It’s Nerd Wednesday: Wednesday Comics

DC Comics is kinda/sorta trying to get comics back in the newspapers, or at least online, with its new effort, Wednesday Comics, debuting today. It includes a lot of top talent — Neil Gaiman, Mike Allred, Paul Pope, Walter Simonson, Kurt Busiek, Kyle Baker — working on some of the DC stars — Superman, Batman, Green Lantern, Wonder Woman — and some of the more interesting players from the bench — Metamorpho, the Metal Men, and Kamandi.

USA Today will publish one of the strips in an online version every week. They’re starting with this gorgeously illustrated — but brief — Superman comic.

There are no plans to include the comics in the actual print edition of USA Today, or any other papers, as far as I know. Still, even a small step in the right direction is better than nothing. The reliably hilarious Chris Sims shows us the alternative: “15 Suicidally Depressing Newspaper Comic Strips.”

Newspaper editors don’t seem to realize people don’t want to face gray, bland and tiny soul-crushing scenes in the entertainment section. Maybe Wednesday Comics will create a demand for bold, colorful and interesting comic strips in newspapers again. You know. Stuff that people might actually like to read.

Hey, it’s worth a shot.

It Came From The Sewer, Updated

For those who were kept awake nights, wondering what the hell that thing in a North Carolina sewer was — Anyone but me? No? Well, screw it, I’ve got an update for you anyway.

Thanks to Xeni Jardin over at Boing Boing, who found this story on i09, which confirms that the thing is real, and not a special effect.

But aside from confirming its existence, the director of environmental services for the the city of Raleigh can’t say what it is, or even if anything will be done about it.

The video was taken in a private sewer system by a private contractor working for them. It does not belong to the City of Raleigh nor will it reach the Neuse River Wastewater Treatment Plant. This is the response from our director: “The video is of the private sanitary sewer in the Cameron Village and was taken by a private contractor working for them and not taken by our staff. The blob has been identified by others as worms.”

The Raleigh News and Observer investigated as well, and it says bryozoans, which was my guess.

Actually, the sewer monster is made up of thousands of tiny organisms called bryozoans, or moss animacules, said N.C. State University biologist Thomas Kwak. Invertebrates, they bunch together in colonies and feed with tiny tentacles.

“They can get as big as the size of a watermelon,” he said.

But according to yet another Internet posting, the thing is not made of bryozoans. It’s actually a clump of Tubifex worms writhing in the sewage.

No, these are not bryozoans! They are clumps of annelid worms, almost certainly tubificids (Naididae, probably genus Tubifex). Normally these occur in soil and sediment, especially at the bottom and edges of polluted streams. In the photo they have apparently entered a pipeline somehow, and in the absence of soil they are coiling around each other. The contractions you see are the result of a single worm contracting and then stimulating all the others to do the same almost simultaneously, so it looks like a single big muscle contracting.

OK, gang. Mystery solved. Everyone back in the van, and it’s off to the malt shop for dancing and Scooby snacks.

John Keel, 1930-2009.

John Keel, longtime investigator of the paranormal and author of The Mothman Prophecies and many other books, has died.

In his decades-spanning career, Keel chronicled much of the weirdness that didn’t make the headlines. People might know names like “Bigfoot” and “Nessie,” or look to the skies for flying saucers, but Keel searched for the unknown parts of the unknown. He went to spots where our reality gets thin, and probed the cracks.

As far as his theories went, Keel seemed convinced that there weren’t actually wild ape-men in the forest, or aliens visiting the earth like a tourist spot. He studied history and myth, and found that the names have changed, but the phenomena have been with humans as long as we’ve been telling stories and writing stuff down. We’ve called them fairies, demons, angels and monsters, but they have always been there, out at the edge of the light.

Keel himself posited that there were beings on this planet, much older than us, who enjoyed toying with us. Occasionally, they show up, whether as a hairy monster or a silver-suited spaceman, just to play havoc with our lives.

