Littering Literature With Alliteration Chapter 3

Littering Literature With Alliteration

Profiles In Nerdery-(Formerly How I Became A Dork) Part 3

Vicarious Valentine ~or~ Everything I needed to know about romance, I learned from Peter Parker

For whatever reason, being a dork tends to be synonymous with a crappy love life. Perhaps it has something to do with all the perfection seen in the fantastic, or perhaps it’s that many dorks like their own head more than the outside world. It’s not an easy question to answer, but it exists nonetheless. So, we turn our eye to the closest representation of a dork that nerdery can provide: Peter Parker, The Amazing Spider-Man.

When Stan Lee created Peter Parker, he set out to create the everyman as a super-hero. He wanted the reader to think that he too, could be bitten by a radioactive spider and gain the proportionate strength of said spider. During Lee’s tenure on the book (and afterwards, at least for a few years), this was a dream that someone without any scientific knowledge could hold onto.

While looking at the cast of The Amazing Spider-Man, one can infer that Stan Lee and Steve Ditko wanted to inspire the readers by giving them a hero they could relate too. Peter was a bookworm, taunted by the kids at school and thoroughly unlucky with the ladies. Also, Ditko was sure to populate Forest Hills, Queen with loads of ugly people.
Look at J. Jonah Jameson, Peter’s cantankerous boss at the Daily Bugle. The guy sports a Hitler mustache and a buzz cut, yet he has a son, which leads me to believe he procreated at least once!

Surely, if the topography and population were accurate, so are the situations, right? After all, Peter was the everyman. Peter Parker was just about unlucky in everything. He got beat up at school, every girl he was interested in either spurned him or saw him as “the gay friend” or she just wanted Spider-Man and not “Puny” Parker. This went on for quite sometime. However, young Mr. Parker’s luck had to change sometime, right?

While fighting guys in rubber goblin masks, Peter gave Betty Brant and company the appearance of disinterest, when in reality, he is “the nice guy” who always gets screwed.
However, while in his Spidey duds, Peter Parker appeared to be a jerk. This made him seem more desirable to the female cast. Some would call this a creepy parallel to the real world. He may have been a nerd. But he was a busy nerd, always running off, spinning a web of mystery around himself. This caught the eyes of Gwen Stacy.

Gwen Stacy was the love of his life. Your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man would often pinch himself just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. While life wasn’t exactly blissful for the arachnid lead, he was content in knowing he’d found the love of his life.

Surely, if Peter Parker could find love, the reader could too. All the time, the “nice guy” will see the “jerk” get the girl, and here it was, accidentally working for the spandex-clad nerd. There was hope for the reader, thanks to Peter Parker.

Remember that guy with the rubber goblin mask I was talking about earlier? He dropped Gwen Stacy off a bridge.

Yet again, it sucks to be Peter Parker.

Peter moped around for a few years (probably a few months in comic time) and in that time, we discovered that he’d been molested as a child and that he’d slumped to the role of college drop-out. Poor guy couldn’t make rent. On the upside, he meets a woman named the Black Cat. Unfortunately, she wanted Peter to keep his Spidey mask on during coitus. Long story short, she was the rebound girl.

At this point, the reader would probably be down in the dumps too. We’ve all been there. We meet a girl, we love her, we lose her, we get in a slump. Same for Peter Parker, ever our everyman.

Enter Mary Jane Watson.

For everyone whose only Spidey knowledge comes from the movies and cartoons, MJ didn’t pop up until later in Peter’s life. She was around, but they weren’t really romantically involved until the 1980s. MJ cared for Peter and she decided to make her move. Peter, ever the hero, keeps her at a distance, because he doesn’t want her to get hurt. After a harrowing clash with The Puma, MJ confesses to Peter that she knows he wears pajamas. The smile, they kiss and they get married. Happily. Ever. After.

The lesson learned? Get your girlfriend tossed off a bridge and a Super Model will fall in love with you.

So, digest that for a second. Weird, right? OK, so maybe Peter Parker isn’t the exact mirror of dorks everywhere, but we could sure take a page or 2 from his books (minus the spandex or the whole getting molested by a guy named Skip thing). Just avoid maniacs with rubber masks, kids.


End Part 3

This chapter is dedicated to Mikey, who taught me that even the greatest of nerds can get laid. Thanks, buddy.

Copyright 2006 Ian Gonzales

Littering Literature With Alliteration Chapter 2

Littering Literature With Alliteration

How I Became A Dork by Ian Gonzales

Part 2: Nintendo Nincompoop ~or~ How I Began To Doubt The Benevolence Of A Certain Higher Power

***Let it be noted that certain names have been
changed to protect me from a slander lawsuit***

Though my testicles had already dropped, Jimmy was desperately trying to kick them back in. He really put everything his skinny Black-Irish ass had into it. By the power of Grayskull, that sucked!

