Issue 30: Don't Bother Me, I'm Thinking
By Medulla Vesuvius

The New Archetypes-Part The First: Rock Stars. Including Several Diversions of Various Import and Relevance

I was doing a little cursory reading on the Jungian archetypes-those basic images that we all supposedly carry around in the back of our brains-pictures like “the shadow,” “the child,” and “the old man,” as well as various others. And it occurred to me that I’ve got a couple of them rattling around in my own noggin that I didn’t see mentioned. Granted, just because the following images seem fundamental and primordial to me, it doesn’t mean that they are. Which probably means that they aren’t even archetypal. But I’m going to talk about them anyway. Just try and stop me.

First up—the rock star. In my head at least, this is a basic image that we all share. When someone says the phrase “rock star,” I imagine that everyone creates a picture with some similar traits- a wild, ego-serving, attention-pursuing, hard-living person who gets paid insane amounts of money to perform music. While taking this online quiz I realized that those of my generation grew up with some of the best, most extreme examples. The debauchery and excess of the 80’s “hair bands” like Motley Crue and Poison and groups of their ilk were so legendary and are revisited so frequently today on VH1 that it has ceased to even be interesting any more. You can only hear about Ozzy Osbourne’s snorting ants and Nikki Sixx’s “dying,” and C.C. Deville’s “house of whores/house of horrors,” so many times. After which, these stories no longer even trigger any brain activity.

But I digress.

The point I was making was that everybody knows, I would say even subconsciously knows, what a “rock star” is. So much so, that it is even used in association with its near opposite. Many are the times when I have read about some corporate exec or portfolio manager, a suit and tie-type guy, who is described as “living the life of a rock star,” meaning, supposedly, that they throw large amounts of cash around on big houses, exotic cars, etc. I would posit that this linguistic flexibility is an indicator of just how pervasive the image is.

For a similar phenomenon, look at the usage of the phrase “punk rock.” As a noun, “punk rock” is easy to define- a style of music arising in the late 70’s which emphasized simplicity of musical form, shunned displays of musical technique, and featured loud, distorted guitars usually playing power chords in simple rhythms and utilitarian vocals delivering nonconformist, often antiestablishment lyrics.

But “punk rock” has also been employed as an adjective, which muddies the waters. For example-“the way that guy went streaking across campus to propose to his girlfriend is sooo punk rock.” The argument over whether or not “punk rock is dead” became possible only after the phrase became adjectival.

But I digress again.

I wonder if such a thing as “rock stars” actually exist as they did back in the day or if they are on the decline. Aerosmith. Like “the poor,” it seems we will always have the Aerosmith with us. Same goes for the Rolling Stones. But these are both long-established acts. I wonder if our current pop culture climate is the type of environment in which “rock stars”- sickeningly overpaid, attention-starved personalities can be created. What is the primordial ooze that just needs a little lightning to create rock-star-type life? Myspace? American Idol? iTunes? Does discovering a new musical interest on Myspace or iTunes make you want to pay $35 to go see them live in an arena full of people and enable them to buy that house in Beverly Hills, you know the one? Or is our culture privatizing music to the point where the creator is of little importance? “Just give me a song with a bouncy beat to accompany my slideshow of pics on my blog.”

On one hand, I don’t think we’re quite to the point where outlandishly egocentric, super-sized personalities are of little consequence. I have found that rock stars still exist, they just don’t look like they used to. For one thing, they no longer need the pretense of a music career. The aforementioned “hair bands” were largely products of a wonderful new invention called MTV, which obviously still exists, but has recently been making “rock stars” out of unlikely folks- take for instance your Bam Margeras, your Kristin Cavallaris from Laguna Beach, your Xzibits.

