A Short but Vital Open Letter to Santa Claus

Dear Santa,

Look, let's stop screwing around here.  For the last 7 years, you've completely ignored my desperate pleas for what can only be described as insatiably cool presents and instead buried me with cheap cable knit sweaters and dangerous plastic kitchen appliances made in China. Enough is enough. I'm sick of getting sweater rash and lead-based paint poisoning (what good is an electric mixer if you can't stick it in your mouth?!), and I've been especially bitter good all year, so I fully expect to cash in on seven years worth of Christmas present back-pay.

That's why this year I'm asking for a Twin Blade Turbo Ninja Raptor. And not a 1/6 scale battery-powered robotic model, either (although you do totally owe me a robot for skimping on the six foot flame-throwing battle bot I asked for in 04).  I'm talking the real deal.  A living, breathing, razor-toothed, high-powered, dual blade ninja assassin velociraptor.

I know what you're thinking.  "How the heck am I supposed to find one of those??"
Well, don't ask me, you're the one with the fairy dust.  But let's just say it would all be much easier if you would've just coughed up the Lamborghini Gallardo Time Machine I asked for last year. Funny how our mistakes come back to haunt us, isn't it?  Not funny "ha ha," but funny "my life is a pit of despair."

Just in case there's any confusion about what I'm expecting here, I've included a photo. Please study it carefully. Note the craftsmanship on the swords, the careful stitching on the headband, and the fine, brushed steel on the jet pack. I will accept no imitations.  

If I wake up on Christmas morning and there's no rocket-powered flying raptor assassin ripping apart my furniture, I'm firebombing the North Pole. Seriously. I will end you and everything you stand for, including, but not limited to, happiness, generosity, and cookies.  Don't make me end cookies.

Yours in Christ,
Clayton

Zombie Showdown

The moon has been terribly bright over Chicago these last few nights (something that is fairly rare, considering we see the sky only 2.7 times between October 1 and April 27), which naturally got me thinking; whose stupid idea was the werewolf?

Don't get me wrong, I'm all for horror creature lore. My love affair with vampires borders on "bothersome," according to my girlfriend, who is going to have to learn to live with the posters of Eric Northman and Lestat above my bed.

But come on. Werewolves are just stupid; specifically in the manner in which they are created. So you get bitten by one, then the werewolf germ strain infects you to the point where your entire body morphs into a giant canine, including hair that covers the body thicker than a Greek landlord's, and only does so when there's a perfectly full moon outside? Seriously? Okay, I'm willing to buy the transformation (I've seen my friend Patrick turn pretty feral when he doesn't get his coffee germ), but a transformation that follows a tighter cycle than my brother-in-law's entirely too expensive new high efficiency, computer-managed washing machine? Please.

The werewolf transformation is the female menstrual cycle on mutated HGH, and I have a hard enough time understanding the one, much less wrapping my mind around the other.

Of course, to be fair, I have to admit that vampires aren't much better when it comes to origin. I have no idea how drinking vampire blood might turn one into a vampire (Ulcer-inducing? Sure. Vampiric transformation?  Eh.), nor do I particularly believe that a stake through the heart of a creature that has absolutely no use for a heart would do much in the way of instant death. On top of that, how on earth does a rare blood disease make one allergic to garlic and vulnerable to sunlight, AND give one the ability to turn into a bat and/or a cloud of fog? It's all very mysterious.

Following this line of thought, I was forced to make what was for me a surprising conclusion; zombies are the most likely horror creature archetypes.

This was surprising for me because, generally speaking, I think zombies are stupid. I mean, don't get me wrong, I enjoy them in the way that people enjoy watching a drunken kitten bump its head against a wall twenty times in a row. But as a horror creature, the zombie poses incredibly little threat. They're slow, they're stupid, and their bodies are soft and malleable like gangrenous marshmallows, making it entirely too easy to kill them. If zombies attacked, the most effective method of escape would be to walk casually in the opposite direction. It's ridiculous.