Meanwhile, another group of miscreants were plunging hapless Frank into a Good Will bin. All while my father and the other Lunch Monitors talked about the previous night’s Giants game.

Welcome to Holy Family.

Like Mos Eisley Spaceport, you will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. I never understood why parents thought their children would benefit from a private school. Perhaps, I could understand the mentality in an area afflicted with urban blight, but in suburbia? It doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to me.

Imagine throwing a bunch of spoiled-rotten children into a building, making them wear matching uniforms and indoctrinating them with all the normal Cherry Tree George Washington nonsense and religion (a religion not often practiced at home, I might add). It’s a recipe for disaster.

Historically, children tend to form a hierarchy based on 2 things: physical prowess and wit. I possessed very little of either. However, I was very good at kickball. So, when I had a shot at defending my nuts, I took it. Score 1 for the good guys!

Being cool was something everyone wanted in Grammar School, and with my feet already rooted in nerdery, coolness was not in the cards, at least until Nintendo came along.

The Nintendo Entertainment System, home to Super Mario Brothers, The Legend of Zelda and Street Fighter 2010 smashed its way into the American living room. While I was busy reading about Nightcrawler being beaten by an angry mob, my peers were trying to assemble the Tri-Force.

I pestered my parents for it and they told me to save my allowance. I did and a few months later, I had the system. It came with Super Mario and Duck Hunt, plus I got Top Gun as a gift. Shortly thereafter, Super Mario 2 came out and my birthday wasn’t for a few months.

At school, everyone was talking about throwing vegetables at Shy Guys and rumors that King Wart was tougher than Bowser. Unfortunately, I was still discovering Warp Zones to World 8-1. So, I just sat down with Rodimus Prime and had some little wars.

Around that time, the teachers at school thought it would be a good idea to promote sacrifice (it was probably around Easter). Now, that’s all well and good when you have something to sacrifice, but in my young eyes, all I wanted was a new Nintendo Game so I could be cool. Yet, my parents thought this was a good idea and suggested I give up my Nintendo privileges.

The sacrifice, as it was explained to me, would supposedly ease the pain a certain historical figure went through while being taunted on the road to death. Hey, I believed in Strange Visitors From Other Planets and time machines in Eastern European basements. This couldn’t be far off. However, there was one flaw in the logic…what was I to do with all the free time I had?

I read more comic books.

At the time, Batman had been going through some changes. The new Robin, Jason Todd, was a punk. Believe it or not, the brat actually pushed a Mexican kid off a building. Also, Batman had to fight communism, in the form of the KGBeast! Meanwhile, Spider-Man was battling yet another Hobgoblin and finishing college, again. Star Wars comics were long cancelled and G.I Joe was incorporating the newest toys into the comic. Oh, and Optimus Prime was dead.

Palmer Video was a small franchise down the street from Jack’s Sweet Shoppe. Recently, they’d begun to carry NES games, their most popular title being Super Mario 2. However, being that it was a popular tile, it was never in stock. My father, probably feeling a little guilty about being a shitty lunch monitor, took me to the store towards the end of Lent. Miraculously, after my father slipped a Lincoln to the kid behind the counter, Super Mario 2 appeared. I got home, ready to join the ranks of accomplished Super Mario 2 players. I could still catch up! I plugged the game into the system and the screen glowed iridescent.

Then we lost power.

A lightning storm hit and knocked our power. Was He Is Who Is mad that I wanted a small earthly desire? Irked so much as to have my father waste 9 bucks? Nah, He is many things, but not petty, right?

The power was soon restored, but my mother declared that no electrical appliances should be turned on during the lightning storm, except for when Remington Steele came on, of course.

I returned to school, still curious as to what a Shy Guy was. I could name the ranks of the Shi’ar Empire, but King Wart’s underlings eluded me. This continued for quite some time. Left with few devices, I discovered a new treasure trove…Uncle Richard.

Up until this point, I had only read “new” comics. That is, comics that were new on the newsstands. Uncle Richard worked at a school for “special” kids. They received numerous donations, one of which was a box full of Frank Miller Daredevil comics, Chris Claremont and John Byrne X-Men comics and a ton of Moon Knight comics. Deemed too violent for the “special” kids, Uncle Richard gave them to me.

I was cemented in comic lore. If I couldn’t be cool, at least I could be entertained.

End Part 2

Part 2 is dedicated to Frank. You too knew the Holy Hell that was Holy Family, man. And I’m super proud of everything you’ve done since!