But on the other hand, I am tempted to think that rock stars are a dying breed. I wonder if it is even “cool” to live the excessive, debauched life of Vince Neil anymore? I’m thinking of Bono. Is Bono a “rock star?” The man writes essays for Time magazine, for crying out loud. He’s concerned. There was never a time when the editorship of Time would have courted the opinion of Sebastian Bach, Axl Rose, or Bret Michaels. And rightly so.

And it’s a sad, sad day when the closest thing I can think of to a rock star is Paris Hilton. Where are the new David Lee Roths? Ironically, in the few moments I’ve accidentally landed on one of those Cribs shows on MTV, I have invariably seen people who made their fortunes in the rap industry showing off their mansions and collections of rare angular cars and Hummers and Cadillac Escalades. Maybe we should change the phrase to “rap star.”

However, conspicuous consumption alone does not a rock star make. There is also the “larger than life personality.” The type of person who can step in front of a stadium full of people and effectively, fearlessly perform–not just perform, but make a crowd of people numbering tens of thousands feel connected to each other and to said performer as focal point, to direct a transcendent moment—that type of person is a rock star. That type of buzz is what live rock n’ roll is all about and I daresay that your Paris Hiltons and your average mumbling rap artist on Cribs doesn’t have the goods to deliver.

Regardless of the changing face of “rock stars,” and their less-literal embodiment over the years, it is still an all-pervasive concept, perhaps burned into our psyches. My last question is a chicken-egg type proposition: do we create rock stars to give flesh to the ghost in our heads or is the image only there because of our experience of them on TV and the radio over the years?

Please stay tuned to the next issue in which I will discuss the other new archetype.

Issue 30: Superhero Information Initiative
By Amdnarg Toh

Death of a Hero: “The Red, White, and Blew”

Ok… If there’s one iconic hero that should be left the hell alone, it’s Captain America.

I mean… He saved America from the Nazis, the Japs, the Communists, and just about every other anti-American force that our country has faced since the early 1940’s. He survived decades floating in the Atlantic Ocean, frozen in a big ice cube in suspended animation. (Just in time to be unfrozen to battle the Cold War Communists.)Whenever a new enemy came into power, Captain America was sent in to battle evil, and promote freedom, democracy, Mom, and apple pie.

As we played on the playground in the first grade, the Captain was one of the few heroes that we thought we actually had a chance of actually becoming. He didn’t shoot beams out of his eyes. He couldn’t fly. He wasn’t invulnerable, and didn’t have x-ray vision. He was a tall, lanky art student named Steve Rogers, (how generic!), who was given a serum that “pumped” him up, and granted him extraordinary agility. Along with his bulletproof shield, he kicked supervillain ass from sea to shining sea. With some work, we could be just like him. Or so we thought. Over the years, he became the sole bearer of the old red, white, and blue as he battled the forces of evil across the globe…

Until recently…

A number of innocent bystanders were killed as the result of a cataclysmic battle between a group of superheroes and their archenemies. The public was enraged. They did what any group of good citizens would do – insist the government fix the problem. So the United States Congress, with the assistance of Tony Stark, (alter ego of Iron Man), drafted and passed legislation requiring all super beings to register with the government. Part of their reasoning was to try to train superheroes in law enforcement techniques. But many super powered beings insisted that it was instead a witch hunt designed to identify them so they could be singled out, and the debate quickly became focused around civil rights. With heroes of every stripe falling on both sides of the debate, and the eventual conflict, Captain America found himself the leader of the anti-Registration alliance.

Pitting hero against hero, the battle ensued, placing some of our favorite heroes into settings and battles in which it would be difficult to tell who was on the “right” side…

Spiderman fighting Iron Man? The Fantastic Four split up? Unheard of…

Why? Politics. Not just make-believe word politics. Real world politics.

Given the current political climate, the writers began to feel pressure from extremists on both the right and left, wanting Captain America to be the shield bearer, (no pun intended), for their particular “American” cause. Reflective of the real world political climate, without any clear enemies to battle, some wanted Captain America to focus on fighting internal battles, like having him stand up against the current administration, and some wanted to make him the leader of the armed forces, fighting Bin Laden and the Taliban.