The best response I ever received to the question of what makes zombies scary is, "They just keep coming! You can outrun them, but they won't give up!" Really? That's what scares you? Determination in the face of extreme inability to excel at something? The Hallmark Hall of Fame made-for-TV movies must leave you scarred for life.

But despite all this, they have the most believable origin. I am entirely willing to believe that getting bitten by a rotting, greenish, deadish thing with saliva as thick as melting string cheese would give someone a blood infection that would cause some serious health problems. The zombie strain is really just a really lame version of rabies, and I've seen Old Yeller enough times to know that you don't mess around with the infected.

I can even get behind the strange hunger for brains. Heck, I'm from Washington, MO, where "brain sandwich" is on half the menus in town. In fact, it would probably take weeks before the general WashMO population realized they were hosting a zombie hoard. For all we know, there have been zombies hiding out in town for decades. I think I went to high school with some.

So, okay, when it comes to transformation, zombies win. But whatever. When I write and publish my 9-part Vampire vs. Zombie young adult novel series, we'll just see who comes out on top.

A Twitter Study for My Thesis (or "How You Can Win a $25 Gift Card to Best Buy")

Today's post is a very special one.  It's special because, when it's all said and done, this post will help me graduate with my Master of Performing Arts Management degree, and it's also special because, just by reading it, you could win a $25 Best Buy gift card!  If you're lucky!  Or if you bribe me with $50.  Which wouldn't make sense, but please feel free to do so anyway.

I'm currently writing my graduate thesis on best practices and strategies for Twitter as a marketing tool for non-profit performing arts organizations (because there's nothing quite like being specific!).  In order to do that, I need as many Twitter users as possible to take the survey I've created.  There are 17 questions, and quite frankly, they're probably the most fun survey questions you'll ever encounter.  I don't promise it, but I feel it. In my heart of hearts.

Furthermore, everyone who takes the survey can register for a chance to win that Best Buy gift card.  Please take the survey, and tell your friends who use Twitter to take it as well.  I need at least 700 responses to make the data statistically pertinent!

Thank you so much for your help!  Click Here to take survey

Really, Twilight? Really?

The fact that the second Twilight flick is being released this weekend reminded me; I hate Twilight. I don't even know how I made it through the first book. I must have blacked out until the end. The uninspiring, complete disappointment, "Guess I shouldn't be too surprised after reading the rest of this stupid book" ending. I hate it so much that I'm not even going to finish this blog post I'm writing about it.

Here are some of my major problems with this series. And by "series" I mean "first book." Because I didn't read the series.

1. Vampires do not have souls. How could a vampire love? He's a vampire! A blood-sucking, life-taking, demon-infested vampire! Last I checked, creatures of the devil have little time for snowball fights and giggles. They're evil, not sad. (Note: the only exception to this rule comes from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, in which the restoration of a vampire soul is a horrible, incredibly painful exercise. You want that soul? You gotta earn it, friend. With your blood. And your fifty-ton guilt.)


2. Vampires do not like women who are accident prone. They have enough problems on their hands; watching out for sunlight, finding enough blood, running from angry mobs, avoiding things made out of wood. Do you have any idea how much vampires hate having to buy nothing but Playskool children's furniture?! It sucks! (Ha.) They have a lot going on, and they do not have time to make sure little Bella doesn't accidentally fall down a rocky cliff and bash her face out against a cast metal statue of goat that's on fire. Mortal people don't have time for this nonsense, and the worst thing most of us have to worry about is leg cramps.

2. Vampires do not go into the sunlight. This is a fundamental rule. You just crashed right through every interesting storyline challenge, and therefore every engaging conflict and resolution as well, Stephanie Meyer, you sappy hack. Which brings me to my next point.


3. Vampires do not sparkle. My Little Ponies sparkle, and even then, only those who are the pinnacle of the especially effeminate breed have the gall to do it. Vampires only do three things; they grow fangs, they drink blood, and they brood. They do not sparkle.

