Lynn Leaton was a brilliant scientist working on some sort of super-science experiment when she was caught in a chemical explosion. Her body mutated into a sort of viscous slime, and her mind went blank. This astounding Gunk went on a rampage, destroying the laboratory and several surrounding buildings, then fled. Now the Gunk wanders the countryside and has no memory of life as Lynn Leaton, except when it sleeps and dreams with Lynn’s thoughts, usually leading the Gunk to wake up and try to do things that Lynn would do, but without Lynn’s consciousness to guide her. hunted by her former colleagues and by the military, who have to stop the Gunk to keep the public out of harm.
Our society places an awful lot of importance on the appearance of women. It’s true that the vast majority of male action heroes are super handsome, but you can get away with all sorts of deformity in a male protagonist that you don’t see in females ones. Especially this particular kind of mutated-into-a-monster-person type like the Hulk or the Thing. Off the top of my head I can think of very few women who fit that kind of niche. There’s some She-Hulks, but you’d better believe they’ve got bodies that aren’t exactly frowned upon. There is Sharon Ventura, who goes back and forth between hottie and monster, but she is, and the She-Hulks for that matter are too, just female versions of the male characters. I don’t doubt that there is a few ladies trapped as monsters in comics, but I don’t know them off the top of my head.
As an extension of that, you can get stories where the mutated male hero gets an attractive woman who falls in love with him. It’s the Beauty and the Beast thing, and it is almost never the woman who is the Beast of that pair. Sure, Ben Grimm’s first love interest as the Thing was a blind woman, but even there, she knew full well that he was a dude made of rock, and there have been other, sighted women who also fell in love with Grimm in spite of his looks. So, if I were to make some sort of Astounding Gunk comic, I’d have to explore that route, with a man who is in love with Lynn. Maybe he’s trying to track her down and help her find help, but with her lack of memory, she continues running from him like everyone else. Something like that.
Now, in case I haven’t made it clear enough yet, I enjoy being back in school. On the whole, I’d say it is a good thing. With that in mind, it’s time for me to complain about some more things I hate about school (or more accurately, probably, to complain about the same things I already have complained about, in different words).
I’ve got four essays due between now and the end of the term. I don’t mind that, really. I hate doing essays, but I can manage. Except one: For my History class I have to do what they’re calling a Research Essay, which means that I am expected to go out and do learning on my own, then write about it. Okay, fair enough, except that I am paying THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS because I was tired of doing my learning on my own and thought maybe going to school would be a nice change of pace. More than any other assignment I have to do this year, I resent this Research Essay for being a kick in my nuts.
The other thing I’ve got to complain about is the sheer number of tutorial groups they do these days. I am assured this was not always the case, but every English class I’ve got splits the class into smaller groups once a week so they can talk about whatever (this includes my Mythology class, which is technically a Classics course, but I lump it in among book learnin’ classes). These tutorial groups are headed by the Teaching Assistants who struggle to try to make the teen-agers talk by reminding us that our participation mark (usually about ten percent of the final grade, I think) depends on talking. Well, I don’t want to talk, consarnit. I am generally interested in the discussions, and occasionally I don’t even hate the kids in the class, but I still don’t want to participate in the discussions. As I have tried to convey before, I could be in a discussion with my six closest friends on Earth and I’d still get more out of listening that joining in. I suppose that it’s a good thing I don’t care about chasing for perfect grades.
It’s 1957 and Nat Taylor has a problem. He’s still making money on one movie, so he can’t play another movie in his theatre! OOHHHH NOOOOO! But then he realizes he can order the new one if he plays the other movie on his smaller screen. With that problem solved, he invents the multiplex.
I don’t want to diminish the achievements of Nat Taylor, I really don’t, but… is this really worth a Be A Proud Canadian commercial? I mean, sure, I like going to the theatre and having lots of screens so I can choose which movie I want to see on them, but that doesn’t seem… that great… y’know? It really is just… more screens. I consider this achievement less important than, say, education, healthcare, sexual equality, or Superman. When it comes to “national pride”, this isn’t even up there inventing or winning some ridiculous sport. Maybe it is just me and my unmitigated antinationalist boobery, but I don’t see how this is something to be proud of. It’s like being proud that you’re from the same country as the guy who invented bigger bus stops or something.
All that said, I like Nat Taylor as he is depicted in this piece. He’s got an old-timey Charles Foster Kane sort of businessman vibe. I also love his moustache and his cigar. I enjoy the way we start out in black and white (though it really took him fifteen years to realize “I can do more screens”?). I can’t decide if I like or hate the way he first unveils the fifteen screens and then, when questioned, reveals the full twenty-one. What is the point of that little momentary hiding of six screens?
There’s practically no music and no really good quotes (though I think I’ll like referring to foreign films as “this foreign movie” when I have a chance), but all in all, I don’t dislike this one. I’ll give it Three and a Half Pieces of PDR’s Reviewing System Cake.
Well, I guess they chose a Pope and I haven’t had a phone call or anything. I guess that means they picked somebody else. It figures.
Haiku!
Guess I’m not the Pope.
I guess they didn’t pick me.
Not yet anyway.
I guess maybe it is an alright outcome for now. I mean, obviously, I would be the best choice to run the Church, but since I kinda expect that I’ll be assassinated during my Papal career, I guess I can wait to be the next pope. Have a few more years before I dive headlong into gettin’ shot.
They say that there is a trend that a Pope will be quite different than the proceeding Pope. Fact: I am quite different from the proceeding Pope.
The Vatican Conclave to vote for Pope 2013 has started, I believe, and I have to mention again my availability for the job. I am literally sitting here ready, willing, and able.
I have to admit, I kinda don’t expect to be picked for the job. I think my radical plans for the Church would probably work against me among a large number of the Cardinals doing the voting. Also, the fact that none of them know that I exist. But, hey guys, if you elect PDR, it will be such a longshot that practically nobody will be able to deny the divine intervention. Make a miracle, Cardinals. Vote Patrick D Ryall for Pope.
