I'm a Child of the Atom, Turkeys.

I've been reading an awful lot of Carrie Bradshaw/Liz Lemon bloggery lately. Although I have really enjoyed (and mostly agreed with) the analyses, I have to wonder about the relevance of either woman to someone like me. But you know who is very relevant to someone like me? Dazzler.

Dazzler blog. Here it is.

Legend has it that the Dazzler was commissioned as a "property" from Casablanca Records, and that she was probably intended to be black. And weird. But as fate would have it (and as odd as it sounds) 1977 was apparently not ready for black and weird. At least not in its comics. And certainly not a chick, eh? So the Dazzler evolved, and as the decades rolled on she kept evolving. I kind of appreciate the fact that Marvel almost gives a nod to the character's dubious origin, almost as if to say "yeah, we know. We're just going to keep making her gimmicky." I'm perfectly down with that.

My love with Dazzler began quite young, but I really don't completely know how I happened upon first edition Dazzler comics. She debuted when I was one, I learned to read when I was three, but no way would my ma have bought me something like that when I was a toddler. So, I dunno. You do that math. Those first few issues can be almost painful to read. I didn't experience much of the 70s so I don't really know if people actually talked like they were in a Rudy Ray Moore movie. The writing is . . . kitschy in those early appearances. But she was a female character that WASN'T Wonder Woman, she was flip and cool but sometimes still scared and life weary. To someone as young as I was, she was a little bit dangerous, and totally glamorous. She wore roller skates. If she had rode a unicorn, six year old me probably would have imploded. I've kept up with her through the years out of curiosity as much as nostalgia and love, but nothing has made me squee like the Dazzler one shot that finally came out yesterday.

Start at the beginning. The cover, by Kalman Andrasofszky. Brilliant! I love it. Alison Blaire in a badass Bronson pose in her original costume? Well hell yeah! Even with such a dark theme you can tell she was lovingly drawn, and I respect that an awful lot.

The story deals with a reunion/showdown with Dazzler's sister, Lois aka Necrosha. I have not followed the story in New Mutants or Legacy, so I don't know what's going on there. But Necrosha did some super bad shit and now has it out for Dazzler. Necrosha has abandonment issues. I don't want to spoil anything so I'll just say that the resolution sure does leave a lot of room for more Dazzler plots (yes please).

My only initial eyebrow raise came from the transition in art between "track one" and "track two." It was a little too wink-wink-nudge-nudge, cause, you know, SHE'S A MUSICIAN! RIGHT? RIGHT? SEE WHAT WE DID THERE? But then it occurred to me that I really enjoyed both styles, so it was still a very enjoyable experience.

So the bottom line is thank you - to McCann, Andrasofszky, Perez, and Ciregia, for doing justice to this character that is so special to me. I even bought shoes to celebrate the day.
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I'm a Naughty Little Fibber

I said I was going to post another blog the very next night. I did not. I also hinted at a topic. I'm changing that as well. I'm going to review a comic.

I need to state for the record that I am in no way a qualified reviewer. I am not educated in artistic history or technique. As such, at this point my opinions on art are easily influenced by what I hear from others. I can barely call myself a writer, because aside from occasionally getting bloggy with it, I never show anyone anything I've written. But I like what I like, you know? So anytime I "review" a comic or movie or game or whatever, I'm only sharing my opinion. I'm not trying to change yours, but I would love to talk about it. I say this to firstly let you know exactly how "important" I think this blog is but also as a soapbox on which to stand and holler "suck my front butt, spammers and trollers." There are few things I tolerate less than an anonymous douche with a thesaurus and a hyper-verbal temper.

Anyhoo. "Crossed: Family Values," by David Lapham and Javier Barreno. Thus begins my spoiler free review.

Holy shit. Well, I guess I should start with a question. Do you know how much I love Garth Ennis? A lot. An awful lot. He might be my very very favorite. Wait - no, yeah, probably my favorite. So maybe to comprehend the depth of my feelings for this volume, I should give you a quick capsule review of the first volume: Loved it, shocked by it, horrified by it, favorite author, mildly dissatisfied with the ending. In my top ten titles.

I repeat: Holy shit. I feel a little sick saying it. It feels weird in my skin. This book I love, created by two amazing talents has a sequel . . . and I think I like the sequel more. Yikes! But it's amazing! More shocking and appaling, but in a far less graphic, smack you in the face with a you know what (spoiler free, kids) kind of way. The art is more stylish, the characters slightly more round without every crossing (HA!) over into cartoony. Oh, and as an added bonus, the Juan Jose Ryo cover very well might give you nightmares.