4. Bella is so annoying. This has nothing to do with vampires. But still. Good Lord.

5. Vampires do not play vampire baseball. The only sport they play is "Kick the Head When it Comes Off the Spike We Put it On Last Night During Our Hell-Raising Blood Bender." Do you see Angel or Bill Compton rushing right out in sweat pants and wicking jerseys to go bat around a ball? No! They're too busy killing things!  This is all so

Drawn to the Dark

If you know me, then you're probably shocked (and perhaps dismayed) that I've made it this long without writing a single post about Batman on this blog. This was a conscious decision bred of my desire to blossom like the beautiful, yet tastefully understated African lotus, to spread my wispy willow branches in the winds of nerdiness and tickle the charged air molecules of other topics, robots, vampires, killer Communist-alien cell phones, and the like. I would stray away from the obvious exercising of the Batman obsession.

It was a plan doomed for failure. And fail it has. The masked vigilante can wait no more, and he's waiting no more with a vengeance. So today I introduce Batman Friday, a very special day of the week that often falls between Thursday and Saturday and celebrates the glory of the Dark Knight. This may or may not be a weekly feature, depending on my laziness and/or boredom. Fair warning. Also, Batman may not want to be contained by Fridays. Because the B stands for "Bad," A stands for "Ass," and T-M-A-N stands for "I don't need a full acronym because I'm the [expletive deleted] Batman."

For the first Batman Friday, I've decided to make a list of my top 5 favorite Batman comic artists. These are the artists that I think best capture the spirit of the character in the most aesthetically pleasing ways. If you disagree with them, I'll hit you.

5: Frank Quietly

Okay, remember when I said I was choosing these artists based on the degree of spirit capture and aesthetic value? That was a lie. Frank Quietly doesn't do that. I mean, look at the picture. His drawing style makes Batman's head look like a soft ham. But I inexplicably love Quietly's wavy, often feathered outlines, probably because they make Batman look like the Stay Puft Man in tights. He clawed his way onto this list due to my vast amusement at Potato Lump Body Batman. Also, he gets points for making Robin look perpetually surprised and apathetic, all at the same time.

4: Tony Daniel

Tony Daniel is a new favorite, ever since his recent work on the variant covers of the Grant Morrison "Batman R.I.P." storyline. I love that his drawings have clean lines, yet he manages to make the Knight look rough-and-tumble scuffed, but my favorite part about his style is that he likes to draw Batman with teeth bared. Teeth-baring Batman is the Malibu Barbie of the DC universe. But better. He also gets extra credit points for being a writer as well as an artist, and he's currently pulling double duty on the Batman book.

And man, the guy can draw a cape.

3: Tim Sale

Tim is one of the few artists whose work I love across the board, no matter what the character. Quietly and Daniel each do a fantastic Batman, but the rest of their work doesn't really stand out for me, but I've never met a Sale drawing I didn't like. He has a style that looks a bit rushed and just askew enough to look like it ran a few laps through a carnival of carnival mirrors, which is especially fitting for the bat and his rogues' gallery. Also, Sale draws Batman with black shorts instead of a speedo, so I feel all-around more comfortable as a masculine reader.  Thanks, Tim.

2: Jim Lee

There's not much to say about Lee. He really captures the darkness of the Dark Knight. His use of shadow is incredible, often to the point of being chilling (see the "Hush" storyline for tear-inducing shadows). Also, I think his Batman is the most physically intimidating. Probably because he uses me as his Batman model.



1: Michael Turner

In my opinion, Michael Turner was the greatest comic book artist of our time. He's another artist who drew every character well, not just Batman. The most striking feature of each of his characters is the eyes. (Does that sound feminine? It doesn't, does it? It does? Eff.) Unfortunately, Turner passed away from cancer last year (fittingly enough, on the same weekend as the Wizard World Chicago comic convention). I met him in L.A., and he was an outstanding person, though I'm sad to say that he didn't bequeath any of his original art to me even though we shared a moment. 