He formed this theory after the events in Point Pleasant, West Virginia, which ended in the Silver Bridge collapse that killed 46 people. From his writing after that, he seemed fairly convinced that whatever these things were, they didn’t have our best interests at heart.

People can differ about the reality of the paranormal. I go back and forth on it myself, all the time. But Keel produced volumes of fascinating, challenging work that forever altered the way I look at the world. My writing would be a lot emptier and duller if I hadn’t been exposed to Keel at an early age, and if I didn’t go back to him often, looking for the strangest parts of the strange.

He introduced me to some amazing concepts. Now I get to play with them full-time, and I’m in his debt.

NY Times: Vampires Are Still the New Black

Vampires, the trend that will not die.

The same person who sent me this article had a good point when we met for lunch the other day. She said, “No one ever says cop movies are over, or the legal thriller is over. Why do people think that’s the case with vampire movies?”

RIP, Journalism.

Michael Jackson isn’t the only one who died recently. I used to think journalism, the profession that paid for my beer and Big Macs for years, could be saved. This morning, I’m willing to call time of death.

This is why:

Washington Post sells access, $25,000+

According to Politico, here’s what happened:

For $25,000 to $250,000, The Washington Post has offered lobbyists and association executives off-the-record, nonconfrontational access to “those powerful few”: Obama administration officials, members of Congress, and — at first — even the paper’s own reporters and editors.

The astonishing offer was detailed in a flier circulated Wednesday to a health care lobbyist, who provided it to a reporter because the lobbyist said he felt it was a conflict for the paper to charge for access to, as the flier says, its “health care reporting and editorial staff.”

…The offer — which essentially turns a news organization into a facilitator for private lobbyist-official encounters — was a new sign of the lengths to which news organizations will go to find revenue at a time when most newspapers are struggling for survival.

And it’s a turn of the times that a lobbyist is scolding The Washington Post for its ethical practices.

The Post’s editor harrumphed and said he was shocked to discover the offer, and promised that no one from the newsroom would participate. He sounded exactly like the government and corporate drones I used to quote when they got caught.

If no one had written a story, I have no doubt the event would have proceeded as planned. In some ways, it’s the ultimate result of focus groups, marketing campaigns and “serving the demographic.” This, at least, removes all the bullshit. The Post, with this little flyer, seems to be saying, “Just tell us what you want us to write, and for the following prices, you can have it.” It’s like the value menu at McDonalds.

I’m not the dewy-eyed idealist I was when I started writing for money, but I still believe reporters have one basic duty: to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable. And — Jesus Christ, I shouldn’t even have to type this — that does not mean joining the comfortable for cocktails and a fee at the end of the night.

There are other professionals who do that. They’re usually better-looking than journalists, and these days, probably more respected.

(Found via Matt Taibbi’s blog.)

Don’t Look. Seriously, don’t.

Fine. I warned you.

A truly odd — and more than a little gross — viral video came over the Internet at me today, called “Unknown Life Form In N. Carolina Sewer.”

I can’t resist something with a title like that. So I checked it out. At first, I had the nagging suspicion I’d been duped into viewing a video of a colonoscopy, but it does show something slimy oozing around in what appears to be a sewer.

Just what is it? Well, the candidates are UFO creature, hoax/publicity stunt, or bryozoan — “colonial animals … superficially similar to coral … known to occur worldwide … [and] observed to exist in sewer systems, examples being Denver and North Carolina.” (Emphasis added. And thanks, Wikipedia.)

It’s always tempting to leap to the flying saucer explanation, especially when something looks as weird and horrible as this. But real-life science has plenty of weird and horrible things in it. For some reason, however, saying “colony organism that has the ability to move on its own power and lives in sewers” just doesn’t carry the same thrill as saying “UFO creature! RUN!”

After my exhaustive five-minute research, I’m going to have to vote for bryozoan.

Then again, it could be a C.H.U.D. Yeah, scratch that. Now I’m voting for C.H.U.D.

TSA: Saving Us From Comic Books

The Transportation Security Administration: bravely protecting our skies from bottled water, nail files, and now, comic books.