This volume so far follows the same path as the first - the story focuses this time on a farm family, their relationships, and how the Crossed situation changes their entire beings. The actual Crossed are almost a subplot, as the main focus of both volumes is not "how" or "why," but "what happens." As the plot moves, it will not just shock you, but surprise you as well. This is officially the book I am looking forward to every month.

Well, that's it for tonight, friends and neighbors. This "Fringe" business has snagged my attention, and I'm in need of a "LOST" replacement, so I'm giving it a whirl.

Review: "Escape from Special"

I am kinda keeping my word on the promised comic review. Yes, I know I kept hinting at some multi-colored muscle bound action, but I changed my mind. There are probably eight trillion Blackest Night reviews out there, and I still might write something up, but if I do it will be at the end of the series. It's been a rough week and I just don't feel like waxing fangirl, so I'd like to share something low key, and thoughtful, and something that is probably brand new to you. So I present to you a review of Miss Lasko-Gross's "Escape from Special."

I read this book under the impression that it was autobiographical, but as it turns out it is "semi" autobiographical. The novel is about a young woman named Melissa, and we are shown moments from her childhood. These moments are sometimes congratulatory but most often they are self effacing and sometimes downright self loathing. As someone who, in childhood (OK, in adulthood also), took embarassments as something very hurtful and deeply personal, I got very emotionally attached to Melissa. Sometimes she is hateful and is not always likeable but I appreciate that portrayal more when I am reading something autobiographical. It's more honest this way, and I think it creates a deeper bond between reader and author/artist. When I finished the book, I felt something was lacking . . . I wanted to see something really AWESOME happen to Melissa. But after thinking about if for a while, I came to the understanding that sometimes the "pretty" stories just aren't the ones that want to come out.

The art in this book is beautiful. It almost comes across like a black and white watercolor. Melissa's eyebrows are especially expressive and the faces of her "friends" convey so very well the haughtiness and ignorance that comes with being a young girl. By letting us see Melissa's drawings, Miss Lasko-Gross also allows us to notice that Melissa's art is a more primitive version of the art of the book itself, which is an endearing touch.

Lasko-Gross's publisher compares her to Judy Blume, and oh how I wish I had come up with that myself. It's so true. Both help us remember what it was like to feel ostracized, but they also help us remember that were weren't, and aren't, alone. I am really looking forward to more of her work.

$900 Stripper Shoes

I need to precede this entry with two admissions: I am about three to four months late on this particular item. But I, unlike a heapin' handful of other bloggers, sadly do not get invited to Fashion Week. While I was checking out photos of these shoes I noticed that most of the entries were dated about September of '09. Don't care, I'm posting anyway. That, and I know I promised a comic review, but this will be my first public comic review and I am procrastinating.

Last night I did some impromptu thrifting. Had a rotten day at work, don't have a lot of cash, needed some cheap therapy. I already had an armful of cardigans (my staple) and a nifty khaki skirt so I decided to head to the shoe racks before hitting the checkout. I passed by a pair of lucite flippy floppy shoes and snickered. These shoes always have and forever will be stripper shoes. I could see a hausfrau in a coordinated warm up suit and lucite shoes in the grocery store and think "stripper shoes." I could see a 98 year old woman walkering out of an oncologist's office rockin' a pair and still think "stripper shoes." I could see a fashionista in - oh, wait. No I couldn't, because they are STRIPPER SHOES.

Tonight I got home from work and flipped through the most recent Harper's Bazaar. I was idly flipping through, not really invested. And then I saw them. I looked to the top of the page, praying I would see a "don't" somewhere. But nay. It was a "do". And it was Prada. And it was . . . Lucite.

Prada included lucite shoes in the spring couture line. Prada. The house of motherfucking Prada clomped down the runway in stripper shoes! I'm pretty sure there's a fifth apocalyptic horseman, and his name is Brandee and he wears Prada fucking lucite shoes. Permit me the equivalent of a fangirl moment here, but Prada is quickly gaining on Dooney and Bourke and Kate Spade in the race to become generic, bit it's still Prada. It's not Channel, but it ain't no Max Azria, that's for sure (pimping with Miley Cyrus up to the WalMart? You are dead to me, Max Azria). I will soften my harsh criticism of the increasing affordability of these lines by saying it's not necessarily bad - I might be able to afford these someday. But in the world of high fashion, loosing exclusivity looses reputation, and that's just a fact. Nonetheless! Lucite heels. All the blogs are calling them wedges, but, uh, no. Chunky heel a wedge does not make. And calling it a wedge doesn't make it hip, because it's a godforsaken stripper shoe.

Incidentally, I have no idea how much these shoes cost. $900 was just a guess. And now that I've done a little research, I'm raising that because I can't find them at any retailer.