So that's Batman Friday. It wasn't so painful, now, was it?  (Don't say it was. Batman will totally punch your face.)

The Droid is here. And it will destroy you.

So Motorola's new Droid phone dropped today. Now, I haven't used the thing, nor have I spent hours mentally caressing it with my longing and washing it in the tears of my yearning (Patrick), but even so, I think I have this thing figured out.  And what I've figured out is this:  The Droid is the most terrifying murder-phone to ever be unleashed on America.  

I learned this from Motorola's latest Droid commercial.  If you haven't seen it, let me set the scene:

A fleet of Soviet uber-stealth flying terrors scream through the sky over small-town America.  Reason: Russians have had it with Nebraska.  The planes break off, heading toward their respective targets, which for some reason are elderly cowboys.  As they tear through the sky, the planes open their bays to reveal racks of oversized, self-guiding, nano-technology pod missiles that are released with extreme prejudice and splinter down through the heavens at Billy Fred's Dirt Ranch and Sally Jim Mae's Gas Station and Cornatorium.

These clever little Communistic missiles plow into the earth with tremendous force, just a few feet shy of obliterating houses, trucks, fishing boats (fishing boats? In Nebraska?), and horses.  Yes!  Horses!  What did horses ever do to you, comrades?!  Russians are such jerks.

But the attempted horse slaughter isn't the scariest thing about the missiles.  As the simple townsfolk approach these smoldering, watermelon-sized projectiles (great idea, by the way...what, Nebraska, you were too good to see Independence Day?!  Never approach the creepy space pods!!), the metal bastards open of their own accord!  They're artificially intelligent Soviet super-bombs!  They open their little hatches, revealing yet another, smaller hatch, which also opens, revealing the small Droid phone.  Now, I'm not one for environmental soap boxes, but seriously, Russia, you could have fit 20 of these phones in each death-pod.  Putting just one in each missile seems like a terrible waste of resources.  Spoiler Alert: I think I know why you lost the War.

That's how the commercial ends.  We can only assume that the phone (which, by the way, looks terrifyingly similar to that other famous murder-computer, Hal, from 2001: A Space Odyssey.  Coincidence?) grows atomic laser spider legs and slaughters the entire population with its data-teeth and ergonomic flame thrower application.

Don't believe me?  Check out the commercial here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o9fXYQjwR0w&feature=player_embedded

The only good news to come from this ad?  Apparently, cowboys will love this phone.

Vampires, Readjust: Daylight Savings Time Wins Again

I experienced a bit of personal growth yesterday. Since it's the first time that's ever happened, I thought I'd share it with all 6.5 of my loyal readers.  (Ben, as a kU student, you only count as half. Go Mizzou!)

I digress.

As a youth, I harbored a lot of negative feelings toward Daylight Savings Time. Let's look at the fallout that occurs every time spring and fall worm their respective ways around the calendar:

1. I have to reset my alarm. I hate having to even acknowledge this particular torture device, much less deign to push its stupid, smug buttons.

2. I have to adjust to new levels of light and dark at new times of day and night. This goes against almost everything I believe. The thought of having to bend my will for the good of DST is maddening. My will bends to no man, except possibly Joss Whedon.

Growing up, I never quite understood why DST was so necessary.  Honestly, I still don't. I have this vague, mostly true (I think) notion that it's the farmers' fault.  This provided a lot of fuel for aggression since I grew up in Missouri Farmland Central, U.S.A.  Every spring morning I was mocked by their quiet contentment.  It was their fault that I was readjusting, once again, to a stupid, archaic sleeping schedule.  I didn't understand why I had to start waking up an hour earlier so they could hit the fields at the same time year 'round. And honestly, I still don't. Why don't just the farmers just wake up an hour earlier?  Don't drag me into your agricultural warfare.  I do my part.   eat your land's spoils.  Now let me nap.