Rather than fight on either of those fronts, it was decided to invent a new evil, with the drafting of the Superhero Registration Act. So our beloved Captain became an outlaw, a fugitive. A defender of the American way, one that fought for justice and freedom for all, even those with superpowers. As leader of the anti-registration coalition of heroes, he began to fight “the man” even when it meant fighting former colleagues. During a final confrontation with Tony Stark, the leader of the pro-Registration movement, Captain realized he had become a threat to the very people he was duty-sworn to protect, so he surrendered himself, and prompted his team to do the same.

The battle over, the President granted amnesty to all super heroes that had opposed the legislation, except for Captain America, who was incarcerated. While being escorted outside a courthouse, he was shot by a sniper several times. The image of a hero – my hero – draped in the colors that define our country, soaked in blood, is a new form of “shock and awe”.

Whaddyamean dead? Surely he’ll come back right? Nope. We’re assured this isn’t some ploy like DC pulled with Superman. Steve Rogers is dead.

I can understand the difficulty in creating interesting settings for heroes, when there aren’t a lot of clearly defined “enemies” to fight. But too much of the real world has intruded into these wonderful make-believe universes. Often changes are made because of the intrusion of real world politics, or the result of not enough funds because of waning sales. This time, it’s not a sales ploy. Captain America comic books were selling fine, even doing fairly well. So we’re left to believe it was more political than anything else…

So please give me some heroes back. I’m not sure who I’m gonna believe in without some over-idealistic folks with super powers battling the clearly defined forces of evil. Paint my comics in bright colors with high contrast. Leave the shades of gray out in the real world.

Issue 30: Life in Space
By Mr. Atoz, The Librarian

Buried in Space

I’ve never outgrown the boyhood fantasy of being an astronaut. It hasn’t happened, and it never will. I never took my fascination with space very seriously. I was always a little embarrassed by it. In fact, I forgot about it through my adolescence and early college years. I rediscovered it the spring of my junior year in college, when I healed myself from a terrible crush by sticking my nose in my studies for a semester. I hid myself in schoolwork and obsession to prove to myself that I was as smart as some people told me I was. During this period, I would stay up in the late hours of Sunday night reading and doing all kinds of homework. In those days, Channel 4 would show two episodes of Star Trek: The Next Generation and Star Trek. Four hours of Star Trek. Hiding in a cave of business and marketing homework and cheesy science fiction TV gave me an incredible amount of comfort. The thing was I didn’t discover my love for space and space television; I simply rediscovered it. Growing up, I was a big fan of Battlestar Galactica and Buck Rogers in the 25th Century, although I was way too small to understand the concept of the shows. I even wore a plastic Buck Rogers costume for Halloween when I was about 4. It was way too big for me, but apparently I had my heart set on being Buck Rogers that year.

We learned last week that James Doohan, (better known as Scotty from Star Trek), will have his ashes sent into space in a rocket later this month by a company called Space Services. On a related note, Gene Roddenberry had his ashes sent into orbit by the same company. People talk about having their ashes spread out at sea or somewhere they loved. You never hear about people wanting their ashes taken to space. I’ll probably never do it because I’m not that eccentric, but I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t given it some thought.

Space, it could be argued, is heaven. Why not have both your soul and your body in the heavens? But outside of that, why space? Space, both in fiction and reality, holds an explicit measure of every concept that I love or value: adventure, mystery, security, and comfort, (I do recognize the oddity of pairing concepts of adventure with security.) The biggest thing, however, may be the concept of possibility. Space is a reminder of how small I am, but what’s more- space is a reminder of how small everyone and everything else is. I’m not in control, and neither is anyone else. Space is a symbol for how little I know, but also how much I can find out. While the Earth is full of trouble and confinement, space is free. Some have argued that the largest statement of the popularity of Star Trek has been its message of hope. I’m completely on board with that. It tells us that “beyond” is a better place.

