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It's Cool to Hate

Obscure cross-reference time! I fell asleep listening to Ixnay, had a dream with the cast of The Breakfast Club, and came up with this T-shirt design in the morning:

Needless to say, but actually I'm far from hating Ally Sheedy. The freak basket case was easily the best character, and she looked incredibly hot in that 80's goth outfit.

This reminds me, after T-Rez announced the long-awaited return of NIN, I came up with another design. Be careful though, it's full of irony - watch it too long, and your screen might begin to rust...

Shirt templates stolen from here, some of the polaroid frames from here. 

Death and Cigarettes #3

That was bollocks.

Winter's gone, and so is Hellblazer, after 25 years and 300 published issues.

I'm not the world's greatest comic geek; in the recent years I haven't read many titles outside the Vertigo stuff and the occasional Aliens book by Dark Horse, but I was an avid 'blazerite, and even though the recent Peter Milligan run felt like a cheap parody at best, I'm going to miss this series like hell.

The man himself, our anti-hero, John Constantine - Sting-lookalike British arsehole on paper, L.A.-dwelling Keanu Reeves on film - got rebooted as a younger, family-friendly version in his new series (rated T+, with an extremely creative title, although the fandom will always be referring to it as Heckblazer), slipping into convenient continuity not just with his fireball-throwing Dr. Jones rip-off Justice League Dark self, but also the rest of the colorful superhero-y businesses of the mighty DC Universe. Sigh.

You know, the really-really good thing about Hellblazer is, I mean was, that despite all the magical craziness  the hordes of demons and blood-soaked horror, the stories were mainly always about the screwed up life of one guy, a not in any way normal, but relatively average, and relatable guy. At least in comic standards. John didn't have any superpowers. He knew some magic tricks, sure, and was skillful at manipulating the living shit out of any friend or foe, but his only real "gift" was the ability to con himself out of any given situation, masking his fear and way too caring personality with stinging one-liners, that bastard image and masterfully faked self-confidence.

In many ways - many wrong ways too, I must add - this character channeled our everyday lives and fears, serving as both a contemporary symbol and a gambler's guide of working class society, something that Whatever-Man, Dr./Mr. Random, and watered down DCJCs will never achieve.

Am I getting sentimental? Sod it, here's to 25 years of fine reading material, 300 issues, mini-series, and several one-shot specials. I wonder how far Heckblazer will get before the inevitable cancellation.

pixenomorphy #6

(...) the X-File being,

Looking like some kind of blue-green Jackie Chan

with Isabella Rossellini lips (...)

HFS indeed.

Telling Truth, Telling Lies, I Used To Have a Friend

I say it means a lot.

Facts are, the General's first post placed a ticking bomb into my subconscious  and the four trunkbumper's "No Hero" has been randomly popping up again and again on my playlist in the last two weeks. I couldn't help it; this is a topic I usually try to avoid at all costs, but here we go, with a complete post, thought-out, written down, waiting to be published.

24 / 1 / 06

Miért mindig az ártatlanok szenvednek? - tettem fel magamban e kérdést többször is a nap folyamán. Válasz természetesen nem érkezett, így inkább másként fogalmaztam meg a problémát. Miért nem szenvednek sohasem a bűnösök?

Perspectives, personalities and moral codes change, but some of your questions will never go away.

(Click here to ruin this reflective moment.)

A.F.O.G.

Rewatched Prometheus the other day. Like most Ridley movies, it was a good deal more enjoyable the second time around and - did you notice how friggin' ripped Noomi Rapace looks in it? Among all the Giger-esque body horror it's not hard to overlook the great deal of physical training that woman went through for the role, but if you stop and look for a moment, or maybe compare Dr. Shaw with the original Lisbeth Salander, whoa.

Weyland Corporation - Building Better Muscles

It's kind of funny how hard they try putting Charlize Theron into this powerful, dominating, basically bully character, while it's pretty clear that Noomi could take Her Skinniness out without much effort. Still, both of them could kick my ass, if it came to that, and realizing this I felt compelled to buy a pair of dumbbels and start working out properly, or at least the way I did back then, during those brighter days.