Copyright 2006 Ian Gonzales

Littering Literature With Alliteration Chapter 1

How I Became A Dork-A Comic Book Odyssey By Ian Gonzales

Part 1: Oxygen Origins ~or~ Deathtraps A-Go-Go

***Let it be noted that certain names have been
changed to protect me from a slander lawsuit***

A few weeks ago, I was drunk with a dear friend in a Brooklyn karaoke bar. As equally inebriated patrons screeched awful renditions of Pearl Jam and Stone Temple Pilots, she asked me about my scar. It’s a small scar, no more than an inch in length, above my right cheek.

“How did you get that?”

“Batman gave it to me,” I replied.

“Batman? You’re fucking drunk.”

“No, seriously, Batman cut me, he messed me up, like Two-Face.”

“Who?”

“Never mind.”

As a child of one and a half years, I stopped breathing. I was rushed to the hospital and promptly placed in an oxygen tent. After the matter was cleared up and I was healthy again, my parents gave me Batman squeeze toy, lovingly dubbed, Baby Batman.

The tent was unzipped and my parents talked with the Doctor. Me? I saw an opening for the oxygen tube and thought The Junior Dark Knight Detective should go on an adventure. He did, but when I pulled him out, a shard of metal cut my face. I cried. Obviously, my lungs were fine.

“So typical,” she sighed.

Actually, you’re probably wondering why I was telling such a beautiful woman a self-deprecating story about Baby Batman, when I should have been telling her a yarn about a Stand By Me-ish or Goonies-ish adventure, where my face was cut by pirates or Kiefer Sutherland.

It’s a simple answer. I love super heroes.

It was 1982. The Jedi were about to return and the Houston Astros had the most colorful uniforms in Major League Baseball. LP’s were still the preferred music medium and VCRs were beginning to invade living rooms across America. Little did I know that all these factors would lead me down a four color road, chock full of adventure, excitement and, of course, heartbreak.

I was doomed from the start.

As a youngin’ I watched a lot of baseball with my father. However, the only time I ever paid attention was when the Mets went up against the Houston Astros. I’d like to think that my young mind was fascinated with the multi-layered complexity of Baseball. After all, I possessed a supreme sense of strategy for a 2 year old. In all likelihood though, it was probably the pretty colors that drew me to the sport. The Mets gray, blue, orange and white versus the bright orange, yellow and white of the Astros drew me into the game. They caught my eye much the same way the syndicated Batman TV series did. Biff! Boff! Pow! It was an assault on my baby blue eyes.

Every week, Batman and Robin escaped fiendishly fatal death traps that were set up by the purple suit clad Joker, the Egyptian themed King Tut and the utterly ridiculous Bookworm. Perhaps, on a subconscious level, it was my own brush with a death trap otherwise known as my lungs that led me to identify with the Dynamic Duo? Again, it was probably the pretty colors.

One day, either a birthday or Christmas, I got 2 presents. One was Star Wars on VHS and the other was a Batman Vs. The Joker Power Record. A Power Record was a 2-sided LP with a comic book or storybook stapled into the record sleeve. Bloody genius, if you ask me. Batman jumped off the cover, begging me (and children everywhere, I suppose) to help him stop the Clown Prince of Crime! So, that night, I begged my parents to put the stereo on. I think they missed Dallas because of that (yes, I dared to mess with Texas).

The needle touched the record. Round and round it went, reading every tiny crevice, sparking and clicking until the Narrator set the scene. I immediately looked at the first page. I noticed the word bubbles, but I had no idea what they were. My mother explained the concept of reading and assured me the record would read for me. As I looked at the pictures, I began to revel in the joys of sequential artwork.

While the record was fun, I found myself annoyed at its pacing. I didn’t like the voices, they didn’t sound like the TV show. Why was this record so slow? Why did I have to wait for the voice when the pictures so clearly communicated the story?

Because I couldn’t read, yet.

“I’m stuck in the mud, Batman,” screamed the Joker!

Of course, Batman saved the knight of knavery from certain death. He had to save the Joker, he was a super hero. The story ended and I was left with a sense of euphoria sometimes felt after sex, specifically sex with a girl one has been pining over for sometime.

I wanted to read it again. So, I turned back to the first page. Unfortunately, I didn’t know my alphabet yet. So, Dad started the record again as my Mom no doubt wondered what was happening to Patrick Duffy.

After many missed TV shows, my parents bought me my own record player. Much to their chagrin, I learned how to plug it in after 3 weeks.

Thus began my torrid affair with men in tights.

George Lucas is a bastard.


One of my earliest memories took place in a dark, Bloomfield movie theater (now, it’s a parking lot). It was a gorgeous day in May of 1982. That day, my father and I visited the accountant, gorged ourselves with McDonalds and listened to Batman and Spider-Man Power Records. That afternoon though, I was in for a treat.

