I write to you, a man who has just finished watching the 2011 State of the Union Address in a Courtyard Marriot in Waco, Texas... a man who has eaten some really awful Chinese food at a building that once housed a proud fried chicken joint I liked in middle school... a man who was delighted to realize his mid-range hotel had a full bar with a bartender...
Anyway, I did watch the State of the Union. Whatever. I don't get much fired up about the political game these days, so much as I get fired up about participating in government, and I consider those two separate things. ie: I will always vote, and I work for the state partially because I like the idea of serving something bigger than myself or the needs of shareholders. I am too old and cynical to take the bait when it comes to platitudes regarding education and social infrastructure that, once push comes to shove, won't be funded (even at a fraction of the cost of robot dog missles or whatever we're cooking up this week...) nor do I get excited about what some young congressman from Yahooville reads from a teleprompter, as if these thoughts occurred to him as he sipped a martini and listened to the address on the radio.
I voted this year. I'll vote again next year and the year after that. But enjoying the right to vote is not, for me, the same as engaging in politics as hometown team spectator sport.
You know, I definitely over-romanticize old school corrupt politics, political machines like Tammany Hall and political conventions having more meaning than the Golden Globes. I never lived any of that. And its probably wrong to long for the days when the corruption was mustache-ier and people got stabbed more often during ballot counting. But its not like its hard to guess who is buttering whose bread based on watching who claps for what during these clown shows.
I didn't watch the response because... I can think the words "everything he just said was a damn, dirty lie" to myself. Now, I missed Bachmann's response but the Twittersphere seemed positively incandescent pondering what they were seeing. Sadly, by the time I got over to CNN from the Telenovella I'd tuned to (the hair on those ladies is so SHINY), Bachmann was done using her words and Headline News was literally already back to talking about Jersey Shore.
That's okay. AMC is now showing Eraser, which I made Jason and Jamie go see in the theater during its original release because (a) Arnie, and (B) Vanessa Williams. Mostly B. Man, this movie is everything that went wrong with 90's action movies by the end of the decade. But, you know, it features lots of Point B.
And... right. Today Marvel Comics released their latest issue of Fantastic Four, a comic I like in theory much more than execution unless Mark Waid is writing the book (Sorry, rest of industry). In this story, one of the FF was scheduled to die, a move so routine in comics as an attention grabber, its quite literally true that we now expect the "death" of at least two major character per universe per year, followed by a much less celebrated resurrection.
I only read FF for about two years back in the mid 00's, and during that time, one of the FF died, too. So, you know, it happens.
Ah, wait. Bully has a terrific post on the topic.
I actually did hit a comic shop today after my meeting. Bankston's here in Waco is a sister store to Austin Books and Comics as its owned by the brother of the owner of ABC. Anyhow, they have a terrific selection, its a really fun shop, and I always have to make sure I have a gameplan when I walk in the door, because its a place I could easily go crazy.
Yes, they had the issue of FF by the cash register, all wrapped up in a black bag, a la "Death of Superman". And I looked at it and looked at it... but the thought of actually buying it never crossed my mind. Death of major characters has officially become so commonplace, even a well-marketed and well-placed copy of the comic can't pique my curiosity.
I did, however, grab Superman/ Batman #80, which has been getting some great notices and penned by Chris Roberson (and issue 79 rocked my socks).