So dear Prometheus crew, thanks a lot for inspiring me, and be blessed by His Bald Retocnness' holy touch or whatever. I'm off to drink some diet black goo.

pixenomorphy #5

I like my job. My job doesn't like me.

Fish Walk Among Us*

Wanna hear about something crazier, more badass, and also a lot cheesier than TMNT, Street Sharks, Extreme Dinosaurs and the whole Transformers family combined? How about a bunch of sperm whales  in robotic exo-suites, walking on land, flying in the air, and fighting alien invaders in outer space?

Mechawhales, I repeat it, Mecha-f*cking-whales is the name of this franchise, created by Hauke Scheer - his designs can be seen on DeviantArt, the backstory of the whales can be read on this site - you can also watch two animated short films about it -, and here I'm going to show you the latest character incarnation, the limited 3.5" Infantry Whale PVC figure, chicky-cheeky-check i' out:

Would pass as the secret love child of Dennis Nedry and that Dilophosaurus

Writing that I wish I could be 5 years old now would be true to some degree, but that fact is, the sight of this magnificent cetacean made me feel like a kid again for hours. Alas, it's been a long time since I could afford to spend 50 bucks on an action figure, but a man-child can dream and it would certainly be sweet to own one of these one day. For now, I wish the very best for Mr. Scheer and his vision, hopefully it becomes a cult hit, and one day we can see a live-action movie adaptation, either with or without the involvement of Michael Bay.

... and if you are wondering, what would happen if a fifty ton sperm whale (alright, I know you could hardly hold it back the first time; let's hear a huge giggity) walked ashore on mechanical legs, look no further than Junji Ito's horror manga, Gyo. It's a tale of bio-mech terror, foul body gas and disgusting sea life, both creepy and (mostly because of the translation) funny at the same time, highly recommended stuff.

Yes, you are supposed to read that from right to left

*Yup, I do know that whales are mammals, and not fish. The title is merely a reference to Christopher Lloyd's book from that half-assed Piranha sequel, which was a reference itself to a scene in Joe Dante's original Piranha, that was referencing the Creature from the Black Lagoon series, which was referenced in the third Back to the Future movie. I'm not sure where I'm going with this, but hey, that too had Christopher Lloyd...

cuz bean a grammer natsy ease kewl

Szóval az ünnepeket nagybetűvel írod, a filmcímekben viszont a legelső karaktert leszámítva minden apró, tulajdonnevek beleértve, és ilyen formában online híroldalra publikálsz, fizetés ellenében, mialatt yours truly Kevin Wasserman karrierjének legelejét tapossa, half-time-ban, minimálért.

Aham. Egy amp kellene, két futóbolond, meg egy doboz sör, és máris igazságosabbnak tűnne az élet.

(És bár elhiszem, hogy a jó öreg TLJ kiejtésével a "been extinct"-et félre lehet hallani "the best thing"-re, a legtenyérbemászóbb modorossággal csak meg kell kérdeznem: ugye kontextusról és logikáról tetszettek már hallani? De semmi vész, Tótisz is elvan, mint csarnok a vízben.)

Réjdzs.

Music You Will Never Own: JJ&E Xtend[r]ed[d]

Last year's Dredd was such a disastrous undeserved box office flop, I have to buy a full-price BD copy. As a nerd who knows his duty, I'd advise every living soul on the planet to do the same, first, because it could redeem itself as a home video hit the same way Batman Begins did, and second, because it's a cool movie.

Think of a gritty, down to earth 2000 AD story, put it in The Raid's Die Hard's one place settings with the toned down, it's-almost-like-today futurism of the X-men movies for budgetary reasons, add a few glimpses of gimmicky 3D to the mix and you've got a nice little action flick with Karl Urban being cooler than anyone in the current cobwebbed Expendables cast. And although I hated Lena Headey as Sarah Connor, judging from this movie, she could easily take on the role of Ellen Ripley, but now I'm really drifting into theoretical off-topic waters here.