Since before conscious memory, I knew Luke Skywalker, Han Solo, Princess Leia, Darth Vader, Chewbacca, C-3PO, Boba Fett, Bossk, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Lando Calrissian, Stormtroopers and Yoda. And that’s not even mentioning Snaggletooth or Hammerhead!

I had one of the most extensive Star Wars action figure collections. Hundreds of little people, all at 3 dollars a pop. Also, I had my fair share of vehicles. And this was before the Return of the Jedi and Power of the Force sets. It would have been cheaper for my parents if they hooked me on crack, or battery acid.

The excitement in the theater was palpable. There were hundreds (that’s probably an exaggeration, but I digress) of kids with their parents, anxiously awaiting the grand finale to the Star Wars Saga. Would Luke and Leia save Han Solo from the vile clutches of Jabba The Hutt? Was Darth Vader really Luke’s father? Who was the other hope that Obi-Wan and Yoda spoke of? All was about to be revealed.

Before the lights went down, I remember talking to a kid in front of me. While I don’t remember the exact conversation, I remember talking about Darth Vader and hoping we saw his TIE-Fighter again. The lights went down and all was revealed over 2 hours. I couldn’t read, but I knew what a TIE-Fighter was.

It was probably the most complex thing my 2 (almost 3, but not quite) year-old mind could process. Darth Vader, the mother of all bad guys, saved the day?! But he was a bad guy! He choked people with the Force! He ruthlessly cut down Obi-Wan Kenobi! He wore all black!

The next day, my father took me to Jack’s Sweet Shoppe. The Sweet Shoppe was a place where old men would grumble about times gone by while kids would buy all kinds of tooth rotting goodies. Dad wanted coffee.

There, I came upon a tall, metal rack. As I inspected it further, I saw some familiar faces. There was Batman, his friend, Superman, Luke Skywalker and my new-found obsession, Snake Eyes from G.I. Joe! However, something was off. I dragged my father towards the treasure trove.

“Dad? Where are the records?” I pointed at the comics.

“Ian, they don’t come with records. Those are comic books.”

“I want them!”

And so, my father purchased a Star Wars comic and a Batman comic. G.I. Joe would have to wait until next week. With the Power Record, I saw the path, and with the metal rack, I started my journey.

Thus began the downward spiral that resulted in lost loves, lonely Saturday nights and zero interest in the NFL.

End Part 1…

I dedicate Part 1 to Jane, who accidentally coaxed me into starting this literary journey. Thank you sweetheart! xoxoxoxox

Copyright 2006 Ian Gonzales

A Cleverschmever Review of The Sentinel

See Silent Hill again, or see The Sentinel? Easy choice for me. While not a terrible movie, I found The Sentinel to be a bit lacking, most specifically, it was missing one ingredient; Kiefer Sutherland.

As most of you know, I've become a loyal 24 viewer. It's probably my favorite show on TV, even more so than Lost. So, when I see a trailer for a movie about the Secret Service, a plot to kill the President and Kiefer Sutherland, I'm down. Unfortunately, Michael Douglas has more screen time than the man who is Jack Bauer.

Predictability aside (because I know anyone reading this can guess my oh so predictable opinion), it's not horrible, but it could have been better if it had more, you guessed it, Kiefer Sutherland.

Hmm...I just read the above 2 paragraphs and I realized something...I think I have a man-crush on Kiefer Sutherland. What do you think?

Hmm..You know what, don't bother answering that one.

Back to the movie.

The film has a solid cast, including a cameo by Homicide alum, Clark Johnson (who directed the film too). Kim Basinger is the First Lady and she plays the part true to life. She's basically a trophy. Michael Douglas does his best Clint Eastwood as an aging Secret Service man. Eva Longoria is the smoking hot rookie. Oh, and there's Kiefer Sutherland as the badass. Actually, he's pretty much a desk jockey, but he's a badass desk jockey.

The biggest flaw of the film trying to figure out who the villains are. It's not terribly clear. They show the villains' faces, but the viewer is left wondering why and how. Still, we have Kiefer Sutherland brandishing a gun, so it's not all bad.

Overall, I'd say rent it and skip to the Kiefer Sutherland parts. They're pretty rad.

xoxo
Ian

Copyright 2006 Ian Gonzales

Sally Field called, she wants her movie back. AKA A review of Silent Hill

It's midnight in Edgewater, NJ. After a beautiful, sunny day, the sun sets and a chill sets in the air. Soon comes the stroke of midnight and 15 minutes later, I'm watching a trailer for the new Pirates of the Caribbean movie. There aren't any zombies, so I'm thouroughly disinterested. Then there's an ad for some movie with The Game and Tyrese. Yawn. A few minutes later, Silent Hill starts.