Boom! Studios sends word that comics writer Mark Sable was detained by TSA security guards at Los Angeles International Airport this past weekend because he was carrying a script for a new issue of his comic miniseries Unthinkable. … The comic series follows members of a government think tank that was tasked with coming up with 9/11-type ‘unthinkable’ terrorist scenarios that now are coming true.

Sable wrote of his experiences: ‘Flying from Los Angeles to New York for a signing at Jim Hanley’s Universe Wednesday (May 13th), I was flagged at the gate for ‘extra screening’. I was subjected to not one, but two invasive searches of my person and belongings. TSA agents then ‘discovered’ the script for Unthinkable #3. They sat and read the script while I stood there, without any personal items, identification or ticket, which had all been confiscated.’

‘The minute I saw the faces of the agents, I knew I was in trouble. The first page of the Unthinkable script mentioned 9/11, terror plots, and the fact that the (fictional) world had become a police state. The TSA agents then proceeded to interrogate me, having a hard time understanding that a comic book could be about anything other than superheroes, let alone that anyone actually wrote scripts for comics.’

I’m not sure what these guys were thinking, but imagine if they got hold of a novel by Tom Clancy or Vince Flynn. Their heads would likely explode. (If the TSA is reading this, that’s not a bomb threat. It’s a metaphor.)

In my personal experience, I’ve seen TSA personnel bully old ladies, sleep on the job, and fail to screen the luggage of a group of people because those people didn’t speak English, among other things. Everyone who’s been through an airport security line has a story or two. Like the old joke goes, it’s the rotten 90 percent who spoil it for the other 10. But I don’t speak up anymore. I’m usually flying with my daughter these days, and I don’t really care to find out just how vindictive or petty these people can get now.

However, I’ll compliment Mark Sable for staying calm. Because if someone in a uniform told me I had to justify the content of one of my scripts or manuscripts before I could get on the plane, it would have gone something like this:

TSA screener: Sir, can you tell me why there are mentions of terrorism in these pages?

Me: It also mentions vampires. Do you need me to tell you that vampires aren’t real?

TSA screener: Sir, can you just answer the question?

Me: Can you roll that up and cram it in sideways?

Actually, I flatter myself with the above exchange. I think it would probably just be more likely a string of obscenities, followed by something about the First Amendment. Either way, it’s the sort of conversation that can only end with the distinct crackle of a Taser.

Giving a baggage handler a badge doesn’t make him Jack Bauer. TSA doesn’t seem to do much except generate bad jokes and lawsuits.

But hey, we’re all shuffling barefoot through the airport, so that’s something. Right?

(Link found on BoingBoing.)

My favorite Michael Jackson song

Geoff Boucher and Elaine Woo also have a good obit at the Times that encompasses much of what made Jackson unique, and what left him so damaged. The Guardian (UK) also has an interesting take.

UPDATE:

More on Michael Jackson’s post-humanity from Annalee Newitz at i09: Michael Jackson’s Science-Fictional Life.

The Death of the First Post-Human

Michael Jackson is dead. Physically. Michael Jackson the media image, Michael Jackson the celebrity… that’s going to be tougher to kill.

Jackson was probably the first person ever to reach the definition of post-human. He started as a child star, was transformed by wealth and celebrity, then used that wealth and celebrity to transform himself and, eventually, the world.

While other celebrities were arguably as famous in life as Jackson — Elvis, Marilyn Monroe — Jackson was the first celebrity to live almost his entire life in the spotlight. He was 8 years old when he became famous. Before then, he had done almost nothing but train to be famous. And after that, his self became public property — subject to revision by any number of people, turned into any number of selves.

The money helped. A lot. Once Jackson became an adult — legally, anyway — he took control of a fortune that was staggering by almost any measure. And he used it to build the childhood he never had. His purchases were like something out of a kid’s book. A house that was also an amusement park. A personal zoo. A monkey as his best friend.