It's a shame that Paul Leonard-Morgan's score was mixed so low in most of the scenes, the same way Piranha killed its soundtrack in 2010: I was having a ball listening to the OST album for half a year before I finally got to see the movie (don't judge me for this: I lived in two countries during the last six months, and Dredd wasn't released in neither of them during my stay), and hardly hearing anything from the music I've loved so much was kind of a letdown. It's hard-hitting, kick-ass "John Carpenter meets pre-2000 style NIN" electro-industrial stuff, cool, violent, but melodic, with the just the right amount of tongue-in-cheek attitude, and best of all, it's repetitive as hell, which makes it awesome for workouts.

My favorite track is the almost feelgood "Judge, Jury and Executioner," originally about 2 minutes in length, but here you can listen to a looped to death 5:33 version. (vimeo mirror)

You can also take it with you by clicking here (MP3, 320kbps, 12,6 MB). Do some push-ups or cardio work while playing it, you'll feel like one badass mofo.

Joys and Fears, Forgotten Years

It's early December in 2009, and Chris is walking across Manchester Piccadilly, occupied with puzzling, although not too interesting thoughts. He doesn't notice the Red Cross girl until she's right in front of him, saying or asking something with with a huge grin.

"Sorry?" Chris stops and pulls out his earphones. The music is gone, but the heart of a city like this will always remain a noisy place.

"Why the long face? Come on, where's your Christmas Spirit?" the girl repeats herself, and the words feel what they exactly are: a smart business move. A friendly chatter with this cute little blonde in the middle of a cold grim winter day, and all you have to give is some blood or money in return. And since it's Red Cross and/or Cancer Research UK, you won't feel like a pathetic sob either.

Charity, not mental prostitution. Who could refuse a deal like that?

Soon enough, she is asking about his age. Chris knows it's hard to tell by appearance: he's not a kid now, but he couldn't really be called an adult either. By now he can't help smiling a little, mostly because of the sight of numerous rings all around the girl's lips, and even more of them inside her mouth. Has he finally met his first real-life British punk? A lovely disappointment.

No, he's not twenty-one yet, so they won't have any use of him. And they have a little language barrier here, he explains, so she asks where did he come from, and how's the UK treating him. Chris thinks back of the last few days, the people and events that left the biggest impression on him. Finally, he simply asks if he could hug the girl.

She doesn't refuse, it happens, and they probably both get a little creeped out, but after they say goodbye and part away, Chris can't help to feel a little better about his life. Little accidents like this, outbursts of almost nonexistent, but incredibly powerful manifestations of compassion and empathy can make you believe in angels. Even if they are only angels for their part-time jobs.

* * *

It's early January in 2013, and Chris is walking across Manchester Piccadilly, occupied with puzzling, although not too interesting thoughts. He's in a hurry today, so he tries to avoid eye contact with any of the Red Cross girls out there. A futile attempt.

"Now there's a smile!," cries out one of them, but it's not a sequel, remake or any kind of intentional reference to some 2009 events. She doesn't look like that girl, and Chris probably doesn't look like a kid anymore either, because her first question goes like this: "A little chatter, sir?"

Sorry, I'm kind of busy, is what Chris wants to say as he rushes past her, but the sudden realization freezes his tongue. Did she really mean he was smiling? Does he look happy? Is he even able to look happy?

Once again Chris thinks back of the last few days, the people and events that left the biggest impression on him. He celebrated new year's eve at a friend's place, they were drinking, watching movies, playing games and talking about everything and nothing at the same time. It was like any lazy summer week from their past lives.

He thinks about the many missed opportunities to just hang out like that with people he knows back at home; and he feels the stinging uncertainty pf not knowing when he will be able to do it again with anyone, anywhere. After a few minutes of walking, he decides to blog about something. And he already knows that as a gentle, but clear note to self, the final lines will go like this:

Let it go, man. You can't get back to how and was before. Stop whining, and try to make a future worthy of your past.