The film starts with some eerie music from the game, which I'm perfectly happy with, and then it plods off into the backstory. Chock full of shots that make no sense, an annoying child (whom we'll call Damienette) and Sean Bean without his accent, I begin to lose interest.

After about a half hour of useless set-up, Rose and the cop (who's name escapes me) and Damienette arrive in Silent Hill. The filmmakers changed the set-up, supposedly to make it easier for the audience. We learn about the town's thistory (well, most of it) straight away. I understand, because the mechanics of video game storytelling are much different than film storytelling. Unfortunately, nearly every encounter with a monster is shot like a video game encounter, complete with Rose awkwardly stumbling around, trying to find her way out. It wasn't even plausible stumbling. It looked like a college stoner was contolling her movements after a late night bender.

Enter the cliches (or as I like to calll them, blatant rip-offs). Silent Hill liberally "borrows" from The Shining, The Crow, Not Without My Daughter, Ju-On, The Exorcist, Star Trek: First Contact and a host of bad splatter movies. There are lines of dialogue ripped straight out of the Crow and the Sean Bean does his best Scatman Crothers (minus the snow and the tropical vacation). Alice Krige repriises her role as The Borg Queen (they call hert Christabella, but they didn't fool me for a second). Oh, and the effects are laughable. I chuckled when Henchman Number 4 was torn apart by barbed wire. In fact, I can't tell you how many times I outright laughed. This movie was written by the same man who adeptly adapted Brett Easton Ellis' Rules of Attratction to the screen?! Could have fooled me. The writing was so wooden I started to think a Roger Avary Grundy wrote it. It's like Not Without My Daughter, with a shitload of fake blood!


Wow. Bad movie based on a good property. I shouldn't be surprised, but come on! They had Roger Avary write the script, a solid premise and an experienced director. Save your money and go see Slither instead.

That's all for now. If I feel more inspired later this week, I'll tear it apart some more.

xoxo
Ian

Copyright 2006 Ian Gonzales

Party Shuffle

I'm taking 5 random songs in my iTunes and writing a short scene for each. They're not really related per se, it was almost a stream of conscious exercise. Just throw iTunes on shuffle and write a scene based on an impression you get from a song, whether it be a lyric or an emotion evoked by a certain chord, anything really. It should be a fun writing exercise, and I encourage you to do the same. Post it when you're done (and dont forget youre copyright notice)!

5. Bad Brains-"Attitude"

Adam couldnt take it anymore. His head was spinning from all the Jack he poured down his throat. It knocked his senses into a puffy cloud. Sally was across the bar.

"Tonight. Yeah," thought Adam.

Adam slithered through the crowd. Smoke burned his eyes, sweat poured from his brow.

"I've been waiting for so long, I need this. No."

Doubt ripped through his soul like a cleaver through a cows thigh. Did he deserve this, or, more to the point, did she?

"Last call" screamed Stuart.

"Now or never."

Moving with remarkable speed, Adam was upon Sally in seconds.

"You don't cheat on me," he said (approximately).

Sally looked at Adam, she was a little drunk herself. Good thing too, 'cause she barely Doug's knuckles knock her jaw out of alignment.


4. John Williams-"Planet Krypton"

Girl: What does "BAMF!" mean?
Boy: It's the sound Nightcrawler makes when he teleports.
Girl: Nightcrawler?
Boy: Yeah, he's one of the X-Men.
Girl: X-Men? Are they transvestites?
Boy: No, they're mutants, stupidhead!
Girl: What's a mutant?
Boy: The evolution of humanity!
Girl: Oh, like Jesus?

3. The New Pornographers-"Twin Cinema"

I can't tell you how many demo reels and headshots I've had to sift through today. It's like my desk is advertised in Backstage! I put out an ad for a young, indie-rock guy and a young, urban girl, age ranges between 22 and 27. You'd think casting a re-make of West Side Story would be easy! Especially with so many young actors out there! However, it's not. Why the hell am I getting Ian McKellen look-alikes?! Does this guy, Charles Winterbottom (there's a stage name, if I ever heard one) really think I'm going to consider him for the young male part? Why bother wasting my time, or his time, for that matter? Though, looking at him again, he may be a good match for the waiter.

I digress. These actors are like vultures! Take this one, Kylee Frost, she claims she's done some "method acting" in the Vallley. You know what thats code for? Porn! No thanks, I dont need that kind of bad press on my picture! Rubbish, rubbish I tell you! Ooh! What have we here? Oh, he's in a band. Never mind. Actors are a flaky lot, musicians even more so. Also, musicians are always bumming smokes, and I won't have that on my set!

2. MF Doom-"Doomsday"

"Have you ever heard of a terrorist with a pony tail?"

"Have you, Jake?"

