Fake News/Ubik

Philip K. Dick wrote in 1969:

Still in gay pinstripe clown-style pajamas, Joe Chip hazily seated himself at his kitchen table, lit a cigarette and, after inserting a dime, twiddled the dial of his recently rented 'pape machine.  Having a hangover, he dialed off interplan news, hovered momentarily at domestic news and then selected gossip.

"Yes sir," the 'pape machine said heartily.  "Gossip.  Guess what Stanton Mick, the reclusive interplanetarily known speculator and financier, is up to at this very moment."  Its works whizzed and a scroll of printed matter crept from its slot; the ejected roll, a document in four colors, niftily incised with bold type, rolled across the surface of the neo-teakwood table and bounced to the floor.  His head aching, Chip retrieved it, spread it out flat before him.

MICK HITS WORLD BANK FOR TWO TRIL

(AP) London.  What could Stanton Mick, the reclusive, interplanitarily known speculator  and financier be up to? the business community asked itself as rumor leaked out of Whitehall that the dashing but peculiar industrial magnate, who once offered to build free of charge a fleet by which Israel could  colonize and make fertile otherwise desert areas of Mars, had asked for and may possibly receive a staggering and unprecedented loan of

"This isn't gossip," Joe Chip said to the 'pape machine.  "This is speculation about fiscal transactions.  Today I want to read about which TV star is sleeping with whose drug-addicted wife."  He had as usual not slept well, at least in terms of REM - rapid eye movement - sleep.  And he had resisted taking a soporific because, very unfortunately, his week's supply of stimulants, provided him by the autonomic pharmacy of his conapt building, had run out - due, admittedly, to his own oral greed, but nevertheless gone.  By law, he could not approach the pharmacy for more until next Tuesday.  Two days away, two long days.

The 'pape machine said, "Set the dial for low gossip."

He did so and on a second scroll, excreted by the 'pape machine without delay, emerged; he zommed in on an excellent caricature drawing of Lola Herzburg-Wright, licking his lips with satisfaction at the naughty exposure of her entire right ear, then feasted on the text.

Accosted by a cutpurse in a fancy N.Y. after hours mowl the other night, LOLA HERZBURG-WRIGHT bounced a swift right jab of the chops of the do-badder which sent him reeling onto the table where KING OGON GROAT OF SWEDEN and an unidentified miss with astonighingly large...

Mr. Robot

Mr. Robot is my experiment.  See, I don't watch TV much, just pro wrestling (which I can ignore) and sports (which I can ignore).  I wanted to watch something I can't ignore.  That's why I started watching movies earlier this year.  That's why I started watching Mr. Robot.  About 20 minutes in, I found in dismay that I had 40 minutes left in the first episode.  About 30 minutes in, I started writing this.  A failure, right?  Not really.

I like the main character.  At one point in my life, I decided that I could either write about weird things, or I could do weird things; I decided on the latter.  As the 21st century drew on, I started to run out of weird things to do, and I decided to write more and more.  I don't really relate to the main character, but to the man who wrote him.  I think that maybe I can write a character like this.  Just like some pianists (Bill Evans, Dave Brubeck) inspire you to play more, some pianists convince you that playing the piano is a fruitless endeavor and that you'll never be as good as them (Oscar Peterson, Art Tatum).  Mr. Robot is like Bill Evans in that regard.

Old Man Logan #19

Old Man Logan, Issue #19 begins in  the Cellar, a maximum-security super prison.  Old Man Logan is breaking into the lower level - the Black Level - where the most dangerous prisoners are held.  We skip to nine days earlier, where he tries to get help from Illyana Rasputina, known as the X-Men, Magik.  Logan wants to go back to the Wastelands to help out Bruce Banner's grandson, with whom he was left in charge.  She won't help, so Logan goes after help with the one person who won't turn him down.

