at the same moment - all in some sort of ‘disaster of the elements’. They all find themselves reborn, immortal, and charged with the task of fighting evil.



The team consisted of:
Vortex, an ex-Vietnam vet with the power of air.
Fathom, a nineteen year-old jewish princess with dominion over water.
Morningstar, the sexy, balls-to-the-wall leader of the group with the power of flame.
Monolith/Tommy, a pre-pubescent genius who morphs into a rock monster.

Their enemies were all really rad, ranging from their Magneto-like nemesis, Saker (complete with his female shape shifting lieutenant, ala Mystique) to vampires, hell planet aliens, and even a team of Christian super-villains created by a corrupt televangelist.

There was always killing in the comic (mostly goons and small characters), but eventually the Elementals had a meeting and decided to simply ‘kill anyone who fought against them’ rather than just keep locking them up. The entire issue was just them sitting around a table arguing about it, and it still remains my favorite to this day.



At one point they got so sick of Saddam Hussein and his shit that they went to Iraq, during the first gulf war, and talked trash to him. I’m sure if the comic was still around today they would’ve gone back again and finished him off at the behest of Lil’ Bush.



But the real enemy, most of the time were themselves. If one of them screwed up, the others called them on it. They posed for skin magazines. They licensed their own fast food franchises. They sued, and counter-sued each other. And they swore like sailors when the situation called for it.



They weren’t enemies of humanity, they were celebrity-gods, and it took a toll on them. They had failed relationships, embarrassing public defeats, and were never quite ready for the task of being humanity’s ultimate heroes.



I can remember being in middle school and thinking, “Um…this comic is insane. How much farther can it go?” Well, I guess the publisher was thinking the same thing, so they took some of the more risqué ideas and put them in a separate series of “Sex Specials”, so that you could see what happened when they got all horny after defeating a super-villian. *wink*



Granted, the comic had a few short stagnant periods, but when it hit the second run, the action never let up. It got faster, wilder, and even more violent. And then the Oblivion War came. Every mutant, or super-person on earth joined together with the Elementals to battle the Oblivion hell planet. The body count was insane. And just before the ultimate final showdown…..

It all ended.
Comico, the publisher went out-and in-and-out-of-business. And the fate of the Elementals was left hanging. Anything comic that wasn’t Spawn, or lame by comparison, did pretty bad. And eventually the books stopped appearing on shelves.

And I was alone again.
I’ve spent the last seven years, slowly warming-up to the X-men. I’ve always read them, but just in the last few years, with Morrison’s manifesto, it’s gotten to the level of - I want to say ‘reality’ - that Willingham put into the Elementals. But all good things must come to an end, right?
The Xmen is a juggernaught (pun intended) of epic proportions. And while I don’t always feel at home at Xavier’s mansion, I know that it will always be there when I need to visit.

And, sometimes. I guess that’s all one can hope for.

/robot

I’m not ready yet, but I still have time.
They’re in the studio recording their second album. That’s got to take a while, right? And I’m sure they haven’t even planned their North American tour yet.
But when they finally come to my town, I’ll be ready.
“The Birthday Massacre…meet Portland.” I’d say as they hop out of their diesel tour bus.
Maybe they’ll even let me drive them around town in a rental van before the show. I’d make charming conversation while pointing out all the interesting places to shop and eat, but secretly I’d be hoping they’ll see all the posters I’ve scattered across town. I wait with baited breath as they compliment me - that way it’ll seem less rehearsed when I feign flattery.
After a few hours of sight-seeing we’ll end up at the Shanghai Tunnel for dinner. I hope they like noodles. And being from Canada, I’m not sure if they’ll be expecting to drink Koakane - they’ll just have to deal with PBR.
Regardless, I still have plenty of time to do my research.
We’ll talk and have a swell time until they politely leave to get ready for the show.
Later, when they take the stage it’ll all be worth it. Like me, the crowd will be mesmerized, and afterwards none of the tracks on their new CD will ever compare to that perfect moment in time.
How do I know? I just feel it.
I won’t be the only one. Millions of fans can’t be wrong. And that’s how many they’ll have by then. Maybe it’ll be the article Alternative Press magazine that does it. Maybe their new music video helped.
It won’t matter to them. They’re all about the fans, and the music. They’ve been adored from a far long enough. They’ll know because every town they visit will have people like me, playing their music and spreading the word.
Each of us getting our town ready for The Birthday Massacre.
Mine isn't ready yet, but I still have time.


[originally posted 04/03 - archived to blog 10/05]