"Have I what?"

Charlene shifted in her chair, leaning forward.

"Jake, I'm paid by the government to help you get better. Today, youre asking me about terrorists with pony tails, yesterday it was Armageddon in the Atlantic."

"I dont need to get better, I need to be on the streets, protecting the world from the Menace Factor and their henchmen!"

"Jake, weve gone over this. You are a translator for the C.I.A. and youre job is to tell your superiors what you hear on Chinese coded channels. Youre not a field agent," she said.

"Doctor, with all due respect," Jake sat up an moved close to Charlene, "you haven't seen what I've seen, heard what I've heard. Besides, Jack Ryan is an analyst, and he sees all kinds of action!"

"Jack Ryan is a fictional character."

"But is he, really? Maybe that's his cover."

"OK, let's say this is his cover, why would they make countless books and films about him?"

"Because, he's an agent in the future, communicating to Tom Clancy at a secret bunker, with a time machine in the basement! You know, the one HG Welles made."

"Time's up, Jake. Double your Valium."

1. Ariel Pink's Haunted Graffiti-"Every Night I Die At Myagi's"

And on the fifth day, Hanzo decided it was time. He'd trained for years, however, his illness prevented him from attaining the rank of Master. His blade, forged of the strongest and sharpest steel in the empire, glistened in the rising sun.

"Today is the day," he thought, as he sheathed the blade. "The day I follow my father, and his father before him, into the elite."

Hanzo tried many times, always failing because of the persistent unsteadiness in his hands. Still, his peers respected his resolve. Determined to become a Master, Hanzo finally found a way. It was dangerous, and if anyone found out, he'd not only dishonor himself, but generations to come and every generation past. They will never know.

Hanzo traveled the mountains in search of something forbidden. For centuries, it was believed an oni lived in the mountain, an oni with a unique ability, to grant a wish. According to the legend, this oni, Mumei, left his post at the Gates of Hell and took with him the ability to grant your hearts desire. Many men told stories of wealth, women and long life. Hanzo wanted none of that, for he was willing to risk dishonoring his blood to gain honor for his family.

As Hanzo climbed the mountain, the shaking began. He began to fall. Suddenly, he felt a fiery touch on his wrist. It burned with the fear of the Dammed. Hanzo was cold.

"You intrigue me, little man." The voice was full and echoed off itself.

Though he never heard the voice before in his life, Hanzo knew the speaker.

"Nameless one! I come to ask you a favor!"

"Surely it would be better to fall on your sword, Hanzo, than to bargain with me."

"Oh great Mumei, I have but one request and I will leave you be."

"Not for long, fleshy one."

The foul smelling otherworlder pulled Hanzo into a cave. Hanzo gazed upon the oni and found it to look nothing like legend. It was indescribable.

"Nameless one?"

"You do not fear me, Hanzo. I find this curious."

"Mumei, I have studied the history of your people for many years. I know that once, we saw you as protectors, for you were the Guardians of Hell. You kept the evil in. Then, as theology became superstition, we came to view you as evil, simply because of your duty. I come to ask you a favor, protector."

Mumei laughed, then looked down on Hanzo. "So. you no longer wish to shake. I can grant you this, for a price."

"I would expect nothing less, great Mumei. Name your price, and I will humbly oblige."

"Your unborn child."

"Great one," For the first time, fear flashed across Hanzos face. "I have no wife."

"Honesty. Very well, you will do. Is the price acceptable?"

"Let me tell you the specifics."

"I know, Hanzo. You wish to follow in the footsteps of your father, taking care of your village. However, you can not do this, for you tremble, not through fear, but through curse."

"Yes, Mumei, and I want,"

Mumei cut him off.

"You want to be as still as your father and his father before him. You wish to tremble no more."

"Yes, Mumei."

Mumei looked into his cave and sighed.

"It is done."

Hanzo fell to the ground, perfectly still, forever and ever.

"Foolish Hanzo, one does not spend time in Hell without consequence, without a curse."

The End.

All songs are copyright and trademarked by their respective owners.

All scenes are Copyright 2006 Ian Gonzales

Is it me, or is the 3 the most depressing train on Earth?

So, I’m heading to the Financial District this morning. I’m waiting at the Park Place platform and I see the second most gorgeous woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.

At least, that was my initial thought.

Upon a second glance, I saw her face was sort of squished, though she had inviting, blue eyes and a fair figure. Neither straight as a yardstick nor round as a pumpkin, but somewhere comfortably in between. Furthermore, her hair was a streak of brown with blonde highlights and she couldn’t have been taller than 5’7”. Still, there was something about her, I just couldn’t put my finger on it (that could be construed as inappropriate).

