Why I Love Marvel Comics

Ah, the Caymans were lovely. A veritable paradise upon this lowly earth, a paradise of warm white sand and crystalline waters that make a million promises and keep them all. Dining upon the local fish, served with pineapple chutney and washed down with ginger beer; truly an experience that everyone should experience at least once.
What’s that you say? The pension fund is GONE? All of it?
And you’re sure it was an inside job?
Hurm. Interesting.
Yes, I’m back from my short hiatus, and I’m sure that all three of my regular readers (hi Mom!) are gnashing your hands and wringing your teeth in agony. Well, wait no longer. And this week’s column will be a special treat, I promise. This week’s submittal is a direct response to those of you on the Broken Frontier forums (yes, we have forums here, really! Try them out sometime!) who feel that I bash Marvel unnecessarily. I merely wanted to set the record straight, and what better time than the present?

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Deliberate Provocation

Sorry if this column seems a tad more frantic and scattered than usual. I just spent the better part of the day prodding my computer into an utter and complete nervous breakdown. Luckily the only thing I really lost was time, and I’m trying to make it up by writing this at an hour which approaches god-awfulness.
You may have noticed that I don’t talk a lot about industry politics here. Sure, I did in that “Clear Cut” article awhile back, but that wasn’t very pointed or direct, really. I would prefer leaving commentary on various publishing houses/figures to various message boards (where I do comment, though very rarely do I rant.) This week will be a (hopefully rare) exception to that, as I saw a quote from Mr. Joe Quesada which demanded a reply.

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Spirit of ’86

Ah, nostalgia. The sweet, heady aroma of that which mines our youth in an attempt to sell us what we’ve already tasted. How it drifts on the air like popcorn or cotton candy, or the song of distant carousels. How vulnerable we are to its wiles, as our once-youth begins to sag a little more around the middle, our joints creak and we gradually become more embittered and quite frankly, old.
It’s unfair, unsporting, cheating, even. How can we be expected to resist the siren call of that which entertained us in our youth? We cannot. We must inevitably give in, rush out and buy armfuls of comics based on characters who speak of our youth.

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