The art is done by Filipe Andrade, whose work I've enjoyed in the past, with colors by Jordan Boyd.  I'm used to the art of Andrea Sorrentino, but at least he does the cover.  The art is a little different, but not annoyingly so - it's not bad at all.  This has been and is a wonderful title, a good one to read in trade paperback form if you're not up with the comics.  I'm curious to see where this two-part arc goes.  Of course, the next arc is going to be in the Wastelands, but how will they get there?

Spider-Gwen #18

Spider-Gwen, Issue #18 concludes the "Sitting in a Tree" arc, and most likely, my interest in the comic for now.  It takes place on Earth-65, where Peter Parker dies and Gwen Stacey is bitten by the radioactive spider, becoming Spider-Woman, known to us as Spider-Gwen.  The colors are different, the characters we know are different.  But hey, that's the multiverse for you.  We begin on Earth-8, where Gwen Stacey and Miles Morales, in the future, have been married for 20 years.  Their kids and Peter Porker/Spider-Ham are going to help save the multiverse.

I am glad I read this crossover event, and I did enjoy it.  Spider-Gwen and Earth-65 are great and all, but it's too much for me right now.  I know I'm looking to cull titles right now, but Spider-Man is absolutely not on the table.  It's great.  So's Spider-Gwen, and if I were in a different place, I'd continue reading it.

Batwoman #1

Batwoman, Issue #1 is a new story.  I'm not reading enough, as I mentioned a few blog posts ago, so I don't know if I'm going to continue this series.  I've read a lot of Batwoman, including Hydrology and the first three or four trade paperbacks in the New 52.  Like many readers, I kind of petered out on the title after J.H. Williams III stopped writing it.  Now, Batwoman is working under the guidance of Batman, with Julia Pennyworth playing the backup role.  Kate Kane's father, I assume from reading Detective Comics, is still in Bat-prison.

This new series is written by Marguerite Bennett and James Tynion IV, who have both written for Detective Comics, with art by the legendary Steve Epting, who is also currently working on one of my faves, Velvet.  Basically, it's the team of writers and artists creating this title that will persuade me to continue reading the series more than the depth of the Batwoman character or how good the title is.  I know these creators can do something special, and I'll probably stick around to wait to see if it happens.

Reich #3

Reich, Issue #3 begins with the death of Wilhelm Reich's brother, Robert.  Then Sigmund Freud gives an offhand comment about the length Reich's paper on human sexuality, "that thick?"  This enrages Reich, who opines about his childhood on his father's farm.  He gets into sexual misadventures with the servants, he looks at the peasants' genitalia, he sexually stimulates the mares.  I mean, there are always stories of farm children buggering around with the sheep and whatnot, but Reich actually did it.

Wilhelm Reich was an extraordinary man, and that comes across very well in this third issue.  Of course, Elijah J. Brubaker, the author and artist, draws heavily from Reich's autobiography, Passion of Youth.  Whether or not Reich actually lost his virginity at age 11-and-a-half is only known to Reich and perhaps the cook with whom he allegedly lost it to.  I love the angular features of the characters in this issue, reminiscent of cubism, an art form popular at the time of Reich's life.

The Punisher #10

The Punisher, Issue #10 begins with the head of Condor and Olaf standing in front of a container ship in Condor Headquarters in Newfoundland, Canada.  They have produced enough EMC to fuel an entire army.  "If you thought that EMC caused chaos on the streets," the head says, "wait until it hits the battlefields!"  Even Olaf is a little nonplussed, saying, "I'm a soldier, not some two-bit drug dealer."  Face is near death, whacked out of his gourd on EMC, but Agent Ortiz of the D.E.A. is struggling to get enough information out of him so that she can stop them.  The Punisher, of course, has other plans.

The Punisher is the type of art that's why I read comics.  It's laughingly brutal, disgustingly violent.  I know the whole flying-bear-trap-on-a-chain is so 1970s Shaw Brothers, but you actually get to see the heads torn in half, the arms ripped off, the facial skin bubbling as it's being held to the hot carburetor.  It's disturbingly not for kids, especially this issue.