The train arrived and we both boarded separate cars. The Number 3 train and I have a strange relationship. Every time I board the train, I feel like I’m on the same car. It always smells like a homeless toilet, there’s graffiti everywhere and there’s always at least 2 unsavory characters on opposite ends of the car. This morning was no exception.

Even with all this on my mind, I wondered, why I was so attracted to this woman (we’ll call her Platform Lady)? Physically, she wasn’t really my type (I have what some have called, lofty standards for a man of my stature) and I wasn’t under the influence of the drink. What could it be?

As the smell of hobo piss wafted to my nose, it dawned on me. It was her clothes or, more specifically, her sense of style.

She was wearing a black suit jacket, a hot pink blouse, a black skirt and black heels with little pink ribbons (usually positively dreadful, but rather endearing this particular morning). She looked like a New Wave Business Woman. Was I attracted to the dichotomy of her ensemble? Could it be possible that I wasn’t at all attracted to Platform Lady at all, I just really dug her style? No, it wasn’t. I see this type of thing all the time at bars and it does nothing for me. Again, I’m usually attracted to classy dames, and this outfit was not classy per se.

I was left with one option…could it simply be the color coordination?

That must be it, though I’m not quite sure I understood it. You see, I really dislike the color pink. The main reason I like Sixteen Candles better than Pretty In Pink is because Sixteen Candles doesn’t have pink in the title. Yet, for some reason, I found myself coming to that inevitable conclusion; that which I loathe, I may also adore. Chilling.

I thought about different colors. Black and orange were the first that came to mind. However, whenever I see anyone wearing them together, I feel a snide Halloween comment is in order. A light blue and black? I start humming Blur’s Girls and Boys. Red and white? Periods. Hmm…Black and pink. How can I be so attracted to such a wonderfully chameleon-like color and such a horrid washed-out red?!

I’m sure it can come down to the duality of man and all that, but such a simple thing as a not so clever ensemble can make a man think about the nature of attraction. Again, chilling and oh so appropriate for the 3 train.

xoxo
Ian

Copyright 2006 Ian Gonzales

You don’t look like a Gonzales?

While perusing the Internet, I came across a cushy job ad for a Research Analyst. The job entailed audience estimation, hands-on experience with media systems and the ability to learn new computer programs in a quick manner. Yeah, I’m more than qualified for this. So, I read down a little more and I come across the following job requirement: “The legal right to work in the United States”.

This is the story of how the illegal immigrant “crisis” hit Hot Jobs Dot Com. I was born in America, so that’s not really a problem. However, I began to question why that sentence needed to be in the ad. I don’t ever recall seeing this type of language in a classified ad before. I’m sure it’s been there from time to time, but today, it hit me like a ton of bricks.

Why was this type of warning was placed on a Research Analyst job ad? I don’t think the average illegal alien (I'm sorry, the new "buzz word" is undocumented worker) is qualified to work with Nielsen Ratings. Hell, they probably don’t know what that means. Then it dawned on me…

“Is that presumptuous of me, or worse yet, prejudice?”

Then I got to thinking about my last name, Gonzales. When reading my cover letter, what kinds of suspicions cross the HR Assistant’s mind? “Can this person legally work in the USA?” “Does he really have a B.A. in English?” I can’t tell you how many times someone has asked me if I’m truly a Gonzales. It’s been a burden of my existence since I set foot in pre-school. Let’s face it folks, this “crisis” is heavily tied to how we, as Americans, view our neighbors south of the border.

There are approximately 11 to 12 million illegal immigrants in the United States. Many of whom cross the border from Mexico, looking to feed their families in their native countries. Why do they come here and not seek work in their homelands? There’s better pay here for jobs most Americans won’t do. It’s a noble and fairly smart (if incredibly risky) way to go about living up to one’s familial responsibility. We’re talking about a region of the world where it’s considered a necessary means of survival to swallow bags of heroin and smuggle them across the aforementioned border. What choice do these people really have? As corrupt as our government can be, at least most of us can have an “honest” job and we do try and take care of our ne’re do wells (to varying degrees of success and failure). Yet, we call these people “wetbacks” and use the proper noun “Mexican” as a derogatory slur. We look down on them because they didn’t have to fortune to be born here. It’s classist and racist to be sure. I know this because I’m just as guilty and culpable as nearly everyone in this country.

Now, I know the job of Research Analyst isn’t something most people would pine for. Who really wants to answer the question, “How many people really want to see Snakes on a Plane?” But it’s a job that requires a skill set seldom (I may even say almost never) found in your average illegal immigrant, or “undocumented worker” as they seem to be called now. Yet, for some reason, the writer of said ad found it imperative to include that sentence.

