One of my favorite comic book panels ever.

I pondered building up to a reveal of this panel, explaining why I liked it before presenting this scan, but it's just too awesome and eye-catching (if my scan doesn't totally ruin it) to avoid.

This is of course from Spider-Man's debut story in "Amazing Fantasy" #15. A crook just raced by and got away scot-free because Spidey decided it wasn't hs concern and didn't bother trying to stop him. Of course, since Webhead doesn't carry a gun, and since he's not even really a superhero yet, you have to wonder if he really deserves a reprimand for not pursuing an apparent dangerous criminal.

No matter, though. The point is that when the cop scolds him, Spider-Man gives him the hand! This panel may well be artist Steve Ditko's apex. Check out the body language: The tensed posterior, the arm flexed and bent behind him, and of course that back of the hand. Clearly Ditko is anticipating the sassy "Talk to the hand" posture that would become popular decades later.

Peter Parker's words are disdainful enough, but I like to think that immediately after this little rejoinder, he adds an emphatic "MM-HMM," snapped the fingers on that left hand, and sashays his way off panel.

5Q Movie Review: I Love You, Beth Cooper

Q: Is this as good as the book?

A: No, it isn't anywhere near as good. The book is a riot, one of the most entertaining novels I've read in some time. The movie...not so funny. It tries, but it just can't get it quite right. Now, it doesn't "desecrate" the source material or anything; it just can't capture the comic tone that works so well in print.

Q: Who is this Beth Cooper, and why is she so danged lovable?

A: Cooper is the most popular chick at braniac valedictorian Denis Cooverman's high school--blonde, cheerleader, etc. Cooverman's impulsive blurting out of the title phrase during his commencement speech sets a whole chain of wild and wacky teen movie events in motion. If you love Hayden Panettiere, you may love her character as well. The movie tries to flesh her out and show her to be more than just a fantasy object, but while she comes off as a bit more complex in the novel, on screen she still seems like a cliche.

Q: Hey, speaking of "fleshing out," this is an R-rated movie, so we have to ask...

A: Oh, come off it. Hayden is not naked, though she wears insanely short shorts in one of her earliest scenes, and later in the film there's a locker room in which she (I'm assuming it's not a double, though her face is unseen) shows enough side boobage to reinforce how airbrushed she is on the DVD box cover.

Q: Why is the word "boobage" only ever used in conjunction with the word "side"?

A: I don't know offhand, and I fear now that William Safire has left us, we may never get the full explanation.

Q: Back to the (lack of) quality of the film: This is because of that hack director Chris Columbus, isn't it? Come on, just tell us, HE botched this, didn't he?

A: No, I don't know if that's the case. I know he's unpopular in many circles, but I just never got a sense while hanging with "Cooper" (sorry) that, "Wow, this would be so much funnier if the Coen brothers directed it." It may well be that a more skilled, creative auteur could figure out how to translate the arch ominiscient narratation that drives the novel to the big screen. Perhaps such a filmmaker would pull off the trick of presenting coming-of-age cliches while seeming fresh. Maybe this director could, like the original text, reference other popular movies and works of fiction without seeming to ape them. Columbus isn't that person, but the movie is not a disaster. It just never quite gets it, providing an amusing experience at best.

Do I look like a "Sparky"?

I love flying Southwest Airlines, and when you combine their general efficiency with their low prices (all relative to the other carriers), it's the clear number one air travel option for me. I feel sorry for people who aren't served by Southwest. We drive an hour-plus away just for the privilege. It's worth it.

This Christmas, the flight attendants on my family's journey were bursting with Christmas cheer. I enjoy flying around the holidays because the staff is usually in a good mood. Sometimes they're in a GREAT mood, hopefully because they're getting double time and a half and not because they discovered a secret cache of mini liquor bottles.

On our way up north, a friendly attendant asked us what beverage we wanted. My wife wanted a Dr. Pepper that we could share. The attendant asked why we didn't just get one each, and we replied we didn't want too many cups in case our baby tipped one over. Well, she told us, she could give us a lid on one. Great! Problem solved.

"So what do you want, Sparky?" she then asked me.

"Sparky"? What had I done to deserve that? I'm pretty sure that since Charles M. Schulz died, the number of grown men who LIKE being called that is countable on one finger. If a dude called me that, I'd be tempted to slug the blockhead.

But she said it with just the right amount of holiday warmth to make it not a smart-ass remark, but rather a friendly smart-ass remark.

When she returned later with the drinks, she gave my wife the makeshift sippy cup, then presented me my own beverage by announcing, "You don't get a lid, Sparky. You're a big boy, so we're gonna trust you not to spill it."

Still friendly, but it was getting ridiculous. Of course my wife loved it.

The attendant got one more "Sparky" in on the flight, a subtle one as she collected the trash. By that point I didn't even flinch, though part of me wondered...

Do I look like a Sparky? I thought that name was the exclusive moniker of the very young or the very old. In 40 years or so, I might be ready to set a spell on the porch, tilt my mesh cap, and hear the little ones call me "Grandpa Sparky," but as I write this today, it's just too soon, dagnab it.

Half-Assed Gourmet: Brat-loving bastard...

I don't want to sound like an antisocial jerk here, but when I go to the grocery store, I generally prefer to get in, get out, and go home and put the groceries away. There are a few familiar checkout clerks I like, folks I'll exchange a friendly greeting with, maybe a word or two. But I don't often look forward to a big exchange of chitchat in a grocery line, especially one in which I've stood for way too long because the local Giant has all those damn self-checkout lanes and got rid of so many cashiers.

