I resisted jumping to my keyboard during the ginned-up controversy surrounding the premiere of James Gunn’s Superman because a) I was extremely busy at the time and b) there was already more than enough digital ink being wasted over it. If you’ve been enjoying the Patrick the Starfish lifestyle and only just now crawled from under that rock, the kerfuffle was over the fact that Supes is, essentially, an immigrant, and the national zeitgeist revolved. we were told, around disparaging immigrants. (Well, and the fact that this Superman actually cares about people and Ma and Pa Kent hadn’t read Atlas Shrugged, but that’s a digression for another time.)
Aside from the understandable reaction of What the fuck Superman did you grow up with, anyway that caused most of the churn on the interwebs, the other major reaction should have been this is obviously manufactured outrage. To use the Internet against itself, I bring you some truth from that same fount:
The right wing profit machine must find something new to be angry about every day to keep their audience hopped up on adrenalin and willing to shell out money to help influencers fend off the latest barbarians at the gate, however they think that works. So a decent, caring Kal-El must have seemed like a godsend to them. Low-hanging fruit, as it were.
“Why would liberals do this?”
So if you got swept up in that one, I understand. They have since moved on to the next Two Minute Hate, but if this is the first time you got caught in the Outrage Machine, congratulations, Patrick! But I think you should remember this, how it felt, and store it away to compare against other such incursions. This time, at least, they were screaming about a fictional character. The usual target is LBTQ+, trans, or a just plain normal person who has an opinion counter to the dank, steaming worldview these people cling to.
They make me end sentences with prepositions, so fuck them, let’s move on.
Superman is a wonderful movie – it’s the one I wanted in 2013, and didn’t get. Tim Lucas called it overstuffed, which I will admit, is valid. But I’m the guy who orders the pizza with the cheese-stuffed crust, so I didn’t mind. It was fun, which is what a Superman movie should be. I loved the Easter Eggs. I always check out Ryan Arey’s Screen Crush videos for which ones I missed (mainly the street signs, damn my aging eyes), but just to prove that I have been poisoned by the Internet, I was convinced that I spotted one that nobody else had.
There is a mass evacuation in the third act of the movie, and at one point in the montage, we see a middle-aged lady carrying a terrarium with her pet turtle in it, and I immediately decided that this was a tribute to the Henry Boltinoff half-page Super Turtle comics that DC would tip in to fill space.
Like I said, poisoned by the Internet. And my early childhood.
And I would like a Mr. Terrific movie as soon as possible, please.
Fantastic Four: First Steps did a similar good job cleansing previous versions from my psyche; everything I was worried about got dismissed pretty quickly. They absolutely nailed Ben Grimm. Reed Richards is the most intelligent person in the room, and also the dumbest. Sue is still obviously the most powerful, and they even managed to not make Johnny a douche. And Galactus! Daaaaaaamn.
I have the weekend off, which is rare enough in my work, and when I get them I enjoy the feeling of just existing. I sit here, drinking coffee, and not feeling any pressure to do anyone’s bidding. It’s nice, and I’m imagining that retirement will feel a lot like this, though with a lot less money. Come on, 70!
Which is an awkward segue into my next rumination, which involves neither movies or comics. You are now either sighing with relief or clicking somewhere else. Either is valid.
In an unfortunate incident last week, I broke my coffee cup.
The Death of the Author, Roland Barthes, 1967
Now, again, there are likely two reactions: aw, that’s too bad and Shit! What did you do? i.e., normal people and coffee drinkers like myself.
I was the only coffee drinker in my house (until my wife discovered Caramel-flavored coffee), so there were the typical coffee cups in the cabinet for company, small and polite. And then, there was mine, big enough to hold a 12 ounce cup and still have enough room at the top to carry it from room to room without danger of spillage. Virtually perfect for me, except for the color. I had bought its mate at a local store, and it was gray -my favorite color – and when I broke that one I went back, found that model had been discontinued, but found one in the back clearance rack that was brown. I am not a fan of the color (although the rental house I moved into is exclusively that color, blech). But that cup was my boon companion for years.
Found one on Amazon that was not the same design – the old one sorta looked like a potbelly stove – but it was large, and it was gray, so I ordered it. In the interim I was using our largest surviving cup, which Lisa had bought because it was decorated with Shakespearian insults, but I was walking very carefully from kitchen to office. The new cup arrived, huzzah!
I didn’t like it.
One of the new cups, with Ganesh for size. Note room for two fingers, below.
It was at this point I had to consider the matter of cup design, not just the size. I remember only doing that once, when I was looking for the tall coffee cups I had seen in the Double R Diner in Twin Peaks, good times, good times. I had already figured out that a thin handle was no good for my drinking style. It had to be broad, so I could comfortably hold it aloft in my right hand while I got distracted by social media in-between sips. Then I had to analyze the way my fingers had become accustomed to gripping that handle: index and middle finger through the loop of the handle, ring and pinky fingers under the handle for support.
The Amazon cup’s handle went all the way down to the bottom of the cup, foiling that.
The Once and Future Cup, and I now realize Ganesh needs cleaning.
My usual approach to this sort of thing is adapt or die! but goddammit, this was my coffee we were talking about. So the Hermit had to actually leave his brown sanctuary and go out in the world to audition coffee cups. And luckily for me, the Halloween themed cups were out.
So now I have four large cups (including the unfortunate Amazon one). Absolutely none of them match, which is wonderful. Lisa claims my favorite will become the one festooned with Disney villains, which is quite likely – it’s the largest (almost too heavy when filled)(almost) – and has the legend “Absolutely Miserable” in red around the inner lip, so I can see it when drinking. It’s almost too perfect for me.
Things get busy again this week, hope to see you soon. Take care, and take care of each other. That will piss the bad guys off more than anything.
drfreex.com 