Saturday in Phoenix, Arizona. The sky is covered with low gray clouds. Thunder rumbles overhead. Suddenly, there is a flash of lightning so bright that it seems to go right through the library, searing my retinas and leaving a streak across my vision and a dull ache, like someone passed a wire through my eyes and right on through the back of my head. I have Advil, though, so a couple of pills should help.
It is likewise kind of a down moment for entertainment. I mentioned that I was going to try and read Hissing the manhwa by Kang Eun Young. I gave up this morning. After 120 pages of angsty faces, the story hasn’t advanced a bit. Fooey. I need story, wit, and humor. I can’t stand watchng some self-indulgent manhwa (korean word for manga) artist redrawing the same angular faces hundred of times. Boring. Back to the shelves.
Friday, I got two American comics: Cry for Justice part 3, and Strange Adventures, part 7. Both are mini-series, and I got sucked into buying them because they featured a couple of my favorite characters. Cry for Justice has Congorilla in it. Congo Bill’s brain lives on in the body of the Golden Gorilla. Strange Adventures features Adam Strange, and some really psychedelic art. Too many second-rank characters in Strange Adventures. Adam Strange, Captain Comet, Star Man, Hawkman, Bizarro, and The Weird. James Robinson is trying to turn Prometheus into a “great villain” in Cry for Justice. That’s a comic that started with the premise that superheroes should be pro-active, but it seems to be turning into just another team assembled in response to another cosmic threat.
I have reached page 150 of The City Destroyer by Norvell Page. The Spider comes across as a second-rate Batman. He has a lot of similarities to Batman. Rich man fighting crime, supported by his butler, and the Police Commisioner. Fantastic larger than life foes. Fearsome creature of the night who preys on criminals. Yada yada. On a whim I looked up The Spider on the internet, and browsed through all the old Spider magazine covers. Lurid, lurid stuff, but so formulaic. There’s a scantily clad woman in peril on every cover. Come to think of it, that’s what I loved about the pulps. The Spider also seems to have a lot in common with The Shadow. Blazing pistols, demoniacal laughter, loyal servants. Apparently, that was the way to go, back in the 1930s.
Eight hours of sleep last night. I wish I could have 8 more this afternoon. Entertainment is at low ebb around here right now.