Ahem.

The point is, a week or two ago, I went to Giant to get a few prescriptions filled for my family, and while I was there I grabbed a few groceries. I like Johnsonville Brats. I'll stick 'em on the Foreman grill and make a nice, easy lunch for me or sometimes for both me and my wife. When they're on sale, I get a pack or two.

That's pretty much all there is to it.

On this particular day, a guy I hadn't seen before was checking me out, and when I finally got up there, the brats were among the first items he scanned. I'm staring at the electronic card reader, waiting to execute the financial transcation, when I hear, "How do you cook your brats?"

I was taken aback because, really, any speaking after, "Do you have a Bonuscard?" and "Your total is..." comes as a shock if I'm not familiar with the clerk. This guy's inquiring mind wanted to know my cooking secrets, though. Did he recognize me as the Half-Assed Gourmet?

"I usually just cook them on the Foreman Grill," I said with a sligth chuckle. See, I was already anticipating that my answer was going to disappoint him, and I wanted to use a tone that discouraged any further inquiry. After all, it was the middle of December, I had a sick wife and daughter at home, and I wasn't in the mood for a seminar. I suppose in the back of my mind I expected some kind of remark. But I didn't expect the guy behind the counter to say this:

"What a waste."

He actually said, "What a waste," and not with a jovial lilt, either. He was looking down, there was an edge in his voice, and I could swear he shook his head, though I didn't look at him fast enough to eb sure.

What a waste! Excuse me for not cranking up the gas grill two weeks before Christmas, buddy. Now how's about ringing up my soup and letting me go home to my pathetic Foreman grill and my woefully wasted weiners?

I think he realized he came on a bit strong, as after an awkward pause of a few seconds (I think I chuckled weakly to acknowledge I had received his lament), he told me I should try brining. He followed with a Brining for Dummies primer while I kept an eye on the electronic reader, desperately awaiting the cue to slide my credit card and begin the end of what I had assumed would be a simple grocery purchase.

I was ticked by this Checkout Chef's reprimand, but now that I think about it, I shouldn't have let him bother me. The Half-Assed Gourmet need not apologize for anything. So I like cooking Johnsonville Brats on the Foreman grill. I don't think they're better that way, and I never said as much. That's just how I usually make them.

Does that make me a bad cook? Well, maybe, but it doesn't make me a bad person.

I really need to get my groceries at Wegman's more often.

New Year's Daze

I sacrificed my right to mock New Year's Eve partiers several years ago, but now I really have to swear off any such teasing whatsoever. See, this year, I had trouble staying awake till 11:00, let alone midnight, and while I could blame this on my baby daughter...what does it matter? I'm a lightweight.

I think the only thing that kept me awake to ring in 2009 was WGN America's "Honeymooners" marathon. Even then, I struggled to keep my eyes open while watching episodes of my favorite TV show of all time. Somehow I made it till we could switch over to see Dick Clark count us out of 2008.

There were a lot of great TV options this year for us non-First-Nighters. Besides the Mooners, Sci-Fi had its traditional "Twilight Zone" marathon and a Boston station played a bunch of Three Stooges shorts. Great stuff if you don't feel like sharing the road with the drunks.

It's a good thing those options existed, too, because the networks' New Year's Eve specials get worse each year as they pander to a younger and younger audience. Oh, how happy I was to see Lionel Richie on ABC, not because 2008 felt incomplete without one more "Dancing on the Ceiling," but because, well, I just wanted to see an old guy standing alongside the Jonas Brothers and the like.

These countdown shows consist of teases of what we WILL see, with the lame stuff we actually do see sprinkled throughout the night in small doses until the ball drops. Then the specials reward us for our patience by presenting more lame stuff.
Me, I was in bed at about 12:05 A.M., and then my New Year's Day experience consisted mainly of eating and watching football. Penn State was terrible, but the bacon wrapped beef was delicious.

My only resolution this year is to keep on keepin' on. Know what I mean?

Well, I don't know, either, so why don't I refrain from making any kind of resolution. I can only say I'll try to make it to 12:10 when the next holiday rolls around. Martin Luther King Day, get ready!

On the radio: New AC/DC sounds a lot like...the old AC?DC

So have you heard AC/DC's latest single, "Rock and Roll Train"?

Yes, you have. No, trust me, even if you haven't heard it, you have. Assuming you've been around for the last 20 years, you've heard this song over and over again on classic rock radio, commercials, stadium loudspeakers...

What I'm saying here, folks, with all the subtlety of "Highway to Hell," is that "Rock and Roll Train" sounds an awful lot like an awful lot of the band's back catalogue. I'm not saying this is a bad thing. I am interested, though, by the positive commercial and critical reaction to both the song in particular and the new album (Wal-Mart exclusive "Black Ice") in general.

AC/DC earns praise for "returning to form" and "going back to basics" with this new set. I won't dispute the familiarity of the music, but since when did AC/DC go away? I thought that ever since "Thunderstruck," this group has pretty much been cranking out what its fans want every few years or so with little variation. Yet now this is heralded as some kind of comeback.

The whole thing also intrigues me because I wonder why some bands are "allowed" to do basically the same thing over and over again, while some are castigated as soon as a single album sounds too much like its predecessor. Are there different levels of expectations for different artists? Are they perceived a certain way once they achieve a certain level of longevity?

Again, I'm not complaining about AC/DC; I just don't quite get it. But I'd sure rather come across "Rock and Roll Train" on the radio than something off the guy's country album or Brian Johnson doing a collection of standards.