Issue 30: Tournament of Villainy
By Rascal Stallion

Magneto vs Stripe

Name: Magneto		Name: Stripe
Occupation: Mutant	vs.	Occupation: Gremlin
Origin: X-Men		Origin: Gremlins

Magneto settled into a plush seat in the darkened theater. The show was just about to begin and he was pleasantly surprised to see he was the only one in attendance. He preferred to visit the theater in the afternoon to avoid crowds and once again he was successful.

The opening credits began to flash on the screen when Magneto detected a disturbance behind him. It started as a low rabble and quickly escalated into a full-blown brouhaha.

Stripe and a few of his buddies had entered the theater and were quickly making a nuisance of themselves. They were talking loudly and throwing popcorn and Magneto was fuming inside. He couldn’t believe how little respect some people could have.

Magneto slowly turned his head to scowl at them, hoping a stern look would encourage the hooligans behind him to sit still. Unfortunately his action had the opposite effect as it further encouraged the gremlins. They now had a target for their shenanigans.

The gremlins acted quickly, mustering all their soda and candy and propelling it at the weirdo in front of them. The sugary goop splattered all over Magneto and he knew he would not be seeing the remainder of the film on this day.

Magneto used his powers to raise himself up in the air as he turned to face these hoodlums. He was shocked when he saw they were far from human, but not so shocked that he decided not destroy them.

Magneto used his powers of magnetism to rip several seats out of the ground which he fashioned into small compact balls and thrust through the chests of Stripe and his two companions. Once the steel balls were inside the gremlins, Magneto caused them to expand at a rapid rate, exploding the gremlins from the inside.

Magneto then hurried off to the washroom to clean the bits of gremlin and candy from his shirt.

Issue 30: Tournament of Villainy
By Rascal Stallion

The Shredder vs The Soggies

Name: The Shredder		Name: The Soggies
Occupation: Ninjutsu Master	vs.	Occupation: Advertising Mascot
Origin: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles		Origin: Cap’n Crunch

The Soggies trudged through the icky sewer. The smell was overpowering and had them all on the verge of retching. Still they journeyed on. They had an elaborate plan to defeat Cap’n Crunch and his infernally crunchy cereal once and for all and step one involved sneaking through the sewer.

The plan took an unfortunate, unexpected twist as the Soggies took a wrong turn. They rounded a corner and found themselves face to face with The Shredder! Evidently they had stumbled into his home as he appeared to be just getting out of the shower. His Shredder hair was still wet and he was clad in only a damp ninja towel.

With a start, Shredder noticed the Soggies and became enraged. “What do you think you are doing here!” the Shredder bellowed.

The soggies began trying to hide behind one another as they backed towards the door while stammering something about crunch berries. They thought they had evaded disaster when they were suddenly thrust into a world of hurt.

The Shredder whipped off his towel and flung it over the top of the Soggies. While momentarily covered, Shredder leaped high into the air and brought his foot crashing down into the center of the towel, an action that was met by a sickening squish.

Shredder then held the ends of the towel together, trapping the mangled soggies inside. He began swinging the towel as he explained to the soggies “You see, it’s nothing personal, but I really can’t have anyone knowing where I live, now can I?”

With the soggies still trapped within the towel, the Shredder began to pick up speed as he whirled them around and around. They were spinning so violently within the towel that one soggie threw up on the others, which of course resulted in the rest throwing up as well. They prayed the torment would soon end, but they had no idea how disappointed they would be to find this prayer answered.

With tremendous force the shredder bashed the spinning towel into the concrete wall. And then he did it again. And again. And again. The Shredder bashed that Soggie filled towel against the wall until his arm burned. Finally the mass inside the towel that used to be the soggies burst through the terrycloth and sprayed the room.

Whew, thought the Shredder. I think I need another shower.