And he began to rebuild himself, too. Nobody can say with any authority how many times Jackson went under the knife, aside from Jackson himself and his doctors. But everyone with a TV watched his transformation. Jackson’s physicality — effortlessly expressed in his ability as a dancer — was torn down and reconstructed over and over again, until he no longer resembled himself. He only resembled the caricature of himself.

Jackson’s albums, after Bad, were disappointments, critically and commercially. The music he actually created — his true accomplishments — became a footnote to the semi-sentient, half-life of his fame.

In the 90s, long before Paris Hilton reached puberty, Jackson became famous largely for being famous. And his life became a mere prop to maintaining and servicing his image.He  spent millions to bury the first allegations of child molestation at Neverland. He ordered MTV to call him “The King of Pop,” even though no one was listening to the songs anymore. He married the daughter of Elvis in a union so fake as to verge on surreal. He kept saying he just wanted to be left alone — and then, he kept lurching his Frankenstein creation — the one with his name, if not his face — back into the spotlight.

More important, Jackson’s living fame went out and deformed the world, as well. Look at the prisoners in Thailand who spent weeks, months, choreographing a dance version of the “Thriller” video. Prisoners in Thailand. That goes way beyond the girls in my junior high who wore Madonna lace gloves, or the guy who bought the red leather zipper jacket. That’s not pop stardom. It’s more than celebrity, even. That’s as close to actual pagan worship as we get in these times. That’s not the kind of thing that goes away when the cameras are turned off.

Whatever the personal reality of Michael Jackson was, it became irrelevant. His eventual trial on child molestation charges was practically unnecessary, since he’d already been convicted in people’s minds by a few thousand bad jokes. His divorce, fatherhood, financial crises, health issues — none of those things really happened to him anymore. They happened to the image, the creation, the celebrity. People believed in the stories more than they believed in any real human being behind them.

Jackson’s death was the final, perfect example. It was posted on the Internet before it actually happened. There will be a lot of crocodile tears, and some genuine heartfelt loss over the next few days. There will be tributes on TV, and a lot of commentary from people like me, who never knew him, never could, who only knew the image. There will be T-shirts and videos and a million more bad jokes.

But none of it is happening to Michael Jackson. Not anymore. It’s happening to the thing he became, and that thing has a lot of life left in it, no matter what became of the 8-year-old boy who sang and danced all those years ago.

Michael Jackson, the first post-human, dead at 50.

These Vampires Don’t Sparkle

Recently read The Strain, the new vampire novel by Guillermo Del Toro and Chuck Hogan. It’s fast-paced, engaging, and has a hell of a creepy opening sequence. It’s the first horror book that’s actually caused me to feel horror in a long time.

The AV Club, however, makes a good point. These are not your sexy vampires wearing the latest goth fashions:

…whatever the reason, blood-sucking fiends lurking in the shadows no longer carry the same old skin-crawling cultural cachet. Which presents a problem for writers who still want to use them. The modern solution, and the one director Guillermo Del Toro and writer Chuck Hogan opt for in their new novel The Strain, is to drain the archetype of its supernatural trappings. No more moping goths, Christian symbolism, or demonic villainy; now it’s a biological threat that has to be handled with modern technology.

As a result, don’t look for Edward Cullen here. These vamps are a lot more like zombies than Dracula. They even have a (disgusting) biological stinger/tongue that flicks out and paralyzes their prey for draining. (If you’re wondering what it looks like, check out Blade 2, directed by Del Toro — he used the same gimmick there.)

Del Toro and Hogan don’t remove all the mysticism. The head vampire is demonic, telepathic and immortal, resembling Barlow from the 1979 miniseries version of Stephen King’s Salem’s Lot; vampires still can’t cross water without human help, for some reason; and unlike zombies, the vamps remember their friends and families after they’ve been turned, if for no other reason than they’re looking for a quick snack.

That was my only real reservation about the book — changing the rules mid-game. I think it might have been necessary — otherwise, there would have been nothing to make this different than a zombie book. I suspect, in the later two books, it will come out that the heroes have been fooling themselves, looking for a scientific answer to what is, at root, a demonic problem.

And I’m willing to go along on that ride, to see what happens next.