Bottom line, we live, predominantly, in a nation of privilege. We wake up, we do a job, we go to Starbucks, we watch our Netflix rentals, we date, we drink and we eat, all the while having a stable roof over our heads and not having to worry about too much other than amassing credit card debt or illness which is as inevitable as breathing. We don’t want to clean toilets; we’re too comfortable to do that. We don’t want to mop the floor, we don’t have any time for such a menial task. So, we hire out. We hire someone who wants to do something simple, live. Unfortunately, this person’s life is affected by something much more insidious, security. And that, dear reader, is a massive issue for another time.

Xoxo
Ian

Copyright 2006 Ian Gonzales

Hey kids, COMICS!

I started doing this list on myspace last week, so I figured I may as well post it here too. It's a list of my comic pics for the week.

This weeks’ goodies!

The 6th installment of Infinite Crisis hit the stands, and all I can say is “WOW!” This book was amazing! It’s so dense, so filled with nods to DC’s past; it’s a wet dream for people like me. The glimpses of the Infinite Earths brought a wave of nostalgia I haven't felt in some time. Oh, and Superboy Vs. Superboy! If you haven’t been reading this series. Then I suggest you buy the back issues now!

Marvel Zombies # 5 hit the stands this week and I have to say, I’m sorry to see it go. Everything in this book was worth every penny I spent. The dialogue was spot-on, the art was nice and the way Kirkman and Phillips characterized the zombified Marvel U was hilarious and scary (just like Slither...Go see Slither!). The ending leaves a little to be desired, but it’s definitely wide open for a sequel.

Batman and the Monster Men # 6-Batman. Matt Wagner. What else do I have to say?

Moon Knight # 1-I remember the dark days of Moon Knight (SPLATT anyone?) and I waited for this book with more than an ounce of trepidation. I’ve never heard of the writer (Charlie Huston) and I’m not David Finch’s biggest fan, so my expectations were pretty low. I cracked open the book and I was sucked in! Huston and Finch tell us a tale of why Marc Spector is the Moon Knight, giving the reader a sense of history. Also, there's a helluva reveal at the end! This book shows a lot of promise!

Late Pick Ups:

I snagged Blue Beetle # 1 and the Captain America 65th Anniversary Special from last week. Wow, solid books. Grab ‘em now!

That’s all for now!

Xoxo
Ian

How rad would this have been?

I haven't been able to dig up too much info on this. All I can really say is that it appears Warner Brothers Animation was, at some point, developing a Goonies animated series. Looking at these designs, I can't help but think I missed out on something super cool, or super bad.

The Goonies was one of my all time favorite movies as a kid. I really dug the concept of a bunch of misfits looking for buried pirate treasure, in the suburbs! The movie was so well balanced and surprisingly well acted. It holds up, even today! That's an accomplishment a lot of films from the 1980s haven't lived up to.

The only possible stain on the franchise was the Nintendo game, Goonies II. Seriously though, I loved the hell out of that game! So, we won’t hold that against them.

Perhaps the reason Goonies still resonates with me is because they never did a cartoon, like the Real Ghostbusters. Somehow, the franchise was cheapened by it. I dug the show as a kid, but I hesitate to watch it now, especially after the debacle that was The Super Mario Brothers Super Show.

Wow, I still can't get over it...Goonies, the cartoon! Just look at Sloth and Data! I'm already sold, and these are just character designs!

Oh well, I just thought I'd share this cool little find! I hope you find it just as cool as I do.

Slither-Another Cleverschmever Review

James Gunn's Slither may just be one of the best, most balanced films I've ever seen. It's equal parts funny, scary and gory as hell.
Now, you have to accept that there are psychic space slugs that can make zombies, but after that, it's smooth sailing.

It's pretty easy to see that Mr. Gunn is a veteran of Troma Films (Lloyd Kaufman & Toxic Avenger cameos aside). The story and characters can only be described as outlandish, yet Gunn and company pull it off so that they come off genuine. While conveying a sense of imminent danger from the space slugs, the film never takes itself too seriously. The dialogue is well written, and the delivery is spot-on! One second, you'll b e laughing, and the next you'll be cringing at a mutilated cat (this movie is PETA's worst nightmare).

Not a single punch is pulled throughout the movie. So often, when I watch horror films (or films in general, lately), I feel cheated because the filmmakers were afraid of interesting choices. Not here! I'm not going to say what, as I want you to go and see the movie, but trust me, it's a helluva lot of fun!

Oh, and this movie moves, I mean MOVES! The pace is so brisk I was kind of bummed when it ended, and it ran 96 minutes! Filmmakers take note; this is how you make a fun movie! Ignore the things you don't like and just look at the form, the movement of the film. Brilliant stuff!

So, to recap, go see this movie! NOW!

Xoxo
Ian

Copyright 2006 Ian Gonzales