(Disclaimer: Like I said, this notion is admittedly vague.  Regardless of the time of year, farmers are awake before noon, which is pretty much when I stumbled out of bed, so this could very well be extremely misguided angst.)

For years, I dreamed of a magical land where Daylight Savings Time didn't exist.  In high school, I learned that this land was called "Indiana."  It instantly lost all its magic.  But I still tried to fight DST.  For years, I refused to either spring forward or fall back, but to little or no avail.  As it turns out, Greenwich Mean Time is not determined by my $1.29 Walgreens alarm clock.  I'd had a hunch that this was true, but still.  The reality of the situation was unbearable.

But this year...not more than 36 hours ago...I had a change of heart.  I finally saw the value in this ridiculous practice. And I owe it all to my incredibly sadistic girlfriend.  I say "sadistic" because she wakes up to run every morning at 5:30, and through some stupid, unasked-for sense of duty, I've decided to take it upon myself to accompany her on these ungodly early runs.  Every morning by 6 am, we're out on the Chicago lakefront trail, yawning in the 20 degree lake winds.  It's cold.  It's early.  It's exhausting.
But the worst part of these early morning runs?  It's dark.  Really dark.  And you know what that means.

Vampires.

Seriously.  Vampires everywhere.  They love that trail at 6 am.  It's like their playground.  Literally.  There are playgrounds.  But with vampires.  The reason our morning jogs are so productive is that we spend more than half the time sprinting away from pale beasts with sharply fanged mouths.  (Pro: I've lost 20 pounds!)  But it's really frigging dangerous.

So this Monday, I strapped on my chain mail jogging suit and my vest with pockets for wooden stakes, and we set out on the path.  But here's the thing.  Daylight Savings Time ended on Sunday.  We fell back an hour in time!  The sun was up at 6 am on the lake!  The vampires were nowhere to be found!  We were saved!  True, the lack of motivation to run led us to call it a day at 6:03 and head back to the couch to eat chips and watch True Blood, but we were saved!

So now, finally, after 26 years, I can say with all my heart...thank you, farmers.  And please keep growing corn.  I love corn.

"Who is the Masked Manifesto?!"

My research shows that new blogs are supposed to start like this:

"Hi, uhm, gee, I'm new at this, and, I don't know, I don't really want to do a blog, but gee, my friends say I should, so, shucks, here it is."  *Shy smile, toeing at the dirt* "I might keep it up, I might not, I don't know, it's worth a shot, I guess, why not, so here goes, okay?"

I thought about writing something similar for my first post, in the name of safety and the status quo.  But then I realized something.  The Masked Manifesto isn't about halfheartedness and excuses.  The Masked Manifesto is about hubris.  It's about moxy.  It's about loving nerdy things and owning that love for nerdy things (which, incidentally, also means it's about being very lonely).

So here's the deal.  I'm proud to be starting this blog, and in the spirit of the great, quasi-fictional Charles Foster Kane, I present:

The Masked Manifesto's Declaration of Principles.

1. I will write about comic books, movies, robots, theatre, dinosaurs, bacon, gadgets, pretentious literature, and anything else that strikes my fancy.

2. I will not write about Vin Diesel. Ever.

3. I will update the blog regularly and no less than once per week.

4. If I reach 1,000 readers, I will blow up the moon.  I am not kidding.  If any one Masked Manifesto post gets 1,000 views, I will blow up the freaking moon.  I will then post a video of the explosion, set to the music of either A) Loggins and Messina, B) Journey, or C) Phil Collins, depending on my mood that day.

5. This blog will be fun.  For me, if for no one else.  But hopefully for all of humanity.

And there you have it.  If you like nerdy things, fun, and the idea of blowing up the moon, check back regularly to the Masked Manifesto, a blog so fantasmagriffic that I had to invent the word "nerdalogue" to define it.  And most of all, enjoy!